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[dissolving]

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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.

[bouchonne]

But you prefer just Cedric now. What was it about the March?

[dissolving]

What's it for fighting Tevinter sees me drop a Vint name?

[ slow, steady, in the faint tones of: you're not a fucking idiot. he's writing now. (this copy elides the doodles at slate-edge) ]

[bouchonne]

[ An arched eyebrow. ]

Mm. The war didn’t start with the March, after all. And even if it had - I truly can’t imagine why it is that the act of setting Tevinter’s fields aflame led you to disavow your name. It would be akin to beating the shit out of a dwarf and then throwing away your fine dwarven sword as a result. No logic.