Oh, they had a pretty public fucking blowout over the crystals, mate. You wouldn't've caught it. I only caught some of it; me Orlesian ain't the best.
Important part is, now there's a betting pool on who she'll fuck next. Which I know'll leave you cross, but... she's kind of famous. Wrote a lot of dirty poetry back in the day.
[Cross is hardly the word for it. He's fuming, stuck soundly on the disrespectful nature of it— before remembering Gwenaëlle's own temperament, and how she herself might very well be responsible for something so crude if given the opportunity.
So instead, his lips drawn thin, he exhales across the line.]
[The gesture was unnecessary, of course. Whatever frustration finds him at the inclusion is...petty. Easily dismissed. Yet she sought out retribution for his sake all the same.
[That she can’t bar herself from feeling anger at it catches him somewhat off balance, though by now he holds more than enough experience in regards to her patterned predispositions that it barely lasts for more than a single, fleeting second.]
I mean only to spare you any vexation on my behalf. I have suffered worse.
[And then, in a rare show of wryness, not like to be seen again for some time:]
After the wedding, I sincerely doubt my name bears any resemblance to gold.
Getting treated like shite doesn't make being treated like garbage feel better.
[Speaking from experience.]
[She catches the humor with something like a gasp, and is very glad he can't see her slight blush. This is fucking ridiculous. She's fucked dukes in the woods. He's just a man.]
[But that is why he is unique.]
[Still, she can summon up a laugh, and it is true, and she is grateful for it.]
Sorry, luv, but you can't take me name. Don't have one.
I have been told challenges in this world occasionally afford an opportunity for usurpation. [Dangerous waters, perhaps, given their sworn promises to one another never to venture into that territory— but there remains only lenience in his voice now. Only trust.]
By that right, I would need no name, only your reputation.
[Dangerous waters, high risk, high reward. Reward if, well, you want to hear Jone laugh about killing her father.] Helluva plan you have there, mate. Off me with a fleshing knife.
[His attention shifts at that: he can detect something in her voice, bitterness or acidity or— pain, perhaps. It isn't his place to dig, so instead he abstains.
With a noted, new memory.]
I would end you far more kindly, if it came to that.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Has something happened?
[Does she need his aid?]
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Important part is, now there's a betting pool on who she'll fuck next. Which I know'll leave you cross, but... she's kind of famous. Wrote a lot of dirty poetry back in the day.
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So instead, his lips drawn thin, he exhales across the line.]
Why do you speak of this to me.
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[Is that how she would describe it? It's how she feels.]
They'd dragged your name into it. I put a lot of money on you, knowing you'd never do it, so the odds are fucked. Nobody'll win.
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[The gesture was unnecessary, of course. Whatever frustration finds him at the inclusion is...petty. Easily dismissed. Yet she sought out retribution for his sake all the same.
No small gesture.]
Yet those are funds you’ll not see again.
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[This is his way of offering comfort, however pallid.]
Let them play their games, waste their money. It matters little. We feel nothing of it.
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[Because she knows it's important to him. She isn't sure how she knows, but that spike of anger-- she knows. It must be true.]
I felt something. I'm not like you. Me trying's fucking pointless.
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I mean only to spare you any vexation on my behalf. I have suffered worse.
[And then, in a rare show of wryness, not like to be seen again for some time:]
After the wedding, I sincerely doubt my name bears any resemblance to gold.
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[Speaking from experience.]
[She catches the humor with something like a gasp, and is very glad he can't see her slight blush. This is fucking ridiculous. She's fucked dukes in the woods. He's just a man.]
[But that is why he is unique.]
[Still, she can summon up a laugh, and it is true, and she is grateful for it.]
Sorry, luv, but you can't take me name. Don't have one.
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By that right, I would need no name, only your reputation.
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[There's Some New Information.]
You can have me reputation for free. Dowry gift.
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With a noted, new memory.]
I would end you far more kindly, if it came to that.
[Is this romantic?]
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Likely top meself off afterward. You can make a proper ballad out of that. There's reputation for you.
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Or until the shards claim us all.
[Whichever comes first.]