[He continues to scratch at his notes. Without even looking up--]
Oh? They are tenants? But this is wonderful. A chicken makes for a very good tenant, I think. One collects no income from them but provisions. This is very wise.
[He underlines a word.]
I will say, I do not have much respect for the hunter. Not one who kills. To track an animal to observe it, and study it, this hunt is one thing. But to hunt for mere sport--we are such an evolved species. We have developed much to entertain us. Why this would need to count among our activities and distractions in this Age--it makes little sense.
[There are thing she might say. Oh, well, you needn't trouble yourself de Foncé—I don't believe my uncle has ever managed to shoot anything himself. Or something about the chickens. However.
[He turns the page and sets again to writing. Perhaps if he used a smaller script, he might not take up so much space on each page, but then he would have a very difficult time of reading his own writing.]
Of course any hunting that Veronique does is entirely natural. She must hunt to survive. Perhaps, occasionally, for sport--but she can hardly be blamed for this, do you not agree? She lacks the correct sort of eyes that might otherwise be able to comprehend the written word--so she takes no pleasure in reading. She might be entertained by the movement of players upon a stage, or dancers, but she would, I think, grow quickly bored. I must confess that I do as well at times, unless the material is particularly engaging. Music might soothe her, but she cannot play herself, save for the most rudimentary of tones upon a crude instrument. I suppose she might engage in pure sport. There are creatures that devise games to play. I have not observed this of her yet, but it would be perhaps an avenue that might be pursued.
[She listens, a sharp ear attuned for any objectionable detail hoping to rush by in the flood waters. When no such detail fails to materialize, she is left with a quandary—to let it lie, or to push the question which is yet bothering her.
She must do the former, Wysteria resolves. At this delicate stage where no papers are signed and there has only been the most verbal (give or take certain rakish liberties) of agreements, she should do nothing to upset the proverbial apple cart.
But.
Perhaps a slightly different question instead?]
And tell me, how is your dear Veronique? Not outgrown whatever place you have been keeping her in yet, I hope.
[What does fifteen perfect of a Hightown mansion calculate out to? She recalls once suggesting a large box, and the mortification over what that might looks like in practice lurks now at thr back of her mind.]
Oh, no, mademoiselle, though-- [He sighs the sigh of a fond parent.] I fear that day will come soon. My workroom is mostly hers as of late. I do not begrudge her its use, I am happy to have it to provide to her. I think often and keenly of your thoughts on accommodations for her. Of course I still desire to find some way to observe her habits without fully imprisoning her. Already I fear she has grown too used to me and a life in the Gallows to ever return to her home. If there were some way to simulate such a habitat...
[All at once Val stops writing and sets down the pencil. A faint dusting of charcoal leaves the lightest of stains on his fingers.]
Have I really neglected to introduce you to her? I thought that I had. Perhaps I only thought so hard of doing so that I invented having done it already. I will be sure to correct that immediately. I think you will like her very much. She is a fascinating creature. And--
[He is about to pick up the pencil again and return to the page, when a thought strikes him like lightning. Shocked by his own genius, he drops the pencil.]
Mademoiselle! I have thought of something that will solve all of our problems. What if Veronique, and not a dog at all!
[Somewhere in there, Wysteria had opened her mouth to make some minor interjection—No, you have not introduced us, or something similar—and it had never fully closed again. However, with a faint click of teeth, it does now.
The pause lasts for a full second. Then Wysteria pivots abruptly back toward him and away from the board of cheese and crackers and dried fruit and so on with a faint shriek from the floor as her chair is made to angle around.]
You believe her capable of the work?
[There is something interrogative about how she leans forward.]
As you said, it is a job to which Veronique would be applying herself to. You have spoken at great length about not altering her circumstances so much that she becomes useless as a source of study to you. Is such a vocation natural to a—[What had he said Veronique was? Something which burrows. An insect. A beetle or an ant?]—creature such as Veronique? I would not see your work or the seriousness of our project's security compromised by so little a thing as convenience.
[A fact of Veronique which he pronounces with pride. But--]
You do make a good point. Would it be fair to her, to expect this of her? I did not bring her to Kirkwall in order that she might labor for me. And it is not only that she would become useless to my study, but that she would have a life in grim captivity. I have never sought to become one of those men that collects for themselves a private menagerie. For whose good is that? Certainly not the creatures that must live in such conditions. It disgusts me.
[So much so that he must take another drink of wine.]
[Well. She hesitates over the answer, attempting to psychically divine how it will be percieved before she says it. And then after a long best, because there is no guessing, she simply speaks it aloud.]
To say that I do not like dogs seems extreme. For truly I have no feelings for them in any direction whatsoever. Although I believe Mister Ellis—[Hm. No. Best to steer free of that.]—Well, nevermind it. It makes no difference at all to me, is the point. If you believe Veronique suitable for the work, and that she would be pleased enough to do it, then I would be perfectly content with such an arrangment. It would allow me to allocate what has been earmarked in my budget for a large dog elsewhere.
However I will not have her overtake the house, de Foncé. And I make no promises regarding how the other residents of the place will receive her. Though I might say the same for any animal, I suppose.
[There is--as always--a certain narrowing at the name Mister Ellis. Not a cooling, precisely, and certainly nothing as gauche as a scowl, but: a narrowing. It has much the same energy as a man naming his mark before firing a shot.
But no shot is yet fired. Instead Val remains amicable as he taps his pencil on the open half-written page.]
I will not have anyone treat Veronique unkindly. She is very dear to my heart and to my work besides. If there will be some threat to her, I would not put her in that position at all. A dog might receive the affable benefit of people's general feelings toward its species. Besides, I expect the liquidation of the aforementioned assets to provide an ample enough sum that we might extend a piece of it for the hiring of such a creature. I only thought that you might like Veronique more than a dog, but if you have no feelings for them at all, then I suppose I might not have worried at all.
[He reaches for the board of cheese, intending at last to eat something.]
I will say that I do not believe that you are entirely free of feeling on the matter of a large dog. You are not free of feeling on anything at all, mademoiselle. I might ask your opinion on the daylight itself and spark a debate.
Come now, Monsieur. That is a gross exaggeration of my temperament. I will have you know that I am perfectly agreeable when it comes to a great many things—I recommend the dried apricot with the Wildervale brie. No, on the peppered cracker, not the herb. As for affability, I have no concern for people but rather for the house itself. I have told you many times that it is possessed of a certain let us say opinionated spirit and I believe any animal or insect or indeed even a very remarkable piece of furniture might require careful introduction.
[Wysteria lifts her glass, though pauses before drinking from it.]
—A thing which I might also require, if I am to be expected to develop a particular preference in any direction. As you yourself have said, you have hardly given me the opportunity to know your Veronique. I have seen daylight.
[She takes a drink. With her other hands, she begins to sweep her myriad of papers back into a sense of order so they might be tucked sensibly away into the folio.]
[Val--with the dried apricot with the Wildervale brie on the peppered cracker and with the Wildervale brie on the herb cracker, because he can both listen to sound advice and make his own choices--now reaches back to take a piece of hard cheese as well.]
--it was a compliment. I adore a debate. I thought that I had introduced you to Veronique! Perhaps I had only thought so distinctly of doing so that I fooled myself into thinking that I had. And I remember the scene so well. It is the strangest thing. She is better than daylight. I think she might charm even the most opinionated. Yourself, this spirit that you speak of and yet which I have never actually seen evidence of--and I wish dearly that I had! I have tried very hard. Well, not very hard. I dislike putting forth too great an effort, it is very sweaty. Unless the thing that I want requires it. I do not think this is the case for seeing evidence of a spirit. People manage to do it all the time without hardly meaning to.
Perhaps it senses your interest and is shy because of it is, Monsieur. I have heard that is often the case with a great many things and suppose it's possible a spirit might feel the same. Veronique--would she not be unhappy in a house? What accommodations would she require? Not that large box I suggested, surely. I can think of no single room where such a thing might be expected to--
[She pauses. No, that isn't entirely true. But it seems problematic to put a thing naturally inclined to dig in a cellar so close to the ground where it might make all kinds of trouble with respect to a place's foundations. And besides, she has no affinity whatsoever for animal, vegetable or mineral, and compliment or no compliment she has no compelling reason whatsoever to grand any further favors. Not when he had taken advantage of the evening to be so dreadfully boorish.
No, she thinks. No, there is no reason at all to extend any kindness to him at all.]
I am going to make a suggestion to you, Valentine. --It might be best, by the way, if I were to use your proper name until we see this matter of paperwork resolved so as to give the correct impression to anyone who might be listening. Here, by the way, is the copy of the documents you must send to your solicitor. But this suggestion. You should know before I make it that to see it fulfilled would come at great inconvenience to me, but that I find myself beholden to my pleasant disposition and must say it aloud regardless. Do you understand?
Of course there are gardens. She might not need to be in a house precisely.
[Valentine. He tilts his head, considering the sound of it.]
Do I then call you 'Wysteria'? [--Pronounced extremely Orlesian, to make up for the lack of Orlesian accenting on his given name.] I see the wisdom in this suggestion, at least. One must keep up appearances. What is the other suggestion, Wysteria? Give me the documents--thank you--this thanks is not from me, but from my solicitor, he will be most pleased to have additional documentation to review, it is his very favorite thing, and he will be so pleased at the opportunity for returns upon an investment, I will share his tearful letter with you when it arrives--and I await to hear of this great inconvenience. I do enjoy an inconvenience.
Three points then. First, [She sets down her glass so she might count them off on her fingers for emphasis—though first devours a dried cherry.]
First, I doubt it matters whatsoever what you call me for everyone in Thedas is shockingly relaxed on the matter of names and you are hardly the only person to address me so. No, I'm afraid if you are serious with respect to the charade that a term of endearment would suit best. I leave you to create one.
Second, I will not have Veronique undoing all the labors of the last summer by digging trenches into the planting beds. You will need to see that she is is able to mind herself there.
Third, [which she continues to at both a clip and a slightly elevated volume to avoid any conversation regarding the manners of giant bugs.] and this is the inconvenience which I mentioned, but you recall that I have done much of my own work in that half sunken space which was once the cellar off the kitchen. What was a matter of convenience at the time thanks to the state of the rest of the house has become habit, but there is no reason why I might now not alter it.
In which case, it hypothetically would be possible to fill in the cellar with whatever sod would suit the creature in question best. Further, there is a vent installed there at what is the ground level which might, depending on her exact dimensions, be used as a sort of...means by which she might come and go. Then you—and Veronique—would have your box, and I would have my guard...animal and all would be right in the world.
Save for the great inconvenience of the relocation of a great deal of delicate work, of course. You would have to find some way of making it up to me.
[Carte blanche with a term of false endearment is very good. How would it be topped? Of course only by the offer of large and comfortable accommodations for one's very large ant. Val is moved to shove the documents into his satchel with unceremonious haste. His chair scrapes the floor as he turns and grabs for Wysteria's hands, to earnestly clasp them.]
But mademoiselle! Ma biquette! This is an arrangement of great convenience for us all--you, and me, and of course Veronique, who is the luckiest of us all in this suggestion. I am sure that she will be very happy. She enjoys dark places--I have taken to shuttering the windows in the work room because it makes her happy. Of course it is difficult to work by candlelight alone, but for Veronique, I do it gladly--yet if she were to reside in relative freedom in the cellar, I would not need to do so! Ah, I can picture it now.
[So well that he shoves away from her and snatches up his pencil once more, and turns the page to begin scratching anew at a block of notes.]
I will need to inspect the vent, of course. It may need to be cut slightly larger, to ensure her comfortability. The 'great inconvenience' really was only the moving of some work from this space? Please. This is easily done. The other residents of your house might do this for you, in preparation of this new arrangement, and then I owe you nothing. Oh, and you will now meet Veronique! What luck for you as well.
[Wysteria (Mademoiselle Cannon; ma biquette) snatches her hands back into her lap. Not that his is still holding them by that point, but it is the sentiment of the thing.]
It is not merely a matter of relocating the work! It is the principle of the thing, Monsi--Valentine. And for your information, a great number of the samples I am currently working with are rather temperamental. In fact, moving them may jeopardize their growth. I will have you know that to relocate them is to take a significant risk on their stability.
[Still writing, without looking up or marking the replacement of hands in lap, Val says, somewhat absently--]
I do have great respect for research most fragile. I will make that statement at the top of this, to be clear in my intention and the place where my heart lies. But what is the work? I do not think that you said precisely. And this is important to know, so that I can determine if I should continue to be cavalier about its moving.
[He gives her a glance, a little smile. There are times when it suits one to act, as they say in Lowtown, a prick. If such an act is done in fun, these times tend to occur more often. But it is in fun. The fact that smiling will only likely be a further annoyance hardly matters.]
[Regardless, the color which rises in her cheeks in reply to that little smile is confirmation that she is annoyed. Nonetheless, Wysteria does her best to moderate the tone of her reply toward something like patience. Or seriousness. Or something close enough to either to be understood as important.]
I am studying the growth of a variety of poisonous fade-touched fungi. They are very rare, and very toxic, and the conditions of the cellar appear to have been uniquely suited to their progress. Should they come to be damaged by a relocation, they would be extremely difficult to replace.
Let us have a second cellar dug, ma puce. For such a study does sound to be entirely too fragile to suffer a great move. And where would they be transferred to? What other room within the house could accommodate such conditions that would cause these samples to thrive? What do they grow in? Movable pots, or within the soil itself? And no matter the answer, such a trauma would be caused. This is certain. Yes, a second cellar is the only answer.
A second—Absolutely not. There is nothing in the budget for such an expense, Mons—Valentine. And even if there were, your solicitor will surely take weeks to approve of the agreement, to say nothing of the organizing of the paperwork and the performance of whatever most minor ceremony we might arrange for here once he does. And then there is the liquidation of the assets themselves. Do you really mean to make your dear Veronique wait for so long?
[She downs the remaining contents of her glass, deciding to flag the pot boy down for another bottle of the stuff the moment he shows his face in the room again.]
—It will be very minor, of course. The signing of the papers and so on. Naturally it must be convincing to a degree for the sake of the scheme and until the partnership can be annulled, but I cannot have my eligibility tarnished by rumor so I see no reason to be too free with any part of it. You agree, yes?
[At first he continues to write, determined to finish his thought. It is quite a long thought. It takes up the rest of the page, and the full next page plus another part of a third. Only then does he bother to look at, squinting with a keen thoughtfulness at the mademoiselle.]
In curiosity, and for the sake of the appearance of legitimacy with which we must imbue this partnership--which is of the utmost importance, indeed, if we wish for it to be convincing--how minor is your 'minor'?
[She instantly opens her mouth to reply, snatching the deep breath which ought to precede a particularly long winded answer.
And then pauses.
That pause extends, lapsing into a full silence as she glances away from him and to the papers scattered about the table.]
Ah. Yes. Well—I suppose I thought it might be best as a sort of... elopement. A matter of paperwork, only. But that does leave us with very few witnesses, as it were. Oh, but it can't be too significant for then someone will question my status as a Rifter.
To say nothing of the fact that my part in this must be believed. And who would believe that I would elope in any small way? Even if I were to do so, it would be a momentous affair. A rain of flower petals. A great choir of singers. A sumptuous feast of all of my favorite foods, served in some romantic setting--a garden, perhaps, in the open air--or a ruined manse that we might decorate in some fetching way--
[She is distracted, so he signals the newly reappeared pot boy for more wine on her behalf, without asking. Of course she will want more. The wine is very good here; she noted it herself.]
No, no, Mademoiselle Canon, even if we sign the paperwork in secret, we must be sure that the occasion itself which marks their signature is later revealed to be greatly, greatly breathtaking. The sort of event that is spoken of with the greatest of envy in all the right circles. This is very important.
[With her frown growing more severe, one of her hands rises from her lap so she might absently scuff a thumb thoughtlessly along her lower lip. It's a studious, unsatisfied thing. After a long, wretched moment she admits,]
I do have a known fondness for parties.
[How dreadful the words she must say are. So she doesn't say them. Rather than, You may be right, de Foncé':]
—You're certain that you couldn't convince anyone that you found the secrecy of the thing more dashing? We might get away with only the testimony of a few very select close friends who might be trusted with the details of scheme. Why, then we could do away entirely with this pretending familiarity aspect as well.
The secrecy? Certainly. The testimony of but a few close friends? I would do it no other way. Of course there will be close and trusted friends. But to have no marker to it at all, that I would never do. It is contrary to my very being, mademoiselle, to let a party pass by without celebration.
[He takes her wine glass as she contemplates, and holds it up to be refilled. The wine and its bearer are still partway across the room but, seeing the expectant glass held aloft, a hurried sense enters into the pot boy's pace. So is Wysteria's glass dutifully refilled, as is Val's, and then the bottle is placed upon the table for them to finish.]
I am afraid our plan will only succeed if we ensure there is a lavish event to mark the signing of the papers.
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no subject
Oh? They are tenants? But this is wonderful. A chicken makes for a very good tenant, I think. One collects no income from them but provisions. This is very wise.
[He underlines a word.]
I will say, I do not have much respect for the hunter. Not one who kills. To track an animal to observe it, and study it, this hunt is one thing. But to hunt for mere sport--we are such an evolved species. We have developed much to entertain us. Why this would need to count among our activities and distractions in this Age--it makes little sense.
no subject
However.]
Yes, but what of Veronique?
no subject
[He turns the page and sets again to writing. Perhaps if he used a smaller script, he might not take up so much space on each page, but then he would have a very difficult time of reading his own writing.]
Of course any hunting that Veronique does is entirely natural. She must hunt to survive. Perhaps, occasionally, for sport--but she can hardly be blamed for this, do you not agree? She lacks the correct sort of eyes that might otherwise be able to comprehend the written word--so she takes no pleasure in reading. She might be entertained by the movement of players upon a stage, or dancers, but she would, I think, grow quickly bored. I must confess that I do as well at times, unless the material is particularly engaging. Music might soothe her, but she cannot play herself, save for the most rudimentary of tones upon a crude instrument. I suppose she might engage in pure sport. There are creatures that devise games to play. I have not observed this of her yet, but it would be perhaps an avenue that might be pursued.
no subject
She must do the former, Wysteria resolves. At this delicate stage where no papers are signed and there has only been the most verbal (give or take certain rakish liberties) of agreements, she should do nothing to upset the proverbial apple cart.
But.
Perhaps a slightly different question instead?]
And tell me, how is your dear Veronique? Not outgrown whatever place you have been keeping her in yet, I hope.
[What does fifteen perfect of a Hightown mansion calculate out to? She recalls once suggesting a large box, and the mortification over what that might looks like in practice lurks now at thr back of her mind.]
no subject
[All at once Val stops writing and sets down the pencil. A faint dusting of charcoal leaves the lightest of stains on his fingers.]
Have I really neglected to introduce you to her? I thought that I had. Perhaps I only thought so hard of doing so that I invented having done it already. I will be sure to correct that immediately. I think you will like her very much. She is a fascinating creature. And--
[He is about to pick up the pencil again and return to the page, when a thought strikes him like lightning. Shocked by his own genius, he drops the pencil.]
Mademoiselle! I have thought of something that will solve all of our problems. What if Veronique, and not a dog at all!
no subject
The pause lasts for a full second. Then Wysteria pivots abruptly back toward him and away from the board of cheese and crackers and dried fruit and so on with a faint shriek from the floor as her chair is made to angle around.]
You believe her capable of the work?
[There is something interrogative about how she leans forward.]
As you said, it is a job to which Veronique would be applying herself to. You have spoken at great length about not altering her circumstances so much that she becomes useless as a source of study to you. Is such a vocation natural to a—[What had he said Veronique was? Something which burrows. An insect. A beetle or an ant?]—creature such as Veronique? I would not see your work or the seriousness of our project's security compromised by so little a thing as convenience.
no subject
[A fact of Veronique which he pronounces with pride. But--]
You do make a good point. Would it be fair to her, to expect this of her? I did not bring her to Kirkwall in order that she might labor for me. And it is not only that she would become useless to my study, but that she would have a life in grim captivity. I have never sought to become one of those men that collects for themselves a private menagerie. For whose good is that? Certainly not the creatures that must live in such conditions. It disgusts me.
[So much so that he must take another drink of wine.]
Still, you do not like dogs, do you?
no subject
[Well. She hesitates over the answer, attempting to psychically divine how it will be percieved before she says it. And then after a long best, because there is no guessing, she simply speaks it aloud.]
To say that I do not like dogs seems extreme. For truly I have no feelings for them in any direction whatsoever. Although I believe Mister Ellis—[Hm. No. Best to steer free of that.]—Well, nevermind it. It makes no difference at all to me, is the point. If you believe Veronique suitable for the work, and that she would be pleased enough to do it, then I would be perfectly content with such an arrangment. It would allow me to allocate what has been earmarked in my budget for a large dog elsewhere.
However I will not have her overtake the house, de Foncé. And I make no promises regarding how the other residents of the place will receive her. Though I might say the same for any animal, I suppose.
no subject
But no shot is yet fired. Instead Val remains amicable as he taps his pencil on the open half-written page.]
I will not have anyone treat Veronique unkindly. She is very dear to my heart and to my work besides. If there will be some threat to her, I would not put her in that position at all. A dog might receive the affable benefit of people's general feelings toward its species. Besides, I expect the liquidation of the aforementioned assets to provide an ample enough sum that we might extend a piece of it for the hiring of such a creature. I only thought that you might like Veronique more than a dog, but if you have no feelings for them at all, then I suppose I might not have worried at all.
[He reaches for the board of cheese, intending at last to eat something.]
I will say that I do not believe that you are entirely free of feeling on the matter of a large dog. You are not free of feeling on anything at all, mademoiselle. I might ask your opinion on the daylight itself and spark a debate.
no subject
[Wysteria lifts her glass, though pauses before drinking from it.]
—A thing which I might also require, if I am to be expected to develop a particular preference in any direction. As you yourself have said, you have hardly given me the opportunity to know your Veronique. I have seen daylight.
[She takes a drink. With her other hands, she begins to sweep her myriad of papers back into a sense of order so they might be tucked sensibly away into the folio.]
no subject
[Val--with the dried apricot with the Wildervale brie on the peppered cracker and with the Wildervale brie on the herb cracker, because he can both listen to sound advice and make his own choices--now reaches back to take a piece of hard cheese as well.]
--it was a compliment. I adore a debate. I thought that I had introduced you to Veronique! Perhaps I had only thought so distinctly of doing so that I fooled myself into thinking that I had. And I remember the scene so well. It is the strangest thing. She is better than daylight. I think she might charm even the most opinionated. Yourself, this spirit that you speak of and yet which I have never actually seen evidence of--and I wish dearly that I had! I have tried very hard. Well, not very hard. I dislike putting forth too great an effort, it is very sweaty. Unless the thing that I want requires it. I do not think this is the case for seeing evidence of a spirit. People manage to do it all the time without hardly meaning to.
no subject
[She pauses. No, that isn't entirely true. But it seems problematic to put a thing naturally inclined to dig in a cellar so close to the ground where it might make all kinds of trouble with respect to a place's foundations. And besides, she has no affinity whatsoever for animal, vegetable or mineral, and compliment or no compliment she has no compelling reason whatsoever to grand any further favors. Not when he had taken advantage of the evening to be so dreadfully boorish.
No, she thinks. No, there is no reason at all to extend any kindness to him at all.]
I am going to make a suggestion to you, Valentine. --It might be best, by the way, if I were to use your proper name until we see this matter of paperwork resolved so as to give the correct impression to anyone who might be listening. Here, by the way, is the copy of the documents you must send to your solicitor. But this suggestion. You should know before I make it that to see it fulfilled would come at great inconvenience to me, but that I find myself beholden to my pleasant disposition and must say it aloud regardless. Do you understand?
no subject
[Valentine. He tilts his head, considering the sound of it.]
Do I then call you 'Wysteria'? [--Pronounced extremely Orlesian, to make up for the lack of Orlesian accenting on his given name.] I see the wisdom in this suggestion, at least. One must keep up appearances. What is the other suggestion, Wysteria? Give me the documents--thank you--this thanks is not from me, but from my solicitor, he will be most pleased to have additional documentation to review, it is his very favorite thing, and he will be so pleased at the opportunity for returns upon an investment, I will share his tearful letter with you when it arrives--and I await to hear of this great inconvenience. I do enjoy an inconvenience.
no subject
First, I doubt it matters whatsoever what you call me for everyone in Thedas is shockingly relaxed on the matter of names and you are hardly the only person to address me so. No, I'm afraid if you are serious with respect to the charade that a term of endearment would suit best. I leave you to create one.
Second, I will not have Veronique undoing all the labors of the last summer by digging trenches into the planting beds. You will need to see that she is is able to mind herself there.
Third, [which she continues to at both a clip and a slightly elevated volume to avoid any conversation regarding the manners of giant bugs.] and this is the inconvenience which I mentioned, but you recall that I have done much of my own work in that half sunken space which was once the cellar off the kitchen. What was a matter of convenience at the time thanks to the state of the rest of the house has become habit, but there is no reason why I might now not alter it.
In which case, it hypothetically would be possible to fill in the cellar with whatever sod would suit the creature in question best. Further, there is a vent installed there at what is the ground level which might, depending on her exact dimensions, be used as a sort of...means by which she might come and go. Then you—and Veronique—would have your box, and I would have my guard...animal and all would be right in the world.
Save for the great inconvenience of the relocation of a great deal of delicate work, of course. You would have to find some way of making it up to me.
no subject
But mademoiselle! Ma biquette! This is an arrangement of great convenience for us all--you, and me, and of course Veronique, who is the luckiest of us all in this suggestion. I am sure that she will be very happy. She enjoys dark places--I have taken to shuttering the windows in the work room because it makes her happy. Of course it is difficult to work by candlelight alone, but for Veronique, I do it gladly--yet if she were to reside in relative freedom in the cellar, I would not need to do so! Ah, I can picture it now.
[So well that he shoves away from her and snatches up his pencil once more, and turns the page to begin scratching anew at a block of notes.]
I will need to inspect the vent, of course. It may need to be cut slightly larger, to ensure her comfortability. The 'great inconvenience' really was only the moving of some work from this space? Please. This is easily done. The other residents of your house might do this for you, in preparation of this new arrangement, and then I owe you nothing. Oh, and you will now meet Veronique! What luck for you as well.
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[Wysteria (Mademoiselle Cannon; ma biquette) snatches her hands back into her lap. Not that his is still holding them by that point, but it is the sentiment of the thing.]
It is not merely a matter of relocating the work! It is the principle of the thing, Monsi--Valentine. And for your information, a great number of the samples I am currently working with are rather temperamental. In fact, moving them may jeopardize their growth. I will have you know that to relocate them is to take a significant risk on their stability.
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I do have great respect for research most fragile. I will make that statement at the top of this, to be clear in my intention and the place where my heart lies. But what is the work? I do not think that you said precisely. And this is important to know, so that I can determine if I should continue to be cavalier about its moving.
[He gives her a glance, a little smile. There are times when it suits one to act, as they say in Lowtown, a prick. If such an act is done in fun, these times tend to occur more often. But it is in fun. The fact that smiling will only likely be a further annoyance hardly matters.]
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I am studying the growth of a variety of poisonous fade-touched fungi. They are very rare, and very toxic, and the conditions of the cellar appear to have been uniquely suited to their progress. Should they come to be damaged by a relocation, they would be extremely difficult to replace.
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Oh, well.
[Val returns to writing.]
Let us have a second cellar dug, ma puce. For such a study does sound to be entirely too fragile to suffer a great move. And where would they be transferred to? What other room within the house could accommodate such conditions that would cause these samples to thrive? What do they grow in? Movable pots, or within the soil itself? And no matter the answer, such a trauma would be caused. This is certain. Yes, a second cellar is the only answer.
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[She downs the remaining contents of her glass, deciding to flag the pot boy down for another bottle of the stuff the moment he shows his face in the room again.]
—It will be very minor, of course. The signing of the papers and so on. Naturally it must be convincing to a degree for the sake of the scheme and until the partnership can be annulled, but I cannot have my eligibility tarnished by rumor so I see no reason to be too free with any part of it. You agree, yes?
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How long can a cellar take to dig? Two weeks?
[At first he continues to write, determined to finish his thought. It is quite a long thought. It takes up the rest of the page, and the full next page plus another part of a third. Only then does he bother to look at, squinting with a keen thoughtfulness at the mademoiselle.]
In curiosity, and for the sake of the appearance of legitimacy with which we must imbue this partnership--which is of the utmost importance, indeed, if we wish for it to be convincing--how minor is your 'minor'?
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And then pauses.
That pause extends, lapsing into a full silence as she glances away from him and to the papers scattered about the table.]
Ah. Yes. Well—I suppose I thought it might be best as a sort of... elopement. A matter of paperwork, only. But that does leave us with very few witnesses, as it were. Oh, but it can't be too significant for then someone will question my status as a Rifter.
[She tsks, frowning.]
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[She is distracted, so he signals the newly reappeared pot boy for more wine on her behalf, without asking. Of course she will want more. The wine is very good here; she noted it herself.]
No, no, Mademoiselle Canon, even if we sign the paperwork in secret, we must be sure that the occasion itself which marks their signature is later revealed to be greatly, greatly breathtaking. The sort of event that is spoken of with the greatest of envy in all the right circles. This is very important.
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I do have a known fondness for parties.
[How dreadful the words she must say are. So she doesn't say them. Rather than, You may be right, de Foncé':]
—You're certain that you couldn't convince anyone that you found the secrecy of the thing more dashing? We might get away with only the testimony of a few very select close friends who might be trusted with the details of scheme. Why, then we could do away entirely with this pretending familiarity aspect as well.
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[He takes her wine glass as she contemplates, and holds it up to be refilled. The wine and its bearer are still partway across the room but, seeing the expectant glass held aloft, a hurried sense enters into the pot boy's pace. So is Wysteria's glass dutifully refilled, as is Val's, and then the bottle is placed upon the table for them to finish.]
I am afraid our plan will only succeed if we ensure there is a lavish event to mark the signing of the papers.
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