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.
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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.