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[dissolving]

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the notes app corrects these to bastion and biyearly

[dissolving]

[ a shit kind of luck, he’d told bastien. meant it. everyone wants to survive, no one wants to be a survivor. ]

It was good of you both t'stay.

[ plenty would've packed up already, run out on the lease; not dug a hand to help. cedric peels away from slate, damp fingers rubbing little white curls from dust. this isn’t really about a second pair of eyes — if he was worried for the letter, he’d ask gela to read it. benedict. even julius, whose tolerance cedric would rather save for the painful day he inevitably needs to impose on a mage.

but if byerly wants to talk, work's the price. ]

No one’s called us on th'fake Rifter yet. Might wanna amend a report somewhere, though. Something harmless. Old room records, maybe.

Lmao what the fuck dreamwidth

[bouchonne]

Mm-hm.

[ Byerly isn’t particularly interested in the work itself. Instead, his lovely dark eyes are fixed firmly on Cedric. ]

I’m curious, dear fellow - do you use lyrium? I know some of your type have thrown it aside, but others are still at it.

dw becomes a minimalist

[dissolving]

Yeah, [ blunt. it’s there, if you know what to look for, the sharp, storm-burnt stink of his sweat. ] Yeah, I use lyrium.

[ your type jabs with surgical precision. but it’s a new day. they've got a fresh start, and he owes rutyer the same understanding he wanted for the others: if you can't do that, dunno how you expect everyone else to,

so. cedric taps the slate. over here, thanks — ]

Thing is, we oughta loop folks in for what we change, and that becomes another way t’catch it.

eviDENtly and it had nothing to do with my butterfingers

[bouchonne]

How are you doing with it?

[ There's nothing visibly offensive in the way that Byerly speaks. He doesn't seem aggressive, nor cruel, nor solicitous, nor ironic. Just implacable. Just seeing how deep you need to dig to hit muscle. ]

[dissolving]

With the letter?

[ he knows what with, as well as he knows that it's not anyone's business. ]

[bouchonne]

The lyrium.

[ easy-peasy. ]

[dissolving]

Give it a read, and I'll tell you.

[bouchonne]

So curious, yet so reticent.

[ A little curl of a smile now. A little bit of By's natural snakiness snowing through. ]

You ask a lot of questions, dear Cedric.

[dissolving]

Yeah, 's called a conversation.

[ he picks up the pen, a cheap reed; its end marked by the unmistakable press of teeth ]

And if you go take vows, we'll have it open. Otherwise,

[ a gesture. he knows the deal. ]

[bouchonne]

I certainly wouldn't call what we had earlier a conversation. No.

[ An elegant finger presses against the surface of the table before him. ]

I did not sense much soul in it, shall we say.

[dissolving]

Sorry t'hear that,

[ since asking what on earth byerly means by soul is only gonna lead in a fucking circle ]

Seems you had a rough day.

[bouchonne]

[ The smile turns into more of a grin. ]

You're not going to take offense at that?

[dissolving]

Hardly know what you meant,

[ cedric admits. sets about unscrewing the ink, caught between the fingers of his off hand. it is shortly apparent that he doesn't have an off hand. ]

And if y'want to explain, I'm here. Otherwise, reckon we both got work to do.

[bouchonne]

I mean that speaking with you is like speaking with a Tranquil.

[ Byerly's tapered, elegant fingertip comes up to tap lightly against his forehead. ]

A most curious quality for a Templar.

[dissolving]

[ the flick of an image: someone's grandmother shouts, and his ears ring; and herian rots from the head, cool as day.

another: bone fractures under fist, drawn back again. again. it felt good to break gautier's jaw. his nose. felt good to force his teeth in the dirt. for a moment, it even felt good when they pulled him off swinging —

it was a short moment. still tastes like shame. he's doing fine with the lyrium, and men who beat the shit out of their colleagues, they don't get to stay on it. ]

I doubt you met many Templars.

[ he smears a hand of sweat onto the back of his sleeve. better it not stain the page. ]

[bouchonne]

True enough.

[ Byerly leans backwards, licking the cigarette to seal it shut. The action hides his smile, leaving nothing but his archly amused gaze. ]

A most curious quality for any honest man, then. Which is what you are, isn't it? Honest?

[dissolving]

We're inventing a Rifter,

[ so apparently there are limits. he dips the pen to begin. ]

Was it disagreeing with you what pissed you off, or caring why you were upset?

[bouchonne]

Oh, I cannot possibly imagine that you cared whether or not I was upset. I do imagine that you cared about whether or not I perceived you as caring.

[ The cigarette having been rolled, he now offers it to Cedric. ]

Tevinter, that name, isn't it? Carsus?

[dissolving]

[ chalk that one down for caring. a tip of the pen: no thank you, he doesn't smoke. ]

'S Tevene. We left back in Blessed, no one's got dates.

[bouchonne]

Did you get shit for it?

[ You fuckin square? Byerly lights the cigarette for himself and takes a drag. ]

I can't imagine the lads training to be mage-crushers were too charmed by so Northern a name. Or did you keep it a secret?

[dissolving]

[ a puff of breath. not amused, really, some greyer cousin. did he get shit? ]

'S not a secret, [ chantry's built on paperwork. ] But I prefer Cedric. Since the March.

[bouchonne]

Why was the March the start of it?

[ Why not earlier? ]

[dissolving]

Reckon you can work that one out.

[bouchonne]

Hardly. I'd expect that self-loathing to come far earlier.

[dissolving]

'M not ashamed of my family.