inbox.

[heirring]

[action + written + crystal]

Comments

[grindset]

[He definitely closed the door before sending.]

I asked first. But, yes... addressed to "Mister Viktor".

[heirring]

Was your note suggesting things of an— [A long pause. Wysteria's tone of speaking isn't really designed for stealth, but here she lowers her pitch by a few further degrees in the attempt.]

—illicit nature?

[grindset]

[Well, that doesn't sound very much like guilt to him—but who else would have put Mr.? Intriguing.]

Seeing as it's signed by someone with matchmaking ambitions, it's difficult to say for certain whether it means friendly, or... friendly. What does yours say?

[heirring]

Also friendly.

[Maybe someone has just punched her in the throat and that would explain the strangled quality of the hiss. Or maybe she's lying.]

Where does yours ask that you meet?

[grindset]

Setting aside how ridiculous it is that someone seems to think I need matchmaking in the first place, that's the curious part—they went to the trouble of printing an invitation indicating a place I can often be found, at a time I'm often there.

[Although he has been less of a librarial hermit since Jayce arrived.

He also knows firsthand that their resident pressman is, at the very least, amenable to taking anonymous requests... hmm.]

What about yours?

[heirring]

[—he hardly has the opportunity to ask before Wysteria's agonized moan interrupts him. She's going to expire.]

[grindset]

[Given how often Wysteria takes it upon herself to perish dramatically, he's not terribly alarmed, but this does hike up his curiosity—]

What? What does it say?

[heirring]

[Please. She has only dramatically perished a half dozen times in the last week. That's nearly no times at all.]

This is justice. I did something well meaning albeit admittedly conniving and somewhat underhanded, and now am being punished for it.

[is not an answer.]

[grindset]

Yes, [fine, divine retribution has come for her, may she rest in peace,] but what does it say?

[heirring]

Yes?! Don't simply agree, Viktor!

[This, at a more ordinarily shrill volume. In the aftermath though, considerably more sullenly, she relents to admit:]

The Hanged Man. Which if you haven't been, is among the most grim of Lowtown's public houses.

[grindset]

[Viktor swiftly claps his hand around the crystal until her squawking seems to have subsided, effectively missing the first bit—]

Sorry, where?

[heirring]

[Having to repeat it makes it worse, somehow.]

The Hanged Man.

[grindset]

The Hanged Man?

[That's it?]

[heirring]

Well, if you're so enthusiastic—we may trade if you like.

[grindset]

Sadly, my enthusiasm stops short of a nighttime ferry ride.

[heirring]

Are you certain? There is a far greater air of mystery to my affair [a word choice she instantly regrets] than yours. As after all, yours is only in a place you regularly go. This would be new and exciting and adventuresome!

[grindset]

True... it could mean this matchmaker simply believes you're better suited to mysterious adventures. In that case, I'd have to agree with them.

[heirring]

Oh come now, Viktor! You're perfectly mysterious and adventurous. Certainly enough of both for the likes of the Hanged Man.

[grindset]

Perhaps.

[If Only They Knew]

But if these invitations are tailored to each of us specifically, trading among ourselves could be self-sabotage.

[heirring]

[Sensing, perhaps, that this is a futile effort she's making to con him.]

In what sense?

[grindset]

Well, if that is indeed the case, it stands to reason you've been set up with someone whose company you're likely to enjoy... whereas, should you attend mine, you might simply be trapped in a prison of social courtesy. Tormented. Longing for death.

[heirring]

[Somewhere, perhaps in the closet she's shut herself up in, Wysteria de Foncé sags slowly and dramatically further down the wall with each of these various portents of doom. After some highly morose consideration of their (her) circumstances—

Something finally rouses her:]

Out of curiosity— why are you telling me about your invitation at all? Surely not everyone can have received one.

[grindset]

[Ha. An amenable pivot—they can discuss this plainly now, seeing as it's clearly settled—]

Oh, eh... I thought you might have had something to do with it.

[heirring]

Me! What would I have had to do with it!

[Can be formally outraged instead of suspicious to the extreme, now that she's hit rock bottom.]

[grindset]

I don't know, it just seemed— I read "Mister" and you were the first person to come to mind.