Do you know how much time is involved in the publishing of a book? It is tiring even to consider. I have far too much to do to be bothered with this work and the process. And then there is the people involved. So many of them, all vying to influence the work and clip out pieces of it. It is horrible to consider, like a child cut all to pieces.
And then they must profit from it. Profit. This has little place in a true scholarly work, which is all that I care for. Is your student of practical engineering so principled, or will we deal with a man who sells his brain-children to the highest bidder and turn his back as they are cannibalized for profit?
[Keenly attuned to being outdone, Val can sense danger here. He can't be outdone. But he also can't back down.
Here is the only safe gambit:]
Why you would presume that I know every minor figure to which you have come into contact with is entirely beyond me. And, beyond this, the assumption speaks to your ego, mademoiselle. Which is not flattering. I should be first to tell you this, in case you have not heard from any friend before, and have been going around making a great fool of yourself.
[The line of her mouth grows thinner and thinner as he speaks, but for once in their considerably troubled-- friendship is not the word no matter what he says otherwise, though in this exact instance she finds herself warming magnificently to the whole concept-- whatever it is, she is quite obviously in no hurry to interrupt him. In fact, each subsequent syllable seems to brighten her by degrees until she is downright incandescent with bottled glee.]
Well, [she says at last, taking a prim sip from her glass. It's a difficult feat because she is trying not to smile with every single one of her teeth, but she manages so heroically that it only adds to her self-satisfaction.] As you say, it's hardly important.
Then do not ask. It really makes no difference to me, Monsieur. [She relishes taking a snapping bite from her biscuit; never mind the significant work it requires of her teeth.] Now, I will write Mr Brown directly and see whether he has any advice for us. In the mean time, you will organize your papers into some semblance of order, and between the two of us we will find some way forward. I am quite committed to the whole idea, de Foncé.
[OH rEALLY IT DOESN'T MAKE A DIFFERENCE is the face Val makes at her. He stays right where he is, arms folded over his chest.]
I will find out. Without you.
[Just saying. Now he stops with that posture, and takes a final sip of brandy, finishing it all.]
If you are committed to the idea, mademoiselle, I suggest you refrain from telling me what to do with my papers. I have managed them this long without your guidance. I expect to be able to continue in this way. With truly professional assistance, of course. Do give my best to this Mr. Brown, whatever he is.
[Such is the extent of her bliss - and how truly perfect it is! There is simply no arrangement of circumstances in which the matter resolves itself in a way that is not wholly satisfactory! -, that poor Mr. Brown's reputation is left undefended. She is not even put out by the threat to her own professionalism; in this mood, even she might agree the descriptor would questionable at best, and utterly inapplicable by default. She does not possess even a single certificate of education, either here or in Kalvad.]
I will. And naturally I will keep you informed should he have any valuable suggestion for us. And should you ever like the opinion of a layman on your work - which I rather doubt you do, but let us say that I'm curious how far your alleged expertise is meant to extend -, I would be most delighted to read your papers.
[With a cheerful smile, Wysteria downs the remaining contents of her own glass and sets it aside.]
[He draws himself up with grace and aplomb and leans his hands on the table so he can lean across it toward her and say six deadly words:]
You will never read my work.
[And he takes a step backwards to give him ample space to point a dramatic finger at her.]
And it is your loss. And it will always be your loss, and it will frustrate you. Down here in your root cellar in your large and undecorated house.
[So there. He backs up two more steps, closing the distance between himself and the staircase--gives her one last emphatic point--and then turns to go back up the stairs and leave her to her root cellar and her undecorated house,]
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no subject
And then they must profit from it. Profit. This has little place in a true scholarly work, which is all that I care for. Is your student of practical engineering so principled, or will we deal with a man who sells his brain-children to the highest bidder and turn his back as they are cannibalized for profit?
no subject
[Now there is a man with principles cut to pieces. She scoffs into her brandy.]
no subject
Just how many scholars do you claim to know?
no subject
Hold on.
Wysteria lowers her glass. There is a briefly thrilled reptilian intensity to her study of him.]
Do you not know who Byerly Rutyer is?
no subject
Here is the only safe gambit:]
Why you would presume that I know every minor figure to which you have come into contact with is entirely beyond me. And, beyond this, the assumption speaks to your ego, mademoiselle. Which is not flattering. I should be first to tell you this, in case you have not heard from any friend before, and have been going around making a great fool of yourself.
no subject
Well, [she says at last, taking a prim sip from her glass. It's a difficult feat because she is trying not to smile with every single one of her teeth, but she manages so heroically that it only adds to her self-satisfaction.] As you say, it's hardly important.
no subject
Val folds his arms over his chest. His cup of brandy is still in his hand. It sloshes dangerously, but does not spill.]
You want me to ask. Again. But I will not ask.
no subject
no subject
I will find out. Without you.
[Just saying. Now he stops with that posture, and takes a final sip of brandy, finishing it all.]
If you are committed to the idea, mademoiselle, I suggest you refrain from telling me what to do with my papers. I have managed them this long without your guidance. I expect to be able to continue in this way. With truly professional assistance, of course. Do give my best to this Mr. Brown, whatever he is.
no subject
I will. And naturally I will keep you informed should he have any valuable suggestion for us. And should you ever like the opinion of a layman on your work - which I rather doubt you do, but let us say that I'm curious how far your alleged expertise is meant to extend -, I would be most delighted to read your papers.
[With a cheerful smile, Wysteria downs the remaining contents of her own glass and sets it aside.]
Will that be all for now, Monsieur?
no subject
You will never read my work.
[And he takes a step backwards to give him ample space to point a dramatic finger at her.]
And it is your loss. And it will always be your loss, and it will frustrate you. Down here in your root cellar in your large and undecorated house.
[So there. He backs up two more steps, closing the distance between himself and the staircase--gives her one last emphatic point--and then turns to go back up the stairs and leave her to her root cellar and her undecorated house,]
no subject
And, upon reflection, maybe she will treat herself to a second glass of brandy.]