[closed] let's go girls

[altusimperius]

WHO: Bastien, Benedict, Byerly (the Better Business Bureau)
WHAT: DRAG NIGHT
WHEN: sometime in [mumbles] winter
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: will add if necessary, I don't think anyone who's offended by any of this would last very long in this game

Fausta was an amalgamation of things: undergarments and cosmetics and shoes from Byerly, a wig and hair decorations and a fine Minrathousian gown from the Scouting closet, all mishmashed together in a convincing approximation of a wealthy lady in Tevinter's high society. It had done the job, and Benedict enjoyed the effort, but has since summarily refused to participate in Kirkwall's scene until he's gotten all the details just right.

And finally, he has: it's the night of an event in one of Lowtown's more curious establishments, and, having born witness to it before but in plainclothes, Benedict is ready for Fausta to make her society debut.
Or, at least, he will be when they're finished getting ready-- having arrived at Byerly and Bastien's house with all his things and a fancy cheese tray, the preparations have begun.

Comments

[cozen]

A contemplative hum.

"That makes sense," he says, and reaches his free hand around to skritch affectionately at Byerly's goatee. "I would not have been nearly as bothered if he told me you loved him more."

— is not true. Or it is true, but only because Bastien would have found it too ridiculous to dignify with his offense.

[bouchonne]

Byerly laughs. It is a funny thought, imagining Benedict declaring that.

"Well, there are different types of love, you know. Benedict is a fun playmate who sneaks her cheese. You're her papa."

[cozen]

The noise Bastien makes in response is a little grateful, a little doubtful. If Benedict were to propose that Rat Red come live with him instead, saying no would feel selfish — he'd still do it, but he'd feel selfish about it. She loves Benedict.

"Well," regardless, "I'll leave him alone either way. For you, mon chaton."

[bouchonne]

"Meow," By replies contentedly. But - "Does leaving him alone mean treating him with icy silence?"

[cozen]

"Coolly polite indifference," Bastien proposes in the tone of a market stall haggling counter-offer.

He's probably not serious.

[bouchonne]

Byerly laughs.

"You're going to break his poor little heart, you know."

[cozen]

Bastien’s answering laugh, half snort, is not because he thinks that would really be funny or fun. It’s because he thinks it’s a bit hyperbolic.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll give him the ‘relative you see once a year but whose company you enjoy perfectly well’ special. He will not even notice.”

[bouchonne]

"As we've established - " Sort of - "the full-grown man who is fully capable of growing facial hair is an idiot. But he's definitely going to notice that. And again - heartbreak."

He lifts the cigarette in its holder up to Bastien's lips, so he can take a drag.

"I do wish the poor thing would gain a slightly thicker skin."

[cozen]

It's a deep drag that Bastien takes, leaving a noticeable dent in the length of the cigarette, and he thinks about this while he condenses the smoke in his mouth suitably to blow it out in a little series of rings.

"He'd benefit," he agrees, and briefly tucks his head down to rest his temple on the top of Byerly's bewigged head before straightening again to spare his neck. "The only way I am going to be what he wants is if I fake it. But I will if you want me to."

[bouchonne]

"Mm." The thought of that troubles him. "I don't want to ask you to lie." Not because there's anything truly wrong with a lie - but it blends the personal with the professional. Feels too much like asking him to be a Bard.

At the same time, though, a bit of kindness - false or otherwise - might make Benedict relax enough to get along with Bastien. It's a dilemma.

[cozen]

"All right," Bastien says, because that's answer enough. He didn't say Byerly had to ask him. Only want it. Anyway: "I can do a better job of avoiding him when it would be a big lie."

[bouchonne]

It is a bit of a relief. Guilt mixes with gladness.

"When would it be a big lie?"

[cozen]

"When you're dead," lightly, like it's not a big deal anymore, even though it is and always will be, "and he wants me to look after him."

He's serious. He's joking. He drops his hand from Byerly's arm to his waist and taps his fingers there affectionately.

"Or when I have not had any coffee."

[bouchonne]

Byerly turns his head up to study Bastien's face a moment. Looking for the little signs of sorrow and anger and weariness that - Well, even he can't read them all the time. But of everyone in the world, he's probably the very best at it.

"I'm sorry." He rubs Bastien's knee. "You deserved someone taking care of you when that happened."

[cozen]

"I did not want that either," Bastien says, and maybe it's not true — maybe, possibly, there was a reason Byerly's death is what sent him searching for his parents and his big sister after all that time — but he thinks it is. He certainly didn't want or expect it from anyone in the Gallows, each reeling from losses of their own. "I didn't want anything except for you to not be gone."

At the club talking about the alternate timeline where everyone died — he kisses the crown of Byerly's head and drags (get it?) them out of the mire.

"I do owe him for the soup," he says. Benedict coming to check on them when they were hurt — that was sweet.

[bouchonne]

"Mm." By brightens a bit; Bastien's segue gives him permission to be less morose on his beloved's behalf.

"That was quite nice, wasn't it?" Then, with a sigh and a pout, "Wouldn't it be so dreadfully nice if we were rich enough to have servants to fetch us soup at will?"

[cozen]

"We could be," Bastien says, warming up to the lighter mood with a criminal drawl, "if your heart was a little more rotten."