degenere | IC CONTACT.

From:

If it cannot be replaced, then it must be at least a little precious. And it is here before me, so mysterious and enticing. I should like it to become some of my business.

[Also:]

Then, you are not ill? It is your face, you see. It is quite red. I have seen the look before, usually in moments where one must be quite concerned for those suffering the condition.

From:

heirring

[If it doesn't stretch the bounds of belief to say so, she turns slightly redder.]

Never mind the case or what my face looks like. Do you want to see my schematics or don't you?

From:

degenere

Sort of like a pomegranate.

[In case "never mind" means "tell me". The word schematics gives him a moment of pause, but Val snaps his fingers just a moment later, then points right in her face.]

You!

[His is more triumphant.]

Mademoiselle Canon! I knew it! Yes, yes, yes, I want to see your schematics. Are they within the case? For then they truly are my business, yes?

From:

heirring

[She stares at him, all that brilliant color draining from her face. It's a pale, insensible kind of rage. A different version of her might think to push him down the stairs after all. He didn't even recognize her!]

No, [snapped back, her arms at last unwinding from the box so she might firmly close the latch] They are not in the case. But if you will follow me, then I'll happily [hm; she adopts a rictus version of a beautific smile] show it to you.

From:

degenere

[Blithely unaware of any fury, or at least doing a very good impression of a man who is blithely unaware of fury, Val smiles at Mademoiselle Canon. When she says follow, he gives an eager little ah! and then steps to the side of the narrow stairway, with an inviting sweep of his arm.]

Please, please! I follow! Down, yes? Where I came from.

[What a fun inside joke they now have!]

From:

heirring

[Wysteria makes a jagged noise in response, but nonetheless makes her way steadfastly past him and descends down the twisting staircase with the case clutched tightly to her chest. For some time - perhaps all of two or three rotations down the spiral -, she says nothing at all. But eventually she cannot help herself:]

Where else have you been? Other than down. For all your eagerness, I expected having to fight you off to get any work done at all. Were you off on some assignment? --Which division are you even with? It must be research.

From:

degenere

[Content to follow, in good spirits, whatever path might lead him toward this canon, Val has kept right behind Wysteria. His spirits dull, slightly, as he heaves a sigh.]

Oh, yes, research. Or should I say, "research". It is sad what is passed for research within this body, is it not? I find that quarter lacking. I have of course aligned myself with it, in the hope that my experience and expertise might lend some legitimacy to its sad shape. I prefer to keep my own counsel, conduct my own research, and consort my friends, rather than mingle myself amongst the cronies of the Provost. Which is such a silly title!

[More importantly--]

Have you gotten very much done, then? Upon your work? I am expecting greatness. I hope I shall not be disappointed. I hate to be disappointed.

From:

heirring

[Her mouth pinches tight around, What a relief to know that Orlesian scholars are exactly like every other kind. Instead, with all the air of a too warm sunny day, she says,] I doubt you will be. I've quite a few preliminary designs. And, as it just so happens, I have a friend of my own who's agreed to assist in the development of a working prototype.

[That is, strictly speaking, more than Kenna has agreed to. But let's not delve into such delicate little details just yet, shall we?]

I anticipate a great deal of modification to need doing, of course, but that's to be expected.

From:

degenere

How marvelous! I am so pleased to hear that you have found a friend. I will admit some concern, in that regard--and a friend who can assist with such a complex creation besides! Truly, the Maker's favor can be turned upon those for whom we pray.

[All smiles and sincerity.]

I am very much looking forward to seeing these plans. If we succeed in the true creation of this cannon--just imagine! The Qunari will spit with the indignity. Up until now, they have largely enjoyed the full control of such inventions. With this, we shall say to them: no longer! To say nothing of Corypheus.

From:

heirring

That's-- [The circumstances in which she cannot get a word in edgewise until it is far too late to circle back to a particular topic such as, say, the rudeness of assuming she might have no friends, are few and far between indeed. And yet here she is, simultaneously leading him in a literal sense and wholly struggling to keep up in every other regard. It's exhausting. She can feel the back of her neck growing hot again under the low twist of her hair.]

That's-- very true. And I would be very proud to play such a significant part in the war effort. Not that I haven't been contributing prior to this point, of course. I just mean in a more direct way. [A forced laugh for her own witticism. Get it - direct? Because cannons shoot things at other things.

Anyway. Wysteria clears her throat.]

If there's any real obstacle, I expect it will be in the manufacture of the design itself. A prototype is one thing, but production on any broader scale begins to beg questions such as who will supply the ore and the labor and who will bear the cost. I believe we're meant to be rather more tight with the purse strings these days.

From:

degenere

[He gives an appreciative and amused ah, at her little joke. Not falling down laughing, but it's some fashion of appreciation, at least.]

They must be rather tight with their funds as of late, and they will be putting around that we are all to be glad of it, but I will tell you, I am not glad of it. For how can we find success if we are to be so restricted in this way?

Our diplomats must repair to wealthy sympathy to find us backing. And soon, I think. I know all about securing funding, but I shall be entirely too busy these days.

Still--ore cannot cost so much, can it? Two... hundred Royals, for some ounces or so, perhaps?

From:

heirring

Ounces! [She laughs, sudden and bright and very genuine thanks in large part to her surprise. She takes two steps in quick succession without thinking then stops entirely there on the third to fix him with an alarmed look.]

Hold on. Have you ever seen a Qunari cannon before?

From:

degenere

[Val frowns, at last.]

Of course I have. I have made extensive study of their sketches and learned much of them.

From:

heirring

Do these sketches-- what are the dimensions indicated on them?

[A small flame of uneasiness is rising suddenly in her. It brings with it a certain stricken kind of dread, not dissimilar from having shown up to a conference with an exceptional bit of documentation on the theory of transductive magic, only to realize that the whole affair was to be a symposium on transmaterial enchanting, and that it is too late to fix it. You've had the copies made and delivered already. What is there to do but throw yourself in the nearest river or under the wheel of the most convenient passing carriage?]

From:

degenere

Oh, quite large dimensions, typically. But then, the qunari themselves--

[He gestures, to indicate: large. Shifts his expression to match, and denote how intimidating and worthy of admiration such proportions are.]

--yes? So it makes sense to arm one's self to match such an impressive size and girth and all.

But, please! Why is it that you ask?

From:

heirring

[What kind of backwards logic-- Do they carry their cannon in their hands? That isn't a cannon, you imbecile. Only maybe it is. The drawings she'd studies hadn't noted scale or operation or--]

No reason whatsoever. Merely curiosity. No, I wouldn't expect a few ounces of ore would be too difficult to procure. In fact, we might find a sponsor. There are many well-appointed individuals in our ranks, you know. Or connected to them. [She's rambling now, speaking quickly as she turns and hurries down the stairwell. What's your plan, Wysteria? Put your thumb over all the measurements on your schematics?] No matter. Follow me. Quickly now; I don't have all day.

From:

degenere

[A slight contraction of the eyebrows is all that breaks Val's glassy polite amused exterior. Okay then.

He takes off after her, without as great a hurry, content to stroll down the stairs and let Wysteria get quite ahead of him in her rush. Perhaps this will prove to calm her nerves over whatever peculiar mood has turned her head so. Some scholars, he thinks, and manages to be fond and diminutive and amused all at once in that thought.

Calling after her--] Mademoiselle, I believe that it was you who stopped first. But by your leisure, or otherwise, apparently. As we walk I hope you will tell me all of the well-appointed individuals in our ranks.

[Get it.]

From:

heirring

The-- The people of means, sir. [This said absently, her attention clearly already at their destination.] Who might not be able to fund an army, but could certainly-- Ah! Here we are!

[A suddenly right hand turn and she bursts out of the stairwell through a narrow door and into an even narrower corridor, from which a series of cluttered work spaces extend. She wades directly into one, weaving through a series of stacked books (borrowed from and not returned to the Gallows' library, no doubt), stepping over a crate of smoky bottles filled with some kind of liquid, and at last dumping the case in her arms onto the table below the narrow slip of a window.]

Now, you will recall that I said these were very rough designs. [Had she said so? She can't remember. It seems possible. May as well plant the idea.] So you must take them with a grain of salt as you review them.

From:

degenere

Hm? Oh, yes, of course. I have been looking for this, you know.

[Having followed her all the way down here, Val is now holding up one of the books. A minor point, yet it must be made.]

The library is sad enough as it is, without book hoarders to make its supply much sadder. I understand your instinct--there is nothing quite like Sautreau for the four standards of two-component explosives--but really.

[And he sticks the book under his arm, clearly intending to carry it off with him, and comes closer to examine whatever it is she's doing.]

"A grain of salt". Where does it go?

Edited (srry i can't miss the opportunity for a face off w wysteria ) Date: 2019-07-29 04:25 am (UTC)

From:

heirring

[She half turns to respond, her face twisted along the lines of 'What on earth are you--', and then she seems to think better of the whole notion.]

Never mind the salt. And put that book down. I haven't copied out chapter four yet.

[This as she retrieves a heavy rolled piece of parchment from the rack at the back of the cluttered desk. A pause follows. It's a very, very brief one in which she feels and summarily dismisses a tiny chip of uncertainty. And then she shakes it out, lying the schematic out as flat as is possible on the desk. She pins one corner - the one with the dimensions- with a heavy candle holder and plants her hand on the notes in the lower most margin.]

Voilà.

From:

degenere

[You never mind the salt, is what Val would say, if he were determined toward pettiness. He isn't, so he only thinks it, and makes sort of a face at Wysteria--so there--and does not put the book down.

The moment she unrolls her schematic, that all changes. The book might as well exist in a rift somewhere, for all that Val is thinking of it. He leans in to examine what is before him--then steps to the right, to examine from that angle--and then tips his head to the left, to examine from that angle--]

Ah, I see! The two reinforcement chambers--what are the dimensions, please? I must know. And the shape you have chosen is interesting--I was, early on, committed to a shape rather like a vase, but as you have it here, to lengthen its mouth--I believe that to be better-- How would its shot made to combust? Is there a marker on here to say? I had experimented with the slowmatch--useful in demolitions for mining, or even for construction, when one must level some geological obstacle--

From:

heirring

Well--

[Well. Time to improvise.]

As you say I had considered the use of a linstock. See here on the schematic, the flash pan. But there is an alternative. Here, let me draw it for you.

[She trades the plant of her hand on the margin notes for a shielding piece of scrap paper and, from some wholly illogical point in her pinned up hair, Wysteria draws a metal pen. Without first dipping it into anything, she begins to draw out a series of exceptionally rough shapes vaguely resembling a flintlock. Clearly she'd used a ruler for the schematic.]

It may be gilding the lily as it were, but there's something to be said for not having to run around with a burning stick or worry about the weather. You see, with this-- here, that would be a flint there in this little knobbly part-- you could attach a pull here, which would cause the flint to strike this bit here when the lever is released. Or, er-- I suppose if the cannon was small enough to be carried in the hand, you might simply attach a little toggle here to pull.

[Spirits, her father is feeling a pulse of mortification somewhere. A toggle, Wysteria? Really now.]

From:

degenere

[Nodding, Val examines the schematic as she speaks and illustrates on the edge. The peculiar pen gets a look of its own as well, as she continues to write with it, entirely unaided by ink.]

There are always people running about in battles, bearing arrows and crossbow bolts and things. It wouldn't be a trouble to have every third one carry the flame. But the weather, yes-- Now, where would this toggle go? Here?

[He puts one finger down on the larger and more precise drawing, looking back and forth from her sketch to the full schematic, to keep them both in his view at once.]

From:

heirring

No, here.

[She moves his finger.]

But really, making the whole thing handheld would alter this entire section here. You'd want a proper grip. Something more like-- [Scratch, scratch goes the pen.] This.

From:

degenere

Ah!

[Val shifts his arm a little to allow for the finger movement. This means that, completely by accident, some part of his sleeve moves the piece of parchment obscuring the dimensions. Not that he knows this to be the dimensions, he just knows that it is covered from his sight. Forbidden knowledge.

Not that he moved that bit of parchment on purpose! Indeed, he is studying with great interest the rest of the schematic, and the little edit that she makes.]

I must tell you, mademoiselle, I feel strongly about this being handheld. A personal device, that might be carried about, would see more use in the field, yes? The infrastructure required to move about large engines of war--but instead, a soldier might bear the burden himself, as he would any piece of his equipment.