"Because." Here, the briefest pause so she may untangle her comb and for no other reason.
"It was a clever ploy to resolve your quandary and remind you to be entirely unsentimental. I knew you would object to being obligated to do or say anything, and for me having been dishonest, and it seemed the most expedient way to rankle you. You're very welcome."
Across the little room, the big scarred Mabari sighs and shifts his block head from resting on one beefy paw to the other. Wysteria shoots Ruadh a hot a look. No commentary from you, sir.
"Is that so?" Maybe a bit more loudly than necessary, and certainly very archly. Val drags his thumb back, recalling Veronique to the confines of the house. A hole has been blasted through the wall. Let it stay there. Let the rain come, and the winds, and the seabirds and the rats and the insects and the thieves. Let plants grow upon the floor. Let rot set in. Why not!
With more control (and yet still slightly clipped), he continues. "Then let me say: how very clever, ma poule. I admire your ability to see so clearly and plainly what must be said and done to get the desired result. And how greatly do I appreciate the reminder toward unsentimentality. Imagine, if I had said aloud that I had in fact missed you while I was in Val Royeaux--that I left early because I was so dissatisfied, that I had thought to come to Orzammar myself and came instead to Kirkwall, only to remain dissatisfied--that I am dissatisfied to this day, this very hour and moment--that this feeling is unsettlingly unique--that your company has become somehow, impossibly, something that I could not say that I enjoy but that I at least look forward to, upon occasion--imagine, if I had said all of that. I could never return from that shore of sentimentality. Thank you, thank you, for the reminder."
The ribbon tied about the books had been very blue, and in not so different a shade from the coat he'd worn to that silly pretend wedding that had gone so fortunately terribly that no one at all since had questioned its veracity. The coat hadn't mattered. He'd simply asked her favorite color and had worn it as an admirable commitment to their shared little subterfuge—a different and more secret sort of partnership, and certainly not one predicated on any kind of regard save perhaps for the kind which sensibly recognizes opportunity and cleverness both.
(Yes indeed, she is very clever).
But receiving the letter and the books and the absurdity of the runner sent so far—she'd been outraged to receive the poor man. Good gods, you are a man of singular dedication, sir! What a beast he is, to have sent you all this way! And then having to explain to sweet Caprin the apprentice who had sent the parcel; never have the words My husband been so venomously regurgitated!
Yet there on her little desk, draped like a question mark among the papers and books and drawings, is preserved the little blue ribbon. And here, sitting cross legged in the bed, Wysteria furiously bites the end of her comb to keep from squawking in reply to imagine if I said all of that.
Nevermind that she is quite prompt to respond after, all very knowing and cool as she contemplates pummeling the pillow at the head of the bed.
"Again, you're very welcome. Indeed, it's a very good thing we agree on this point. Because if you had made the error of saying any of those things, I might have compelled to say something along the lines of 'If that's how you feel, then you should simply bring your next letter in person and join me in Orzammar.' Yes, such an arrangement might technically be of benefit to the both of us. After all, I'm very busy and taking the time to seek out your vases and various little articles that would seem to suit only takes away from my time in the smithy. And then you would be convenient to hand to judge said pieces for yourself without anyone's questionable judgement serving as your interpreter.
But I clearly can't say that," is most firm. "As we have agreed this very evening on the important of preserving a particular equilibrium of disregard. Also"—also!—"because if you look forward to my company upon occasion, then I would judge that I look forward to yours slightly less than that."
So. How fortunate that no one has said anything at all!
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."
Her various noises of protest—her circle is not polluted; she will scoff whenever she pleases, and he shouldn't tell her otherwise—do very little to functionally interrupt this entirely hypothetical musing. Surely this is in part due to them being slightly muffled behind where the comb has been set, which is not between her teeth but rather against her mouth as if to discourage her from opening it and saying anything very foolish.
It's only here, cued by the brisk reorientation toward reality, that she sniffs primly and returns the comb to the task of doing battle with the previously discovered snarl.
"You should. After all, I recall you claiming to be very busy, and now we have spent all this time discussing something that I believe we both agree is obviously the very least of either of our concerns. To say nothing of the fact that I have a very early morning, and all this time you've been keeping me from going to sleep. Indeed under ordinary, I would ask you whether you'd had a chance to look at my drawings or how Bronagh is getting along with things. But given all of this, I'm afraid I'll have to insist you address them in your written reply, or else at some more convenient hour by crystal."
"Convenient? How am I to know what hour is convenient to you? It is not as if I have some method of observing your activities while you are so far away--or, even if you were close by, perhaps in Kirkwall, an interest in doing so--though upon reflection it is much more convenient, to me, at least, when we find ourselves situated in the same city, so that I can prevail upon you frequently, and know at a glance if you are inconveniently occupied--"
Val takes the wine glass that has been serving as his inkwell, and finishes its contents. It is some hours, or perhaps days, old, and the sediment that has gathered at the bottom is peppered with house dust. He makes a little face, but gives no other complaint. Déranger moves in to lick the inside of the glass, and Val tips it toward her obligingly.
"Bronagh is getting along adequately. Once we had dinner together. She does not make good conversation, at all, but I am not terribly surprised by this. Déranger trusts her, Veronique does not--which I am, similarly, not terribly surprised by--oh, but I have already started to speak of this in my correspondence. I will save my thoughts upon this topic, and those upon your drawing--it would be better to have them written down, then we might conveniently speak of them--I might ordinarily feel the smallest amount of pity for Vanderak, but it will be a good test, as I said before, to see if a dull person can be coaxed into being an interesting person, and made to contribute toward a worthwhile conversation. Yes, good night, mademoiselle. I hope your very early morning is productive and that our conversation does not distract you too much from sleep--though I find sleeping to be rather overrated, myself."
"I assure you, I will be perfectly capable of going directly to sleep once this conversation has finished." There is nothing at all in it which will keep her awake for an hour or two long after she has turned down the lamp's light and made herself as comfortable as she's able, in turns both very furious with herself and very pleased.
"In fact, I've become terribly tired as we've spoken and so am even going to refuse the impulse to tell you of all the beneficial things which proper sleep provides, particularly with respect to your eyesight." It was a perfectly legible representing symbol for a U. "I look forward to receiving your next letter, Monsieur. Good luck with it and your other bits of correspondence. Good night."
Having set aside the comb, she takes up the crystal so as to neatly sever the line to him. There. Done. And indeed her hair is all combed and ready to be stuffed into her felt sleeping cap, and she has only a few little things left to attend like cleaning her teeth and washing her face and reading the next three chapters of Chapdelaine before closing her eyes and going most directly to sleep. But first—
"He truly is entirely unbearable," she assures the mabari by the fire. Ruadh, evidently only half dozing, sniffs in apparent dismissal.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"It was a clever ploy to resolve your quandary and remind you to be entirely unsentimental. I knew you would object to being obligated to do or say anything, and for me having been dishonest, and it seemed the most expedient way to rankle you. You're very welcome."
Across the little room, the big scarred Mabari sighs and shifts his block head from resting on one beefy paw to the other. Wysteria shoots Ruadh a hot a look. No commentary from you, sir.
no subject
With more control (and yet still slightly clipped), he continues. "Then let me say: how very clever, ma poule. I admire your ability to see so clearly and plainly what must be said and done to get the desired result. And how greatly do I appreciate the reminder toward unsentimentality. Imagine, if I had said aloud that I had in fact missed you while I was in Val Royeaux--that I left early because I was so dissatisfied, that I had thought to come to Orzammar myself and came instead to Kirkwall, only to remain dissatisfied--that I am dissatisfied to this day, this very hour and moment--that this feeling is unsettlingly unique--that your company has become somehow, impossibly, something that I could not say that I enjoy but that I at least look forward to, upon occasion--imagine, if I had said all of that. I could never return from that shore of sentimentality. Thank you, thank you, for the reminder."
no subject
(Yes indeed, she is very clever).
But receiving the letter and the books and the absurdity of the runner sent so far—she'd been outraged to receive the poor man. Good gods, you are a man of singular dedication, sir! What a beast he is, to have sent you all this way! And then having to explain to sweet Caprin the apprentice who had sent the parcel; never have the words My husband been so venomously regurgitated!
Yet there on her little desk, draped like a question mark among the papers and books and drawings, is preserved the little blue ribbon. And here, sitting cross legged in the bed, Wysteria furiously bites the end of her comb to keep from squawking in reply to imagine if I said all of that.
Nevermind that she is quite prompt to respond after, all very knowing and cool as she contemplates pummeling the pillow at the head of the bed.
"Again, you're very welcome. Indeed, it's a very good thing we agree on this point. Because if you had made the error of saying any of those things, I might have compelled to say something along the lines of 'If that's how you feel, then you should simply bring your next letter in person and join me in Orzammar.' Yes, such an arrangement might technically be of benefit to the both of us. After all, I'm very busy and taking the time to seek out your vases and various little articles that would seem to suit only takes away from my time in the smithy. And then you would be convenient to hand to judge said pieces for yourself without anyone's questionable judgement serving as your interpreter.
But I clearly can't say that," is most firm. "As we have agreed this very evening on the important of preserving a particular equilibrium of disregard. Also"—also!—"because if you look forward to my company upon occasion, then I would judge that I look forward to yours slightly less than that."
So. How fortunate that no one has said anything at all!
no subject
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."
no subject
It's only here, cued by the brisk reorientation toward reality, that she sniffs primly and returns the comb to the task of doing battle with the previously discovered snarl.
"You should. After all, I recall you claiming to be very busy, and now we have spent all this time discussing something that I believe we both agree is obviously the very least of either of our concerns. To say nothing of the fact that I have a very early morning, and all this time you've been keeping me from going to sleep. Indeed under ordinary, I would ask you whether you'd had a chance to look at my drawings or how Bronagh is getting along with things. But given all of this, I'm afraid I'll have to insist you address them in your written reply, or else at some more convenient hour by crystal."
no subject
Val takes the wine glass that has been serving as his inkwell, and finishes its contents. It is some hours, or perhaps days, old, and the sediment that has gathered at the bottom is peppered with house dust. He makes a little face, but gives no other complaint. Déranger moves in to lick the inside of the glass, and Val tips it toward her obligingly.
"Bronagh is getting along adequately. Once we had dinner together. She does not make good conversation, at all, but I am not terribly surprised by this. Déranger trusts her, Veronique does not--which I am, similarly, not terribly surprised by--oh, but I have already started to speak of this in my correspondence. I will save my thoughts upon this topic, and those upon your drawing--it would be better to have them written down, then we might conveniently speak of them--I might ordinarily feel the smallest amount of pity for Vanderak, but it will be a good test, as I said before, to see if a dull person can be coaxed into being an interesting person, and made to contribute toward a worthwhile conversation. Yes, good night, mademoiselle. I hope your very early morning is productive and that our conversation does not distract you too much from sleep--though I find sleeping to be rather overrated, myself."
no subject
"In fact, I've become terribly tired as we've spoken and so am even going to refuse the impulse to tell you of all the beneficial things which proper sleep provides, particularly with respect to your eyesight." It was a perfectly legible representing symbol for a U. "I look forward to receiving your next letter, Monsieur. Good luck with it and your other bits of correspondence. Good night."
Having set aside the comb, she takes up the crystal so as to neatly sever the line to him. There. Done. And indeed her hair is all combed and ready to be stuffed into her felt sleeping cap, and she has only a few little things left to attend like cleaning her teeth and washing her face and reading the next three chapters of Chapdelaine before closing her eyes and going most directly to sleep. But first—
"He truly is entirely unbearable," she assures the mabari by the fire. Ruadh, evidently only half dozing, sniffs in apparent dismissal.