inbox.

[unshut]

(crystal | written | action)

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[bouchonne]

[ He hums as well. ]

A polecat.

[unshut]

I don't know that I've ever had the pleasure of meeting one. What are they like?

[bouchonne]

Fierce, clever, tidy, slender, and with the loveliest fur you've ever seen.

[unshut]

[Her laugh is a low approving chuckle - dark and warm like some tart spiced wine and very pleasant indeed in the crisp-bordering-on-cold night air as they make their way down the long face of the Gallows.]

I'm fairly certain there are as many opinions on your posting as there are members of Riftwatch. But you're very good at flattery, Byerly.

[bouchonne]

The secret of the art is to only ever say things that are true.

[unshut]

[She cheerfully pinches the back of his hand a second time.]

[bouchonne]

[ Laughing slightly - ]

I'm being serious! Flattery only works if you pick out something truly marvelous about the person. If it's a lie, they'll know it, and you'll have failed.

[unshut]

And so we see that my assessment was right all along. House cats being resourceful and clever as a rule.

[bouchonne]

And I would bring you a dead mouse or two in tribute if you wanted it. Or even if you didn't.

[unshut]

I have great affection for those lovely gloves you brought me once, [is good humored confirmation of this clearly indisputable fact.]

[bouchonne]

Made from the skins of many dead mice. That is true.

[unshut]

The stitching together of their tiny little pelts is impressively done. It's hardly noticeable at all unless you hold them up to a very strong light. I don't know how you accomplished it.

[bouchonne]

Blood magic.

https://i.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/mobile/000/030/781/kombuchaahh.jpg

[unshut]

[She snorts.]

My, if only the Chantry knew its applications were so flexible.

[bouchonne]

Well, there's so much to be done with it. That's the advantage of running with all these apostates and maleficarum and heathens. We're all so innovative.

[unshut]

I'll keep that in mind when next I say my prayers.

[She cinches herself a little closer to him by way of the connection between their arms. A gust of wind skates up from the water. She drums her fingers just there against his forearm and does not tuck her face against his shoulder against the evening but for a moment it's as if—]

Are you going to tell me?

[bouchonne]

[ He smiles at her wryly. All right. To business, then. ]

I wished to let you know, my dear Fitcher, that I shan't be pursuing you any longer.

[unshut]

[She is so unflappable. There must be a list of things which she holds in her head and has learned to hear.

This is not on it.

She blinks at him, both eyebrows rising high to her hairline. Her arm, looped so easily in his a moment ago, somehow stills—

And then an instant later her surprise is moderated. Checked. Fitcher's attention turns from Byerly to the way ahead of them.]

I see.

[bouchonne]

[ He does not, of course, wish her ill. Far from it. Even so, it is a great pleasure to see her startled. ]

I'm glad to hear it. I hope you are not distressed.

[ And even so, there is a little bit of pleasure in imagining that she's just a bit distressed. ]

[unshut]

[For a beat, the woman at his side does not answer and the hood of her cloak goes to great lengths to obscure the precise flickerings of her expression in the night.

When she looks at him again, there is some ghost of a thing living behind her expression but she smiles.]

My, what a novel experience.

[bouchonne]

What is?

[ He tilts his head very slightly, watching her without shame. ]

[unshut]

[Fitcher glances away, smoothly avoiding meeting his eye for any extended measure.]

I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of being pursued no longer.

[bouchonne]

I can understand why. I cannot imagine that many are able to wiggle their way free from their infatuation with you.

[unshut]

[Her eyebrows rise as if to say, You have a point.]

Not before I've wiggled free of them first, in any case.

[When she glances back to him again - my, how uncharacteristically variable her attention has become in these last seconds -, she is all smiles and easy humor once more.]

My congratulations, Ambassador. For being such a bold trailblazer.

[bouchonne]

[ He offers an easy shrug in return, a wry smile. Perhaps her unusual behavior is a sign that he's injured her in some way. And truly, he doesn't want her to feel sorrow - but if she was going to be aggrieved by the loss of him, well, she ought to have played the game a little less ruthlessly.

(And he shan't allow his mind to stray to the uncomfortable thought: what if she was simply moving so slowly because it takes her longer to regain her trust? Because of what's happened to her?) ]

I had a bit of help.