inbox.

[heirring]

[action + written + crystal]

Comments

[bouchonne]

Dear mademoiselle, no. This is not a time to wear a pretty dress and dance a gavotte. I am not talking about mere color coordination.

[heirring]

I hardly see the need to be more thorough about it. Surely you can't expect that— [She won't say what she's thinking, which is that she has no intention of spending the evening loitering alongside him to satisfy some desire to be a matched pair; he is so prickly over the subject of being disagreeable company. She veers instead toward:]

I don't think you would find what I have planned at all appealing. I am attempting to do you a kindness.

[bouchonne]

[ ?? ]

I'll find it out sooner or later. I think that to surprise me with something unappealing is far crueler.

[heirring]

[UGH.]

You must swear yourself to secrecy.

[bouchonne]

My most grave oath is yours.

[heirring]

And you cannot laugh.

[bouchonne]

I shall be as joyless as Corypheus himself.

[heirring]

And if you hear it and insist that we ought still to coordinate, you must not take credit for the original idea.

[bouchonne]

This seems a bit contradictory. Both hiding a notion and taking credit for it.

[heirring]

It is not contradictory. It is a form of insurance.

[Is snipped right back, brisk and no nonsense. You will not trap her in semantics today, sir.]

The Empress.

[bouchonne]

[ What - A bark of laughter. But it's far from mocking; on the contrary, it sounds very genuinely delighted. ]

You're going as the Empress?

[heirring]

[She has already decided she will need to defend it, and so is bristling and ready to insist,] It is a perfectly acceptable costume for the occasion.

[bouchonne]

It's a brilliant costume, is what it is!

[ Nearly giddy: ]

The person you're going with, then - are they going to be Briala?

[heirring]

What— [Why does he sound so pleased?] No. A chevalier.

[bouchonne]

Hmm. Keener barb if he's a specific chevalier. Gaspard, perhaps? - But ah, it's your choice.

[heirring]

It seems somewhat impolite to ask someone to dress as a corpse, Ambassador.

[bouchonne]

I suppose. But ah, I am so immensely pleased! I thought I would have to instruct you in the ways of Satinalia, but no instruction is needed at all.

[heirring]

Instruct me.

[Ah, there is the old patronizing Byerly Rutyer.]

Well as you can see, I am perfectly capable of managing my own affairs.

[bouchonne]

[ But he's in too good a mood to get drawn into squabbling with her. ]

So you know what the natural next question is.

[heirring]

[A pinched pause.]

Go on.

[bouchonne]

Do I dress as the Divine, or as Queen Anora?

[heirring]

[Another pause. Then—]

Speaker Fabria may have a stroke over the former.

[bouchonne]

[ That makes him laugh a little harder. ]

Thank the Maker we've talented healers amongst us. Colin will have to be standing by.

[heirring]

[What is happening.

She clears her throat briskly.]

Is the matter of costumes all you wished to discuss, Mr. Rutyer?

[bouchonne]

Yes.

[ Then, as another thought occurs to him - ]

Or I could be myself, I suppose. Chasing you around all evening. Miss Poppell, you shall cause a diplomatic incident! Doing my best impression of the seneschal. Wringing my hands and weeping, like you're some naughty thing and I'm the long-suffering bureaucrat.