[In reply: a whole lot of nothing. The kitchen and its attached workspace are quiet, though from the damp red cloak on the hook by the door and the embers humming in the hearth the house isn't empty.
Instead Wysteria is in the library - or what is clearly meant to be a library, had all its books not been stripped from the shelves and dumped in unorganized piles during some earlier cleaning project. She is sitting on the floor between such riveting titles as Economics of the Steel Age and Genitivi's Collected and Abridged Works, and is in the process of sorting the whole mess into more organized subsections. Here is history; there is theology; here is even more history. Evidently the previous owner of the house had been something of an armchair scholar, albeit a myopic one. She has yet to find even a single title on dwarven enchantment practices or thaig histories.
She does not look up when/if/should Tony appear in the doorway.]
Is there something you need, Mr. Stark?
[Thump. That's a dictionary being dumped into the Reference pile.]
[ It takes a little stomping around to find her, but the 'library', such as it is, was high up on the list anyway. Tony has hung up his own cloak and so by the time he appears in the doorway, he is merely damp in places where the rain had soaked through. ]
Hey, [ he says, as if she'd said 'hello', distracted by the dismantled piles of books. ] You know I tried ransacking the Nevarran library before we booked it out of there. Wildly unhelpful, unless you're into reading about the life and times about guys doing math by sundial.
[ Not immune, despite appearances, to a chilly reception. ]
[Thump. Those are collected essays from some Marcher scholar whose name she doesn't recognize regarding trade routes in the Waking Sea.]
I thought it was a shame that the room was so useless with everything on the floor, and that it was high time to put things back on their shelves after Mr. Ellis did such a lovely job scrubbing things down.
[ And then with what is a sometime characteristic herky-jerk energy, Tony enters the room and sits down in front of her, legs folding, emitting a slight dad noise as he does so.
The rain-spackled box of cinnamon twists is set down between them, after he lifts out of the way a small stack of volumes. There's a slight tada gesture to this offering before he diverts his attention to the books he'd picked up. ]
I got you cinnamon twists.
[ Bitches love cinnamon twists. ]
How are we doing this, by author? Subject matter? Hey, we could invent the Dewey decimal system, you know, after umbrellas.
[ In spite of only pretending interest in the books, Tony does sort of roughly do some sorting, even if there is a subconscious undercurrent that leads him to also divide them between 'sure, I guess' and 'boring'. One side is considerably weighted. ]
Shouldn't interfere with anything we're doing -- it'll probably help out, even. And like, I dunno, medieval bureaucracy, I figured they'd at least default you to assistant. But-- hey, we can just say you are, and resubmit the application you already made up. That should be a pretty quick stamp job.
I don't have any interest in the project, Mr. Stark. You see, I'm quite busy between the work here and with the Seneschal. But I'm sure you'll do perfectly acceptably in the post.
I mean it's kind of whatever we want it to be. Collectively, not just. [ Stalls out, start again. ] I mean it's a repository for rift and shard research. I figure it should probably include dwarven tech.
And I wish you all the best with it. Meanwhile, I have quite enough work to do here on my own and de Foncé will be unimpressed should I divide my attentions any farther. There becomes a point where the benefit of assistance versus the time spent focused elsewhere no longer balances, you see. I can hardly afford to set aside my work, Mr. Stark.
[ A different kind of 'okay' than the previous one. More direct. He sort of hovers out his hands out over book stacks as if he can block the book thumping. ]
Precursor's over. You haven't touched a single baked good since I got here and it's a smidge unbelievable you'd up and bail on me for no reason. Obviously Prince Charming said something was up, so why don't you go ahead and use your words.
[She has begun to set books into her lap, presumably a make do substitute for shifting them into the piles that Tony is currently safe guarding. Quite cheerfully, near to the point of saccharine:]
I don't know what Mr. Ellis told you, but I suspect he is unused to the company of young ladies and rather give to taking everything more seriously than is necessary. We are naturally prone to fits of pique and a certain degree of irrational silliness, but it inevitably passes and all is right as rain. But perhaps you would like a list of my full daily itinerary for your reassurance. In which case, you may know that at present, I spend every morning except two alongside the Seneschal working on the filing and copying of reports, assisting with requisitions and so on. At ten o clock, I repair to the Research division's work rooms, and in the afternoons I am as you see me now if I am not meeting with either my solicitor or the office of the Viscount to manage the acquisition of and subsequent duties charged against this house, or I am in the company of de Foncé attempting to find the appropriate capital for our work. And now of course there is the matter of seeing that Mr. Fitz is brought up to speed; he cannot be my assistant here if he is unfamiliar with the work. And in the evenings, I return to the Gallows to manage my correspondence to Markham, and to keep the books, so that we may all continue to be here under the nose of the Provost.
So I suppose that presently whatever does not fall within those categories would be something I have little capacity for. I must have my beauty sleep, you understand.
[ after a pause, because there are a few things to process there, hands still hovered ]
I have one super power and one super power only, and that's knowing when people are piqued off with me. I don't normally hang out long enough to find out why. Making an exception.
[There are four or five titles here whose bookplates require her very specific attention.]
That's very generous of you, Mr. Stark. But I am pleased to report that I have come to my senses, and have moved quite beyond whatever Mr. Ellis may have intimated to you. It is entirely irrelevant. But if you're determined that we make some alteration for a problem which doesn't exist, then perhaps you would do me the kindness of referring to me as either Miss Poppell or even Wysteria—if you insist on familiarity—rather than whatever you please. I realize things may be different where you and Mr. Fitz are from and that no one has ever asked anything whatsoever about where I come from, but in Kalvad it is a sign of respect to call your colleague by their name.
Tony spends a hot second recalibrating as he stares at her, eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher a complex math problem. Dismissing it as not a big deal seems like not the answer, somehow, even if every fibre of his being wants to. It's big brain time, picking the nuance out of the. Spam. ]
Okay, [ he says, fingers splaying in a musical fidget, ] here's the thing. I've never met anyone like you. Not in real life. That's kind of the case of just about everyone here, but even out of them, you're a trip, and playing word association is just kind of what happens. It's not meant to be a bad thing.
And I can't speak to my whole ass world, but yeah, respect comes out different. I'd wanna think that giving you a first class tour of the tech keeping me alive so that we can build some neat things overrides a nickname or three.
[She is not angry. She is perfectly pleasant. She will be willfully cheerful.]
I suppose it might. But then again, it occurs to me that it might also be a small point of leverage over any potential ownership I might have in the neat things that we could build. But really, I wouldn't have any way of knowing, now would I? I am in fact entirely reliant on trusting that your intentions are what you imply they are, and that I am not lacking some important point of context which might change the meaning of your very considerate gesture entirely.
[The front cover of the book is snapped shut with a clipped noise. She smiles at him and shrugs.]
[ The potentiality of getting too annoyed to deal before he can repair anything is becoming an inevitability, but seeing as he already went all in some weeks back-- ]
I trusted you. I don't know how Kalvad rolls, feel free to enlighten me, but that should mean something.
[She is putting this copy of Plague of Shadow: Epidemic in the Black Age in its proper stack regardless of whether his hand is still there so he had best make some quick decisions.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Instead Wysteria is in the library - or what is clearly meant to be a library, had all its books not been stripped from the shelves and dumped in unorganized piles during some earlier cleaning project. She is sitting on the floor between such riveting titles as Economics of the Steel Age and Genitivi's Collected and Abridged Works, and is in the process of sorting the whole mess into more organized subsections. Here is history; there is theology; here is even more history. Evidently the previous owner of the house had been something of an armchair scholar, albeit a myopic one. She has yet to find even a single title on dwarven enchantment practices or thaig histories.
She does not look up when/if/should Tony appear in the doorway.]
Is there something you need, Mr. Stark?
[Thump. That's a dictionary being dumped into the Reference pile.]
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Hey, [ he says, as if she'd said 'hello', distracted by the dismantled piles of books. ] You know I tried ransacking the Nevarran library before we booked it out of there. Wildly unhelpful, unless you're into reading about the life and times about guys doing math by sundial.
[ Not immune, despite appearances, to a chilly reception. ]
Whatcha doing?
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[Thump. Those are collected essays from some Marcher scholar whose name she doesn't recognize regarding trade routes in the Waking Sea.]
I thought it was a shame that the room was so useless with everything on the floor, and that it was high time to put things back on their shelves after Mr. Ellis did such a lovely job scrubbing things down.
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[ And then with what is a sometime characteristic herky-jerk energy, Tony enters the room and sits down in front of her, legs folding, emitting a slight dad noise as he does so.
The rain-spackled box of cinnamon twists is set down between them, after he lifts out of the way a small stack of volumes. There's a slight tada gesture to this offering before he diverts his attention to the books he'd picked up. ]
I got you cinnamon twists.
[ Bitches love cinnamon twists. ]
How are we doing this, by author? Subject matter? Hey, we could invent the Dewey decimal system, you know, after umbrellas.
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I don't know what the Dewey decimal system is, [she says primly.]
I am organizing by subject matter to begin with. Step two will be alphabetical by author within the genre in question.
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[ God. It's been a minute since he has literally ever touched a modern library that isn't a digital database. ]
You know, I think it was bad, so scrap that. Sure, subject matter. What was this place into?
[ God, part 2. He does not want to small talk about books. ]
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[She doesn't want to talk about books either. But she doesn't particularly want to talk about anything, so needs must.]
Congratulations on your new position, by the way.
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Thanks.
[ In spite of only pretending interest in the books, Tony does sort of roughly do some sorting, even if there is a subconscious undercurrent that leads him to also divide them between 'sure, I guess' and 'boring'. One side is considerably weighted. ]
Shouldn't interfere with anything we're doing -- it'll probably help out, even. And like, I dunno, medieval bureaucracy, I figured they'd at least default you to assistant. But-- hey, we can just say you are, and resubmit the application you already made up. That should be a pretty quick stamp job.
[ :)? ]
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I don't have any interest in the project, Mr. Stark. You see, I'm quite busy between the work here and with the Seneschal. But I'm sure you'll do perfectly acceptably in the post.
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[ Side eyeing the latest thump. ]
I mean it's kind of whatever we want it to be. Collectively, not just. [ Stalls out, start again. ] I mean it's a repository for rift and shard research. I figure it should probably include dwarven tech.
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[Thump.]
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[ A different kind of 'okay' than the previous one. More direct. He sort of hovers out his hands out over book stacks as if he can block the book thumping. ]
Precursor's over. You haven't touched a single baked good since I got here and it's a smidge unbelievable you'd up and bail on me for no reason. Obviously Prince Charming said something was up, so why don't you go ahead and use your words.
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[And she is going to write Mr. Ellis a sternly worded noted, seeing as he loves to read so much.]
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[ Hands still at a hover. ]
But you don't care about the Felandaris thing. What else don't you have time for?
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[She has begun to set books into her lap, presumably a make do substitute for shifting them into the piles that Tony is currently safe guarding. Quite cheerfully, near to the point of saccharine:]
I don't know what Mr. Ellis told you, but I suspect he is unused to the company of young ladies and rather give to taking everything more seriously than is necessary. We are naturally prone to fits of pique and a certain degree of irrational silliness, but it inevitably passes and all is right as rain. But perhaps you would like a list of my full daily itinerary for your reassurance. In which case, you may know that at present, I spend every morning except two alongside the Seneschal working on the filing and copying of reports, assisting with requisitions and so on. At ten o clock, I repair to the Research division's work rooms, and in the afternoons I am as you see me now if I am not meeting with either my solicitor or the office of the Viscount to manage the acquisition of and subsequent duties charged against this house, or I am in the company of de Foncé attempting to find the appropriate capital for our work. And now of course there is the matter of seeing that Mr. Fitz is brought up to speed; he cannot be my assistant here if he is unfamiliar with the work. And in the evenings, I return to the Gallows to manage my correspondence to Markham, and to keep the books, so that we may all continue to be here under the nose of the Provost.
So I suppose that presently whatever does not fall within those categories would be something I have little capacity for. I must have my beauty sleep, you understand.
no subject
[ after a pause, because there are a few things to process there, hands still hovered ]
I have one super power and one super power only, and that's knowing when people are piqued off with me. I don't normally hang out long enough to find out why. Making an exception.
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That's very generous of you, Mr. Stark. But I am pleased to report that I have come to my senses, and have moved quite beyond whatever Mr. Ellis may have intimated to you. It is entirely irrelevant. But if you're determined that we make some alteration for a problem which doesn't exist, then perhaps you would do me the kindness of referring to me as either Miss Poppell or even Wysteria—if you insist on familiarity—rather than whatever you please. I realize things may be different where you and Mr. Fitz are from and that no one has ever asked anything whatsoever about where I come from, but in Kalvad it is a sign of respect to call your colleague by their name.
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Is this the Jane Austen thing.
[ If he doesn't sound incredulous, it's because his delivery is very flat. ]
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[It's the Jane Austen thing.]
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Tony spends a hot second recalibrating as he stares at her, eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher a complex math problem. Dismissing it as not a big deal seems like not the answer, somehow, even if every fibre of his being wants to. It's big brain time, picking the nuance out of the. Spam. ]
Okay, [ he says, fingers splaying in a musical fidget, ] here's the thing. I've never met anyone like you. Not in real life. That's kind of the case of just about everyone here, but even out of them, you're a trip, and playing word association is just kind of what happens. It's not meant to be a bad thing.
And I can't speak to my whole ass world, but yeah, respect comes out different. I'd wanna think that giving you a first class tour of the tech keeping me alive so that we can build some neat things overrides a nickname or three.
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I suppose it might. But then again, it occurs to me that it might also be a small point of leverage over any potential ownership I might have in the neat things that we could build. But really, I wouldn't have any way of knowing, now would I? I am in fact entirely reliant on trusting that your intentions are what you imply they are, and that I am not lacking some important point of context which might change the meaning of your very considerate gesture entirely.
[The front cover of the book is snapped shut with a clipped noise. She smiles at him and shrugs.]
As I said. Prone to irrational silliness.
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[ The potentiality of getting too annoyed to deal before he can repair anything is becoming an inevitability, but seeing as he already went all in some weeks back-- ]
I trusted you. I don't know how Kalvad rolls, feel free to enlighten me, but that should mean something.
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He panics and says; ] Hot fairy.
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[She is putting this copy of Plague of Shadow: Epidemic in the Black Age in its proper stack regardless of whether his hand is still there so he had best make some quick decisions.]
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