[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

[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.

[priorly]

[Because everything he is is kept under heavy guard.

Prior raises a wrist from his slump.]

No, no, this chance is missed. You'll have to help me up and try again.

[vorrutyer]

[ He sighs dramatically. ]

Here, here, let's move somewhere softer first. Let's go to bed. Eh?

[priorly]

[One eye cracks open. A beat, and Prior swoons again, a shiver of laughter somewhat ruining the effect.

It's only a moment before he's pushing himself up.]

I thought you'd never ask.

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly bows and takes Prior's hand. Then he leads him up, like a cavalier drawing his lady home, up the stairs and to his room.

The room is...well. Like you'd suspect. Not filthy, but cluttered: discarded clothing on the floor, a towel hanging off a doorknob. No books. Bed unmade. By looks unfazed by that, unembarrassed, as he pulls him inside. ]

[priorly]

[Prior is by no means overly fastidious when it comes to cleanliness, but he is a grown man who's moved from an apartment with a bathtub in the kitchen to one with actual bona fide art (prints) on the wall over the space of the last four years. He knows how to fold clothes, even how to use a laundry basket.

He laughs at the towel on the door, pausing long enough that when Byerly tugs his hand there's enough momentum to end up drawn in against him.]

Mon dieu, you were right about the malice in men's hearts. Someone's broken in and stolen all your clothes hangers.

[vorrutyer]

How rude.

[ His voice is mild. ]

I would never come into someone's house and complain about the state of it.

[ He would, and he has. ]

[priorly]

[And Prior is not particularly worried he's given offence. He presses a finger to his own lips.]

Not complaining, sympathizing.

[He lifts a foot and shakes a shirt loose from his shoe.]

For your poor, aching spine that keeps you from bending over.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, I do plenty of that, Prior. Just not for the sake of my clothing.

[ A bawdy wink as he kicks off his shoes, then unselfconsciously starts unbuttoning his suit jacket and waistcoat. He is, without ceremony, preparing for bed. ]

Do you need to borrow a shirt? Do you get cold?

[priorly]

Lesser men wouldn't admit to it. [Which is a small but not insignificant note of approval.] I would like to borrow a shirt.

[Not for the cold, for the scatter of wine-stain abominations across his chest. Shedding his own jacket (in a neat fold over the back of a chair) he bends to pick up the shirt that had accosted him earlier - it already looks slept in. He raises eyebrows, questioning.]

And is the bathroom next door? If I can't moisturize, I should at least cleanse.