inbox.

[unshut]

(crystal | written | action)

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[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.

[unshut]

[A brief hm, a tip of the head.]

How happy for the Lady Asgard that she is no longer laboring under a burden of guilt. You must give her my best when next you see her.

[bouchonne]

[ Ah. That gets a slight blink from him. ]

You spoke with her about this?

[unshut]

[Fitcher draws in a small breath through her teeth, adjacent to a laugh - simpler to do now that she has her feet back under her.]

I have eyes in my head, Byerly Rutyer. If you two wish to be more subtle, I might suggest beginning with moderating one's outrage over finding another woman at the foot of your sickbed, and a shade less melodrama at the company parties.

[bouchonne]

[ Well. He clears his throat very slightly. ]

I think melodrama is uncharitable.

[unshut]

Forgive me, [she says, and it sounds genuine - a more gentle thing as her study softens and some of stiffness in the tuck of her arm in his relents.]

I'm feeling a little tender. You understand.

[bouchonne]

Are you?

[ His voice is kind enough. A little wry. ]

I do hope my pursuit was something of a diversion for you. Not simply an annoyance.

[unshut]

Do I seem like the sort of woman who spends time on things she doesn't find amusing? No, I would say you have been, much to my pleasant surprise, something of a perfect gentleman - though I know it will wound you to be hear it.

[How fortunate it is, she thinks, that she didn't put a knife in him straight away.]

Would you like me to tell anyone who might ask what a layabout and scoundrel you are?

[bouchonne]

Ah, yes please.

[ He gives her hand a little squeeze. ]

Say that I only gave up my pursuit after - hm. After you bribed me to go away with a great sum of money? Or perhaps after a protector of yours held a knife to my throat? I'd suggest you holding a knife to my throat, but I think that would run counter to the reputation that you cultivate.

[unshut]

What reputation is that?

[bouchonne]

Oh, you know. Occasionally naughty, but mostly harmless.

[unshut]

[Fitcher hmms, a low thoughtful sound. After a moment—]

Would you mind if I asked why you pose so? I've been terribly curious.

[bouchonne]

[ He answers readily, confidently, and easily. ]

Why, because it's amusing, of course.