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?
To know. [Is a vital matter of semantics.] And because if she is an arcane construct and not enchanted, perhaps some principles of her creation might be applied to...say, the modification of glyphs and so on. Thedosian magic which is built by drawing from the Fade rather than engineered with lyrium, but is notoriously limited in its longevity.
[She's taking notes on her own answer; it was a good question.]
So would I, if I had the power to do so. But how would you ever make your mind up, of what form it would take? A snake is very good. I quite like snakes--it's true!
[The assurance is for Ribbon. Not that she seems particularly nervous. As placid as ever, she winds around his wrist, hiding her little spade-shaped head behind his wrist. Val smiles and turns his hand so he can look at her again.]
But I quite like every beast. Think of how marvelous it would be to have, say, a hawk made of enchantment.
My thoughts were closer to a finch or a sparrow. Something easy to overlook and rather sneaky because of it. [A pause; her writing resumes.] And also I suppose because I am rather fond of finches.
—And snakes, of course.
[As they are being so mindful of giving Ribbon her due.]
And snakes, [Val agrees, gallantly, with a nod to Ribbon.]
A finch is a very fitting choice for you. I see it plainly. I suppose for myself, I am thinking of a creature that would be more showy and obvious. I like something that makes a statement. Snakes do that often on their own. But a hawk would do it quite nicely. Or an eagle. Or a griffon. Think of it!
[A few more scratching lines of the pen. Without looking up from her notation—]
You know, as it would be an arcane construct in entirety and clearly its habits could be gently modified—as I suspect that most snakes are rather less keen on direction than our friend—, you might very well have yourself a dragon.
[Val looks around at her, with a glitter in his eye that close friends of his would recognize as a sign of his genuine and true interest. She has said one of the magic words.]
But of course this is all theoretical. So there is no use in excitement. Do they have dragons? In-- [exaggeratedly,] Cal-Vahd?
We do not. Neither have we dracolisks or nugs or druffalo or indeed a great many of the animals which you do in Thedas.
[She glances up from her writing, setting her chin thoughtfully on her knuckles as she regards Ribbon curled about his hand. A last note is made in her book and then the pen is tucked behind her ear and remains there visibly (for what else would it do?).]
Perhaps one of the Nevarran mages would have some insight as to her nature. They are rather well acquainted with the subject of animation.
How sad and lonely your skies must be. And your ground. I suppose they at least have snakes.
[This, again, to Ribbon, with great fondness. Val twists his wrist again to follow her path, which is now going up his arm. His shirtsleeve is rolled and tucked and shoved up over his elbow; she slides against it, inquisitive.]
Which of the mages do you favor for this task? Our sampling is something. I think Nevarra is such a strange country. It breeds strangeness. I do like the mummies. Do they have mummies in Kale-Vahed?
Kalvad [is a correction; that's far too much mustard on the thing, de Foncé] has very few serpents, in fact. But the Imperial Continent has all kinds of animals, and I must assume a great many varieties of snakes and lizards who would find the island less pleasant. As for mummies, I have heard there are a few in Iugul, and that Alexander Pugh brought one back with him after a summer spent campaigning, and that it now lies in state in some capitol gallery. But I had never seen one there.
[But that hardly matters. The point is--]
I suppose it would have to be Enchanter Averesch, although Speaker Fabria would naturally be my preference give his connection to the Mortalitasi. Averesch has some knowledge of spirits, I grant. But of sustained possession?
Kal-vad, [Val repeats quietly, obediently, and with too much relish. He twists his arm to give Ribbon even ground to move across.]
We could show her to them both, separately, and then give the better answer some award. I can think of some things that would be suitable. Which do you prefer personally? I can't say that have held a sustained conversation with either of them for very long, if at all, so I would need to base my opinion upon mere impression.
Enchanter Averesch is a lecherous boor, but I have found him to be perfectly knowledgable if not agreeable on the subject of the Fade, and spirits, and so on. Speaker Fabria seems the picture of professionalism and would be most desirable, though I gather him to be rather more taciturn when it comes to discussing questions related to his work - a side effect of the Order, perhaps? More likely tied to his position with Project Haven and a desire not to discuss any subject with someone who might loudly repeat it and be misunderstood out of context. That is my impression of him from observation at least, for we have only spoken once or twice directly about nothing in particular.
Leander [—a first name, how very shocking—] might also have thoughts on the subject, though I gather his specialties to be rather more related to glyph making than working directly with spirits.
[With her chin propped on her hand, she studies the line of his arm - or rather, the snake curiously traversing it.]
Have there been many studies done on animals and how they perceive the Fade?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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[She's taking notes on her own answer; it was a good question.]
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[He gives Ribbon an apologetic look. Nothing personal. She seems unperturbed, and considers him in return with a friendly sort of stare.]
So you would not build for yourself a snake of magic? If you had the power to do so.
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Perhaps not a snake specifically. But I might experiment with something conceptually similar. If I had the power to do so.
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[The assurance is for Ribbon. Not that she seems particularly nervous. As placid as ever, she winds around his wrist, hiding her little spade-shaped head behind his wrist. Val smiles and turns his hand so he can look at her again.]
But I quite like every beast. Think of how marvelous it would be to have, say, a hawk made of enchantment.
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—And snakes, of course.
[As they are being so mindful of giving Ribbon her due.]
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A finch is a very fitting choice for you. I see it plainly. I suppose for myself, I am thinking of a creature that would be more showy and obvious. I like something that makes a statement. Snakes do that often on their own. But a hawk would do it quite nicely. Or an eagle. Or a griffon. Think of it!
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[A few more scratching lines of the pen. Without looking up from her notation—]
You know, as it would be an arcane construct in entirety and clearly its habits could be gently modified—as I suspect that most snakes are rather less keen on direction than our friend—, you might very well have yourself a dragon.
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But of course this is all theoretical. So there is no use in excitement. Do they have dragons? In-- [exaggeratedly,] Cal-Vahd?
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[She glances up from her writing, setting her chin thoughtfully on her knuckles as she regards Ribbon curled about his hand. A last note is made in her book and then the pen is tucked behind her ear and remains there visibly (for what else would it do?).]
Perhaps one of the Nevarran mages would have some insight as to her nature. They are rather well acquainted with the subject of animation.
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[This, again, to Ribbon, with great fondness. Val twists his wrist again to follow her path, which is now going up his arm. His shirtsleeve is rolled and tucked and shoved up over his elbow; she slides against it, inquisitive.]
Which of the mages do you favor for this task? Our sampling is something. I think Nevarra is such a strange country. It breeds strangeness. I do like the mummies. Do they have mummies in Kale-Vahed?
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[But that hardly matters. The point is--]
I suppose it would have to be Enchanter Averesch, although Speaker Fabria would naturally be my preference give his connection to the Mortalitasi. Averesch has some knowledge of spirits, I grant. But of sustained possession?
[She sounds doubtful.]
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We could show her to them both, separately, and then give the better answer some award. I can think of some things that would be suitable. Which do you prefer personally? I can't say that have held a sustained conversation with either of them for very long, if at all, so I would need to base my opinion upon mere impression.
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Leander [—a first name, how very shocking—] might also have thoughts on the subject, though I gather his specialties to be rather more related to glyph making than working directly with spirits.
[With her chin propped on her hand, she studies the line of his arm - or rather, the snake curiously traversing it.]
Have there been many studies done on animals and how they perceive the Fade?
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