Here, upon the floor, there is a little carpet, very lightweight, the end of which one might seize upon and pull sharply so that whoever is standing upon it has their feet pulled out from under them and so that they would fall, hard, upon the floorboards. Ha-ha! A good joke. To think you are standing very firmly and securely one moment, and the next, to find that this was not so at all, to have the very ground whisked from beneath your feet, unsettling you and changing the direction of any conversation that you were having. And you, the fool, who thought you were so in control, now laying upon your back.
With Veronique (his thumb), Val circles the space that the little carpet occupies. Once, twice, a third time.
"Of course it would be slightly less than my upon occasion. When it comes to companions and acquaintances, you do not have the most discerning of tastes. Your circle is polluted. I have said it before, I no doubt will find reason to say it again. I suppose it would not be at all helpful to have someone else on hand to distract Vanderak the Dull. You know, saying that--"
Veronique flies away from the carpet and back out into the hallway, a smooth glissando of a flight.
"There are times where I do enjoy conversing with dull people. Before you scoff, I will say, do not, for it is true. It can be an interesting exercise. How long can they be dull for? Can they be coaxed to be interesting, at any point? Can you match their dullness, and if so, how long can you sustain it? One might say it would be a social experiment, of a sort. Indeed, if presented with the opportunity, I would keep a little record of it in one of my commonplace books and review my record, and see if I might improve upon it the next day. Of course even I--or perhaps particularly I--would grow bored of it before very long, but if it were a brief enough time, and if there were, perhaps, vases to distract myself with--and other things too, of course, there would be doubtless enough to take an interest in, while one is in Orzammar--"
Veronique flies down the stairs. There is nothing below: not another story, not a cellar, not a sub-cellar lovingly commissioned. Certainly there are those things in the real standing version of the little mansion, but in Val's floorplan, there is nothing at all. Empty air.
"Thinking of it," Val says, and lifts his thumb off of the floor, "I should finish my correspondence. I had started it, before this, but it remains unfinished."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2022-07-21 09:48 pm (UTC)Here, upon the floor, there is a little carpet, very lightweight, the end of which one might seize upon and pull sharply so that whoever is standing upon it has their feet pulled out from under them and so that they would fall, hard, upon the floorboards. Ha-ha! A good joke. To think you are standing very firmly and securely one moment, and the next, to find that this was not so at all, to have the very ground whisked from beneath your feet, unsettling you and changing the direction of any conversation that you were having. And you, the fool, who thought you were so in control, now laying upon your back.
With Veronique (his thumb), Val circles the space that the little carpet occupies. Once, twice, a third time.
"Of course it would be slightly less than my upon occasion. When it comes to companions and acquaintances, you do not have the most discerning of tastes. Your circle is polluted. I have said it before, I no doubt will find reason to say it again. I suppose it would not be at all helpful to have someone else on hand to distract Vanderak the Dull. You know, saying that--"
Veronique flies away from the carpet and back out into the hallway, a smooth glissando of a flight.
"There are times where I do enjoy conversing with dull people. Before you scoff, I will say, do not, for it is true. It can be an interesting exercise. How long can they be dull for? Can they be coaxed to be interesting, at any point? Can you match their dullness, and if so, how long can you sustain it? One might say it would be a social experiment, of a sort. Indeed, if presented with the opportunity, I would keep a little record of it in one of my commonplace books and review my record, and see if I might improve upon it the next day. Of course even I--or perhaps particularly I--would grow bored of it before very long, but if it were a brief enough time, and if there were, perhaps, vases to distract myself with--and other things too, of course, there would be doubtless enough to take an interest in, while one is in Orzammar--"
Veronique flies down the stairs. There is nothing below: not another story, not a cellar, not a sub-cellar lovingly commissioned. Certainly there are those things in the real standing version of the little mansion, but in Val's floorplan, there is nothing at all. Empty air.
"Thinking of it," Val says, and lifts his thumb off of the floor, "I should finish my correspondence. I had started it, before this, but it remains unfinished."