Much (and quickly) recovered, now that he has found a way forward, Val straightens up somewhat, and slurps down more of his tea sludge.
"Chairs are very out of fashion these days, but if you are insisting--" Helplessly, he shrugs, and takes another slurp. "This is my only opposition. It is weak. I will accept the wine, and it will weaken still more, and I will sit in a chair like a gentleman of the old fashion and discuss materials. It is very charming of you, to think of Orlais in this project!"
"It is only appropriate to make some nod to your part in thing," she says, shifts her cup to the tea tray though making no effort to collect the sum of the dishware. The whole arrangement can be swept away once they've finished their business for the afternoon.
"Were the option available, I might suggest that we use some Kalvadan ore in the casting, but alas. The design itself will simply have to be representative all on its own."
Somewhere in there, Wysteria has managed to get to her feet with only a little wrestling of skirts. She looks down at him and his tea sludge and physically restrains herself from snatching the sugar bowl to take from the room with her.
"I'll see if some biscuits can be found to make up for the embarassment of sitting in furniture."
"Not chocolate. Chocolate biscuits taste like chalk."
Val takes another thick sip, then gets to his knees and very gallantly presents the cup to her. The sludge has gathered at the very bottom of the cup, a deep well.
"Mademoiselle." Voilà. Val is no longer in need of it, so clearly, she is in need of it instead. Almost in the same breath, he skips back to the design discussion. "Are you very good at sketching? There will be a great deal of space at the handle of it, I think. It would look very silly if it were a blank space. I like decoration, don't you?"
The cup earns a flat study, a significant look toward the tray, and no further acknowledgement.
"I am fond of it, yes. But I am a draftsman, Monsieur, and by no means an artist. If you care for it to be at all in good taste, you will have to design any patterning yourself. Or find some worthy substitute to do it for us."
"I adore the lines of draftwork, their cleanliness and simplicity. If you are very skilled at it, the pieces can be arranged and rearranged to appear as a pattern. Very avant-garde, yes? I am thinking particularly of a certain artist of Val Royeaux--Lemoigne--he was so well known for his daring way of painting vines and leaves. Such thin lines that were so little, but said so much. This is what I am thinking of. I am sure you will manage it charmingly."
And at last, he sets the cup upon the tray and sits back. His smile is full of confidence, sunny and radiant.
"We must have something of yours if this sentimentality is to guide our materials. Did you hear what I said? Of the chocolate biscuits?"
Her laugh is very sudden - sounds first like 'Ha!' then descends into further acerbic laughter: You.
"That they taste of chalk, yes. I heard you, Monsieur."
With a cluck of her tongue and a swirl of skirts in place of an eye roll—Charmingly, he says. Adore, he says—Wysteria sweeps for the open door.
"I will consider it. And when I refuse, you will find some suitable substitute and we will consider it even on the basis that there was every any consideration at all in either direction." She has reached the doorway, indeed has breezed through it and around its corner, and only at the very last moment does her hand catch at the frame and draw her back into the opening.
"Refuse," he repeats, amused, as he lays back down again. The pillow goes under his head. Who has ever refused him? The list is very short. Val de Foncé is not worried, nor has he ever been.
When she puts her head around the door, he lifts his head and meets her squinting eye. Considers, before he answers.
"I like cinnamon very much."
A shockingly brief statement. He lays his head back down again.
Her nod is curt. And with a rap of the knuckles on the door frame for confirmation, Wysteria disappears once more into the twisting interior of the old house.
Presumably, she fetches that bottle of white wine and some remaining half box of cinnamon cookies, and returns promptly enough. Presumably, they have a fine afternoon discussing Orlesian lumber and arguing over the semantics of running trade around Val Chevin. Presumably, at least one of them at some point sits in a chair.
In the grand scheme of business meetings, it is a perfectly productive use of time.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2020-08-28 12:11 am (UTC)"Chairs are very out of fashion these days, but if you are insisting--" Helplessly, he shrugs, and takes another slurp. "This is my only opposition. It is weak. I will accept the wine, and it will weaken still more, and I will sit in a chair like a gentleman of the old fashion and discuss materials. It is very charming of you, to think of Orlais in this project!"
no subject
Date: 2020-08-28 03:45 am (UTC)"Were the option available, I might suggest that we use some Kalvadan ore in the casting, but alas. The design itself will simply have to be representative all on its own."
Somewhere in there, Wysteria has managed to get to her feet with only a little wrestling of skirts. She looks down at him and his tea sludge and physically restrains herself from snatching the sugar bowl to take from the room with her.
"I'll see if some biscuits can be found to make up for the embarassment of sitting in furniture."
no subject
Date: 2020-08-29 09:51 pm (UTC)Val takes another thick sip, then gets to his knees and very gallantly presents the cup to her. The sludge has gathered at the very bottom of the cup, a deep well.
"Mademoiselle." Voilà. Val is no longer in need of it, so clearly, she is in need of it instead. Almost in the same breath, he skips back to the design discussion. "Are you very good at sketching? There will be a great deal of space at the handle of it, I think. It would look very silly if it were a blank space. I like decoration, don't you?"
no subject
Date: 2020-08-30 12:17 am (UTC)"I am fond of it, yes. But I am a draftsman, Monsieur, and by no means an artist. If you care for it to be at all in good taste, you will have to design any patterning yourself. Or find some worthy substitute to do it for us."
no subject
Date: 2020-09-01 03:21 am (UTC)And at last, he sets the cup upon the tray and sits back. His smile is full of confidence, sunny and radiant.
"We must have something of yours if this sentimentality is to guide our materials. Did you hear what I said? Of the chocolate biscuits?"
no subject
Date: 2020-09-01 05:09 am (UTC)"That they taste of chalk, yes. I heard you, Monsieur."
With a cluck of her tongue and a swirl of skirts in place of an eye roll—Charmingly, he says. Adore, he says—Wysteria sweeps for the open door.
"I will consider it. And when I refuse, you will find some suitable substitute and we will consider it even on the basis that there was every any consideration at all in either direction." She has reached the doorway, indeed has breezed through it and around its corner, and only at the very last moment does her hand catch at the frame and draw her back into the opening.
She squints at him.
"What are your feelings on cinnamon?"
no subject
Date: 2020-09-01 11:34 pm (UTC)When she puts her head around the door, he lifts his head and meets her squinting eye. Considers, before he answers.
"I like cinnamon very much."
A shockingly brief statement. He lays his head back down again.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-02 01:06 am (UTC)Presumably, she fetches that bottle of white wine and some remaining half box of cinnamon cookies, and returns promptly enough. Presumably, they have a fine afternoon discussing Orlesian lumber and arguing over the semantics of running trade around Val Chevin. Presumably, at least one of them at some point sits in a chair.
In the grand scheme of business meetings, it is a perfectly productive use of time.