No, no no no no no no-- [Again, Val twitches the wild carrot, more forcefully, and still without looking up from what he is reading--] I am nearly finished, I will receive you in a moment, this is a crucial passage but so badly written it takes longer to read, and so inane that I can carry on at least half a conversation while still reading it, but not a conversation entire, which is a disservice to you--
[The fringe beneath the chair parts for Veronique's antennae. She has grown a little. Not enough to be truly terrifying, yet, especially when one has beheld her before. Her head is now the size of a small bucket, if small buckets glittered chitinously and had large compound eyes and glistening mandibles.
[ De Foncé is doubtless too far away to see the hair prickling at the scruff of Richard’s neck when Veronique reveals herself, and distracted with his book besides. Tension spasms stiff up the butt of his spine, and flinches through his jaw. There is something instinctively upsetting about the size and articulation of her armored segments under sober conditions.
Dick wobbles through an exhale by way of initial hallo, deeply unsure. ]
Hello Veronique, [ he tells her, with greater confidence (and courtesy) once he’s had a beat to consciously wring biochemical fear from the folds of his mammal brain. ]
You’re busy, [ he adds, aside to Val. ] I’ll leave the cart. [ Decisive, with a step back, and a hand at the door. ]
[Veronique makes another snkr, a wet kind of sound, as she scuttles out a little further. Val snaps his book shut nearly in the same moment.]
There!
[He throws the book away onto the table--it lands, skids across the scarred surface, and bumps up against a pitcher--and swings his legs over the chair. Without treading on Veronique (she makes yet another snkr, antennae waving in--? irritation?), he crosses the space to the door before Richard can back away, and holds the door open against his attempt to close it.]
I am not busy any longer. And if I was, I would gladly interrupt for this. Come, please! Bring the cart inside, and yourself, too. You have our attention. Come!
[ So caught on the threshold, with his hand still fixed on the door, Dick sizes Val de Foncé up at close range. He is sharper while sober, in the pierce of his eyes and the way he’s pressed stiff into his clothes, but also markedly less nasty. There’s no acidic prickle to the steady pressure he keeps on the door itself -- polite insistence that tapers into lighter resistance, and finally, a weary nod.
He steps wordlessly away to collect the cart.
But he doesn’t have to pretend to be thrilled about it. ]
As far as official records are concerned, half of this burned up in the abomination incident. [ He says so quietly, as he wheels it into Val’s chamber. FYI. ]
[Val steps grandly aside to allow entry to his friend and the cart. He even holds the door open, gentlemanly and accommodating, with a little bow.]
Oh, yes? But I can understand how. Such destruction. [Very sincerely, he presses a hand to his heart.] A pity, truly. You are very clever, I think.
[Veronique has emerged by now, clear of the chair's skirt. She is careful as she taps her way over, her antennae waving gently through the air, feeling out her path before her. Val gives her a smile as she comes closer.]
We are lucky to have you. Veronique has been making do with what we have, but your contribution is greatly appreciated. I can tell.
[ Dick looks upon the bow with suspicion, but here he is, paper and cart. He leans to throw the canvas back off the cache, and steps well back, expression little changed from its initial wary read. This place is a disaster.
And he is content to leave any animal handling to de Foncé. ]
She’s very welcome, [ he does say, closely followed by a heavier-handed, ] Now, monsieur de Foncé, if that is all...
[And Val kicks the door closed, and turns to face Richard with a brilliant smile.]
But of course now you can tell me the origin of the paper. Do not stand there, sit down! There is a chair--somewhere--
[He pushes away from the door, which, now closed, is clearly an immobile and impenetrable barrier. How thick it is, how well-made, with its heavy iron hinges and heavy iron ring to pull it open and closed. Not locked, but solid enough that a thief or escaping guest would have to work very hard to pull it open again.]
Here!
[Val sweeps a drop cloth aside with a certain flourish, unveiling a simple and sturdy wooden chair, stacked with books and paper. He grabs half in his arms and plunks them down onto the table. A great puff of dust goes up.]
There is a cushion still on this one, I think. Under the--paper-- [with effort and strain, as he gathers another armload.]
[ Krill shrimps detecting the pall of a whale’s baleen sweeping over them as black seawater pitches them back through the gullet must have the same look: appalled, in whiskery, arthropod-minded miniature. Richard watches the door shut in the same brand of sea-tossed silence, and looks more directly to Valentine.
I requisitioned it for another project, [ he says, and does not sit. Dimly, he registers the sweep of the sheet, the shuffle of papers he now looks upon with resignation.
There is so much paper in here already. ]
I lied.
[ To clarify. He catches a sneeze with his elbow, from which he recovers with a sniff, and a more critical glance up and down. ]
[Val laughs--not at the question, but at the impeccably comedic and surely purposeful timing of that confession. The chair's cushion has been uncovered, and he takes it over to the wall and starts to hit it against the stones. Great puffs of dust poof up from it.]
That is the only way to get paper out of tight-fisted supply cupboards and requisition departments, and a time-honored tradition besides. You were right to do it.
[Whmp whmp whmp, says the cushion. It is a dingy maroon, its color coming clearer now that the dust is off of it.
Veronique has completed her approach and is feeling gently at the air between herself and Richard. Her large eyes glimmer in the light quite fetchingly. Val, playing the less demure host, answers on their joint behalf as he returns to toss the cushion back upon the chair.]
I have a room, of course, for sleeping. It is, I am told, healthy to have that separation. But I have moved more and more of my things into this room, and have thought of relocating here entirely--and yet I think that I will resist the impulse. I would very much miss my friends if I did that. Of course I would have dear Veronique for company, but that is not entirely the same. She does not argue so very well.
It would be unconscionably dangerous, [ Richard supplies, helpfully, and with flat affect. That’s why he asked.
He still does not sit. But he does sink himself into a crouch -- the better to observe Veronique and her spined hairs and glittering eyes nearer to her level. ]
[--Says the man who is now using his thumbnail to scrape a crust of dirt off the label of a wine bottle so he can squint at it. Having assessed its suitability, Val goes to a spindly bookshelf and unearths some glasses. He spares a smile for Veronique over his shoulder.]
She does look well, doesn't she? Generally she takes some of whatever it is I am eating. Which means she is very well fed, for I hardly take my meals here of the common kitchens.
[The ant does not shy away from Richard as he crouches. Uncannily unafraid, she waves her antennae at him with a soft chitter. Either a word of agreement, or a cry for help.]
[ Dick peers speculatively across mandibles and faceted eyes, to the thorax, in cursory search of anything that even remotely resembles the start of a wing nubbin. And then on past that to the abdomen, for the pulse of a sting. ]
Has she shed her skin?
[ He stands, only to see that Val is now wielding a bottle of wine, and glasses to go with it. His eyes go from the glasses, to Val’s booty, to the stove, briefly distant while resignation sets hard in the bones of his face. ]
[Veronique chitters again, then abruptly turns and scurries back toward the sanctuary of the chair, giving Richard a good view of her booty.
And possibly: a flash of nubbins.]
I have not seen it shed yet. But I have not yet investigated beneath her chair in... [hmm] some days, I would say. A cup rolled beneath it and I had to fetch it out again.
[He hands the bottle of wine to Richard and pushes past him.]
She would be reclusive while the new skin hardened. We should investigate.
[ Today, he means -- no surprise for the bottle that’s passed into his hands as de Fonce brushes past. He is too preoccupied with the implications of nubbins to do anything but retrieve a small knife from the inside of his boot, which he works down into the cork with a firm twist. ]
If she’s shedding, we -- [ he self corrects: ] you can use the husks to track potentially significant changes in physiology.
[ Dick twists the bottle while he holds the blade, pausing only briefly and as an afterthought to peer at the label. Previously he’d gone out of his way to remark upon the vintage. ]
By ‘significant,’ I mean ‘worrisome.’ [ So they’re clear. ]
[The label is still dirty, despite Val's brief intervention, and depicts a tower with the name 'Haut-Brion' beneath it, all in a faded red ink. The script is delicate and curly.]
What would be worrisome? She will only become better with time.
[Val reaches up to the high windowsill and fumbles around for a moment, then comes up with a shallow dish. Triumphant, he carries it back.]
You do want her to become her best, yes? Why else would have brought her such fine paper to construct her nest with.
Well, [ he twists, adjusts the angle of the knife, and twists again, ] speaking purely hypothetically, were she to develop wings functional for flight, [ twist, ] and maneuver through one of your windows, [ twist, ] she could escape as far as the mainland, if the wind is right.
[ He places the knife aside, and works the cork out the rest of the way, thonk. A sniff at the butt of it, and he offers the bottle itself back to Val. ]
Snakes can lay fertilized eggs for years after breeding once.
But she would not do that! Not when she has made a home here.
[He accepts the bottle and pours out: wine in each glass--a fine deep red, thick and strong-smelling--and a little into the bowl as well. Veronique is served first: the bowl makes a quiet tock against the floor as he sets it down beside the chair, beneath which she has again disappeared. Without waiting to see if she will emerge, Val turns to take up his glass.]
And even if she did, she would turn around again, once she realized how horrible and backwater Kirkwall is. Really, there would be nothing for her there. Why linger? Also, have you seen a snake?
[ To his questionable credit, Richard listens, and listens intently. He waits until Val is done to take up the remaining glass, and drinks deeply once he has. Steeling himself, as if taking a shot -- not for the shot itself, but for the conversation encircled around it. ]
No. [ He has not seen a snake where Val is looking, hither and thither around his storeroom. ]
Is that what you really think? [ Genuine curiosity hooks at his brow; his regard is cool, and flinty sharp opposite his raised glass. ] If she’s capable of starting a hive I can’t think of a single compelling reason for her not to colonize Kirkwall.
[He gives a disappointed hm, but stops looking for the snake.]
I suppose I do not find Kirkwall to be a very comfortable place, with little to recommend it--for myself, of course, but no different for a creature such as her. And she would be the only one of her kind in an uncomfortable place, whereas here, she has whatever she needs, as best as we can provide it, and it is very comfortable besides.
[ Just two guys standing in a mad science dungeon and drinking wine with a giant ant. Val’s rebuttal is clearly more salient than Richard anticipated. He reflects on the clutter, and the paper, and the warmth, and the wine, and what they might mean to an alien brain.
It is true that all cold-blooded creatures aren’t necessarily part of a larger evil empire. ]
Expansion, [ he supposes, eventually, in the off chance that they are. ] Propagation.
Richard, [Val says, very familiarly, and fondly,] but there is no sunlight in Kirkwall! Not truly. What sunlight there is, it is very weak, like a baby. No, she would have to go a very, very, very, very, very, very--a thousand times over very--long way. Yes?
Still, you make an excellent point. As she grows, she will require larger and more suitable accommodations. Husbands. If she is showing such signs of maturity, we should plan now for the expedition.
[We. Obviously. He sips his wine as he turns on his heel to stride around to the other side of the worktable, and unearth a writing book.
Beside the chair, Veronique's bowl of wine remains untouched at present, and the little curtain beneath the chair remains still and unparted.]
Are you some manner of zoologist yourself, my friend? You are very knowledgeable.
[ Richard stands in idle isolation from Val’s striding and shuffling, still and upright as the stem of his glass. He watches de Foncé rather than drink, and looks late to Veronique’s dish, undisturbed as it is. Hm. ]
There is more sunlight in Kirkwall than there is in this storeroom. [ For a start. ]
Regarding an expedition, I’ve seen enough of your jungle for this lifetime. [ Now he drinks. Val might have been too preoccupied with braiding harnesses for flying opossums to clock Dick flagging at the back of the pack towards the end of that operation. ] Consider my curiosity sated.
Do not be ridiculous! You will have to come along. I will insist upon it, even if I have to, ah, I don't know--
[He flips open the writing book with one hand and slaps it onto the table, then begins to dig through the table detritus to find something to write with. His other hand still holds his glass and he gestures expansively with it. The wine sloshes cheerfully against the sides of the glass.]
'Kidnap' is not the appropriate word. I cannot think of what it would be in Trade. And we will have a marvelous time besides. You must see all of Thedas while you are here, do you not agree?
[ A note of despondency woven through and sealed with a put-upon look makes it an earnest request. Please, Monsieur de Foncé. He is on vacation. ]
It’s clear that your people lack the magical prowess needed to mount remote rescues.
[ Pricklier distaste finds its way in, at the bottom of his glass. Par for the course in this 3rd world demonic magic dumpster plane -- he helps himself to a second round, with a glance to warn against interference. ]
[Having found the sought-after pencil, Val absently looks up from his writing. He ponders the question.]
I would not say 'normal'. She has a fastidiousness to her nature, far moreso than I. But she cannot be objecting to the vintage, it is very fine. Of my dear friend the Baroness' vineyard, all the way from Orlais. It is very fine, isn't it? If you are worried, you might peek into her lair.
[This is delivered nearly all in one breath, as is his custom. A slight pause here marks the true shift of gears.]
And what does that mean? 'The magical prowess needed to mount remote rescues'. What is it that we are missing?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[The fringe beneath the chair parts for Veronique's antennae. She has grown a little. Not enough to be truly terrifying, yet, especially when one has beheld her before. Her head is now the size of a small bucket, if small buckets glittered chitinously and had large compound eyes and glistening mandibles.
She makes a skrrk noise. Maybe a greeting.]
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Dick wobbles through an exhale by way of initial hallo, deeply unsure. ]
Hello Veronique, [ he tells her, with greater confidence (and courtesy) once he’s had a beat to consciously wring biochemical fear from the folds of his mammal brain. ]
You’re busy, [ he adds, aside to Val. ] I’ll leave the cart. [ Decisive, with a step back, and a hand at the door. ]
no subject
There!
[He throws the book away onto the table--it lands, skids across the scarred surface, and bumps up against a pitcher--and swings his legs over the chair. Without treading on Veronique (she makes yet another snkr, antennae waving in--? irritation?), he crosses the space to the door before Richard can back away, and holds the door open against his attempt to close it.]
I am not busy any longer. And if I was, I would gladly interrupt for this. Come, please! Bring the cart inside, and yourself, too. You have our attention. Come!
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He steps wordlessly away to collect the cart.
But he doesn’t have to pretend to be thrilled about it. ]
As far as official records are concerned, half of this burned up in the abomination incident. [ He says so quietly, as he wheels it into Val’s chamber. FYI. ]
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Oh, yes? But I can understand how. Such destruction. [Very sincerely, he presses a hand to his heart.] A pity, truly. You are very clever, I think.
[Veronique has emerged by now, clear of the chair's skirt. She is careful as she taps her way over, her antennae waving gently through the air, feeling out her path before her. Val gives her a smile as she comes closer.]
We are lucky to have you. Veronique has been making do with what we have, but your contribution is greatly appreciated. I can tell.
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And he is content to leave any animal handling to de Foncé. ]
She’s very welcome, [ he does say, closely followed by a heavier-handed, ] Now, monsieur de Foncé, if that is all...
[ He is still trying to leave. ]
no subject
But of course now you can tell me the origin of the paper. Do not stand there, sit down! There is a chair--somewhere--
[He pushes away from the door, which, now closed, is clearly an immobile and impenetrable barrier. How thick it is, how well-made, with its heavy iron hinges and heavy iron ring to pull it open and closed. Not locked, but solid enough that a thief or escaping guest would have to work very hard to pull it open again.]
Here!
[Val sweeps a drop cloth aside with a certain flourish, unveiling a simple and sturdy wooden chair, stacked with books and paper. He grabs half in his arms and plunks them down onto the table. A great puff of dust goes up.]
There is a cushion still on this one, I think. Under the--paper-- [with effort and strain, as he gathers another armload.]
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I requisitioned it for another project, [ he says, and does not sit. Dimly, he registers the sweep of the sheet, the shuffle of papers he now looks upon with resignation.
There is so much paper in here already. ]
I lied.
[ To clarify. He catches a sneeze with his elbow, from which he recovers with a sniff, and a more critical glance up and down. ]
Is this where you sleep?
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That is the only way to get paper out of tight-fisted supply cupboards and requisition departments, and a time-honored tradition besides. You were right to do it.
[Whmp whmp whmp, says the cushion. It is a dingy maroon, its color coming clearer now that the dust is off of it.
Veronique has completed her approach and is feeling gently at the air between herself and Richard. Her large eyes glimmer in the light quite fetchingly. Val, playing the less demure host, answers on their joint behalf as he returns to toss the cushion back upon the chair.]
I have a room, of course, for sleeping. It is, I am told, healthy to have that separation. But I have moved more and more of my things into this room, and have thought of relocating here entirely--and yet I think that I will resist the impulse. I would very much miss my friends if I did that. Of course I would have dear Veronique for company, but that is not entirely the same. She does not argue so very well.
And of course, there is no bed.
no subject
He still does not sit. But he does sink himself into a crouch -- the better to observe Veronique and her spined hairs and glittering eyes nearer to her level. ]
May I ask what you’re feeding her?
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[--Says the man who is now using his thumbnail to scrape a crust of dirt off the label of a wine bottle so he can squint at it. Having assessed its suitability, Val goes to a spindly bookshelf and unearths some glasses. He spares a smile for Veronique over his shoulder.]
She does look well, doesn't she? Generally she takes some of whatever it is I am eating. Which means she is very well fed, for I hardly take my meals here of the common kitchens.
[The ant does not shy away from Richard as he crouches. Uncannily unafraid, she waves her antennae at him with a soft chitter. Either a word of agreement, or a cry for help.]
no subject
[ Dick peers speculatively across mandibles and faceted eyes, to the thorax, in cursory search of anything that even remotely resembles the start of a wing nubbin. And then on past that to the abdomen, for the pulse of a sting. ]
Has she shed her skin?
[ He stands, only to see that Val is now wielding a bottle of wine, and glasses to go with it. His eyes go from the glasses, to Val’s booty, to the stove, briefly distant while resignation sets hard in the bones of his face. ]
no subject
And possibly: a flash of nubbins.]
I have not seen it shed yet. But I have not yet investigated beneath her chair in... [hmm] some days, I would say. A cup rolled beneath it and I had to fetch it out again.
[He hands the bottle of wine to Richard and pushes past him.]
Open this as I fetch the bowl.
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[ Today, he means -- no surprise for the bottle that’s passed into his hands as de Fonce brushes past. He is too preoccupied with the implications of nubbins to do anything but retrieve a small knife from the inside of his boot, which he works down into the cork with a firm twist. ]
If she’s shedding, we -- [ he self corrects: ] you can use the husks to track potentially significant changes in physiology.
[ Dick twists the bottle while he holds the blade, pausing only briefly and as an afterthought to peer at the label. Previously he’d gone out of his way to remark upon the vintage. ]
By ‘significant,’ I mean ‘worrisome.’ [ So they’re clear. ]
no subject
What would be worrisome? She will only become better with time.
[Val reaches up to the high windowsill and fumbles around for a moment, then comes up with a shallow dish. Triumphant, he carries it back.]
You do want her to become her best, yes? Why else would have brought her such fine paper to construct her nest with.
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[ He places the knife aside, and works the cork out the rest of the way, thonk. A sniff at the butt of it, and he offers the bottle itself back to Val. ]
Snakes can lay fertilized eggs for years after breeding once.
no subject
[He accepts the bottle and pours out: wine in each glass--a fine deep red, thick and strong-smelling--and a little into the bowl as well. Veronique is served first: the bowl makes a quiet tock against the floor as he sets it down beside the chair, beneath which she has again disappeared. Without waiting to see if she will emerge, Val turns to take up his glass.]
And even if she did, she would turn around again, once she realized how horrible and backwater Kirkwall is. Really, there would be nothing for her there. Why linger? Also, have you seen a snake?
[He looks around, interested.]
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No. [ He has not seen a snake where Val is looking, hither and thither around his storeroom. ]
Is that what you really think? [ Genuine curiosity hooks at his brow; his regard is cool, and flinty sharp opposite his raised glass. ] If she’s capable of starting a hive I can’t think of a single compelling reason for her not to colonize Kirkwall.
no subject
I suppose I do not find Kirkwall to be a very comfortable place, with little to recommend it--for myself, of course, but no different for a creature such as her. And she would be the only one of her kind in an uncomfortable place, whereas here, she has whatever she needs, as best as we can provide it, and it is very comfortable besides.
Why would she seek to quarter elsewhere?
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It is true that all cold-blooded creatures aren’t necessarily part of a larger evil empire. ]
Expansion, [ he supposes, eventually, in the off chance that they are. ] Propagation.
Sunlight, live prey. A mate.
no subject
Still, you make an excellent point. As she grows, she will require larger and more suitable accommodations. Husbands. If she is showing such signs of maturity, we should plan now for the expedition.
[We. Obviously. He sips his wine as he turns on his heel to stride around to the other side of the worktable, and unearth a writing book.
Beside the chair, Veronique's bowl of wine remains untouched at present, and the little curtain beneath the chair remains still and unparted.]
Are you some manner of zoologist yourself, my friend? You are very knowledgeable.
no subject
[ Richard stands in idle isolation from Val’s striding and shuffling, still and upright as the stem of his glass. He watches de Foncé rather than drink, and looks late to Veronique’s dish, undisturbed as it is. Hm. ]
There is more sunlight in Kirkwall than there is in this storeroom. [ For a start. ]
Regarding an expedition, I’ve seen enough of your jungle for this lifetime. [ Now he drinks. Val might have been too preoccupied with braiding harnesses for flying opossums to clock Dick flagging at the back of the pack towards the end of that operation. ] Consider my curiosity sated.
no subject
[He flips open the writing book with one hand and slaps it onto the table, then begins to dig through the table detritus to find something to write with. His other hand still holds his glass and he gestures expansively with it. The wine sloshes cheerfully against the sides of the glass.]
'Kidnap' is not the appropriate word. I cannot think of what it would be in Trade. And we will have a marvelous time besides. You must see all of Thedas while you are here, do you not agree?
no subject
[ A note of despondency woven through and sealed with a put-upon look makes it an earnest request. Please, Monsieur de Foncé. He is on vacation. ]
It’s clear that your people lack the magical prowess needed to mount remote rescues.
[ Pricklier distaste finds its way in, at the bottom of his glass. Par for the course in this 3rd world demonic magic dumpster plane -- he helps himself to a second round, with a glance to warn against interference. ]
Is it normal for her to decline offerings?
no subject
[Having found the sought-after pencil, Val absently looks up from his writing. He ponders the question.]
I would not say 'normal'. She has a fastidiousness to her nature, far moreso than I. But she cannot be objecting to the vintage, it is very fine. Of my dear friend the Baroness' vineyard, all the way from Orlais. It is very fine, isn't it? If you are worried, you might peek into her lair.
[This is delivered nearly all in one breath, as is his custom. A slight pause here marks the true shift of gears.]
And what does that mean? 'The magical prowess needed to mount remote rescues'. What is it that we are missing?
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