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.
[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.
Edited (homonyms ) Date: 2021-03-01 05:52 am (UTC)
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.
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timeasmymeasure
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-24 06:21 am (UTC)However.]
Yes, but what of Veronique?
no subject
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.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-24 09:01 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2021-02-25 02:16 am (UTC)[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
Date: 2021-02-26 04:58 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2021-02-27 06:08 pm (UTC)[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?
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Date: 2021-02-28 05:23 am (UTC)[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.
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Date: 2021-03-01 12:09 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2021-03-01 12:42 am (UTC)[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.]
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Date: 2021-03-01 05:51 am (UTC)[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.
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Date: 2021-03-01 06:09 am (UTC)[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?
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Date: 2021-03-02 11:20 pm (UTC)[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.
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Date: 2021-03-03 12:09 am (UTC)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.
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