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[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly, a handsome fellow with a hard-to-place accent that just sounds a bit different, is lounging on a couch. The angle isn't entirely flattering, since he's filming himself while laying supine, and so there's a view sort of halfway up his nostrils that is a little bit too much information. A bottle of brandy dangles from one hand, and his voice is slurring just a bit. This fellow seems quite drunk. ]

Bonsoir, you grunting peasants and cultureless rubes, and happy Winterfair to all. For those of you who are cultureless monsters, Winterfair is a time when gifts are exchanged and joy is had. My gift to you is that I won't call any of you peasants again for the duration of this broadcast. Winterfair was also the last Emperor's birthday, or thereabouts, which meant everyone had to give him their taxes for the year, but mine's not till later, so you don't need to pay me till then. I'll let you know when taxes are due. Start saving up now.

So what should you all give me instead? I suppose to begin with you could entertain me. What do you say, my cream puffs - a little game of two truths and a lie? You know the rules, since the rules are literally the name of the game. Go on, play with me, do. I'll start. I'm currently rightful Emperor of Barrayar, my great grandfather Pierre once showed up to a Winterfair ball soaked in blood to send a message, I'm terrible in bed.

Anyone who opts out of the game, I'm going to assume they're simply too in love with me to speak with me, so don't play at your own risk.

[ He winks, and then lifts the brandy to his mouth - and it apparently goes down at a bad angle, because he sits up, coughing and spluttering and getting alcohol down his front before he shuts off the feed. ]

Comments

[vorrutyer]

[ Having secured that promise, Byerly is momentarily at a loss for what to rail against. He takes an angry swig as he thinks, then sets it down and demands: ]

So what is it you want of me, Dorian? To be softer, yes, very well, but that's not going to happen. A man cannot simply become sweet and kind on command, no more than he can become hard-hearted and disciplined - an impossible thing, to the despair of shitty fathers everywhere. So what do you want?

[flashystyle]

[All his arguing to make a point, and he's doesn't have an answer ready. Dorian takes up his own at Byerly lowers his bottle, thinking, then-]

I want you... to at least try and not be so dishonest with yourself, then. Not all to everyone else, obviously, as you must have some motive to ask for truths of our companions. [It's on the tip of his tongue, but it doesn't quite click. After a moment of wondering, he moves on.] I don't want to be drinking with you if I don't know if you're actually enjoying yourself. And I like drinking with you, so please, do me this kindness.

[vorrutyer]

[ Just a little flicker in his eyes as Dorian seems about to guess - but no; he presses on. That truth is safe, apparently, at least for now. Because Byerly, by this point, is quite certain that he could guess if Dorian saw through him. The man truly is transparent.

So, instead: ]

It sounds like what you're asking isn't for me to be honest with myself. It sounds like you want me to be honest with you.

[flashystyle]

No, that... That is what it sounds like, but no.

[He sighs, but it's probably his least frustrated one within the past hour. He leans back and rubs his eyes.]

I want... to make suggestions to you, and you do what you will with them. If they don't make your life any better, then it isn't my business to continue forcing them upon you.

[vorrutyer]

I suppose my difficulty lies in understanding why it is that you think I need these suggestions.

[ His fingertips dig slightly into the surface of the brandy bottle. ]

Forgive me, my dear Dorian, but I'm not sure what use I can get out of your advice. I certainly don't mean to offend, but I can't help but doubt the common sense of a man who would forgive his father after what he did to you.

[flashystyle]

Byerly.

[His tone is more dejected as he draws the hand from his face. He stares ahead, eyes unfocused.]

Please don't. I've already talked about my father.

[vorrutyer]

And yet it still doesn't make sense to me.

[ He turns his eyes on Dorian. His face is impassive. ]

He tried to destroy you.

[flashystyle]

[His fingers curl more tightly around the bottle, but he doesn't drink.]

He still cared for me after I humiliated him. He still tried. I never said a word to him that wasn't full of venom, and he still tried.

[vorrutyer]

He deserved that venom. He deserved it and more.

[ There's a flicker of real anger in his eyes. ]

If he loved you, fine. Good for you and good for him. But love isn't worth a damn when it comes with abuse.

[flashystyle]

He used to send me letters, insisting I tell him I was alright when I was away. He was so very proud of me once, he...

[He hates the way his voice cracks. He shouldn't have drank all that he did. Why did he allow himself to? He always spirals, he always comes undone when all he wants it to forget. He tries to swallow back the lump his throat, think of something else, but he winces when he sees the way Byerly is looking at him.

If it weren't enough, the glass cracks beneath unconsciously heated fingers. It's ready to shatter if he holds on any longer.]

He stopped caring, and yet here I am, unable to stop. Is-- Is that what you want to hear, Byerly? If I tell you how naive I am, how I actually hate how much I still give a shit, will it finally make up for all that I've said? Well, here you are.

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly sees the fate that's about to befall that glass - but he doesn't stop. He keeps on. ]

What if someone else does something like this to you?

[flashystyle]

[He doesn't have an answer for that. He tries, he digs for one that isn't some pathetic attempt to deny it'd ever happen. The glass cracks again.]

No-- No one has the means to do that.

[vorrutyer]

No one has the means for that magic ritual? Perhaps not. But there are still ways to hurt you. Would you forgive that of someone if they loved you?

[flashystyle]

[Ah, there it goes. The bottle bursts all at once, sending shards across the table and its still bubbling contents dripping over the side. Dorian simply sits there in silence for a minute, clenching his fist tightly around a piece despite its sharp ends.]

What a strange concept. [He finally responds, a laugh escaping him before he can stop himself.] I don't know. If someone were to love me, I'd probably try.

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly, even deadened by drink, flinches at that. Not out of fear, but out of sympathetic pain. After a moment, he reaches out for Dorian's wrist - and in spite of his harshness, in spite of all the anger he's been using to punish Dorian, his touch is gentle and careful. ]

You probably would. [ His lips are tight. ] Because love is such a strange concept. Because it's so unlikely for you that the only kind that will ever come to you is laced with pain and hurt and destruction.

[flashystyle]

Yes, yes, exactly that. Exactly that, and all this mess is so hypocritically telling you that someone could, yes. You shouldn't take my suggestions at all, you're right.

[After all he's said, his touch is still kind. It flips a switch, and laughter spills over and he covers his mouth with his free hand. He hunches into, choking on sudden sobs he can't smother.]

I didn't think! I don't think. I didn't bring it up and come here to guilt you, I promise you, I just-- I'm sorry, Byerly, all this mess-- I'm sorry.

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly doesn't react much to the crying, nor to the laughter. Doesn't join in. All he allows is a little thinning of his lips, a pinch at the corners of his eyes that shows a bit of worry. He presses his thumb gently against the pulse-point on the inside of Dorian's wrist, urging him - ]

Let go of the glass.

[flashystyle]

No, just...

[He resists for a moment, rigid like he might actually pull away. He relents after a moment, though, relaxing his grip and allowing it to fall aside. He doesn't meet Byerly's eyes, and closes his mouth so he just breathes, rather than start some ridiculous protest.]

[vorrutyer]

[ And By pulls the hand towards him, pressing the fingers open so he can inspect the palm for injury. It's half worry, half an excuse to not meet Dorian's eyes. ]

You're a remarkable man, you know. Full of righteous anger, fighting against all wrongs - except the ones done to you.

[flashystyle]

[There is a cut, and it has started to bleed, it isn't excessive. It isn't deep enough to garner a sound out of moving his fingers, and the blood is slowly seeping rather than pouring out. Dorian wipes his still-watering eyes with his dry hand, already trying to piece back his composure.]

It's easier when they aren't yours.

[vorrutyer]

Maybe.

[ He draws out his pocket square and presses it to Dorian's hand, using the cloth to stanch the bleeding. ]

But are you really a man who only does what's easy?

[flashystyle]

No, I'm not. [He closes hand around it, muttering a word of thanks as he sits back. With a deep, steady breath:]

I just... I just don't want to this life carrying such hate. It's exhausting, By. I don't think that's why we've been given this chance here.

[vorrutyer]

[ Clipped: ]

We've been given this chance here so we can fight for these...beings...that we don't even know. There's no greater purpose than that. Just us being used. [ And - ] Hatred is useful, Dorian. It keeps you from ever being used in the same way again.

[flashystyle]

Not everyone you run into is searching for some way to use you. [He turns his chin up.] You don't know who truly is if you have that assumption about anyone you speak to.

[vorrutyer]

[ By smiles thinly. ]

Of course they are. To think otherwise is naive.