[ That pulls a smile right out of him. A relatively subdued one, for the circumstances, but nonetheless: he repeats, ]
Tabouret, [ and lowers both his head and his voice to address the little creature in question. ] Pouvons-nous t'utiliser pour atteindre les étagères hautes, mon garçon? Ouais? C’est ça.
[ He's due another dog, but it would be bad form to follow up his apology by stealing Wysteria's, probably. He keeps his head down to admire Tab's merry eyes and black button of a nose, but his voice lifts up to Wysteria again. ]
[She studies him over the lip of the cup, brow furrowing by just some small degree. The allegedly white dog's feet paddle vaguely under the line of Bastien's arm.]
[ He removes the paper from beneath his thigh to tuck safely into his jacket instead, and from there attempts from juggling: lifting the tray one-handed over top the dog to relocate it to his side, further from Wysteria, and placing the dog in the vacated space between them, to visit with his mistress or hop down at his leisure. ]
It is still in your interest to let me print for you, I think. Unless you want to buy a press of your own and take time away from your other work to do the typesetting, you won't find a better bargain.
Edited (more secrecy in eavesdroppable places) 2023-10-14 03:50 (UTC)
[The little dog sits promptly down in the space afforded him beside Bastien. It is possible, Tab must think, that he will either receive more scratches or possibly that something interesting will be produced and handed to him from the tray whose clinking cups and pots has caused the pricking of his ears.
His mistress takes a slow, considering sip of her coffee.]
[ Bastien looks at her from the corner of his eye, with a restrained scrunch of a smile that’s more peace offering than amusement. She’s a funny thing—so dramatically practical. When he began to feel anything at all, in that timeline that no longer exists, among those things was missing her.
He nods, and he scratches his fingers down the dog’s back, skull to tail. ]
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no subject
Tabouret, [ and lowers both his head and his voice to address the little creature in question. ] Pouvons-nous t'utiliser pour atteindre les étagères hautes, mon garçon? Ouais? C’est ça.
[ He's due another dog, but it would be bad form to follow up his apology by stealing Wysteria's, probably. He keeps his head down to admire Tab's merry eyes and black button of a nose, but his voice lifts up to Wysteria again. ]
May I keep your notes?
no subject
I suppose you may, yes.
no subject
[ He removes the paper from beneath his thigh to tuck safely into his jacket instead, and from there attempts from juggling: lifting the tray one-handed over top the dog to relocate it to his side, further from Wysteria, and placing the dog in the vacated space between them, to visit with his mistress or hop down at his leisure. ]
It is still in your interest to let me print for you, I think. Unless you want to buy a press of your own and take time away from your other work to do the typesetting, you won't find a better bargain.
no subject
His mistress takes a slow, considering sip of her coffee.]
Do you expect to remain reliable?
no subject
He nods, and he scratches his fingers down the dog’s back, skull to tail. ]
no subject
Very well. You're right that any other printer would be more expensive. And they're hardly likely to be discreet with the materials.
[All these secret Riftwatch riddles and puzzle games and gossip; very confidential, clearly.
(Anyway, he did come back.)]