Then you must explain your motives for naming the goat, [is very patient, absent in the way of someone who has begun to feel the tug of sleep again.] I can think of no other possible alternatives.
[Wysteria has spent a great deal of time puttering around the Gallows in the last few weeks. She hopes her Hightown neighbors assume she is very fashionably removed for the season, and has give hardly any thought at all for what disasters might be occurring in her absence.
This however clearly catches her attention. Considerably more sharp:]
The goat, [pointedly,] bears a tag that proclaims it a gift to you. I believe its intention was for Satinalia. And it is not from me, before you make a mistake in thinking that.
Do you keep many papers of great importance in the garden? Buried beneath the flowerbeds? For I did not bring Garce within. And even if I had, how should I know what is and what is not important? It is not as if there are labels upon every little thing that you keep about.
[Oh, and also--]
Do not even attempt to come! You are ridiculous, mademoiselle, I will say it ten thousand times and ten thousand more after that, if I must. It is for this that I have contacted you, to ask you what you would have done with her, so that you are not dragged across the waters of the harbor to make this decision.
Have you seen the water of the harbor, mademoiselle? It carries upon its surface a rind of filth. Like when the skin forms upon the top of the soup. Repugnant.
[Somewhere in the background of this, Wysteria makes a despairing noise akin to 'Not the flower beds!', but it's distant enough that it stands no chance of interrupting him. But by the time he has made his assessment of the Kirkwall harbor, she is again very close to the crystal and so her voice is quite clear when she says:]
You must bring the goat indoors. Lock her in one of the side rooms. The one which only has all the old furniture in it and no rug on the floor. Or better yet, escort her to Riftwatch's stables. I'm sure she will be much happier there if you truly insist on seeing everything arranged for her.
[Is the maaah that follows the voice of a goat with flowers in her mouth? Or is it merely the voice of a goat? If one is not familiar with the vocalizations of the species as a whole, it might be difficult to say. And Val--sat with the goat--might be asked, or might say, but instead he makes a pensive noise.]
That is a point. Though I am often troubled by the arrangements in those very stables. The care that is offered--well, it is no one's fault, precisely. Perhaps a funding issue? Only that Riftwatch suffers from a lack of those truly educated in the care of beasts.
She could be given her own room. Indulgent, yes, but such a thing might suffice for now, until a small stable could be constructed.
Yes, yes. That's fine. So long as she isn't left in the garden. And it must be the room with the dreadful old furniture stacked in it. The floors there are in the worst shape, de Foncé.
[She is never allowed to have another arm chopped off ever again. Look at the chaos she is forced to deal with from such a frustratingly remote vantage—]
Only I don't see how the goat will be better off in a little stables at my house than in a stall with Riftwatch's animals. You can't expect that I will be tending to it.
Of course you will not be tending to it! Someone will be hired. Someone worthy of trust, real trust. And naturally if I should happen to be on the premises I shall look in on her for myself. This would not be too great of an ask for me. I do not know overmuch of goats, but I am not unfamiliar either. I will do this, though it will pain me a little.
Do you know, some of the furniture in that room is quite interesting?
[It will pain him little, he says! As if she isn't being actively pained in this very moment despite having lain back in bed where the full weight of her dread might be more comfortably spread the length of her person rather than only weighing at her shoulders and on the top of her head.
Her mistake had been allowing Ellis the chickens. Everyone knows that where one animal exists, more will follow. And now there are the hens and Déranger and the second basement for Veronique and a goat living indoors and no doubt soon the neighbor's cat will decide she prefers Wysteria's side of the wall to her own, and what then?
Oh, it is that, invariably! Very much ugly, beyond all words. I beheld a chair within its walls that made my stomach turn over. Yet this does not prevent it from being interesting. Have you much information on the history of the house?
[In the background: a demanding maaa. Val says something under his breath in Orlesian, too quickly and too quietly to be properly heard. He is opening the door on the other end, ushering in the new houseguest.]
[Clomp clomp clomp clomp, go four little goat feet on the floors. Even if she can't hear them, Wysteria can certainly imagine it.]
Only a little. The previous owner seems to have been an unwed old man with no friends or relations—the very last of some old family, and very engaged with matters of business and every other sort of book if the contents of the library are to be trusted. But he seems to have kept everything, and there is a great deal of paperwork still being unearthed—
No, I know very little of it. Oh Valentine, if there are books in that room as well then please move the useful ones out of the goat's reach.
But all books are useful. How am I to determine what is and what is not, when that fact remains true? You know-- [Clop clop clop clop. Val is holding his crystal thoughtfully, with one hand left free to open doors and occasionally take hold of the trailing rope, when Garce decides that she would prefer to explore the larger house. Not a shred of effort or strain is passed into Val's voice. He is perfectly comfortable carrying on this conversation.] --I should like very much to take a thorough accounting of what is within the room. Both the furniture, and the books. I was born inundated with relations, who all very naturally grew to be elderly relations, yet all thoroughly disowned me--save one! But he is dead now, and his will read a very long time ago, and his possessions divided, and while he was very kind to remember me then, I have always suspected that his chiefest intent was to anger other members of the family--which I do respect, of course. And I suppose now certain members are taking their revenge upon me--upon us--in a similar fashion. Well! They are welcome to try.
In any case, one can always find interesting things among the various and sundry possessions of the aged. And terribly boring and unfashionable and awful things as well. It takes a good eye to sort the two from one another. You are very lucky that you have me in your corner, mademoiselle--yes, yes, Garce, take that drape from your mouth--immediately, yes--
There is a partial list, [is a weak interjection that she apparently doesn't care enough about to pursue into full fledged interruption. If he wishes to go sorting through the contents of the house, then he is more than welcome to it.]
If they are the drapes hanging there in the room as discussed, the goat may have them. In fact, you might pull them down on her behalf so she can make a bed of them. I suppose that would be better than the floorboards or even the rug which I don't like but might be worth a little money. In fact, you might pull of the corner and fold it back over itself if it isn't too much trouble with all the other furniture. —But what is this about revenge? You have mentioned nothing of the sort before!
Inconvenienced, yet again! Mademoiselle, when will you be hiring on some help? Of course really good servants are difficult to come by, but the troubles and battles and all of this will have brought new people into the city, and you might find someone among their number who will prove worthy of trust and willing to roll up rugs so that I do not have to! As for the drapes, perhaps Garce can pull on them enough--here, hold them, ma chérie, I am sorry to have given such confusing directions, but the mademoiselle thinks these would make for a good sleeping place for you--I think that I have mentioned the revenge. I cannot think of why I would not have. Perhaps I meant to and then you were too long abed with your little problem and it slipped from my mind. Oh, well, you are hearing of it now--and you should not concern yourself, it is only a little to do with you--and it is not a revenge, precisely--more of a minor inconveniencing that they believe will trouble me, when in fact it shall not. Instead we will turn this thing for our good--
[This last word is taut with effort. There is a jingling of curtain rings, the scraping of boots on a bare and dusty wooden floor--and then a great sluff and slough of heavy fabric as the drapes are pulled free.]
Inconveniencing— Inconveniencing in what fashion, exactly? And what do you mean 'only a little to do with me?' I am ignoring the matter of hired help until you answer in a proper fashion.
[Among other reasons, but mostly that it might do Val some good to restrict himself to one subject now and again.]
[This time the strain is because he is kicking the drapes into a pile, one thud of boot against heavy fabric at a time, while Garce mills around with the tasseled edge of the window dressing in her mouth, contentedly munching.]
Because I am not meant to be rolling up carpets! I have other work to attend to! Yet here I am, doing this. And I will here mention that I do not like to be held hostage in this way, where you will refuse to continue a conversation until I have answered some question. I will answer in my own time and in my own fashion. It is only a little to do with you by way of your connection to me. Hardly a thing at all.
But how have your relations conspired to inconvenience you, monsieur? That way you mentioned it made it sound as if it is a rather active and current form of—of inconvenience, and not merely a matter of your being disinherited however long ago. If this business has anything to do with me presently, even if only by association, my solicitor will wish to know about it.
[Yes, she is still ignoring the matter upon which they will not speak until her curiosity has been satisfied. Thank you for noticing. But also:]
You are holding me hostage, do not deny it--but in the spirit of the season, I shall endeavor to forgive you. And my solicitor is aware of this campaign and if there were any real substance to it, then he would haev the situation quite in hand--so if I were you, I should not trouble your man, as there would be little point to doing so--but if you insist upon knowing, Garce came to Kirkwall bearing papers claiming herself to be a gift of Madame Maxence Begnoche.
[Here, the pause is somewhat more significant as Wysteria, through a series of sluggish late night calculations, begins to connect the dots and so assemble an outline of the slight.]
A person of little consequence. Hardly worth talking of. She has often amused herself in this way, gifting a thing that she thinks its recipient will not like. Well! We shall not allow this. Garce will prosper and live on in happiness, and so will we.
Do you really think this carpet will fetch any coin?
[A studious person of interest such as, say, Wysteria's solicitor who has been working with hopeless diligence on the issue of dissolving a previously established nuptial agreement (having been no direction to not do so) might pause here helplessly over Val's chosen phrasing—struck by a momentary dual joy of being relief of a long shouldered burden and the abject misery of a considerable number of hours wasted.
But Wysteria's solicitor isn't on the line and she shares in no such pause herself.]
Spite seems like a very poor reason to keep an animal, Valentine.
[Obviously she is the expert on the morality of animal husbandry in this conversation. It has nothing to do with the impulse to eat Val's definitely-a-cousin's goat on account of the same motivation.] As for the rug, I doubt it's worth very much but it may be worth something.
But any inquiries of sale—of the rug or anything else in the house—would have to pass through your solicitor. Or, I suppose, made to look like articles of your uncle's estate rather than of this one. He, your legal advisor, will recall the specificity surrounding the property and all items associated with it. I won't bore you with the details. But if enough bits and bobs were to be successfully liquidated, I imagine it would be possible to consider hiring someone on... Or if the money came from somewhere else, of course.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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The goat bears a tag that proclaims it a gift to you.
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This however clearly catches her attention. Considerably more sharp:]
—Pardon?
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[Maybe the last ferry hasn't run yet. Or the first one has started already. Or she can bribe someone to see her safely across the harbor.]
Oh you must make sure it doesn't eat anything important!
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[Oh, and also--]
Do not even attempt to come! You are ridiculous, mademoiselle, I will say it ten thousand times and ten thousand more after that, if I must. It is for this that I have contacted you, to ask you what you would have done with her, so that you are not dragged across the waters of the harbor to make this decision.
Have you seen the water of the harbor, mademoiselle? It carries upon its surface a rind of filth. Like when the skin forms upon the top of the soup. Repugnant.
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You must bring the goat indoors. Lock her in one of the side rooms. The one which only has all the old furniture in it and no rug on the floor. Or better yet, escort her to Riftwatch's stables. I'm sure she will be much happier there if you truly insist on seeing everything arranged for her.
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That is a point. Though I am often troubled by the arrangements in those very stables. The care that is offered--well, it is no one's fault, precisely. Perhaps a funding issue? Only that Riftwatch suffers from a lack of those truly educated in the care of beasts.
She could be given her own room. Indulgent, yes, but such a thing might suffice for now, until a small stable could be constructed.
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[She is never allowed to have another arm chopped off ever again. Look at the chaos she is forced to deal with from such a frustratingly remote vantage—]
Only I don't see how the goat will be better off in a little stables at my house than in a stall with Riftwatch's animals. You can't expect that I will be tending to it.
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Do you know, some of the furniture in that room is quite interesting?
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Her mistake had been allowing Ellis the chickens. Everyone knows that where one animal exists, more will follow. And now there are the hens and Déranger and the second basement for Veronique and a goat living indoors and no doubt soon the neighbor's cat will decide she prefers Wysteria's side of the wall to her own, and what then?
Calamity.]
Is it? I thought it all quite ugly.
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[In the background: a demanding maaa. Val says something under his breath in Orlesian, too quickly and too quietly to be properly heard. He is opening the door on the other end, ushering in the new houseguest.]
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Only a little. The previous owner seems to have been an unwed old man with no friends or relations—the very last of some old family, and very engaged with matters of business and every other sort of book if the contents of the library are to be trusted. But he seems to have kept everything, and there is a great deal of paperwork still being unearthed—
No, I know very little of it. Oh Valentine, if there are books in that room as well then please move the useful ones out of the goat's reach.
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In any case, one can always find interesting things among the various and sundry possessions of the aged. And terribly boring and unfashionable and awful things as well. It takes a good eye to sort the two from one another. You are very lucky that you have me in your corner, mademoiselle--yes, yes, Garce, take that drape from your mouth--immediately, yes--
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If they are the drapes hanging there in the room as discussed, the goat may have them. In fact, you might pull them down on her behalf so she can make a bed of them. I suppose that would be better than the floorboards or even the rug which I don't like but might be worth a little money. In fact, you might pull of the corner and fold it back over itself if it isn't too much trouble with all the other furniture. —But what is this about revenge? You have mentioned nothing of the sort before!
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Inconvenienced, yet again! Mademoiselle, when will you be hiring on some help? Of course really good servants are difficult to come by, but the troubles and battles and all of this will have brought new people into the city, and you might find someone among their number who will prove worthy of trust and willing to roll up rugs so that I do not have to! As for the drapes, perhaps Garce can pull on them enough--here, hold them, ma chérie, I am sorry to have given such confusing directions, but the mademoiselle thinks these would make for a good sleeping place for you--I think that I have mentioned the revenge. I cannot think of why I would not have. Perhaps I meant to and then you were too long abed with your little problem and it slipped from my mind. Oh, well, you are hearing of it now--and you should not concern yourself, it is only a little to do with you--and it is not a revenge, precisely--more of a minor inconveniencing that they believe will trouble me, when in fact it shall not. Instead we will turn this thing for our good--
[This last word is taut with effort. There is a jingling of curtain rings, the scraping of boots on a bare and dusty wooden floor--and then a great sluff and slough of heavy fabric as the drapes are pulled free.]
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[Among other reasons, but mostly that it might do Val some good to restrict himself to one subject now and again.]
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[This time the strain is because he is kicking the drapes into a pile, one thud of boot against heavy fabric at a time, while Garce mills around with the tasseled edge of the window dressing in her mouth, contentedly munching.]
Because I am not meant to be rolling up carpets! I have other work to attend to! Yet here I am, doing this. And I will here mention that I do not like to be held hostage in this way, where you will refuse to continue a conversation until I have answered some question. I will answer in my own time and in my own fashion. It is only a little to do with you by way of your connection to me. Hardly a thing at all.
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[Yes, she is still ignoring the matter upon which they will not speak until her curiosity has been satisfied. Thank you for noticing. But also:]
I am not holding you hostage.
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[He makes a retching noise immediately after.]
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Who?
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de Foncé.
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A cousin, perhaps?
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A person of little consequence. Hardly worth talking of. She has often amused herself in this way, gifting a thing that she thinks its recipient will not like. Well! We shall not allow this. Garce will prosper and live on in happiness, and so will we.
Do you really think this carpet will fetch any coin?
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But Wysteria's solicitor isn't on the line and she shares in no such pause herself.]
Spite seems like a very poor reason to keep an animal, Valentine.
[Obviously she is the expert on the morality of animal husbandry in this conversation. It has nothing to do with the impulse to eat Val's definitely-a-cousin's goat on account of the same motivation.] As for the rug, I doubt it's worth very much but it may be worth something.
But any inquiries of sale—of the rug or anything else in the house—would have to pass through your solicitor. Or, I suppose, made to look like articles of your uncle's estate rather than of this one. He, your legal advisor, will recall the specificity surrounding the property and all items associated with it. I won't bore you with the details. But if enough bits and bobs were to be successfully liquidated, I imagine it would be possible to consider hiring someone on... Or if the money came from somewhere else, of course.
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