inbox.

[heirring]

[action + written + crystal]

Comments

[degenere]

[The only time Val de Foncé checks his mail is when someone brings it to him--preferably by discreetly collecting it on a small table in the entryway of his home and then persistently continuing to leave it there when he persistently ignores it.

Which is to say that full day later, the tri-folded parchment is still in Val's mail cubby.

For Wysteria, there is an envelope identical to the first that was sent to her. The page contained within is at least less grubby.]

Mʟʟᴇ. Cᴀɴɴᴏɴ!

Wɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴀɴʏ ʀᴇᴘʟʏ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴘᴘᴏʀᴛᴜɴɪᴛʏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴏᴜʀ ʟɪsᴛ ᴀɴᴅ I ᴀᴍ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴇʟʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ɪɴsɪsᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ sᴏᴜʀᴄᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴡᴀʀғ ᴡʜᴏ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛɪɴɢ. I ᴀᴍ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɪᴛᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Cʜᴀɴᴛʀʏ Sɪsᴛᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ I ᴅᴏ ғɪɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ.

Aɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴀʟsᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴ ᴇʟғ! I ғɪɴᴅ ᴇʟᴠᴇs ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ sᴛɪʟʟ. Bᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ɪɴ sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ʜɪɢʜᴇʀ sᴜᴘᴘʟʏ. I ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ sᴏ. Tʜᴇɴ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʀᴇsᴇᴀʀᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄs, sᴏ I ᴛʀᴜsᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ sᴛᴜᴅʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴅᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇsᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪsᴛ.

I ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ I ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ: ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘs ᴍʟʟᴇ. ɪs ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴡʜʏ sʜᴇ ʜᴀs ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇᴅ. Iғ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀsᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇɴ I ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ʟᴏsᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄᴀɴʏᴏɴ.


V. ᴅF

[heirring]

['Without any reply!' she exclaims out loud upon receipt of this second note.

This envelope earns slightly less vicious treatment. It is winged, seal and all, out the nearest window. Consequently, her second reply—in a plain cream colored envelope with a pale pink sealing wax pressed with a simple floral motif. It is slipped alongside the first unopened tri-folded note.]

Monsieur,

If you can think of no suitable substitute for the Chantry Sister, I will make my inquiries with Warden Digiorno.

Best Wishes,
W.A. Poppell

[And then she steals all his other mail.]

[degenere]

[A day later, both the unopened notes remain in Val's otherwise empty mail cubby.

But a new letter has appeared in Wysteria's, in the same style and fashion as the first two.]

Mʟʟᴇ Cᴀɴɴᴏɴ--

I ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ᴏᴘᴘᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴏғ Wᴀʀᴅᴇɴs ғᴏʀ (ᴀs I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇᴅ) I ғɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴏʀɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ-ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ. Hᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ: I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴏғ ᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ғɪɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴀ sᴜɪᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴅᴡᴀʀғ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀɴᴋs ᴏғ ᴏᴜʀ ʟɪsᴛ. Wᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ sᴍᴀʟʟ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ. (Dᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴀs ᴀ ᴛᴀsᴛᴇʟᴇss ᴊᴏᴋᴇ; ɪᴛ ɪs ᴛʀᴜᴇ).

Bᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏᴡ ᴀᴍᴏɴɢ ᴏᴜʀ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ, ɴᴇᴡʟʏ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇᴅ, ᴀ Wᴀʀᴅᴇɴ Dɪɢɪᴏʀɴᴏ, ᴡʜᴏsᴇ W-ᴛɪᴛʟᴇ ɪs ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴀᴛ ʙʏ ʜɪᴍ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʙᴏʀɴ ᴀ ᴅᴡᴀʀғ.

Tʜᴇʀᴇғᴏʀᴇ I ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏsᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀɴ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴠɪᴛᴇ ʜɪs ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, sᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀs ʜᴇ sᴘᴇᴀᴋs ʟᴇss ᴏғ Wᴀʀᴅᴇɴ-ʙᴜsɪɴᴇss ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟsᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ.

Pʟᴇᴀsᴇ sᴀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢʀᴇᴇ, ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ. (Bᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ.)

V. ᴅF

[Behold, a totally original idea which Val came up with first.]

[heirring]

[Some minutes of contemplation are spent over Valentine de Foncé's mail cubby. She cannot decide whether it is mortifying to overwhelm a man's letter box with unopened correspondence. Imagine if someone were to see and somehow notice some similarly of the handwriting and so think to themselves, How sad for Miss Poppell that she is being so obviously rejected. Or worse, How terrible for Monsieur de Foncé to be the target of such harrassment.

In the hopes of being slightly less embarrassing at a glance, she opts to simply write her third note on the back of the second, dating it specifically in the upper corner.]

Monsieur,

Were you slightly more up to date with your post, you would know that we are, as ever, fully harmonious in our thoughts. As promised, I will see to my half of the bargain shortly.

Should you have any further amendments, I have an excellent idea for where you might file them that would be better discussed in person.

Kindest Regards,
W.P.

['Are you meant to be defacing someone's mail?' asks a passerby.

'Mind your own business,' Wysteria snaps back.]

[degenere]

[One day, two days, three: the letters remain. On the fourth day, they disappear at last, and then a reply appears in the same styling. Someone has a very generous wax budget.]

Mʟʟᴇ. C. --

Sᴏᴍᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪᴛ ᴀ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ, ᴛᴏ sᴀᴠᴇ ᴜᴘ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ sᴇɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀʟʟ ᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ɪs ᴅᴏɴᴇ ɪɴ Cᴀʟᴠᴀᴅ (? ᴛʜᴇ sᴘᴇʟʟɪɴɢ?). I ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀᴇ. I ᴀᴅᴍɪʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴs ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ.

I ᴅɪᴅ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʜᴏᴡ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴡᴀs ɴᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴀ ᴘᴜᴢᴢʟᴇ. "Fᴜʟʟʏ ʜᴀʀᴍᴏɴɪᴏᴜs" ɪs ᴀ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴀɴᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ. I ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴇɴ FULLY ʜᴀʀᴍᴏɴɪᴏᴜs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ! Dᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴜɪɴ ᴛʜɪs sᴇɴᴛɪᴍᴇɴᴛ ʙʏ sᴀʏɪɴɢ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ sᴄᴀɴᴅᴀʟᴏᴜs ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴜʟɢᴀʀ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ I ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴘᴜᴛ ғᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀᴍᴇɴᴅᴍᴇɴᴛs.

(Tʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ᴊᴏᴋᴇ. Pʟᴇᴀsᴇ sᴀʏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ sᴄᴀɴᴅᴀʟᴏᴜs ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴜʟɢᴀʀ. I ᴡɪʟʟ ғᴀʟʟ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ ʟᴀᴜɢʜɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ɪᴛ.)

Iɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴄᴀsᴇ, I ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɪɴᴏ̨ᴜɪʀɪᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪsᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ--I ᴄᴀɴ ᴏɴʟʏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ, ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀs ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ɴᴏ ʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴀᴠᴏʀ--ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟ ᴀʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴡᴇʟʟ. Sᴘᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟ, I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɢᴀᴛʜᴇʀᴇᴅ sᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴋs ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡ ᴀɴᴅ I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ғɪɴᴅ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴏsᴛ ʙᴏx, ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀʀɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ I ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴏsᴛ ʙᴏx ғʀᴏᴍ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀs ʏᴏᴜ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇ. Iᴛ ɪs ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴇᴍᴘᴛʏ ɴᴏᴡ ʙᴜᴛ I ᴀᴍ sᴜʀᴇ ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴏɴɢ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀʏ.

Kɪɴᴅᴇʀ ʀɢᴅs.,
V ᴅF

[heirring]

['Kinder Rgds.,' warrants the thorough crumpling of the letter before it is shoved furiously into a pocket. The books—rather large indeed—are later tripped over as she is attempting to leave her room in the Gallows, and subsequently kicked again over the threshold to review them at some later date. Hours later, when returning to the room with the full intention of penning a truly searing letter of some length in reply, she trips over them a second time.

This, finally, is what prompts the short tempered flare of her voice across the crystal. It's rather late.]

Monsieur, I would like to have a word with you.

[degenere]

Which?

[Here is Val: perfectly refreshed, hard at work or hardly working somewhere, and amused. Kinder regards make for pleasanter nights.]

If it is a word of thanks, do not trouble yourself. I hardly need it. I have a storeroom of thanks and more to spare besides. Do you think that you will have much time to yourself when you are on your travels?

[heirring]

[It is infuriating, she decides, that he sounds so bright and natural as if it is not well past reasonable conversing hours. She is so focused on this fact—how irritating it is, and picking up the books scattered over her floor—that she answers instead of jumping straight to threatening to throttle him.]

The usual amount when one is traveling, I suppose. What? Why? Why should it matter? Which of these books am I meant to read first, de Foncé? Furthermore, I have questions about some of the entries on this list you ["""""you"""""] curated. Who is the 'Enormous Marcher' meant to be?

[degenere]

[Still blasé--perhaps because he is used to being addressed sharply and impatiently, perhaps because he does not care, or even because he has not noticed, the tone being of very little importance until he decides it is something to mark, something of importance--]

Begin with the Eastoft, of course. I put her at the top of the stack for a reason. The lovely blue volume, with the gold embossing. Her second text is also in the stack but should be read, oh, fourth or fifth. You know, Eastoft came to live in Orlais when she was young, so she can be trusted--nearly a countrywoman--and much traveled besides. A great professor of the University in her time. Her writing is timeless. And I was wondering, that is all. I have a small list. If you will be there, perhaps you can purchase some things on it for me, and save me the trouble of hiring out for the task.

As for the Marcher, I thought it obvious. Is it not obvious?

[heirring]

Well it is not. I'm afraid you will have to be more specific.

[A few mysterious fwhumps are the books being transferred from the floor to the foot of a bed.]

And what makes this particular Marcher so fascinating? Simply their great size? What is on the list?

[degenere]

People are upon the list. As you requested.

[More curious than annoyed--] Are you throwing my books around?

[heirring]

No your— I am referring to the list of—

Yes. I am throwing your books around.

[degenere]

I see. And why? I chose them specially, for you.

[heirring]

And I am certain they are excellent reading. The overture is most appreciated, de Foncé.

[Fwhump, goes the last book. Her voice grows more distant, presumably having set the crystal down.]

One might only wish that you found certain other subjects as worthy of such particular care.

[degenere]

If they are excellent reading, you might stop throwing them, and trying reading them. Furthermore, I find many other subjects worthy of care. I am interested in a great many topics and disciplines.

How do you spell "Cal-vahd-e"?

[heirring]

[Ah, there is that short scoffing noise.]

K-a-l-v-a-d.

[A series of thumps sound like shoes being tossed, so at least his books aren't the only victims.]

What is in Orzammar that you want?

[degenere]

"K-a-l-v-a-d", [as he writes it down.] Very good. I love that noise, have I said? I have grown quite fond of it.

From Orzammar I would like some materials. The artisans and smiths of that city have a good supply for crafting and work, the quality of which is difficult to find elsewhere. And their tools, though naturally the sizing must be adjusted. Do not worry, securing these items will not put you into any danger or inconvenience you very much. I would not do that to you or to Mr. Ellis.

[heirring]

How kind, [is rather clipped, and might refer to any number of points.]

I trust this list will be slightly more exacting than others. You should know by the way, de Foncé, that the post boxes are hardly secure and that anyone might fetch your mail out of them should you fail to retrieve it first. It is a small miracle that any notes make it to you at all if you rely on someone else for delivery.

Why the dragons? On your seal.

[degenere]

I rely upon others fetching my mail out of my post box. Anyone sensible does. In Orlais, we have these services, where people go about on foot or by other means of transport, and deliver the letter by hand, instead of leaving them about in small holes. It is a much more sensible and civilized system, one that creates jobs for the destitute and fleet of foot.

But I love dragons. That is why.

[Very simple and straightforward and unashamed of the strength of that word: love. It is how he feels.]

[heirring]

Charming. Be that as it may, until we implement such a system here in the Gallows, I really must encourage you to—

[A pause. When next she speaks, her voice is much louder having picked the crystal back up again.]

You are quite familiar with all sorts of animals. How would you rate your expertise on serpents?

[degenere]

Oh, tolerably good. I used to trap the snakes in the garden and keep them in boxes to observe them. They were fascinating to me, almost of another world. Then I grew older and came to understand such captivity as a cruelty. Now I prefer to observe them as they are and learn of them from books and study--though the former is best, of course. To see something in its habitat, there is nothing better.

Why do you ask? Have you come near to a snake lately?

[heirring]

I have come into the temporary possesion of an enchanted one. And know a great deal with respect to the magic and very little regarding the creature, but am curious where one begins and the other ends.

This one is, by the way. Of another world.

[degenere]

Really!

[By now Wysteria will be able to recognize the sharp edge of genuine interest in Val's tone. He might be casually interested in many things, and falsely passingly interested in others, such as the creation of a list. There are few things that earn the genuine.]

I must meet it. This is a rare opportunity. How did it come to you?

[heirring]

It has been lent to me for study. [That sharp edge is pleasantly like winning something - somewhat akin to the satisfaction of being proven right.] And I won't have it long. What are you doing now? I will put my hair back up.

[degenere]

Please. Whatever I am doing now is much less interesting than this.

[On his end, there comes the sound of scraping and shifting, papers and books and cutlery, dishes and glasses and paperweights and inkwells all being shoveled aside.]

Where will I find you? And do not trouble yourself, I will only be looking at the snake.