It is him in that portrait, and it isn't him. It's funny: that portrait is of his sister, her husband, and their two children. A boy and a girl. But that boy does look exactly like he did, once, and that girl looks exactly like Nadine. What is it about the damnable Rutyer genetics, where everyone from his cursed clan looks all but identical? What does it say about the prospects of those two poor children, that they have the poison in them? What -
Byerly looks up when Bastien fixes his hair, and looks right into his silly grotesque face. He feels torn between laughing and crying. Settles on laughing.
"It's close enough," he answers Benedict. And then the door opens, and in walks the woman from the portrait.
She's overdressed. That's the thing that catches Byerly's attention first. Her clothing is far too fine for the simple act of greeting family: waist narrowed by stays, feet in delicate kidskin boots, dark hair perfectly styled. In his paranoid mind, he wonders: Is this a message she's sending to me? Is she telling me I'm family no longer?
But those a bit less paranoid and a bit more perceptive - certainly Bastien, maybe even Benedict - may notice, also, her chewed fingernails and her anxious gaze. This isn't a clever, subtle little sartorial message; this is someone who's trying not to look like a total hayseed in front of her worldly older brother.
"Hello," Nadine greets them. She is painfully beautiful, and her voice is lovely. She's also twitchy, plucking at her skirts. "I assume you're - Benedict Artemaeus, and Bastien. My name is Nadine Goodwin, and I'm - Byerly's sister. Hello. Byerly." Her gaze falls on him, and she gnaws at the inside of her cheek, and says, "Could I fetch you some mead? Have they taken your coats? It's very cold here, I imagine, for all of you, coming from the North, even in the summer. It's always very cold here. But it's a nice day today, I think. We might see sun later. Wouldn't that be pleasant? I - Hm."
She falls silent, and presses a hand to her stomach, and then settles it instead at her side. A bit of fidgeting from someone who is, suddenly, clearly very aware that she doesn't know where her hands are supposed to go. Byerly, who's risen to his feet, looks over at Benedict and then Bastien a bit helplessly. How rare it is, to have him be utterly without words.
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Byerly looks up when Bastien fixes his hair, and looks right into his silly grotesque face. He feels torn between laughing and crying. Settles on laughing.
"It's close enough," he answers Benedict. And then the door opens, and in walks the woman from the portrait.
She's overdressed. That's the thing that catches Byerly's attention first. Her clothing is far too fine for the simple act of greeting family: waist narrowed by stays, feet in delicate kidskin boots, dark hair perfectly styled. In his paranoid mind, he wonders: Is this a message she's sending to me? Is she telling me I'm family no longer?
But those a bit less paranoid and a bit more perceptive - certainly Bastien, maybe even Benedict - may notice, also, her chewed fingernails and her anxious gaze. This isn't a clever, subtle little sartorial message; this is someone who's trying not to look like a total hayseed in front of her worldly older brother.
"Hello," Nadine greets them. She is painfully beautiful, and her voice is lovely. She's also twitchy, plucking at her skirts. "I assume you're - Benedict Artemaeus, and Bastien. My name is Nadine Goodwin, and I'm - Byerly's sister. Hello. Byerly." Her gaze falls on him, and she gnaws at the inside of her cheek, and says, "Could I fetch you some mead? Have they taken your coats? It's very cold here, I imagine, for all of you, coming from the North, even in the summer. It's always very cold here. But it's a nice day today, I think. We might see sun later. Wouldn't that be pleasant? I - Hm."
She falls silent, and presses a hand to her stomach, and then settles it instead at her side. A bit of fidgeting from someone who is, suddenly, clearly very aware that she doesn't know where her hands are supposed to go. Byerly, who's risen to his feet, looks over at Benedict and then Bastien a bit helplessly. How rare it is, to have him be utterly without words.