[Thoughtfully--] We could always bribe him to discuss. That is a form of convincing. No, I am sure you will do splendidly, of course you will, you are very deliberate, no one would say anything less of you--but bribery is a second option.
[He was looking at Ribbon as he said all of that, too interested in her progress. Only now does he cast a glance toward Wysteria.]
How would you know whether or not your trial was a risk to the dog?
I suppose there would be only one way of being certain.
[But she knows he is somewhat squeamish about these things - recalls with stark clarity some difficulty over the very reasonable act of saving their lives by striking a dracolisk with a bucket -, and so neglects to elaborate.]
What sort of bribe would you suggest? In case it becomes necessary.
[Val's hearing and comprehension is selective, but not arbitrarily so. His eye narrow as he inwardly deduces what methods might gain that certainty of which she speaks.]
No bribe that would harm any dogs, if that were to be of any concern. Money is the universal currency. Mages are, I think, used to little of it--that is the impression that I get from them--but they did come of circumstances before, so perhaps less impressive to certain of their number.
Perhaps instead... Well, he is Nevarran. We could find him a skull. Not the Skull, it is quite its own. But a different skull, a good one.
Oh, size, I would think. General intactness and wholeness. In every skull, that small bit of bone that is where the nose is, it is so prone to breakage if you are not careful. A certain desirable width between the eye sockets. The jawbone will have likely come detached, but it should have the jawbone with, I think, or else half of its story is missing, ah--
[--And this musing is interrupted as Val laughs suddenly. Ribbon is at his shoulder now, her tongue tasting the air that is too close to his neck. He does not flinch, lest he disturb her, but puts his hand out as a shield, and so that she might crawl upon it instead.]
Ribbon, little treasure, you cannot. Please. The mademoiselle is right there.
[She is listening as he goes on and on, thinking despite herself that she might rather enjoy the challenge of finding such an intact selection of the skeleton—from where? Who knows. Under what circumstances? Inessential to the imagining—given how he makes it sound so much like piecing together a puzzle or choosing the right fabric for the making of a fashionable new shirt, two rather satisfying pastimes indeed.
Val laughs, and her smile flexes in answer and—
Wysteria actually hears what he has said, and the abject mortification of their current circumstances finally reaches her. She goes very still, and very hot up the back of her neck (which is invisible due to the indignity of her unpinned hair), and feels a piece of her wither and die with embarrassment. It is late, and of all the places Val de Foncé should be, her bedroom is not one of them regardless of the hour.
She hurriedly sets aside her pen again without having written anything since fetching it up.]
Yes, well. I agree that this has been more than revealing enough, thank you. Perhaps we should think over all of this business of skulls and bribery and so on again in the morning at a more reasonable hour. We might attend then to the question of where one might hope to find such a pristine artifact, for example.
—Time permitting, of course. There naturally being so much to accomplish for our other work.
[Val casts an unbothered glance in her direction. Ribbon is now wrapping herself around his other hand, saving the two of them from scandal.]
What is unreasonable about this hour? We are all three of us awake. And I find this a very productive time of day besides, when everything is very quiet and no one is around to make irritating sounds. Present company excluded, of course. Now--
[He sinks down to sit upon the floor, Ribbon held aloft for a moment. Her head raises quizzically, peering around with her blackseed eyes, her thin tongue tasting the air. Then Val is seated, and he carefully lowers his hand to a more reasonable level.]
If I were to search for a pristine skull, I suppose I would first consult a dig site. Or a private collection, should I choose to be very boring about the process, but the dig is the best part, yes?
[There is a perfectly good chair just there by the desk. Why always this fascination with the floor--
Is strictly not the direction she has any interesting in veering toward, and so she pinches her mouth shut until the urge passes which allows de Foncé more than enough time to wax poetic about digging bones out of the ground.]
Yes, I imagine that it is. You recall last August when the Veil was so thin here in Kirkwall and we discovered the Rift beneath it; the exploration of the cave system and the ruins can have only been improved by the presence of bones. Be that as it may, [is very firm, undercut slightly by the self aware tucking of her hair behind her ears] I happen to have an early appointment tomorrow. It wouldn't do for me to entertain for much longer.
I find that when I have an early appointment--which I so rarely do, being clever enough to schedule my appointments in such a way to guarantee no earliness is expected of me--but when circumstances do not at all allow for this, then my preferred style is to come to them very tired. It creates a certain air of importance, yes? And mystery. [He affects a scratchy posh voice:] What has she been up to? She must be a very interesting person. And we should not take up too much of her time, and so on, and then your appointment is mercifully short and you are able to get on with truly interesting things.
Which, speaking of things more interesting--I did forget about that time! I was so interested in seeing shades and spirits and I never did get to see one. I wonder what is still down there.
[Frowning, she makes to draw her shawl tighter about her shoulders. A look is turned about the room as if in the vague hope that she might land on something which might be used to drive him from it. Her preference would be to show up to all appointments, no matter how early, appearing shockingly well rested and vibrantly good looking as a result.]
Then perhaps you might arrange an expedition of your own, de Foncé. Sooner rather than later, lest the flooding there be more severe during the winter months. In fact, I might lend you my notes on the subject if you think it would be of some assistance.
[He leans back, supporting his weight on his one free hand. His other hand he holds halfway to aloft, so Ribbon might wind her way down his forearm. It is a very casual pose.]
--If you were planning an expedition of this sort, would you accept my notes on the subject, if I had made those note and had them available for you to review?
[From where she is sat very primly on the edge of the bed, shawl drawn so close about the shoulders she might be attempting self-mummification, and that distinct red of either outrage or embarrassment beginning to creep into her face, Wysteria cuts anything but a casual figure.]
Why yes, of course. I imagine they would be very useful. You have a keen eye for detail when you care to, de Foncé, and I can only assume if you bothered to take notes that they would be worth review.
Your pardon, mademoiselle, but that was a compliment, yes? Forgive me for calling attention to it. It is only that I must write it down so I do not forget the occasion.
I suppose I will accept your notes if you are offering them. I am not so proud. [Well. He tilts his head, and amends that:] On this.
[She bristles a degree further in reply to his laughter.]
It is merely fact, de Foncé. Compliments have very little to do with it whatsoever, though you may of course write whatever you like down in that little booklet of yours. Honestly, [is a grumbling note largely for herself as she impatiently rises to her stocking feet] as if I would waste my time with any of this if that weren't true.
[Padding around where he sits, Wysteria makes for the overflowing desk. A series of drawers are opened, their contents rustling as she paws through them one handed while yet clutching the shawl about her shoulders.]
I have yet to recopy them into a sensible arrangement, so you will have to make do as they are. I trust that will not be too challenging.
Its truth is why it is so very meaningful, mademoiselle.
[He does not let her movements distract him in any way that would mean looking around at her. Instead he acts as if she is barely there at all, focused instead on little Ribbon. Only when he is sure (out of the corner of his eye) that she is faced away, does he glance in her direction--and then away again, before she can catch him, looking back to Ribbon.]
I am sure I will be able to untangle even the most incoherent of writing. Perhaps I can even assist with their arrangement, as I will have made practical use of them, and can make the recommendations based upon that. It is not something that I normally do, but I would make an exception.
[Little Ribbon with her bead dark eyes returns the look. Blep, goes her dark tongue, critically tasting the air in time to the clattering of the drawer's contents and Wysteria's arch reply that—]
Yes, yes. That would be perfectly acceptable— Ah.
[With a last thump, she unearths a slim booklet. The door is slammed shut behind it.]
Here you are, de Foncé. Evidence of my incoherence. Mind that the first half has nothing at all to do with the caverns. You will want to start— here. The rest is all Rifter nonsense.
[With her finger marking the proper place and her other hand still fisted in the shawl, she scuttles close to present the booklet to him. She twitches her small finger toward the snake.]
[With an appreciative ah, Val takes the booklet. He does not move to offer Ribbon in exchange.]
Rifter nonsense. Yes. Is there any other? And why? You do not trust me? Look how happy she is, mademoiselle.
[His arm lifts a little higher, so that Wysteria might admire from this short distance that she is at.]
For even if she is a fascinating magical construct of some sort and not a snake entire, she still possesses all of the hallmarks of a snake, and so her mood can be read. If you are unaware of how to read a snake's mood, then you must trust me when I say that she is very happy.
[Even at this close proximity, the creature looks very much like a snake. Pleased or otherwise seems to make very little difference to its appearance, all things considered.]
Then perhaps in exchange for my notes you would make me a few for how to best read her mood. [Unclechning from the shawl, she lowers a hand toward both the snake of Val. Wysteria wiggles her fingers in invitation. Mlem mlem mlem, goes Ribbon's little black tongue.] Trust has nothing at all to do with it. I'm going to sleep, and so if you don't surrender her then you will soon find yourself sitting on the floor in the dark.
The dark has no fear from me, mademoiselle. And with Ribbon to protect me, strong and clever, what could happen? That is something else that I will add to the notes for you, to be sure. How to tell if a snake is clever: she will look like you, Ribbon.
[Mlem, which is maybe approval? Difficult to say. Val does do the courtesy of extending his arm--and hand--so that Ribbon might be transferred to Wysteria. At first it is just a hand beside hers. Then he turns his wrist and grabs hold of her hand quite directly, so it is now a bridge.]
Go along, mon Doudou! It is safe and the hour is, apparently, too late for some!
[There is something in her wrist and fingers which tightens as he takes her hand - not balking precisely, but certainly sharpening even as Ribbon, who is very clever indeed but who must rather like being showered in compliments, grudgingly unwinds herself and slithers across the pathway joined for her benefit.]
Not into the sleeve, if you please. [is a very brisk instruction to the serpent, who has made immediate designs on slipping back under Wysteria's cuff.
Instead, the little snake loops idly over top of it, blinking her bead black eyes at Val as if to say 'Le sigh.']
[Above Val and Ribbon's little mutual aside, Wysteria sniffs.]
If you are so keen on the particulars, then you may write them down in addition to your notes on Ribbon. I will review them and then we may at some point reconvene over dinner in that little place above the seamstress in Hightown. I believe they run very late even, if that is truly your preference.
It is always my preference. I do my very best thinking after the hour of darkness. Of course, not all work can be done at such hours, so I do not wish for night and darkness eternal, but for myself, I find it such a prosperous hour.
[Ribbon has crossed the bridge. Still, Val leaves it intact, as if Ribbon might decide to cross back again, or else (more likely) as if he has forgotten that their hands are still joined.]
I would not say I am so keen on the particulars. Mostly, at most, and only where it matters. There are so many other things that I do not care about at all, or spend a single thought upon.
What a considerate allowance you have made for us in your prayers for those of us who are fond of daylight, Monsieur.
[Wysteria has not forgotten. However, if he is going to be so insistent on grasping her so then the very least he can do is to not also force her to wring her hand from his grip, and so she stubbornly remains as she is.]
Alas, I cannot afford to be so cavalier with the details which involve me being on time to my very early appointment for it is with a higher office, as it were. As much as I might very well prefer to sit here all evening with you discussing dear Ribbon or the collection of skulls and who might or might not be effectively bribed by them, I have never yet met an official of government to be particularly moved by matters of academia when it comes to his or her schedule for the day. So you understand the difficult position in which I find myself.
[Val sighs before--still with their hands joined--he leans forward again to speak to Ribbon, laid so prettily upon Wysteria's sleeve.]
You must speak with her. Whisper good sense into the mademoiselle's ear while she sleeps these hours. Tell her that to waste one's time with officials of government and those of high and boring office, when there are real discussions to be had--discussions of things that matter, discussions of academics and problems that will benefit all of Thedas so much more significantly than any lord or earl or royal butler will ever manage in his short and silly lifetime--to waste one's time with these is just that: a waste. You must make her see sense, dear Ribbon. I fear I cannot.
[Then he sits back, gives Wysteria's hand a quick little shake--not hard enough to disturb Ribbon, of course--and at last releases her from his grasp, and gets to his feet.]
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[He was looking at Ribbon as he said all of that, too interested in her progress. Only now does he cast a glance toward Wysteria.]
How would you know whether or not your trial was a risk to the dog?
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[But she knows he is somewhat squeamish about these things - recalls with stark clarity some difficulty over the very reasonable act of saving their lives by striking a dracolisk with a bucket -, and so neglects to elaborate.]
What sort of bribe would you suggest? In case it becomes necessary.
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No bribe that would harm any dogs, if that were to be of any concern. Money is the universal currency. Mages are, I think, used to little of it--that is the impression that I get from them--but they did come of circumstances before, so perhaps less impressive to certain of their number.
Perhaps instead... Well, he is Nevarran. We could find him a skull. Not the Skull, it is quite its own. But a different skull, a good one.
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[Her intonation is impressively flat.]
How would you estimate a 'good' skull?
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[--And this musing is interrupted as Val laughs suddenly. Ribbon is at his shoulder now, her tongue tasting the air that is too close to his neck. He does not flinch, lest he disturb her, but puts his hand out as a shield, and so that she might crawl upon it instead.]
Ribbon, little treasure, you cannot. Please. The mademoiselle is right there.
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Val laughs, and her smile flexes in answer and—
Wysteria actually hears what he has said, and the abject mortification of their current circumstances finally reaches her. She goes very still, and very hot up the back of her neck (which is invisible due to the indignity of her unpinned hair), and feels a piece of her wither and die with embarrassment. It is late, and of all the places Val de Foncé should be, her bedroom is not one of them regardless of the hour.
She hurriedly sets aside her pen again without having written anything since fetching it up.]
Yes, well. I agree that this has been more than revealing enough, thank you. Perhaps we should think over all of this business of skulls and bribery and so on again in the morning at a more reasonable hour. We might attend then to the question of where one might hope to find such a pristine artifact, for example.
—Time permitting, of course. There naturally being so much to accomplish for our other work.
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What is unreasonable about this hour? We are all three of us awake. And I find this a very productive time of day besides, when everything is very quiet and no one is around to make irritating sounds. Present company excluded, of course. Now--
[He sinks down to sit upon the floor, Ribbon held aloft for a moment. Her head raises quizzically, peering around with her blackseed eyes, her thin tongue tasting the air. Then Val is seated, and he carefully lowers his hand to a more reasonable level.]
If I were to search for a pristine skull, I suppose I would first consult a dig site. Or a private collection, should I choose to be very boring about the process, but the dig is the best part, yes?
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Is strictly not the direction she has any interesting in veering toward, and so she pinches her mouth shut until the urge passes which allows de Foncé more than enough time to wax poetic about digging bones out of the ground.]
Yes, I imagine that it is. You recall last August when the Veil was so thin here in Kirkwall and we discovered the Rift beneath it; the exploration of the cave system and the ruins can have only been improved by the presence of bones. Be that as it may, [is very firm, undercut slightly by the self aware tucking of her hair behind her ears] I happen to have an early appointment tomorrow. It wouldn't do for me to entertain for much longer.
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I find that when I have an early appointment--which I so rarely do, being clever enough to schedule my appointments in such a way to guarantee no earliness is expected of me--but when circumstances do not at all allow for this, then my preferred style is to come to them very tired. It creates a certain air of importance, yes? And mystery. [He affects a scratchy posh voice:] What has she been up to? She must be a very interesting person. And we should not take up too much of her time, and so on, and then your appointment is mercifully short and you are able to get on with truly interesting things.
Which, speaking of things more interesting--I did forget about that time! I was so interested in seeing shades and spirits and I never did get to see one. I wonder what is still down there.
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Then perhaps you might arrange an expedition of your own, de Foncé. Sooner rather than later, lest the flooding there be more severe during the winter months. In fact, I might lend you my notes on the subject if you think it would be of some assistance.
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[He leans back, supporting his weight on his one free hand. His other hand he holds halfway to aloft, so Ribbon might wind her way down his forearm. It is a very casual pose.]
--If you were planning an expedition of this sort, would you accept my notes on the subject, if I had made those note and had them available for you to review?
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Why yes, of course. I imagine they would be very useful. You have a keen eye for detail when you care to, de Foncé, and I can only assume if you bothered to take notes that they would be worth review.
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Your pardon, mademoiselle, but that was a compliment, yes? Forgive me for calling attention to it. It is only that I must write it down so I do not forget the occasion.
I suppose I will accept your notes if you are offering them. I am not so proud. [Well. He tilts his head, and amends that:] On this.
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It is merely fact, de Foncé. Compliments have very little to do with it whatsoever, though you may of course write whatever you like down in that little booklet of yours. Honestly, [is a grumbling note largely for herself as she impatiently rises to her stocking feet] as if I would waste my time with any of this if that weren't true.
[Padding around where he sits, Wysteria makes for the overflowing desk. A series of drawers are opened, their contents rustling as she paws through them one handed while yet clutching the shawl about her shoulders.]
I have yet to recopy them into a sensible arrangement, so you will have to make do as they are. I trust that will not be too challenging.
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[He does not let her movements distract him in any way that would mean looking around at her. Instead he acts as if she is barely there at all, focused instead on little Ribbon. Only when he is sure (out of the corner of his eye) that she is faced away, does he glance in her direction--and then away again, before she can catch him, looking back to Ribbon.]
I am sure I will be able to untangle even the most incoherent of writing. Perhaps I can even assist with their arrangement, as I will have made practical use of them, and can make the recommendations based upon that. It is not something that I normally do, but I would make an exception.
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Yes, yes. That would be perfectly acceptable— Ah.
[With a last thump, she unearths a slim booklet. The door is slammed shut behind it.]
Here you are, de Foncé. Evidence of my incoherence. Mind that the first half has nothing at all to do with the caverns. You will want to start— here. The rest is all Rifter nonsense.
[With her finger marking the proper place and her other hand still fisted in the shawl, she scuttles close to present the booklet to him. She twitches her small finger toward the snake.]
I will take her back now, if you please.
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Rifter nonsense. Yes. Is there any other? And why? You do not trust me? Look how happy she is, mademoiselle.
[His arm lifts a little higher, so that Wysteria might admire from this short distance that she is at.]
For even if she is a fascinating magical construct of some sort and not a snake entire, she still possesses all of the hallmarks of a snake, and so her mood can be read. If you are unaware of how to read a snake's mood, then you must trust me when I say that she is very happy.
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Then perhaps in exchange for my notes you would make me a few for how to best read her mood. [Unclechning from the shawl, she lowers a hand toward both the snake of Val. Wysteria wiggles her fingers in invitation. Mlem mlem mlem, goes Ribbon's little black tongue.] Trust has nothing at all to do with it. I'm going to sleep, and so if you don't surrender her then you will soon find yourself sitting on the floor in the dark.
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[Mlem, which is maybe approval? Difficult to say. Val does do the courtesy of extending his arm--and hand--so that Ribbon might be transferred to Wysteria. At first it is just a hand beside hers. Then he turns his wrist and grabs hold of her hand quite directly, so it is now a bridge.]
Go along, mon Doudou! It is safe and the hour is, apparently, too late for some!
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Not into the sleeve, if you please. [is a very brisk instruction to the serpent, who has made immediate designs on slipping back under Wysteria's cuff.
Instead, the little snake loops idly over top of it, blinking her bead black eyes at Val as if to say 'Le sigh.']
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Yes. She is full of instructions, and rules. If she wasn't, we might stay up even later and have a meaningful discussion. Alas.
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If you are so keen on the particulars, then you may write them down in addition to your notes on Ribbon. I will review them and then we may at some point reconvene over dinner in that little place above the seamstress in Hightown. I believe they run very late even, if that is truly your preference.
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[Ribbon has crossed the bridge. Still, Val leaves it intact, as if Ribbon might decide to cross back again, or else (more likely) as if he has forgotten that their hands are still joined.]
I would not say I am so keen on the particulars. Mostly, at most, and only where it matters. There are so many other things that I do not care about at all, or spend a single thought upon.
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[Wysteria has not forgotten. However, if he is going to be so insistent on grasping her so then the very least he can do is to not also force her to wring her hand from his grip, and so she stubbornly remains as she is.]
Alas, I cannot afford to be so cavalier with the details which involve me being on time to my very early appointment for it is with a higher office, as it were. As much as I might very well prefer to sit here all evening with you discussing dear Ribbon or the collection of skulls and who might or might not be effectively bribed by them, I have never yet met an official of government to be particularly moved by matters of academia when it comes to his or her schedule for the day. So you understand the difficult position in which I find myself.
I'm sure you will forgive me.
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You must speak with her. Whisper good sense into the mademoiselle's ear while she sleeps these hours. Tell her that to waste one's time with officials of government and those of high and boring office, when there are real discussions to be had--discussions of things that matter, discussions of academics and problems that will benefit all of Thedas so much more significantly than any lord or earl or royal butler will ever manage in his short and silly lifetime--to waste one's time with these is just that: a waste. You must make her see sense, dear Ribbon. I fear I cannot.
[Then he sits back, gives Wysteria's hand a quick little shake--not hard enough to disturb Ribbon, of course--and at last releases her from his grasp, and gets to his feet.]
Shall I remove the plate for you as I leave?
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