If they are excellent reading, you might stop throwing them, and trying reading them. Furthermore, I find many other subjects worthy of care. I am interested in a great many topics and disciplines.
"K-a-l-v-a-d", [as he writes it down.] Very good. I love that noise, have I said? I have grown quite fond of it.
From Orzammar I would like some materials. The artisans and smiths of that city have a good supply for crafting and work, the quality of which is difficult to find elsewhere. And their tools, though naturally the sizing must be adjusted. Do not worry, securing these items will not put you into any danger or inconvenience you very much. I would not do that to you or to Mr. Ellis.
How kind, [is rather clipped, and might refer to any number of points.]
I trust this list will be slightly more exacting than others. You should know by the way, de Foncé, that the post boxes are hardly secure and that anyone might fetch your mail out of them should you fail to retrieve it first. It is a small miracle that any notes make it to you at all if you rely on someone else for delivery.
I rely upon others fetching my mail out of my post box. Anyone sensible does. In Orlais, we have these services, where people go about on foot or by other means of transport, and deliver the letter by hand, instead of leaving them about in small holes. It is a much more sensible and civilized system, one that creates jobs for the destitute and fleet of foot.
But I love dragons. That is why.
[Very simple and straightforward and unashamed of the strength of that word: love. It is how he feels.]
Oh, tolerably good. I used to trap the snakes in the garden and keep them in boxes to observe them. They were fascinating to me, almost of another world. Then I grew older and came to understand such captivity as a cruelty. Now I prefer to observe them as they are and learn of them from books and study--though the former is best, of course. To see something in its habitat, there is nothing better.
Why do you ask? Have you come near to a snake lately?
I have come into the temporary possesion of an enchanted one. And know a great deal with respect to the magic and very little regarding the creature, but am curious where one begins and the other ends.
[By now Wysteria will be able to recognize the sharp edge of genuine interest in Val's tone. He might be casually interested in many things, and falsely passingly interested in others, such as the creation of a list. There are few things that earn the genuine.]
I must meet it. This is a rare opportunity. How did it come to you?
It has been lent to me for study. [That sharp edge is pleasantly like winning something - somewhat akin to the satisfaction of being proven right.] And I won't have it long. What are you doing now? I will put my hair back up.
Please. Whatever I am doing now is much less interesting than this.
[On his end, there comes the sound of scraping and shifting, papers and books and cutlery, dishes and glasses and paperweights and inkwells all being shoveled aside.]
Where will I find you? And do not trouble yourself, I will only be looking at the snake.
Then I see no reason why you should not simply come here directly. [Valentine de Foncé cannot be bothered to collect his mail. It occurs to her only in this moment that he almost certainly shoved that stack of books into some servant's hands and informed them to deliver them.
So a little shorter, given the reminder of how irritating he is as an individual—]
The mage tower, sixth floor. Fourth door on the left.
[If he notices her tone, he gives no sign. (It is likely that he does not notice.)]
Very good.
[The mage tower, sixth floor, one, two, three, fourth door, here, and Val arrives to it soon after they have finished speaking. It is very late but he is very awake and attentive, casually-but-still-well-dressed, loose and comfortable. He has brought with him a writing book and a pencil, and he raps on this fourth door and waits, impatient in his excitement.]
[In the grand tradition of impulsive decisions, it is only after she has tossed away her crystal and fetched the first pin from her bedside table that Wysteria realizes the full scope of her error. For there are a dozen hairpins on the little table, yes. But there is also a series of dirty cups, and half her wadrobe is scattered about the room, and the chair before the overflowing desk is hung with every hat she owns.
So Val's knock is greeted with an exclaimed 'One moment!', as Wysteria jams the last of the cups into the chest at the foot of the bed. When the door is answered it virtually flies open, and Wysteria in the doorway is snatching a shawl about her shoulders as if an additional layer will somehow make up for a lack of hairpins and stocking feet.]
Quickly. Come in, [is hissed.] Before anyone sees you.
Your worry, mademoiselle, [not hissed,] will be the death of you. Everyone is asleep, who is going to be seeing me?
[Amused, Val enters the room and looks it over as he does. One's private quarters might say a great deal of one. And if there is little that might be said, after reviewing private quarters, that is telling in of itself.]
It was good of you to tell me of this snake, I am very interested.
[The door is shut most resolutely behind him. She puts her back to it from good measure, and so presents no obstacle to his observation of the room.
It is, despite a certain frantic effort to tidy, rather the definition of disorderly. The little writing desk is bursting with papers, and a number of illustrations have been pinned above it; a pile of books, a great collection of correspondence, and a small figurine of a dog take up nearly all the real estate on the side table; a traveling case is still open in one corner of the room, its contents of clay jars and vials and all the dreadful things contained therein spilling out in every direction. There is a corner of fabric poking out from under the lip of the trunk at the foot of the bed; the bed itself has has been hastily made, and from here she can see the ribbons of her boot laces poking out from under the covers where she'd thoughtlessly thrust them.
There is, she realizes, a dirty plate in the narrow window sill. Wysteria detects a portion of her soul evacuating her body at the sight of it.]
The snake is here, de Foncé, [she exclaims, thrusting her hand toward him. Which seems like an insane thing to say, save that there is indeed a little forked black tongue questing beyond the edge of her sleeve's cuff.] She prefers to travel about the arm or shoulders. And thank you. For your prompt consideration of the subject.
[Val, having started an amble toward the desk and its spill of papers and illustrations--no reason at all except to look, very naturally, at the inner workings of someone else's mind, now that he has the opportunity--but, so summoned, he stops and looks back over his shoulder with an amiable hmm? that quickly becomes a hm!
He turns away from the desk, and the dirty plate that would have been within his sights had he not become so distracted.]
Of course I am prompt to address a subject of such interest. The arm or the shoulder! Can I--? [He holds up his hand first, with his eyebrows raised. Yes?] She does not mind being handled, but the transfer... it might be tricky. Where has some come from and what is she called? I know it is silly, somewhat, to give a name to an animal. I cannot help it, it is a weakness of mine. And it makes discussion easier besides, I think.
[Crisis only temporarily averted - she has designs on sidling over there while he's distracted, snatching that plate down, and tossing it unobtrusively elsewhere - she is prompt about unbuttoning her sleeve and turning her hand in such a way as to invite his. Yes.]
Go on, he would like to see you, [is seemingly said to the reptile, and despite how unlikely it is, the snake acquiesces to the request: slipping by degrees from under Wysteria's cuff, all dark shot through with lines of pale gold, her small eyes very black and her tongue curious as she extends toward Val's fingers.]
She came through a Rift, of course. [She hadn't asked Mr. Dickerson whether the snake had a name, but for the sake of this exact moment--] I have been thinking of her as Ribbon. She is very amenable, and has only tired to ignore instructions when I didn't word them properly.
Edited (finding a typo 100 years later) 2020-09-11 04:27 (UTC)
[Val gives a quiet gasp as the snake slips free and reveals herself by degrees. Quickly he holds his hand to hers to accept the transfer, palm up. The snake is cool like a slip of silk, as she slides neatly over to him.
Carefully, Val crooks his elbow so that he can get a closer look at her and admire her tidy colors, like a slice of black marble veined in gold. Her tongue flicks out, testing the air, kissing at his wrist.]
'Ribbon'. It is a perfect name. Bonsoir, Ribbon, it is a pleasure. You have come very far to be here and I am pleased that you have. What is enchanted about you, do we know?
[He looks to Wysteria, the question more to her than to the snake who cannot speak. Unless... can she? Would it not be something if she could, then he would hardly need to speak to Wysteria to get his answer.]
To begin with, she will follow any clear direction given to her. [Wysteria promptly buttons her cuff closed again, judiciously draws her shawl more tightly about her and meanders perfectly casually further into the room.] And while I have observed that she enjoys the sun, she has interest in neither food or water. The enchantment seems to have altered her person - or rather, to be principle in its formation - rather than merely something she is wearing. Like a coat. If snakes wore coats.
--Might I bring your attention to the gold patterning of the scales, Monsieur. They correspond pleasantly with the foundational lines of her enchantment.
Yes? And they are very pretty, besides, mon Doudou. Truly. You are a princess.
[He addresses these compliments and endearments to Ribbon directly by raising her to his eye level, as he turns his wrist slightly to admire the gold pattern that Wysteria has spoken of.
No chance, by the way, that he is speaking so lovingly to Wysteria herself. He is giving every impression of being blind to her presence in the room, now that he has been given a magical snake to admire. At least he can still hear her.]
Of course a snake does not drink water as you might expect. It is the anatomy of the system and the lining of the lower jaw--several of them are designed in such a way as a sponge. But you would still see an interest in the stuff--so we have answered our question, I think. If she has no interest in food or in water, she is not living, or she does not take nutrition and sustenance in the same way that a snake might.
She could be as a plant, if she loves the sun so well. Snakes do, in general, so how would we say if her enjoying were more than this?
Is that so? I had no idea serpents were so cleverly designed. How very fascinating.
[Is all lightness and air as the dirty plate is fetched from the windowsill and surreptitiously shoved into the bedside table's drawer. So as to be in possession of an excuse should there be any questions, on the way out Wysteria draws both a comb (which is set aside) and a little booklet (which is laid open on the little table for the taking of notes).
Perching at the edge of the bed, she draws her pen from—well. With her hair unpinned there can be no illusion of having it tucked into the uptwist of it, though she thoughtlessly reaches behind her ear all the same. The pen simply manifests from nowhere at all into her hand - all of which is unimportant given any level of scrutiny seems presently directed at bon Ribbon.
The scratch of the nib on paper begins at once.]
My suspicion is that the form is in and of itself somehow magical. Manufactured, I mean, rather than that someone took a living snake and enchanted it to be not alive. Dissection might reveal one or two little things, but given how real she looks on the exterior I have no reason to believe her interior to be any different. Nevermind that it would be perfectly wasteful. The spellwork is quite delicate, and would likely come unwound.
[Belatedly:] And she is perfectly charming as she is, of course.
[A word of comfort to Ribbon:] And we would never dissect, besides the waste of it. This is what the mademoiselle means, when she says that you are 'perfectly charming' after having half made the suggestion. You must not mistake her.
[More generally, now (though he is still looking at Ribbon as he speaks, admiring her and turning his hand gently from side to side, to accommodate any shifting of coils)--]
Manufactured is an interesting suggestion. I wonder how that might be tested or inquired. And what would be the point of it besides? Simply to do?
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[Fwhump, goes the last book. Her voice grows more distant, presumably having set the crystal down.]
One might only wish that you found certain other subjects as worthy of such particular care.
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How do you spell "Cal-vahd-e"?
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K-a-l-v-a-d.
[A series of thumps sound like shoes being tossed, so at least his books aren't the only victims.]
What is in Orzammar that you want?
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From Orzammar I would like some materials. The artisans and smiths of that city have a good supply for crafting and work, the quality of which is difficult to find elsewhere. And their tools, though naturally the sizing must be adjusted. Do not worry, securing these items will not put you into any danger or inconvenience you very much. I would not do that to you or to Mr. Ellis.
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I trust this list will be slightly more exacting than others. You should know by the way, de Foncé, that the post boxes are hardly secure and that anyone might fetch your mail out of them should you fail to retrieve it first. It is a small miracle that any notes make it to you at all if you rely on someone else for delivery.
Why the dragons? On your seal.
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But I love dragons. That is why.
[Very simple and straightforward and unashamed of the strength of that word: love. It is how he feels.]
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[A pause. When next she speaks, her voice is much louder having picked the crystal back up again.]
You are quite familiar with all sorts of animals. How would you rate your expertise on serpents?
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Why do you ask? Have you come near to a snake lately?
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This one is, by the way. Of another world.
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[By now Wysteria will be able to recognize the sharp edge of genuine interest in Val's tone. He might be casually interested in many things, and falsely passingly interested in others, such as the creation of a list. There are few things that earn the genuine.]
I must meet it. This is a rare opportunity. How did it come to you?
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[On his end, there comes the sound of scraping and shifting, papers and books and cutlery, dishes and glasses and paperweights and inkwells all being shoveled aside.]
Where will I find you? And do not trouble yourself, I will only be looking at the snake.
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So a little shorter, given the reminder of how irritating he is as an individual—]
The mage tower, sixth floor. Fourth door on the left.
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Very good.
[The mage tower, sixth floor, one, two, three, fourth door, here, and Val arrives to it soon after they have finished speaking. It is very late but he is very awake and attentive, casually-but-still-well-dressed, loose and comfortable. He has brought with him a writing book and a pencil, and he raps on this fourth door and waits, impatient in his excitement.]
Mademoiselle!
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So Val's knock is greeted with an exclaimed 'One moment!', as Wysteria jams the last of the cups into the chest at the foot of the bed. When the door is answered it virtually flies open, and Wysteria in the doorway is snatching a shawl about her shoulders as if an additional layer will somehow make up for a lack of hairpins and stocking feet.]
Quickly. Come in, [is hissed.] Before anyone sees you.
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[Amused, Val enters the room and looks it over as he does. One's private quarters might say a great deal of one. And if there is little that might be said, after reviewing private quarters, that is telling in of itself.]
It was good of you to tell me of this snake, I am very interested.
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It is, despite a certain frantic effort to tidy, rather the definition of disorderly. The little writing desk is bursting with papers, and a number of illustrations have been pinned above it; a pile of books, a great collection of correspondence, and a small figurine of a dog take up nearly all the real estate on the side table; a traveling case is still open in one corner of the room, its contents of clay jars and vials and all the dreadful things contained therein spilling out in every direction. There is a corner of fabric poking out from under the lip of the trunk at the foot of the bed; the bed itself has has been hastily made, and from here she can see the ribbons of her boot laces poking out from under the covers where she'd thoughtlessly thrust them.
There is, she realizes, a dirty plate in the narrow window sill. Wysteria detects a portion of her soul evacuating her body at the sight of it.]
The snake is here, de Foncé, [she exclaims, thrusting her hand toward him. Which seems like an insane thing to say, save that there is indeed a little forked black tongue questing beyond the edge of her sleeve's cuff.] She prefers to travel about the arm or shoulders. And thank you. For your prompt consideration of the subject.
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He turns away from the desk, and the dirty plate that would have been within his sights had he not become so distracted.]
Of course I am prompt to address a subject of such interest. The arm or the shoulder! Can I--? [He holds up his hand first, with his eyebrows raised. Yes?] She does not mind being handled, but the transfer... it might be tricky. Where has some come from and what is she called? I know it is silly, somewhat, to give a name to an animal. I cannot help it, it is a weakness of mine. And it makes discussion easier besides, I think.
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Go on, he would like to see you, [is seemingly said to the reptile, and despite how unlikely it is, the snake acquiesces to the request: slipping by degrees from under Wysteria's cuff, all dark shot through with lines of pale gold, her small eyes very black and her tongue curious as she extends toward Val's fingers.]
She came through a Rift, of course. [She hadn't asked Mr. Dickerson whether the snake had a name, but for the sake of this exact moment--] I have been thinking of her as Ribbon. She is very amenable, and has only tired to ignore instructions when I didn't word them properly.
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Carefully, Val crooks his elbow so that he can get a closer look at her and admire her tidy colors, like a slice of black marble veined in gold. Her tongue flicks out, testing the air, kissing at his wrist.]
'Ribbon'. It is a perfect name. Bonsoir, Ribbon, it is a pleasure. You have come very far to be here and I am pleased that you have. What is enchanted about you, do we know?
[He looks to Wysteria, the question more to her than to the snake who cannot speak. Unless... can she? Would it not be something if she could, then he would hardly need to speak to Wysteria to get his answer.]
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--Might I bring your attention to the gold patterning of the scales, Monsieur. They correspond pleasantly with the foundational lines of her enchantment.
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[He addresses these compliments and endearments to Ribbon directly by raising her to his eye level, as he turns his wrist slightly to admire the gold pattern that Wysteria has spoken of.
No chance, by the way, that he is speaking so lovingly to Wysteria herself. He is giving every impression of being blind to her presence in the room, now that he has been given a magical snake to admire. At least he can still hear her.]
Of course a snake does not drink water as you might expect. It is the anatomy of the system and the lining of the lower jaw--several of them are designed in such a way as a sponge. But you would still see an interest in the stuff--so we have answered our question, I think. If she has no interest in food or in water, she is not living, or she does not take nutrition and sustenance in the same way that a snake might.
She could be as a plant, if she loves the sun so well. Snakes do, in general, so how would we say if her enjoying were more than this?
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[Is all lightness and air as the dirty plate is fetched from the windowsill and surreptitiously shoved into the bedside table's drawer. So as to be in possession of an excuse should there be any questions, on the way out Wysteria draws both a comb (which is set aside) and a little booklet (which is laid open on the little table for the taking of notes).
Perching at the edge of the bed, she draws her pen from—well. With her hair unpinned there can be no illusion of having it tucked into the uptwist of it, though she thoughtlessly reaches behind her ear all the same. The pen simply manifests from nowhere at all into her hand - all of which is unimportant given any level of scrutiny seems presently directed at bon Ribbon.
The scratch of the nib on paper begins at once.]
My suspicion is that the form is in and of itself somehow magical. Manufactured, I mean, rather than that someone took a living snake and enchanted it to be not alive. Dissection might reveal one or two little things, but given how real she looks on the exterior I have no reason to believe her interior to be any different. Nevermind that it would be perfectly wasteful. The spellwork is quite delicate, and would likely come unwound.
[Belatedly:] And she is perfectly charming as she is, of course.
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[More generally, now (though he is still looking at Ribbon as he speaks, admiring her and turning his hand gently from side to side, to accommodate any shifting of coils)--]
Manufactured is an interesting suggestion. I wonder how that might be tested or inquired. And what would be the point of it besides? Simply to do?
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