[ Him bringing Lynette up was once daggers, sharp and aimed right at crucial spots to weaken him. To his heart, undoubtedly. However, here... it was lighter. A shift in dynamics even a blind person could see. Lyney glares still, as if ready to scold and ruin the evening they had together. It'd be a shame, wouldn't it?
Walking around the coffee table, he takes a seat on it, right in front of Wriothesley. His legs cross, hand propping his chin up. A serpentine smile, sly with a soft laugh under his breath. ]
I can also start offering you joke lessons. My rates are reasonable and the crowd has always been a fan of when I set some comedic timing during shows. A private lesson, just the two of us~! Highly coveted and successful.
[ It's a roundabout way of telling Wriothesley his joke sucked. ]
Edited (rewording bc i got distracted) 2024-01-26 08:18 (UTC)
[ He's fairly sure that's a coffee table, not a chair, and yet Lyney is perched on it comfortable as anything. Wriothesley lifts a brow. No joke lessons needed: he's already letting him get away with this in his own office.
Maybe it's because it's such a departure from what his prior mentions of Lynette would usually bring. Before, Lyney wouldn't bother getting smart with him--he'd withdraw, threaten, show his fangs. Now, he's...something, certainly, legs crossed and chin against his hand, but it's not mad. He's made progress with that temper of his. ]
Tempting, but my crowds are better pleased by hard work and three square meals a day.
[ It was a privilege no other inmate would have. Lyney has truly done nothing to earn it. He didn’t do something outrageous or beneficial to the Duke’s domain… all he’s done is smile. Laugh. Act like they were damn friends.
Or whatever else was better than the boy attempting to take him out for a transgression. ]
What about your nurse? Surely she would find it oh-so astonishing to have her dear Duke give a few jokes. Quite a thought — unusual, even. Like a dog walking on its hind legs.
[ A joke is letting her put a bandage on his face from that fight the other day. Seriously, it was a bruise. Maybe it gives her the same satisfaction as putting stickers on everything.
...He resolves not to tell Lyney about the stickers. Chances are he'll find out at some point, but no sense in giving him ammunition any earlier than he has to. ]
I'd tell you to get to bed already, but at this rate I'm not sure if your head will fit out the door. [ Long-suffering sigh. ] What's the hold up? Waiting for me to carry you there?
[ Sigewinne still speaks to Wriothesley like a superior, but there's leeway there too. A softness, but Lyney doesn't necessarily go the pessimistic route to a weakness. He has bad blood with the nurse, surely – he never forgets when someone 'outdoes' him, but... she is crucial here. A wheel that needs to keep spinning to keep this place functioning. Safe. Maybe one day he'll bug her for some information on the Duke, just to keep their little back and forth going. Always full of surprises. ]
Fine, fiiine. I know when my company isn't wanted. Suffering from success, what a pity. [ Lyney's fingers on his chin hide how tight he grits his teeth. The suggestion of carrying him to bed encourages a thought – the same one he had not long ago in that bed. Scarred hands against his frame, the difference in their size intimidating and alluring all the same... Lyney is a fan of petite girls like Lynette, but men? He's not sure.
Lyney shakes his head, standing up to where their knees barely brush together – just a second. A breathless huff, swallowed down with a laugh. ]
You really should learn how to treat a winner, though. Good to know how things run down here. Being carried would be fitting, but... I'll help you save face, Your Grace.
[ He turns, the heat in his face obvious and the pulse in his neck quickening. Why is he flushed? He kneels down a ways away, grabbing his boots and beginning to slip them on again. Frustrations bubble between them, but – that's all they are. ]
Let me know when you want a rematch. I aim to please.
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Walking around the coffee table, he takes a seat on it, right in front of Wriothesley. His legs cross, hand propping his chin up. A serpentine smile, sly with a soft laugh under his breath. ]
I can also start offering you joke lessons. My rates are reasonable and the crowd has always been a fan of when I set some comedic timing during shows. A private lesson, just the two of us~! Highly coveted and successful.
[ It's a roundabout way of telling Wriothesley his joke sucked. ]
no subject
Maybe it's because it's such a departure from what his prior mentions of Lynette would usually bring. Before, Lyney wouldn't bother getting smart with him--he'd withdraw, threaten, show his fangs. Now, he's...something, certainly, legs crossed and chin against his hand, but it's not mad. He's made progress with that temper of his. ]
Tempting, but my crowds are better pleased by hard work and three square meals a day.
no subject
Or whatever else was better than the boy attempting to take him out for a transgression. ]
What about your nurse? Surely she would find it oh-so astonishing to have her dear Duke give a few jokes. Quite a thought — unusual, even. Like a dog walking on its hind legs.
no subject
...He resolves not to tell Lyney about the stickers. Chances are he'll find out at some point, but no sense in giving him ammunition any earlier than he has to. ]
I'd tell you to get to bed already, but at this rate I'm not sure if your head will fit out the door. [ Long-suffering sigh. ] What's the hold up? Waiting for me to carry you there?
no subject
Fine, fiiine. I know when my company isn't wanted. Suffering from success, what a pity. [ Lyney's fingers on his chin hide how tight he grits his teeth. The suggestion of carrying him to bed encourages a thought – the same one he had not long ago in that bed. Scarred hands against his frame, the difference in their size intimidating and alluring all the same... Lyney is a fan of petite girls like Lynette, but men? He's not sure.
Lyney shakes his head, standing up to where their knees barely brush together – just a second. A breathless huff, swallowed down with a laugh. ]
You really should learn how to treat a winner, though. Good to know how things run down here. Being carried would be fitting, but... I'll help you save face, Your Grace.
[ He turns, the heat in his face obvious and the pulse in his neck quickening. Why is he flushed? He kneels down a ways away, grabbing his boots and beginning to slip them on again. Frustrations bubble between them, but – that's all they are. ]
Let me know when you want a rematch. I aim to please.