There is an estate? I was not aware. I suppose it is very fashionable these days, to buy hideous things and claim them to be lovely. I am thinking of those teacups that you served me from--horrible! The right buyer would be enchanted.
[But not Val. He makes an impolite grimace and picks up his wine again.]
It sounds all very neatly in order. What is this issue? Has a second party revealed themselves with some claim to the house itself? I cannot imagine such a public admittance. Perhaps through a solicitor, anonymously.
No, there is no one else at all who is entitled to the property. [--She is very brisk to say, as if it is something she has been in the position of firmly stating repeatedly in the past and she has now gotten very good at it.]
It is, however, a legal issue. And the alleviating of said legal issue would allow me to at last sell off a number of the property's assets which I have heretofore been contractually unable to part with, and would save a significant portion of the Riftwatch stipend currently tied up by various city offices and by my own representation therein on the subject of my inheritance.
[A pause. She downs a considerable portion of her own wine, and afterwards moves to refill the glass from the bottle at the center of the table.]
Obviously an error was made. That goes without saying. However no one can find the error. For obvious reasons, I would rather they didn't and given that there is no one else entitled to its solution, no one is at all concerned with untangling the mess. There are parties, however, which are very concerned that I pay to circumvent that error for all eternity. They have seen to levying all manner of estate taxes, and to the remanding of various fines, and to the taking of filing charges on all papers, and so on and so forth. To say nothing of certain clauses in the paperwork stipulating the strict handling of various items, including those very ugly teacups. You follow, yes? [She offers with a tip of the bottle to top off his own glass with what remains.] Have I bored you to death yet? For I am getting to the part which I believe will be of benefit to us both.
[He gives a gracious nod at her insistent clarification and then his brain turns off.
A scholar, an academic, once meant to be a man of society, someone who learned proper manners and conversational behavior during long and tedious etiquette lessons: all of these things mean that Val looks like he is paying attention. He puts his chin in his hand. He nods. His eyes do not appear glazed. He fidgets, a few times, looks down at the papers in the folio, the scratched-in numbers done in Wysteria's by-now-fairly-familiar handwriting. He takes a sip of wine, enough that when she offers the refill, he is ready for it, and holds out his glass with a pleased ah.]
I stopped listening at the word 'inheritance', [he confesses, with a charming smile that might well excuse the rudeness of that statement. It is a smile that has gotten him out of a great deal worse. He knows to deploy it now.] You should hire yourself someone to worry about such things for you, mademoiselle. I recommend it as a strategy. Then you are free to pursue your own interests and scholarship and projects and leave the little numbers and filings to someone who is paid to wring their hands on your behalf.
What is the part that is of benefit to us both? I did hear that part. I enjoy things that benefit me.
[Ordinarily, this bull headed inability to listen to even this exceptionally straightforward summation of the facts would serve to irritate her. After all what is so difficult to grasp about a year's history of legal documentation, the inevitable complications inherent in archaic Kirkwellian (Kirkwallian? Kirkwallite?) property laws, and the much convoluted taxation standards of Hightown? It is all there before him. Indeed, a child might see the logic in the problem, if not be trusted to find a solution to it.
But candidly, Wysteria is not unaware of the effect she can sometimes have on people. And there are certain instances like this one where there are reasons to embrace things like 'I stopped listening.']
Nevermind it. The history of the issue will remain largely irrelevant to you. What should be of concern is this: that after a great deal of study, I believe I have found a loophole in the contractual documents. According to Marcher property rights, were we to enter into a formal partnership then the estate and all its holdings would fall naturally to you. With the transfer, I believe a number of the conditional provisions would no longer be applicable and if nothing else, the administrative oversight of the property by the city would be so diminished that I might re-allocate my own funds and the Riftwatch stipend to something other than maintaining the rights.
It would be very temporary, [she hastens to say, carrying along at a breakneck pace.] Only for as long as the transfer of titles. And then we would have it all absolved and you would remand back the rights to me.
Now, I know what you will say, Monsieur—[Thickly nasal, if not thiccly Orlesian:] 'But Mademoiselle Cannon, what would stop me from simply keeping everything?' To which I say only that I trust you will do the right thing. Or perhaps, Mademoiselle, you said this would benefit me and thus far I fail to see how it does!'
And to that, I have drafted an agreement which we will sign upon the dissolution of the partnership which states you will maintain a fifteen percent investment in the property as an acknowledgement of the favor you would be doing me. But more importantly, this will eventually allow me to do what I have been unable to previously. Which is, contribute financially to our work.
[Here, finally, Wysteria falls out of that merciless forward onslaught to offer him this aside:]
I recall your solicitor once expressed concern over that point.
[The only valid concern:] I do not sound like that.
[Please. Val sips from his glass as well before he continues.]
Still. That is one of the numerous concerns of my solicitor. If he were here, he would faint in delight at the mere implication of shared financial responsibility. But he has a very delicate constitution and faints easily. Of course it goes without saying that he would need to look upon this agreement before any signature or agreement was made.
But, mademoiselle, your proposal, in short, requires--perhaps hinges upon the fact--that I become the temporary owner of--and then the fifteen percent owner of--a piece of Kirkwall? I will say that I have never desired to be the owner of anything at all in the Free Marches, being merely a scholar whose presence here is a temporarily one, motivated by my work. I consider myself nearly a tourist to this barbaric land. There is something so very final in ownership of property, is there not?
[She opens her mouth. She pauses, frowns over some facet of his—objection is too harsh a word, but counter argument seems fitting—, and then closes her mouth again to consider it at further length.
She takes another drink before saying,]
I see no reason at all why that should be the case. Property, when one may do with it as they wish, is a very fine investment. And there is nothing about having claim in one place which limits you from doing whatever you like anywhere else. Why—you could sell off your percentage to anyone you wished, even.
Though if you would prefer to retain no stake in the place at all once this hypothetical partnership were dissolved, de Foncé, that would suit me just fine.
I am merely telling you my position on the ownership of property, mademoiselle. Had you bought your home in Val Royeaux, this conversation would be very different. Then again-- [Hmmm, a noise of consideration as Val weighs this, thoughtfully swirling his wine.] --there is something grubbily fashionable of the Free Marches these days. It is a place that many expatrioted Orlesians consider these days, when taking their leave of that country. And it is, at least, located in Hightown.
I suppose then my next question would be-- [He reaches to refill her glass once more. It is not quite empty, but why wait for it to have reached true emptiness?] Why not make this proposal to another of your many friends?
[And so the glass is refilled without incident, just as she leaps upon that question without pause. She has given this thought.]
For all the obvious reasons, of course. They are either women, or other rifters—who would only complicate matters further matters—or their social advantage is such that with the estate I might very well still be considered the controlling party. Take Mister Ellis, for example. My financial portfolio must at this rate far outstrip his. —Or they are mages. Or, worse, they are some combination of the aforementioned.
The goal is for this to be done quickly, quietly, and for it to be believable enough that no one will examine it too closely prior to its dissolution. I regret to say so, Monsieur, for I know you have no fondness for paperwork and would prefer not to be troubled but such petty things. But given all of this, you are the only practical candidate.
[There's a little glimmer of self-satisfaction in the way that Val settles back in his chair--very little, glimpsed only if one is paying very close attention to his body language. Or so he would like to think, unconscious to his own innate theatricality.]
It is all rather obvious when you say it. Poor souls, all, some-- [m i s t e r e l l i s] --more than others.
[Practical is not the most glowing of words. Yet even so: how would one ever grow tired of being the preferred choice? All the better when one does not have to seek out the designation at all. Val sips at his wine, then leans very abruptly forward, closing the conversation in more intimately to confide:]
I will require my solicitor to be given the chance to review the contract that you have written up, but on its face--aside from my aversion to the commitment implied in the ownership of property--I can think of little else at this moment to take issue with. You have put forth quite a pretty screen of words and it has served you well, mademoiselle. I think that you could argue yourself out of most situations. Or at the very least, talk. This is a compliment.
[He leans back and she is already feeling rather pleased with herself. It is beginning to creep into her face, into the corner of her mouth and the faint upward tip of her chin and even into the play of her spare hand across the papers between them. And rather than evaporate as he leans back in, it blossoms.
There, late into the evening, at that table crammed into a corner of the Tamed Lion, Wysteria brightens to a degree which threatens to outstrip the candlelight and hanging lanterns.]
I accept your compliment. —And have prepared a copy of the proposal for your solicitor already which you may take with you tonight.
Very good. I shall take it and send it off to his offices straightaway for review, with a stress on the expedient nature of its review. There can be no interruptions to the work. Which, incidentally--the liquidation of certain assets that I mentioned? I had written and ordered the sale of a few negligible items that are gathering dust in my Val Royeaux apartments--some decorative objects, a very stupid egg made of glass, a sapphire necklace, a marble horse, this sort of thing--nothing at all interesting or important, but enough to fetch a fair enough price. I believe the letter that I received will be telling me of the sale and when the money might be expected, and of course the customary warning--nearly heartwarming, at this point!--and then we can proceed with whatever comes next, which we should review now that things have returned somewhat to normal. Mademoiselle, how is this arrangement sealed?
[Up until now, the tone has been conversational, casual just bordering on a lecture. This is the first question that has been asked, a genuine inquiry for an opinion, delivered in very nearly the same tone. Val looks at Wysteria, waiting for her answer.]
In Val Royeaux, a kiss upon each cheek is the exchange. What of Kalevad?
Which portion of the arrangement, specifically? The paperwork, or the partnership, or the—agreement to agree.
[No, that is a stupid question; Wysteria waves it away with a flick of her fingers.]
Most matters of business in Kalvad are secured with a handshake. Or a toast, in which we say something pleasant about one another or about the venture and then praise the the Princes. Gods bless and keep the Empire and all of us in, and so on. [She clinks her glass against his, but doesn't pause for the gesture or the sound.] But given the exact nature of this particular agreement—which is to say, that is will require a certain...temporary illusion of sentiment—, then I suppose the royan way of doing things might be acceptable even in Kalvad.
Kalvad, [he repeats, perfectly, just to show that he can.]
I am not opposed to toasts or to handshakes at all. But they are commonplace. I have arranged for the shoveling of manure out of a campsite with a handshake. And as you say, given the exact nature--a sealing more demonstrable would be appropriate, one that gives that certain temporary illusion to which you have alluded.
[Well. Perhaps if they were among company other than their own then, yes, there would be some motivation to play at such performative little gestures. What compelling reason is there here, though? In this exact instance?
They are fine questions, but ones very likely to send them down a tangent which she doesn't truly care to discuss. There is no reason to focus overmuch on the pretending of the thing or even the details of the arrangement when it is all meant to be so very temporary.]
[And now that the sentiment has been confirmed, and repeated as confirmed, there can be no going back on it. Val sets down his wine glass and moves his chair so that he is now turned toward Wysteria. The darkness of evening has given way to the dark of night, and the Tamed Lion's dim lighting seems, perhaps, more intimate than vaguely dank now.
Val holds out a hand to Wysteria, bridging the small gap between them. What she is meant to do with this hand remains to be seen, or decided by her.]
You do intend to come by a large dog still, I hope?
I believe I've made it clear that I'm willing to consider any measure with which to secure our work, [she says, setting the glass aside.
The angle of her chair also is adjusted by a slight degree and at last she sets her hand gamely in his. It is rather like being asked to dance at a formal party and then being swept out to the dance floor, and under those circumstances she has placed her hand in such a position dozens of times.]
And a large dog does seem like a reasonably effective and simple means with which to bolster security.
[Wysteria turns her face. She taps her cheek expectantly with a finger.]
[But: ah. Thusly prompted, Val makes a quiet sound of polite acknowledgement. He squares his shoulders, straightens his spine, takes her hand in a grasp both firm and gentle, then leans in and kisses one cheek--and then, briskly, the other, before a third kiss upon the first once again, and then he kisses her on the mouth.
Which is to say he kisses her on the mouth, again. But this one is not a dream, and thus, different than the other two.]
[This is not a dream. And so the slap certainly stings more. Val laughs as he sits back and presses his hand to his cheek.]
Very cruel.
[He turns back to the table without further comment, and takes up his wine glass. Already there is a faint red mark where her slap had landed, but he pays it no mind.]
I recommend that we avoid the mabari. I have nothing against them, and they are effective in the role of guard-dog which is so often and so fittingly assigned to them. And yet I find them to be rather overrated. There are so many other worthy breeds to choose from, with features that recommend them to the position. The cavalier assumption of ownership notwithstanding, I have great respect for dogs assigned work.
[For as spry as her hand had been, Wysteria lags in every other respect. She is still bristling as he sits back and hasn't gotten around to scoffing Cruel before he is pivoting away. Mercifully, the extraordinarily flustered or furious flush which soars hot up the back of her neck and colors her ears also waits until he is well entrenched into the subject of—what? Dog breeds? For Maker's sake—to manifest.
Rather than glance about them to gauge her mortification off the faces of the strangers surrounding them, she instesd resolutely takes a drink. There is fig spread and crackers and good cheese and delicate little strips of meat and she has heard there is a good custard dessert made in this place. And if they mean to linger for these things, they will be obligated to indulge in another bottle of wine. And if that is true, then she will need to return to the Gallows tonight or risk running late for her morning rota.
The point being that there are all sorts of minor immediate concerns and pleasantries both and it is far more useful to catalog them than to allow herself to be induced into anything so silly as outrage or embarrassment or anything else.
It is only once she is spreading fig onto her second edge of toast that she realizes she is talking, having evidently at some point begun to reply in an effort to fill any threatening pause in conversation.]
—Indeed, I will confess to knowing very little of the subject beyond what I have read. My uncle has a great love for sporting dogs and I've a cousin with a funny little terrier, but I can claim to only have the most passing of acquaintances with the animals. Noose is charming, of course. But I believe he finds the Research workshops to have an unpleasant smell and so usually he stays well clear of them. I trust you will have some specific recommendation. Or, no. Better. If you feel so strongly on the subject, you might simply do me the favor of selecting the right creature for the job.
[Perhaps unexpectedly, Val brightens at the suggestion. Or invitation? Whatever it might be defined as, he greets it with genuinely pleased interest, and reaches for his satchel which still rests upon the third seat at their little table.]
It can hardly be called a favor, I think. But if you are implying that you will be in some way beholden for what I will accomplish for you, I will of course not refuse that offer. I look forward to taking advantage of the favor that you will owe to me.
[And with this, his smile tints to something both smug and more familiar, an extra hitch to the corner of it. From his satchel, Val produces a writing book and--after some additional searching--a charcoal pencil.]
I will begin the search immediately, for the protection of our shared interests. Something well-behaved, that learns quickly--I have the latter quality myself, though not the former, but I can identify it easily in others, and most easily in dogs-- [Scratch scratch scratch goes the pencil on the page, extravagant letters with tell-tale Orlesian accent markings.] --something that will not trouble your chickens, or start a fight with Veronique--lacking in excitability, I think we will say, though not so much so that an intruder will go unremarked upon-- Sporting dogs? Your uncle was a hunter?
My uncle? A hunter? Oh no. [She laughs. It's an involuntary thing, her hand continuing the motion of smearing fig spread onto toast.] Not in the slightest. An enthusiast, perhaps. If we are being especially generous.
[It is good, thinks some distant part of her, that he is so readily redirected. She will need to recall this for the future—that in the middle of anything, she might only suggest the possibility of some animal—]
Veronique?
[Wysteria sets the cheese knife down.]
Why should the dog ever meet Veronique? I have never met Veronique. Have you not resolved to release her back into the jungle yet? You can't possibly mean to—They are not my chickens.
[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.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2021-02-18 06:07 am (UTC)[But not Val. He makes an impolite grimace and picks up his wine again.]
It sounds all very neatly in order. What is this issue? Has a second party revealed themselves with some claim to the house itself? I cannot imagine such a public admittance. Perhaps through a solicitor, anonymously.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-18 06:52 am (UTC)It is, however, a legal issue. And the alleviating of said legal issue would allow me to at last sell off a number of the property's assets which I have heretofore been contractually unable to part with, and would save a significant portion of the Riftwatch stipend currently tied up by various city offices and by my own representation therein on the subject of my inheritance.
[A pause. She downs a considerable portion of her own wine, and afterwards moves to refill the glass from the bottle at the center of the table.]
Obviously an error was made. That goes without saying. However no one can find the error. For obvious reasons, I would rather they didn't and given that there is no one else entitled to its solution, no one is at all concerned with untangling the mess. There are parties, however, which are very concerned that I pay to circumvent that error for all eternity. They have seen to levying all manner of estate taxes, and to the remanding of various fines, and to the taking of filing charges on all papers, and so on and so forth. To say nothing of certain clauses in the paperwork stipulating the strict handling of various items, including those very ugly teacups. You follow, yes? [She offers with a tip of the bottle to top off his own glass with what remains.] Have I bored you to death yet? For I am getting to the part which I believe will be of benefit to us both.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-18 10:33 pm (UTC)A scholar, an academic, once meant to be a man of society, someone who learned proper manners and conversational behavior during long and tedious etiquette lessons: all of these things mean that Val looks like he is paying attention. He puts his chin in his hand. He nods. His eyes do not appear glazed. He fidgets, a few times, looks down at the papers in the folio, the scratched-in numbers done in Wysteria's by-now-fairly-familiar handwriting. He takes a sip of wine, enough that when she offers the refill, he is ready for it, and holds out his glass with a pleased ah.]
I stopped listening at the word 'inheritance', [he confesses, with a charming smile that might well excuse the rudeness of that statement. It is a smile that has gotten him out of a great deal worse. He knows to deploy it now.] You should hire yourself someone to worry about such things for you, mademoiselle. I recommend it as a strategy. Then you are free to pursue your own interests and scholarship and projects and leave the little numbers and filings to someone who is paid to wring their hands on your behalf.
What is the part that is of benefit to us both? I did hear that part. I enjoy things that benefit me.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-18 11:06 pm (UTC)But candidly, Wysteria is not unaware of the effect she can sometimes have on people. And there are certain instances like this one where there are reasons to embrace things like 'I stopped listening.']
Nevermind it. The history of the issue will remain largely irrelevant to you. What should be of concern is this: that after a great deal of study, I believe I have found a loophole in the contractual documents. According to Marcher property rights, were we to enter into a formal partnership then the estate and all its holdings would fall naturally to you. With the transfer, I believe a number of the conditional provisions would no longer be applicable and if nothing else, the administrative oversight of the property by the city would be so diminished that I might re-allocate my own funds and the Riftwatch stipend to something other than maintaining the rights.
It would be very temporary, [she hastens to say, carrying along at a breakneck pace.] Only for as long as the transfer of titles. And then we would have it all absolved and you would remand back the rights to me.
Now, I know what you will say, Monsieur—[Thickly nasal, if not thiccly Orlesian:] 'But Mademoiselle Cannon, what would stop me from simply keeping everything?' To which I say only that I trust you will do the right thing. Or perhaps, Mademoiselle, you said this would benefit me and thus far I fail to see how it does!'
And to that, I have drafted an agreement which we will sign upon the dissolution of the partnership which states you will maintain a fifteen percent investment in the property as an acknowledgement of the favor you would be doing me. But more importantly, this will eventually allow me to do what I have been unable to previously. Which is, contribute financially to our work.
[Here, finally, Wysteria falls out of that merciless forward onslaught to offer him this aside:]
I recall your solicitor once expressed concern over that point.
[She sips from her glass.]
no subject
Date: 2021-02-20 11:02 pm (UTC)[Please. Val sips from his glass as well before he continues.]
Still. That is one of the numerous concerns of my solicitor. If he were here, he would faint in delight at the mere implication of shared financial responsibility. But he has a very delicate constitution and faints easily. Of course it goes without saying that he would need to look upon this agreement before any signature or agreement was made.
But, mademoiselle, your proposal, in short, requires--perhaps hinges upon the fact--that I become the temporary owner of--and then the fifteen percent owner of--a piece of Kirkwall? I will say that I have never desired to be the owner of anything at all in the Free Marches, being merely a scholar whose presence here is a temporarily one, motivated by my work. I consider myself nearly a tourist to this barbaric land. There is something so very final in ownership of property, is there not?
no subject
Date: 2021-02-20 11:41 pm (UTC)She takes another drink before saying,]
I see no reason at all why that should be the case. Property, when one may do with it as they wish, is a very fine investment. And there is nothing about having claim in one place which limits you from doing whatever you like anywhere else. Why—you could sell off your percentage to anyone you wished, even.
Though if you would prefer to retain no stake in the place at all once this hypothetical partnership were dissolved, de Foncé, that would suit me just fine.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-21 12:05 am (UTC)I suppose then my next question would be-- [He reaches to refill her glass once more. It is not quite empty, but why wait for it to have reached true emptiness?] Why not make this proposal to another of your many friends?
no subject
Date: 2021-02-21 12:31 am (UTC)For all the obvious reasons, of course. They are either women, or other rifters—who would only complicate matters further matters—or their social advantage is such that with the estate I might very well still be considered the controlling party. Take Mister Ellis, for example. My financial portfolio must at this rate far outstrip his. —Or they are mages. Or, worse, they are some combination of the aforementioned.
The goal is for this to be done quickly, quietly, and for it to be believable enough that no one will examine it too closely prior to its dissolution. I regret to say so, Monsieur, for I know you have no fondness for paperwork and would prefer not to be troubled but such petty things. But given all of this, you are the only practical candidate.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-21 03:18 am (UTC)It is all rather obvious when you say it. Poor souls, all, some-- [m i s t e r e l l i s] --more than others.
[Practical is not the most glowing of words. Yet even so: how would one ever grow tired of being the preferred choice? All the better when one does not have to seek out the designation at all. Val sips at his wine, then leans very abruptly forward, closing the conversation in more intimately to confide:]
I will require my solicitor to be given the chance to review the contract that you have written up, but on its face--aside from my aversion to the commitment implied in the ownership of property--I can think of little else at this moment to take issue with. You have put forth quite a pretty screen of words and it has served you well, mademoiselle. I think that you could argue yourself out of most situations. Or at the very least, talk. This is a compliment.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-21 04:35 am (UTC)There, late into the evening, at that table crammed into a corner of the Tamed Lion, Wysteria brightens to a degree which threatens to outstrip the candlelight and hanging lanterns.]
I accept your compliment. —And have prepared a copy of the proposal for your solicitor already which you may take with you tonight.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-21 06:44 am (UTC)[Up until now, the tone has been conversational, casual just bordering on a lecture. This is the first question that has been asked, a genuine inquiry for an opinion, delivered in very nearly the same tone. Val looks at Wysteria, waiting for her answer.]
In Val Royeaux, a kiss upon each cheek is the exchange. What of Kalevad?
no subject
Date: 2021-02-21 08:23 am (UTC)Kalvad.
[And then, considerably less readily—]
Which portion of the arrangement, specifically? The paperwork, or the partnership, or the—agreement to agree.
[No, that is a stupid question; Wysteria waves it away with a flick of her fingers.]
Most matters of business in Kalvad are secured with a handshake. Or a toast, in which we say something pleasant about one another or about the venture and then praise the the Princes. Gods bless and keep the Empire and all of us in, and so on. [She clinks her glass against his, but doesn't pause for the gesture or the sound.] But given the exact nature of this particular agreement—which is to say, that is will require a certain...temporary illusion of sentiment—, then I suppose the royan way of doing things might be acceptable even in Kalvad.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-21 08:57 pm (UTC)I am not opposed to toasts or to handshakes at all. But they are commonplace. I have arranged for the shoveling of manure out of a campsite with a handshake. And as you say, given the exact nature--a sealing more demonstrable would be appropriate, one that gives that certain temporary illusion to which you have alluded.
And you agree, clearly. Yes?
no subject
Date: 2021-02-21 09:18 pm (UTC)[Well. Perhaps if they were among company other than their own then, yes, there would be some motivation to play at such performative little gestures. What compelling reason is there here, though? In this exact instance?
They are fine questions, but ones very likely to send them down a tangent which she doesn't truly care to discuss. There is no reason to focus overmuch on the pretending of the thing or even the details of the arrangement when it is all meant to be so very temporary.]
I suppose so, yes. We are in agreement.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-21 11:05 pm (UTC)[And now that the sentiment has been confirmed, and repeated as confirmed, there can be no going back on it. Val sets down his wine glass and moves his chair so that he is now turned toward Wysteria. The darkness of evening has given way to the dark of night, and the Tamed Lion's dim lighting seems, perhaps, more intimate than vaguely dank now.
Val holds out a hand to Wysteria, bridging the small gap between them. What she is meant to do with this hand remains to be seen, or decided by her.]
You do intend to come by a large dog still, I hope?
no subject
Date: 2021-02-22 12:57 am (UTC)The angle of her chair also is adjusted by a slight degree and at last she sets her hand gamely in his. It is rather like being asked to dance at a formal party and then being swept out to the dance floor, and under those circumstances she has placed her hand in such a position dozens of times.]
And a large dog does seem like a reasonably effective and simple means with which to bolster security.
[Wysteria turns her face. She taps her cheek expectantly with a finger.]
no subject
Date: 2021-02-22 06:19 am (UTC)[But: ah. Thusly prompted, Val makes a quiet sound of polite acknowledgement. He squares his shoulders, straightens his spine, takes her hand in a grasp both firm and gentle, then leans in and kisses one cheek--and then, briskly, the other, before a third kiss upon the first once again, and then he kisses her on the mouth.
Which is to say he kisses her on the mouth, again. But this one is not a dream, and thus, different than the other two.]
no subject
Date: 2021-02-22 07:10 am (UTC)It is different from the other two.
Presumably, the slap she gives his face is different too.]
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Date: 2021-02-23 03:55 am (UTC)Very cruel.
[He turns back to the table without further comment, and takes up his wine glass. Already there is a faint red mark where her slap had landed, but he pays it no mind.]
I recommend that we avoid the mabari. I have nothing against them, and they are effective in the role of guard-dog which is so often and so fittingly assigned to them. And yet I find them to be rather overrated. There are so many other worthy breeds to choose from, with features that recommend them to the position. The cavalier assumption of ownership notwithstanding, I have great respect for dogs assigned work.
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Date: 2021-02-23 04:38 am (UTC)Rather than glance about them to gauge her mortification off the faces of the strangers surrounding them, she instesd resolutely takes a drink. There is fig spread and crackers and good cheese and delicate little strips of meat and she has heard there is a good custard dessert made in this place. And if they mean to linger for these things, they will be obligated to indulge in another bottle of wine. And if that is true, then she will need to return to the Gallows tonight or risk running late for her morning rota.
The point being that there are all sorts of minor immediate concerns and pleasantries both and it is far more useful to catalog them than to allow herself to be induced into anything so silly as outrage or embarrassment or anything else.
It is only once she is spreading fig onto her second edge of toast that she realizes she is talking, having evidently at some point begun to reply in an effort to fill any threatening pause in conversation.]
—Indeed, I will confess to knowing very little of the subject beyond what I have read. My uncle has a great love for sporting dogs and I've a cousin with a funny little terrier, but I can claim to only have the most passing of acquaintances with the animals. Noose is charming, of course. But I believe he finds the Research workshops to have an unpleasant smell and so usually he stays well clear of them. I trust you will have some specific recommendation. Or, no. Better. If you feel so strongly on the subject, you might simply do me the favor of selecting the right creature for the job.
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Date: 2021-02-24 01:11 am (UTC)It can hardly be called a favor, I think. But if you are implying that you will be in some way beholden for what I will accomplish for you, I will of course not refuse that offer. I look forward to taking advantage of the favor that you will owe to me.
[And with this, his smile tints to something both smug and more familiar, an extra hitch to the corner of it. From his satchel, Val produces a writing book and--after some additional searching--a charcoal pencil.]
I will begin the search immediately, for the protection of our shared interests. Something well-behaved, that learns quickly--I have the latter quality myself, though not the former, but I can identify it easily in others, and most easily in dogs-- [Scratch scratch scratch goes the pencil on the page, extravagant letters with tell-tale Orlesian accent markings.] --something that will not trouble your chickens, or start a fight with Veronique--lacking in excitability, I think we will say, though not so much so that an intruder will go unremarked upon-- Sporting dogs? Your uncle was a hunter?
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Date: 2021-02-24 03:56 am (UTC)[It is good, thinks some distant part of her, that he is so readily redirected. She will need to recall this for the future—that in the middle of anything, she might only suggest the possibility of some animal—]
Veronique?
[Wysteria sets the cheese knife down.]
Why should the dog ever meet Veronique? I have never met Veronique. Have you not resolved to release her back into the jungle yet? You can't possibly mean to—They are not my chickens.
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Date: 2021-02-24 05:18 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2021-02-24 06:21 am (UTC)However.]
Yes, but what of Veronique?
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Date: 2021-02-24 05:43 pm (UTC)[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.
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