[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?
[ Dick is accomodating enough to say nothing while Val winds his way through the Baroness’ vineyard to land at the base of Veronique’s lair -- a destination it’s clear he has no intention of exploring alone. He’s seen what happens when a wasp's nest is tampered with.
Maybe after another glass.
For now, he waits for de Foncé’s breath, and ensuing question to answer, after a deeper breath of his own: ]
Teleportation and divine patronage, for a start. The ability to generate food, drink, [ he tips his glass to Veronique’s chair, cynicism bright and sharp in his eyes, bordering upon contempt: ] shelter. [ Please. ]
[In the meanwhile, Val's eyes brighten with interest. He sets down the pencil and lets the book flip shut.]
Generate food. How interesting. Then there must be no starvation in your country--and it must be full of drunks--though how would you control the quality of what is produced? No, do not answer--that was a joke, and I should perhaps not joke of such a thing. It is so very different than what is here. Rifters are fascinating. There are those that would be afraid, but I would disagree and indeed go so far as to spit upon them. Fear is the primary blockade to knowledge. It is only a pity that such tricks are not easily repeated here. Or at least, that is my understanding. Is it wrong? Are you able to generate shelter?
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no subject
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?
no subject
[--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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
[ 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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
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?
no subject
Maybe after another glass.
For now, he waits for de Foncé’s breath, and ensuing question to answer, after a deeper breath of his own: ]
Teleportation and divine patronage, for a start. The ability to generate food, drink, [ he tips his glass to Veronique’s chair, cynicism bright and sharp in his eyes, bordering upon contempt: ] shelter. [ Please. ]
no subject
Generate food. How interesting. Then there must be no starvation in your country--and it must be full of drunks--though how would you control the quality of what is produced? No, do not answer--that was a joke, and I should perhaps not joke of such a thing. It is so very different than what is here. Rifters are fascinating. There are those that would be afraid, but I would disagree and indeed go so far as to spit upon them. Fear is the primary blockade to knowledge. It is only a pity that such tricks are not easily repeated here. Or at least, that is my understanding. Is it wrong? Are you able to generate shelter?