the fool you need

"Hm?" Unhurriedly, glinting red eyes perused the space. Immaculate as always, no matter the tedium his lover must grapple with on the daily. Paperwork was stacked neatly on the desktop, respective to a system Bastien didn't bother trying to discern, and even the most neglected of the encyclopedias, weapon catalogs, and geopolitical mumbo jumbo lining the back shelves were without a speck of dust upon their worn leather bindings. "Typical," a lazy roll of those eyes, like a ship's hull overpowered by low, persisting waves, accompanied the affectionate scoff.

There was no order like this on the road. It was disorderly taverns and bouncing between inns, depositing personal items where they would be most accessible when you were heading out the door the next morning. Even the bases established in the north, old Jacobian forts overtaken after Saora's fracture, favored action to organization. Bastien liked the Wildsmen, as he'd grown to call them; act first, think later was a motto he often employed when he could, now that he need not practice caution at every turn.

He could thank Nicharion for that, if the man were in his office. It had become rather difficult for them to carve out time for one another since his promotion to Colonel, so that was a fair to assume this would be the best place to find him. Perhaps he shouldn't have made the detour to the Drunken Seagull earlier.... but it would have been harder to pull his lover away in the middle of the workday. Overall, Bastien didn't mind the separation—it made the moments they could share oh so much sweeter—but he couldn't deny that it did make him chafe to think about what—or who—might be occupying his lover during his lengthy absences. More pressingly, who might be occupying him now, and pilfering the time better spent together. He tried to avoid following his thoughts when they trailed in that direction lest possession make his blood run fifty degrees hotter, but it wasn't so easy when all he craved was the only touch in the country that could set his nerves ablaze.

Casting his eyes around the office once more, as if to reel his focus back in with an action, he spied the end of a scaled tail curling from behind the desk. In an impressive display of self-preservation, Bastien batted at it with a paw, quick enough in the recoil to avoid a vicious bite. The glare his foolery earned him reminded the black-and-white brute of Fish, who had elected to waddle his way elsewhere to find some grubs. Bastien presumed he was actually afraid of the adder. "Where, oh where, did he go then, snakey boy?" Only the flick of a tongue came in response. His own tongue mimicked the gesture, reminiscent of a toddler's petulant reaction to admonishment. "Fine. Keep your secrets. Just let him know I stopped by, eh?"

His scent would be enough indication, he was sure, but Bastien stuck one of the few remaining feathers wound into his fur between the adder's coils, deftly so as to not risk a second strike. For good measure, and because his antics at the Seagull still had him brimming with energy, he nosed a few pages from atop one of the stacks and watched them flutter to the floor.

Only then did he leave, setting off for their shared residence where his anticipation could at least be suffered in the comfort of his own home. Fish could find his way there separately... probably, though perhaps the snake would find and eat him first. The thought made him smile.

TABLE BY AMANDA