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[unshut]

(crystal | written | action)

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[bouchonne]

[ He hisses in exaggerated pain when she strikes his knee, rubbing it like it's been done a real injury. And yet - scoundrel that he is, he transforms that knee-rub into his fingers walking forward until they tap-dance their way into her palm. ]

Well, you're suffering so - the Maker wouldn't be so cruel as to condemn you further when you're already so unhappy. So you should sin with impunity while you're pitiable.

[unshut]

[Her hum is quite skeptical, the line of her shoulders quite comfortable against her small mountain of pillows. That said, the tap of his fingers is rewarded by soft closing of her hand, her thumb gentle at his knuckles.]

I don't think that's how that works, Ambassador.

[bouchonne]

No?

[ He smiles, thoroughly pleased with both her touch and her rebuke. ]

Teach me theology, then.

[unshut]

And put our Sisters here out of work? But if you like, you may come along with me to chapel when I'm next feeling fit for it. [Ha ha; funny joke.] I'm believe I've heard you have a lovely singing voice.

[bouchonne]

I might have been a Chanter, singing the word of the Maker, if my life had but taken a different path.

[unshut]

His loss.

[The rising line of her eyebrows serves as punctuation. And then, a gentle turn in conversation though her hand remains quietly soft about his fingers:]

Have I missed any tantalizing gossip while I've been holed up here? I feel in my bones I've missed one of the Averesches punching someone in public.

[bouchonne]

I did have one of them throw his drink in my face the other day.

[ He taps his chin, as though puzzled - ]

Nikos, I think? I can never remember which one is which. The fatter one.

[unshut]

Nikos [she confirms.] I believe he's the one more likely to be in possession of a drink, as well. Whatever did you do to part him from it?

[bouchonne]

Talked politics.

[unshut]

Ah. A most fatal mistake, my dear. [With a glint in her eye, Fitcher tips her face a little higher and further. It's a pretty angle on her; she knows it is.] What were your opinions?

[bouchonne]

[ He takes a moment to sigh, lightly, at the sight of her. Maker, but she's lovely. ]

Utterly mad and radical, of course. That perhaps we oughtn't let every peasant and gutter-rat choose who gets to be king.

[unshut]

Then I see no reason why Nikos Averesch would be so ill tempered. I believe he is neither. [A soft sound, as if something has occured to her only just now.] You didn't say that to him, did you? I think he would prefer if no one noticed.

[bouchonne]

[ A small laugh. ]

And yet he also bristles when you talk to him like he's one of those common freemen he admires so much. Such an odd blend of proletarian envy and hauteur.

[unshut]

I suppose we all have our old habits.

[A quirked eyebrow like Ah well. Her thumb moves absently across his knuckles.]

Has your shirt recovered from the incident?

[bouchonne]

Fortunately, the liquor we were drinking was mostly clear. You can hardly even see the stain.

[unshut]

What a happy relief.

[She smiles, settling a little more deeply into her pillow. ] However did you let yourself be drawn into that trap in the first place?

[bouchonne]

Oh, I invited him out for a drink. I'm trying to assess how much trouble we can expect from him.

[unshut]

[That raises some eyebrows. She huffs out a small laugh.]

What a novel approach to interrogation. Did you glean anything like what you wanted from it?

[bouchonne]

The only sort of interrogation I know how to do: the sort that looks a lot like romance.

But yes, I learned a few things.

[unshut]

[Is that so, say the lines of her expression. His hand receives a soft pinch.]

Should I expect an invitation to drinks soon as well?

[bouchonne]

Why, that depends. Do you have danger lurking in you? Secrets I must uncover?

[unshut]

If it will get me out of the Gallows for a drink shared with decent company, then yes. I believe I can think of a few secrets to pretend to keep from you between now and then. Jealous ex-lovers and criminal connections and all that. I would hate to bore you, Ambassador.

[She drums her thumb there against his hand, her smile twitching briefly wide.]

When I'm not trapped here, I think I would very much like to be taken somewhere. Before you regale me with the details of your scars.

[bouchonne]

Then I shall take you somewhere very fine. Lower your guard with a drink, and with my handsome face, and then get all your secrets out of you.

[ He raises her hand to his lips. ]

All your wickedness.

[unshut]

How charming. I should like to see some part of how you work, Messere.

[She laughs, turning her hand just so as to set her knuckles to his mouth.]

I'll inform you when I'm feeling up to being abducted. But you must swear to be as much of a scoundrel about it as you're able.

[bouchonne]

What kind of a scoundrel shall I be? Do you desire a pretense for slapping me across the face?