crystal.

[byblow]

FORM: Crystal
SENDER: Alistair
RECIPIENT: Everyone around the Gallows
WHAT: A survey
WHEN: Nowish
NOTES: This is only partly my fault

[ Let it be said that Alistair has backed down from all manner of challenges and dares and weird games of chicken, if they were stupid and he wasn't in the mood, but also let it be said that he hasn't backed down from this specific one. ]

I know we're all very busy preventing the world from ending, but if I could have a moment of your time for some important questions—

First, I need to know what sorts of things you consider good-looking, in a man, generally speaking. It doesn't matter if you're attracted to men or not, before anyone feels the need to explain their love lives to me. I only need to know what sort of man-faces you think are pleasant.

And then I need to know if you think Byerly Rutyer is good looking enough to make up for not being a nice man.

And he'd also like to know how much money each of you have. I think that's important for you to know before you answer the nice man part.

Comments

[shri]

That might be a stretch to call it. But I will give merit to the attempt, certainly.

[bouchonne]

I'd like to see you do better.

[shri]

For obvious reasons, that particular skill is beyond me.

However my hair does reach to the middle of my thigh. So I think I would do quite well should I be in your place.

[bouchonne]

Oh, I doubt it. I think it'd be wispy and pathetic.

[shri]

Jealous I have more hair on my head than you can manage in your jaw? It hardly becomes you.

[bouchonne]

Of course you have more hair on you heard. I have more hair on my head.

[shri]

Yes, but you do not have as much hair as I do.

[bouchonne]

It's a little thin on the top.

[shri]

[ If she wasn't actually an immortal kept in peak hotne- health, this might actually bother her. A lot more than her humility might even allow. There is a time and a place for her to be losing all her hair. It will be when the war is over when she can finally do as a widow should.

But thankfully, immortal she is. So, cheerfully: ]

No. It isn't.

[bouchonne]

Yes, it is. That's the problem with advanced age. You start to thin.

[shri]

[ don't laugh, Lakshmi, don't laugh. She smothers it instead with a cough, then clears her throat and carries on. ]

Oh yes. It is, certainly. You might want to be careful of it, when it comes your turn. You are not as well blessed as I am.

[bouchonne]

Don't be absurd. My great-grandfather Pierre still had a full head of hair when he was hacked to death by the Orlesians. Thick. Wavy.

[shri]

And your mother?

[bouchonne]

[ Ah - ]

What of my mother.

[shri]

What was her hair like?

[bouchonne]

Not bald.

[shri]

Ah. Such high hopes that sets.

[bouchonne]

Why would her hair matter?

[shri]

[ ?? Byerly, what on earth ??? ]

Because you are her son, you are as much likely to have her hair as your father's line.

[bouchonne]

Well, perhaps she's gone completely bald by now. I can only hope so. I'd gladly suffer the indignity of a bare skull for the amusement of that.

[shri]

[ There is a noise that can only be called disapproval. ] Rutyer. Do not speak of your mother in such a way.

[bouchonne]

Oh, is she a friend of yours?

[shri]

[ MMMHM. ] A mother, any mother, is deserving of respect - she did birth you, for all the pain that would have caused her.

[bouchonne]

That is - and I say this with all trembling awe and admiration - utter horseshit.

[shri]

Rutyer. [ GRUMBLES. ]