[And is Wysteria the sort of respectable young lady who might, once the moment has passed and she has some reflect on whether allowing a colleague (however infuriating, disrespectful, and patronizing) simply wander into some surly spirit reflects poorly on her nature, opt instead of interrupt him there on the step?
Well that much at least is a definitive Absolutely Not. Anyway, she is busy. If Monseuir de Fonce feels compelled to harras her as if he is the only person in the whole world, then it is only fair that he be slapped on the hand of it or have some decorative plate thrown at him (though they are running out of those; Ellis keeps having them pitched at him.) In her turnip cellar, Wysteria pulls her heavy leather gloves back on and resumes her work and is quite consumed by it.
When the knock comes, the moldy old mansion is quiet in reply. Then from somewhere behind the door, there is the sound of heavy footsteps on what must be the stairs. The door pops open a moment later to an empty foyer and the stale smell of dusty furniture.]
[Val, very used to having doors open for him, enters without looking around. He is already shrugging off his cloak and handing it over (also without looking) to the servant that must have stomped down the stairs to answer his knock.
Loudly, for surely Wysteria will be in an adjacent room, ready to receive him--]
Mademoiselle, your house is still horrible! When will you decorate?
[Val looks around as his cloak hits the floor. He cocks his head. Then he decides that there is nothing amiss, or at least nothing that cannot probably be explained with theatrics and hydraulics and something rigged to impress and show off. What a sad character he is dealing with! It is endearing.
He picks up his cloak and shakes it out, then turns to head into the house, giving the door a little kick to close it as he goes.]
It is a good trick, [he congratulates aloud, and loudly,] it being so hard to find good help in these days. That is the common refrain, yes?
[As is the case with most of these dreadful Kirkwall mansions meant for the sticky heat of summer, the house is prone to a draft come winter and made chillier still by the fact that a majority of the rooms have been stripped of their defining furniture in an effort to scrub and clean and be reappointed at its new owner's leisure. For some inconsiderate moments, Val is left to wander at his own behest. Then from some adjoining room, there is the sound of shattering glass, followed by—
Wysteria appearing in the doorway opposite to the pop of glass. She is wearing a heavy leather apron over her dress, work gloves to her elbows, with some dark smudge on her forehead.]
There you are, Monsieur de Foncé. How kind of you to let yourself in.
[Val has been walking around with a surprising amount of contentment, actually. He is the sort of person who is instantly comfortable no matter where he is, self-assured enough to poke around another person's mansion, always welcome wherever he goes. At some point he had taken out a small writing book to make some notes in, turning his expert eye to the more tragic features of this run-down wreck, and envisioning their invigoration.
Now--having started with great determination toward the sound of glass breaking--he turns around very quickly at the sound of Wysteria's voice, book and pencil still in hand. His eyes narrow. He stays where he is, having nearly entered the adjoining room, and looking as if he has not yet made up his mind if he will or will not enter, and very much still might.]
But I did not. And you know this, which is why you have called attention to it. Really, it is tiresome.
Yes, and I will accompany you. But first I will see what is in this room.
[The one where the glass has broken. Whatever glass it was, which is what Val intends to find out. He crosses the short distance and throws the door open to the room beyond, to see what he might see. Perhaps he will find a real flesh and blood servant that has been put up to trickery, or perhaps he will see the mechanics of the system that opened the front door and produced the footsteps.
Really, he should not give her the satisfaction of looking. But he wants to look. So if he wants it, that means she can't also be satisfied by it, because he will have derived the satisfaction first, and there will be too little left for her to make a meal of.]
[It is so beyond what she is expecting - for gods' sake, what on earth for? - that Wysteria has no ready response outside of a baffled honk.
After all, the room beyond the door is just a dark and dingy library, the books all removed from their grimy shelves and piled about the floor in the process of being sensibly reordered. The sum of the work is being overseen by the darkened portrait of a dour faced, thin lipped man in a somber black tunic, the brush strokes of which impart a somehow disapproving air. There is certainly no real life servant, or clever mechanism waiting there. There are however the remnants of a smashed bird figurine, one of a small collection left on one of the higher shelves as Wysteria has yet to bribe Ellis with his superior height to clear them down on her behalf. The bits of porcelain swan are quite pale against the dark floor.
From behind him:]
Are you quite finished trampling about, or would you like to review the upstairs rooms as well?
[Val, in the center of the library, considers the room from all angles. He considers the hideous portrait, done in such an old-fashioned style that it would be laughed out of any home of taste. He goes over to the remains of the figurine, once he has spotted them, and stands over the shards.
Then he turns sharply to look at Wysteria, in the doorway.]
[She opens her mouth to respond instantly and finds, irritatingly, that there is still no obvious thing that comes to mind. So, flustered and baffled and irritated at already somehow finding herself six strides behind, she goes with:]
If you are not here to ask something, then I must ask what you are even doing here in the first place, sir. What were the contents of this alleged letter? What is it, precisely, that you want?
Ah, bon? This, [and he waves a hand around the room, and then points back toward the front door,] and that, these are nothing to do with my letters. They are what you want for me to ask about. And now, you will play coy? Then very well. It suits you, if you are a little too smug for the game to be entirely attractive. But even so, I will let you play.
Entirely— Suits me— [The flush crawling up back of her neck and spreading to her ears has, if the flashing look that accompanies it, everything to do with fury as opposed to flattery. She snaps back, the critically flawed pretense of politeness evaporating.]
Yes, the funding. My representation in Orlais has confirmed the liquidation of some small assets, and the first sums will be delivered here within the month. That is, not here. To my representation in Kirkwall, and then to me.
[Later, she may take a moment to examine the fact that somehow, against all reason, that somehow worked to pin the squirming viper of a man down. But not in this moment. In this one, she is too busily aware of the bristle of her own metaphorical hackles to be particularly discerning.
She narrows her eyes at him, determined to be skeptical. ]
Will they be enough to produce the mold and material for casting the barrel? As I've said, that is the most vital metal element next to the firing mechanism. We can hardly even begin testing without it.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, I remember what you said, you need not repeat it like some trained bird. But do you understand, mademoiselle, that this is my money?
My point is that the money is mine and it is not a resource of the infinite, nor is its liquidation of the simplest type. Perhaps you do not understand these things? Transactions of this sort do take time. One must find a buyer, and so on. I care little for the details and trust it is taken care of for me. What is more, my counsel has advised that my contributions be supplemented by other means of funding, so that the burden is not mine alone to bear.
There is good sense in this. Even you might see that, yes?
Obviously, I understand. You're suggesting we find somewhere other than your pocket to get the money from.
[Belatedly: there was the moment to play dumb, Wysteria. Her face pinches. She rallies.]
And what I am hearing is that you are attempting to skirt your half of our agreement. You cannot possibly think you will find any funds in mine. I believe we are both quite aware of the limitations of the Riftwatch stipend. [Speaking of:] You still owe me money for those clams we ate last week. Don't think I've forgotten.
[Val closes his eyes, and draws in a breath, says a quick prayer, Maker,--]
Must you behave in this way, or do you choose to? So grasping, and always demanding, and suspicious--the worst offense of the group! You are hearing wrong, if what you are hearing is causing you to act in this way. I skirt nothing. I am saying, [slowly, and clearly,] that I have been advised to take care in the backing of this venture, and to seek additional funding, as is common for any venture of this sort, or any research project, for which you might apply for grants, or raise funds among a certain group of people interested in such ventures or projects--all very usual in these circumstances, n'est ce pas? Surely you are familiar.
Well then why didn't you just say so? Honestly, Monsieur - if you would only apply yourself to these things directly there would be no trouble at all between us. I've already been in conversation with colleagues elsewhere regarding just this question, and have been making considerations for how best to monetize our resources here through Riftwatch. But by all means [somewhere in this, she has turned from the doorway with an exhale of exasperation and the clear expectation that he either follow her back through the house or end the conversation] should you have thoughts on how we might expedite funding the project, I would be delighted to give you my opinion.
—And there is a new series of components that will be necessary. We should review it so you will have some idea on which of your contacts might be most worth pursuing.
[When she turns away, Val crouches to begin picking up the bits of shattered figurine, very carefully so as not to cut himself. Does he actually want it, or is this just his way of refusing to follow her? But, then again, if he wanted to refuse to follow her, wouldn't he simply refuse?]
What components?
[He has to yell it after her, so busy and engaged in figurine recovery is he.]
Refined lyrium, housed within a block of— [she's gotten far enough away that the particulars of the words have flattened into a high pitched drone, receding by degrees-- wait no, it's coming back again] —must be controlled by the copper band. And if you would come with me, I would be more than happy to go over the details, but apparently we must conduct our business here in the library.
[She reappears in the doorway again, pink as the ribbon in her hair. At some point during the course of the lap, she has stripped off one of the heavy leather gloves as if she's of a mind to challenge him to satisfaction with it.]
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Well that much at least is a definitive Absolutely Not. Anyway, she is busy. If Monseuir de Fonce feels compelled to harras her as if he is the only person in the whole world, then it is only fair that he be slapped on the hand of it or have some decorative plate thrown at him (though they are running out of those; Ellis keeps having them pitched at him.) In her turnip cellar, Wysteria pulls her heavy leather gloves back on and resumes her work and is quite consumed by it.
When the knock comes, the moldy old mansion is quiet in reply. Then from somewhere behind the door, there is the sound of heavy footsteps on what must be the stairs. The door pops open a moment later to an empty foyer and the stale smell of dusty furniture.]
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Loudly, for surely Wysteria will be in an adjacent room, ready to receive him--]
Mademoiselle, your house is still horrible! When will you decorate?
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It's probably fine.]
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He picks up his cloak and shakes it out, then turns to head into the house, giving the door a little kick to close it as he goes.]
It is a good trick, [he congratulates aloud, and loudly,] it being so hard to find good help in these days. That is the common refrain, yes?
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Wysteria appearing in the doorway opposite to the pop of glass. She is wearing a heavy leather apron over her dress, work gloves to her elbows, with some dark smudge on her forehead.]
There you are, Monsieur de Foncé. How kind of you to let yourself in.
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Now--having started with great determination toward the sound of glass breaking--he turns around very quickly at the sound of Wysteria's voice, book and pencil still in hand. His eyes narrow. He stays where he is, having nearly entered the adjoining room, and looking as if he has not yet made up his mind if he will or will not enter, and very much still might.]
But I did not. And you know this, which is why you have called attention to it. Really, it is tiresome.
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You are most welcome to follow me back to the workroom, sir.
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[The one where the glass has broken. Whatever glass it was, which is what Val intends to find out. He crosses the short distance and throws the door open to the room beyond, to see what he might see. Perhaps he will find a real flesh and blood servant that has been put up to trickery, or perhaps he will see the mechanics of the system that opened the front door and produced the footsteps.
Really, he should not give her the satisfaction of looking. But he wants to look. So if he wants it, that means she can't also be satisfied by it, because he will have derived the satisfaction first, and there will be too little left for her to make a meal of.]
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After all, the room beyond the door is just a dark and dingy library, the books all removed from their grimy shelves and piled about the floor in the process of being sensibly reordered. The sum of the work is being overseen by the darkened portrait of a dour faced, thin lipped man in a somber black tunic, the brush strokes of which impart a somehow disapproving air. There is certainly no real life servant, or clever mechanism waiting there. There are however the remnants of a smashed bird figurine, one of a small collection left on one of the higher shelves as Wysteria has yet to bribe Ellis with his superior height to clear them down on her behalf. The bits of porcelain swan are quite pale against the dark floor.
From behind him:]
Are you quite finished trampling about, or would you like to review the upstairs rooms as well?
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Then he turns sharply to look at Wysteria, in the doorway.]
You want for me to ask. But I will not.
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If you are not here to ask something, then I must ask what you are even doing here in the first place, sir. What were the contents of this alleged letter? What is it, precisely, that you want?
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[He folds his arms over his chest.]
My letters were about funding, mademoiselle.
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Well out with it. I don't have all day, de Foncé.
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[He looks her up and down, swiftly, taking in the gloves, and the apron, lingering on the forehead smudge.]
And what is it that you are doing that so occupies your time and requires for my rush?
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[She stomps her foot.]
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You.
Yes, the funding. My representation in Orlais has confirmed the liquidation of some small assets, and the first sums will be delivered here within the month. That is, not here. To my representation in Kirkwall, and then to me.
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She narrows her eyes at him, determined to be skeptical. ]
Will they be enough to produce the mold and material for casting the barrel? As I've said, that is the most vital metal element next to the firing mechanism. We can hardly even begin testing without it.
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Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, I remember what you said, you need not repeat it like some trained bird. But do you understand, mademoiselle, that this is my money?
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I understand it perfectly well. What is your point, Monsieur?
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There is good sense in this. Even you might see that, yes?
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[Belatedly: there was the moment to play dumb, Wysteria. Her face pinches. She rallies.]
And what I am hearing is that you are attempting to skirt your half of our agreement. You cannot possibly think you will find any funds in mine. I believe we are both quite aware of the limitations of the Riftwatch stipend. [Speaking of:] You still owe me money for those clams we ate last week. Don't think I've forgotten.
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[Val closes his eyes, and draws in a breath, says a quick prayer, Maker,--]
Must you behave in this way, or do you choose to? So grasping, and always demanding, and suspicious--the worst offense of the group! You are hearing wrong, if what you are hearing is causing you to act in this way. I skirt nothing. I am saying, [slowly, and clearly,] that I have been advised to take care in the backing of this venture, and to seek additional funding, as is common for any venture of this sort, or any research project, for which you might apply for grants, or raise funds among a certain group of people interested in such ventures or projects--all very usual in these circumstances, n'est ce pas? Surely you are familiar.
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—And there is a new series of components that will be necessary. We should review it so you will have some idea on which of your contacts might be most worth pursuing.
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What components?
[He has to yell it after her, so busy and engaged in figurine recovery is he.]
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[She reappears in the doorway again, pink as the ribbon in her hair. At some point during the course of the lap, she has stripped off one of the heavy leather gloves as if she's of a mind to challenge him to satisfaction with it.]
Do you find this amusing? Is that what this is?
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