inbox.

[unshut]

(crystal | written | action)

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[unshut]

Much to my own disappointment, I apparently have a fondness for the type.

[This, punctuated with the appropriate sidelong glance as she settles back against her pillows and the headboard.]

[bouchonne]

[ He flutters his eyelashes at her. ]

And I, a weakness for the squarely unromantic.

[unshut]

Oh? [A look of surprise punctuates the tip of her head.] Who is this mysterious unromantic individual who has you so charmed, Ambassador?

[bouchonne]

Someone who is also very beautiful. And clever.

[unshut]

Good for you. You should have some diversion from your work. [Lacing her long fingers together over her middle, she lowers her voice by a half degree.] It's giving you wrinkles, Messere.

[bouchonne]

It is not.

[unshut]

I'm afraid so. There's a little mark just there on your brow. You've been frowning.

[bouchonne]

I'm incapable of frowning. I'm a very mirthful man.

[unshut]

And yet, that mark. Not to worry, Ambassador; wear a few more lines like that one and you might eventually look quite respectable.

[Her smile curves.]

Which I only say because I know how much you enjoy to be told terrible things about yourself.

[bouchonne]

[ He's already pulling a face. ]

Ugh. Call me a cad. Call me a scoundrel. Don't call me respectable.

[unshut]

[She laughs. The sound is low, pleasant despite its rasping underbelly. Turning the knife, then:]

But you're doing such a fine job of pretending, Messere.

[bouchonne]

I am not. My reputation is just as rotten as it ever was.

[unshut]

Oh, certainly publically you are no gentleman. But privately? [A cluck of the tongue, an evaluating look; she unlaces one of her small fingers to tap on the glove remaining in her lap.] I've seen very little proof of it myself. And I'll have you know that I have made inquiries.

[bouchonne]

Oh, not with the right people, then. Don't you recall how I had my wedding at a house of very ill repute?

[unshut]

Then perhaps you might supply me with the right names; I like to think of myself as a dab hand when it comes to turning over stones, and yet—.

[bouchonne]

The fallen women who make up many of my acquaintances, perhaps?

[unshut]

Oh, please. As if you can spend so much as a month in Kirkwall without becoming so acquainted; I had a lovely conversation with a particular Madame Haxton from that house of Cooperstreet just the other day. A wily card player - she wore a silver pin with a moth in her hair. Be wary, should you cross her at the tables.

[bouchonne]

Is that so?

[ He grins at her. ]

I thank you for your warning. - Well, fine, then; what of my debtors back in Denerim?

[unshut]

Oh, debt. [Something sparks in her eye.] You know how I enjoy a bit of lending. You must tell me every detail.

[bouchonne]

Oh, my. Do you want to become my debtor, madame?

[unshut]

I'm afraid I'd have to dig myself out of my own pit first. But I'll keep it in mind should I ever require a little leverage over Riftwatch's leadership.

[A joke, clearly. In the wake of which she relents just enough to confess:]

No, I'm only curious. And trying rather hard not to ask you dull questions about work while I have so little of interest to talk about.

[bouchonne]

[ He gestures his acknowledgment of her reasoning, but continues to be playful: ]

I could be an investment, you know. I'm sure to make my fortune any day now, at which point the woman who owns my debt will be quite glad to hold it.

[unshut]

[Oh, very well. If she must play along—]

Go on, then. What would you like to borrow from me?

[bouchonne]

[ With a big ol' flutter of his eyelashes - ]

Your heart?

[unshut]

[She laughs again, long hands coming unraveled so as to reach out and give his knee a gentle backhand.]

Now there is the scoundrel I've heard so much about. Taking advantage of a woman on her sickbed is truly deplorable, Byerly Rutyer.

[All the same, consider the lay of her hand as she has left it just there between them where it might very easily be taken up by certain assumptive reprobates.]