Human, she very much is. Indeed, the cock of her head is vaguely predatory. Miss Wysteria Poppell almost certainly knows nothing of the use of knives outside of certain scientific applications, but there is something like the air of trading a blade from one hand to another in:
Something of that fresh edge catches enough to cut him free of his forward lean. He flourishes his free hand open as he settles back into an uncharacteristic slouch, et voila, dry at his own expense.
“I am now.” Not by choice.
He still has the paper; it flutters with the sheer force of world-weariness in his sigh.
“Yes, I know you would have liked me to write down my every secret for you and your friends to peruse over ‘lemonade.’”
He could inflect more nastiness than he does. His disapproval is mild as is, limited to a hooded glance before he looks down to begin the process of carefully folding over her note. No take backs.
Nonetheless, that of all things earns a scoff and an eyeroll so fierce that it's possible Wysteria gets a brief glance at the interior of her own skull.
"Honestly. If this is how you're going to thank me for inviting you onto a daring expedition, I shall think very carefully about whether I will include you when it comes to staff whatever follows it, Mister Dickerson. I have a very low capacity for dedicated sullenness, sir."
It's all petulance and no real heat and, with a cluck of the tongue, Wysteria begins to gather the papers surrounding her so she might stuff them back into the open drawer at her side.
"Though perhaps that is your aim. If you do not wish to be included in this or any scholarship, you may just say so. I have no desire whatsoever to force you to do something against your preferences."
He flinches in slow-motion, brows bunched in over the harder carve of his frown. The crease he manages in her map is very fine, careful down the midline and then over once more only for him to push it thickly away behind his lapel, where it is bound to rumple in some unseen pocket.
He doesn’t say that he does not wish to be included. He doesn’t say anything else either, watching papers being vacuumed up off the floor into the orbit of her bustle.
Yes, she thought as much. And rather than press the point, Wysteria simply allows him to slouch there as she organizes and tucks away the strewn series of studies and field notes and her own carefully crafted collected of documentation either into their rightful places or into the leather folio she caries about with her for her own reference.
It is only once the bulk of the papers have been put away that her attention sweeps back around. From where she is still on the floor, not quite having bothered to get her feet under her yet, Wysteria extends a hand to him.
To help her up he has to stand, and to stand he has to break the seal of this very indulgent slouch. It takes a sharp hiss of breath and a resentful rankle, joints popped behind his shoulders and in one knee as he rises, a felled pine tree reversing upright with an old dog’s reluctance. He has a hard night’s sleep waiting for him somewhere.
Once he’s up, just a touch of sway to his shoulders, he offers his right hand out with fingers splayed. Either awaiting further instruction, or content to improvise once she’s grabbed on.
Barely there, a little black tongue threads mlem mlem across bony tendon from the shadow of his cuff.
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no subject
Date: 2021-03-20 09:47 pm (UTC)"Are you not human, Mister Dickerson?"
no subject
Date: 2021-03-20 10:43 pm (UTC)“I am now.” Not by choice.
He still has the paper; it flutters with the sheer force of world-weariness in his sigh.
no subject
Date: 2021-03-20 11:41 pm (UTC)"You should have said so in your survey answers."
no subject
Date: 2021-03-21 12:56 am (UTC)He could inflect more nastiness than he does. His disapproval is mild as is, limited to a hooded glance before he looks down to begin the process of carefully folding over her note. No take backs.
no subject
Date: 2021-03-21 04:44 am (UTC)"Honestly. If this is how you're going to thank me for inviting you onto a daring expedition, I shall think very carefully about whether I will include you when it comes to staff whatever follows it, Mister Dickerson. I have a very low capacity for dedicated sullenness, sir."
It's all petulance and no real heat and, with a cluck of the tongue, Wysteria begins to gather the papers surrounding her so she might stuff them back into the open drawer at her side.
"Though perhaps that is your aim. If you do not wish to be included in this or any scholarship, you may just say so. I have no desire whatsoever to force you to do something against your preferences."
no subject
Date: 2021-03-21 06:53 am (UTC)He doesn’t say that he does not wish to be included. He doesn’t say anything else either, watching papers being vacuumed up off the floor into the orbit of her bustle.
no subject
Date: 2021-03-22 03:19 am (UTC)It is only once the bulk of the papers have been put away that her attention sweeps back around. From where she is still on the floor, not quite having bothered to get her feet under her yet, Wysteria extends a hand to him.
"Help me up if you would, Mister Dickerson."
no subject
Date: 2021-03-22 05:04 am (UTC)Once he’s up, just a touch of sway to his shoulders, he offers his right hand out with fingers splayed. Either awaiting further instruction, or content to improvise once she’s grabbed on.
Barely there, a little black tongue threads mlem mlem across bony tendon from the shadow of his cuff.