[open] channeling angels in a new age, now.

[priorly]

Who: Prior Walter (priorly) & you??
What: Catch all logs for October!
When: October!
Where: various
Warning(s): language, likely mention of terminal illness (AIDS). Adult themes?
Notes: Please PM me if you'd like a starter, or feel free to wildcard me anytime.

Comments

[vorrutyer]

[ That last, damnably perceptive comment makes Byerly flinch just a bit. In no small part because he hadn't registered what he was doing - but Prior's completely correct; he'd been hesitating because he'd been waiting for Prior to eat one of the berries first. To check to see if he was being poisoned.

Well. Paranoia does run deep. He still doesn't take a bite. ]

A few things. To begin with, who's willing to share, and who isn't.

[priorly]

Does that really tell you much? I could give you half my life story without sharing a single secret. And I never did get a poem. [Lips pressing to a performance of a pout, Prior lets his elbow rest on the table, reaching across - thin wrist, long fingertips curling out - to coax Byerly's berry from him.] That's enough to make someone resentful.

[Both berries in his palm, he tilts it, lets them swap places.]

But then you're the one with the weaponry. I thought you were worried about the motives of the people on the ship? Not the rest of us who got thrown off the boat.

[A quick, wry smile and he tips both berries into his mouth. They're not quite what he could pick up from the store at home but the taste's fresh and bright, autumn fruit.]

The snozzberries taste like snozzberries.

[vorrutyer]

Ah.

[ His gaze drops. He's a little ashamed before that casual, unquestioning, unjudgmental demonstration of the harmlessness of the gift. Some gratitude, eh, Vorrutyer? ]

Well. Malice can come from any and all directions. And often does. I think the best definition of life is still possessed of the capability to really royally fuck something up. [ He shrugs, and takes one of the berries, and eats it. ] This is remarkable, Prior. Delicious.

[priorly]

Really? I thought that was just the cover line of all my report cards.

[It's Byerly's expression that Prior waits on, not what he says. Well, there are all those stories about the first time british people tried bananas - coming from an oversaturated age it's rare to see someone really trying something new.]

I'm fond of flawed things. Maybe that's why I like people so much. Most people. But I think there's a second part - something like and live to fuck up again another day. We're tenacious, aren't we?

[He picks another berry from the bowl. They're stupidly ripe staining his fingertips already.]

Malice sounds dramatic. [But so does war before the bombs fall.] Did anyone ask for a rhyme about plotting our downfall?

[vorrutyer]

Which part was the cover line of your report cards - delicious? What inappropriate teachers you had.

[ He gives a wistful little sigh, and grabs another berry. Strange things. Half sweet, half bitter. Rather like Prior himself, now that By thinks about it. ]

But no, naturally they didn't. You don't use this sort of exercise to find out intentions. You use it to find out about pasts, sordid and otherwise. About character. About who you can trust to chatter and who you can trust not to chatter.

[priorly]

Oh, but the inappropriate teachers were my favorite.

[Sordid past: certainly, but only by other people's measures. Chatter: constantly, because silence is too much for him to stand anymore. Intentions: who knows, selfish and unselfish in the same turn. A quick run down of Byerly's checklist and Prior realises he's told the man more than just about everyone else here, and still not enough that he'd believe his character could be fairly judged.

An exercise.]

Most people use exercises like that to make friends. Does anyone ever pass all the tests?

[vorrutyer]

[ By lifts his eyebrows, rolls his shoulders in a shrug. He pulls apart one of the little berries, separating out its meat, staining his fingertips black-purple. ]

These are not the sorts of tests that one passes or fails, dear Prior. No more than one passes or fails a psychiatric evaluation. It simply gives...insight.

[priorly]

People pass. Maybe not to a psychologist, but to me. I think they do. [He doesn't say 'for most people' - nobody's most people.] There's an easy way to know.

[But he's biting down on a berry.]

These could use something. Sugar or cream?

[vorrutyer]

There's sugar in the cabinet.

[ Byerly waves vaguely behind him. He's hereditary aristocracy, Prior. He got a bowl. He's not going to do more chores than that today. ]

And so what are your criteria, dear Prior? How does one pass your test?

[priorly]

[...Fair enough. Allow limpy mcgee to get up and fetch the condiments. Prior doesn't answer until he's walked purposefully around Byerly, searched a cabinet, placed exactly two spoonfuls of sugar into the cup of his palm and returned to sit and dip only his berry into the little white pile.]

It's not how they pass, exactly, more how you know they've passed. [A second dipped berry.] This is better, I thought as much.

[He looks across the table.]

Well it's obvious, really. You know when you stop testing. When you pick up the phone without thinking because you know having them on the other end will make things better, even a little bit. It works for business associates, too. [Which seems closer to what Byerly's looking for, somehow.] When you stop checking the local prices because you know the place you go to isn't going to screw you over. You have to stop testing sometime, don't you? To do otherwise would be exhausting.

[vorrutyer]

[ A wry little smile. Or perhaps it's bitter. ]

In the land of honest men, the liar is king. You need at least one suspicious mind out there.

[ He reaches out with one of his berries to dip it into Prior's sugar. ]

[priorly]

Exhausting and lonely.

[He curls his fingers closed, trapping the berry and Byerly's fingertip between them.]

Don't be so dogmatic, I never said trust everybody. I never said men were honest, either.

[Dipping a berry of his own in sugar, he offers it across.]

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly doesn't answer. Instead, he just opens his mouth for Prior to deposit the berry in it. ]

[priorly]

[Which he does, brushing his thumb up under Byerly's jaw to close it, after.]

Like it's had just a little longer in the sun.

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly chews, and hums with approval. ]

But I don't think it's the sugar that sweetened it, dear Prior. I think it was your touch.

[priorly]

[A laugh.]

Now that flies in the face of basic culinary science.

[He brings his hand back, releasing the grip on Byerly's own as he licks the traces of sugar from his fingers.]

We're all salt. Can I stay here tonight? Whether or not your housemates take to me in the morning - I don't want to walk home alone.

[vorrutyer]

[ An immediate: ]

Take my bed, won't you?

[priorly]

[And, as quick.]

Share it?

[With his lip caught against his teeth.] I don't mean to impose, and if I am it will only be tonight, I swear. [He may have napped against Byerly's shoulder once already but it hardly counts when accidental.] I just think - I think hearing someone breathing next to me might mean I finally get some sleep.

[vorrutyer]

[ And there's not even a moment of hesitation before he agrees, saying: ]

What a pleasant and charming notion. Most certainly, yes. It would be very agreeable to me.

[priorly]

[At the same time that some line of tension that might have been in Prior's shoulders so long it's seemed part of his stance finally gives out and snaps, something pinches sharply - painfully - at a corner of his mouth. Only for a second.

It's not easy to ask some things.]

Has anyone ever told you you sound like you're chewing a Jane Austen novel sometimes? It's very charming but I feel constantly underdressed without a bonnet and gown. [And, less of a deflection.] Thank you.

[vorrutyer]

Jane Austen? Dear lord, who would let a woman write?

[ That's said with mock-horror - but at least it's very obviously mock-horror. Even Byerly's world isn't quite backwards enough that women aren't allowed to read and write. Though female literacy is a pretty, uh, new development on Barrayar. ]

But there's certainly no need to thank me. Didn't you hear me say that it would be pleasant to me, as well?

[priorly]

You said 'it would be very agreeable to me.'

[There's just a trace of Byerly's accent in that, and not terribly placed - Prior's an experienced mimic. Though he continues with a more anglified inflection.]

Like, it would be very agreeable to me, Miss Price, if we were to perambulate around the ha-ha for a time.

[But he's probably not going to be writing regency romances any time soon.]

I'm not trying to insult you. It's the kind of thing that makes a certain type of person fairly swoon.

[vorrutyer]

[ With a little flip of his hand - ]

Oh, I'm fully aware. Why do you think I do it?

[priorly]

[Because if everything's hyperbole it's near impossible to pick out what's honest underneath. Or, in counterpoint, what's not.

But that's by the by. The last traces of sugar scatter as Prior raises his hand to his brow and faints ('faints') elegantly against the back of his chair.]

[vorrutyer]

[ Oh, he's fully aware. Why do you think he does it?

By gets to his feet, clucking a bit. ]

Come, come, do it again. This time, when I can catch you.