Her pen doesn't pause. Whether it be a product of working in the company of similarly distracting individuals here in Thedas or in the place she'd come from, or be it simply a natural apptitude derived from a certain inability to Stop, Just Stop, she's evidently quite good at writing and conversing all at once.
"Oh, most of it I should think. The important parts, to be certain. Given the sensitivity of the subject, I imagine I will divide everything between two records - questions and answers, so to speak - so that one without the other would be quite useless." A pause (of her mouth, not her hand), in which she gives him a swift second assessment and clearly is either unconscious that she's doing it or means to do so subtly.
"You'll be doing the same with your notes, of course. I doubt I even need mention it."
Tragically, that look has even less effect in this context. She scoffs.
"Then you may have my guarantee, Mr. Dickerson. I am the very picture of discretion. But records must be kept, if only for our own benefit. Who can be expected to recall every little detail of a thing from months prior? I find it unlikely that this will be an abbreviated study."
Wysteria scoffs and Richard sighs in tight aside to himself, thoroughly Tried.
“Please don’t use my name.”
Which might as well be real, so far as this plane is concerned. This will all be fine, Miss Poppell is ‘the very picture of discretion.’
“I will requisition paper,” he adds, because he might as well have a fallback explanation that will require other people to assist in covering for him if the seneschal becomes suspicious of his crimes. “For recordkeeping.” Not for a giant ant.
"Excellent. You may feel free to use my name as a reference on the form should you feel you require it."
From the long look she gives him, there can be no doubt what she thinks about this whole anonymous record keeping business. But to her (very limited) credit, she scribbles out a line in her notes, then caps the pen and tucks it back into— her hair, surely. The freshly written note is folded over and tucked into a pocket.
"Well then, Mr. Dickerson." She offers her hand out to shake. "I look forward to working with you."
“Thedas is a dangerous place for talented individuals.”
And Richard Dickerson has made a career of flying under the danger radar, insinstence cut clear blue in his eyes, unwilling to be ashamed about the added precaution. His eyes refocus momentarily to follow her pen over her ear.
…
He reaches out to grasp her hand, and takes the opportunity to get a good gauge on the state its in by the light of the lamp when he does so. Tilt, turn, and then a firm shake. No judgment.
The hand in question is rather inkstained, neither so soft that it spends all day in a glove nor so hard that it does much work without one. On the back of her hand, between her thumb and forefinger is the slightest freckling of pale circular scars- some kind of burn, there now forever.
Her hand, shaking his, stops very abruptly but doesn't release him. Instead, her grip tightens. Wysteria's attention swivels toward the collar of his clothes where last that little glinting dark eye was seen staring.
His own hand is worn more rough in the pad than his appearance would otherwise suggest it should be, with calluses thickest in the crook of his fingers, where a pen would sit. Dick lifts his chin a touch when she locks on -- not quite prepared for the intensity of her enthusiasm. Somehow. In spite of their interaction over the last several minutes.
She was, in his defense, wholly less enthusiastic about the snake in particular.
“Provided you will promise not to attempt to dissect or dispel her.”
Somehow this sounds more like a warning than one condition of an agreement.
“She understands trade. I can tell her to do as you ask, for a time.”
A brief war wages in Wysteria's face with such visibility that she must be an extremely poor poker player. She does not want to carry a snake in her clothes. She does not want to carry a snake at all. She would prefer, generally, not touch a snake or and to instead study a snake through a pane of very clear glass or perhaps for a distance of one or two feet.
And yet, it is not a snake. Not really. She is merely... snake-shaped.
Which Wysteria resolves is a very different thing altogether.
"I would like that very much. And of course would promise to do nothing of the sort. When will you need her returned?"
He watches her struggle the same way she’d watch a snake swallowing an especially large egg through a pane of glass, low key fascination for the effort involved. Maybe this will be therapeutic for her.
“I think I can survive without her for a week or two.”
"Then I will see to her safety for as long as that, and return her to you in exactly the same state which she was received. You have my most solemn oath, Mr. Dickerson."
She sounds very certain. She is going to 'blechk' her way to the ferry with a snake in her possession.
Dick pumps his grip enough to remind her it’s there, and gives the order in a hissing abyssal dialect, delivered quietly in aside to his collar. It’d be easy to assume he speaks Snake. He technically does.
She spirals down the interior of his sleeve at a gliding clip, from around the shoulder to the elbow, and around the elbow to his wrist, until she’s ribboned out from beneath the cuff and across the bridge of their thumbs. She noses to scoop the spade of her head in under the lip of Wysteria’s sleeve as a matter of course -- that’s where snakes go -- and will immediately try to burrow the rest of herself in after it, if so allowed.
She’s Miss Poppell’s problem, as soon as Dickerson is sure she isn’t about to be catapulted across the room for overstepping.
With the air of a slightly ill child being forced to down a measure of bitter tasting tonic (queasy look included), Wysteria's hand tightens to a vice grip on Richard's in place of flinching backwards. And while the cuff of her sleeve is trimmed rather close, the rest beyond it is of a perfectly welcoming dimension for the little serpent to worm her way into. In short order, the snake has disappeared from view entirely, presumably worked its way up Wysteria's arm and settled somewhere more comfortable.
She has only gone a few shades paler than chalk white in the process.
"Very good care, yes," she says absently. There's a snake on her but it's fine because it's not really a snake. "And if there is any particular thing she cares for - a sunny rock now and again, for example, I would be happy to indulge her."
There, there. Richard pats his left hand over the back of her bloodless right, and also uses it to assist in gently (wincingly) prying it off whatever crunched cartilage and bone remains of his half of the shake.
“If she does, she'll let you know,” he tells her, and stands to lead the way to the door, on the subject of sunny rock indulgence.
“Should you have any questions, you know how to find me.”
As if possessed by the spirit of a rigid stick jammed somewhere delicate, Wysteria rises from her seat and allows herself to be lead toward to the door. Once across the threshold and out into the corridor beyond, she manages to say (to weakly insist), "A week or two. And then I will return her."
Presumably more heartfelt expressions of gratitude and enthusiasm for their newfound partnership will have to wait.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2020-08-07 04:42 pm (UTC)"Oh, most of it I should think. The important parts, to be certain. Given the sensitivity of the subject, I imagine I will divide everything between two records - questions and answers, so to speak - so that one without the other would be quite useless." A pause (of her mouth, not her hand), in which she gives him a swift second assessment and clearly is either unconscious that she's doing it or means to do so subtly.
"You'll be doing the same with your notes, of course. I doubt I even need mention it."
no subject
Date: 2020-08-10 05:22 am (UTC)He says so firmly enough that this could be a point of contention. Eye contact, when it resumes, has taken on a warier clarity.
She’d warned him against such looks earlier.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-14 07:11 pm (UTC)"Then you may have my guarantee, Mr. Dickerson. I am the very picture of discretion. But records must be kept, if only for our own benefit. Who can be expected to recall every little detail of a thing from months prior? I find it unlikely that this will be an abbreviated study."
no subject
Date: 2020-08-14 09:35 pm (UTC)“Please don’t use my name.”
Which might as well be real, so far as this plane is concerned. This will all be fine, Miss Poppell is ‘the very picture of discretion.’
“I will requisition paper,” he adds, because he might as well have a fallback explanation that will require other people to assist in covering for him if the seneschal becomes suspicious of his crimes. “For recordkeeping.” Not for a giant ant.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-15 03:02 pm (UTC)From the long look she gives him, there can be no doubt what she thinks about this whole anonymous record keeping business. But to her (very limited) credit, she scribbles out a line in her notes, then caps the pen and tucks it back into— her hair, surely. The freshly written note is folded over and tucked into a pocket.
"Well then, Mr. Dickerson." She offers her hand out to shake. "I look forward to working with you."
no subject
Date: 2020-08-17 11:23 pm (UTC)And Richard Dickerson has made a career of flying under the danger radar, insinstence cut clear blue in his eyes, unwilling to be ashamed about the added precaution. His eyes refocus momentarily to follow her pen over her ear.
…
He reaches out to grasp her hand, and takes the opportunity to get a good gauge on the state its in by the light of the lamp when he does so. Tilt, turn, and then a firm shake. No judgment.
He’s just curious.
“I could send the snake with you, if you like.”
A very kind and earnest offer, in parting.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-19 11:22 pm (UTC)Her hand, shaking his, stops very abruptly but doesn't release him. Instead, her grip tightens. Wysteria's attention swivels toward the collar of his clothes where last that little glinting dark eye was seen staring.
"Would you really?"
no subject
Date: 2020-08-20 01:35 am (UTC)She was, in his defense, wholly less enthusiastic about the snake in particular.
“Provided you will promise not to attempt to dissect or dispel her.”
Somehow this sounds more like a warning than one condition of an agreement.
“She understands trade. I can tell her to do as you ask, for a time.”
no subject
Date: 2020-08-20 04:49 am (UTC)And yet, it is not a snake. Not really. She is merely... snake-shaped.
Which Wysteria resolves is a very different thing altogether.
"I would like that very much. And of course would promise to do nothing of the sort. When will you need her returned?"
no subject
Date: 2020-08-20 05:05 am (UTC)He watches her struggle the same way she’d watch a snake swallowing an especially large egg through a pane of glass, low key fascination for the effort involved. Maybe this will be therapeutic for her.
“I think I can survive without her for a week or two.”
They are still holding hands.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-20 05:09 am (UTC)"Then I will see to her safety for as long as that, and return her to you in exactly the same state which she was received. You have my most solemn oath, Mr. Dickerson."
She sounds very certain. She is going to 'blechk' her way to the ferry with a snake in her possession.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-20 05:31 am (UTC)“I trust you’ll take good care of her.”
Dick pumps his grip enough to remind her it’s there, and gives the order in a hissing abyssal dialect, delivered quietly in aside to his collar. It’d be easy to assume he speaks Snake. He technically does.
She spirals down the interior of his sleeve at a gliding clip, from around the shoulder to the elbow, and around the elbow to his wrist, until she’s ribboned out from beneath the cuff and across the bridge of their thumbs. She noses to scoop the spade of her head in under the lip of Wysteria’s sleeve as a matter of course -- that’s where snakes go -- and will immediately try to burrow the rest of herself in after it, if so allowed.
She’s Miss Poppell’s problem, as soon as Dickerson is sure she isn’t about to be catapulted across the room for overstepping.
He is still holding on.
Just in case.
https://i.ytimg.com/vi/X_jkHXbA0k4/hqdefault.jpg
Date: 2020-08-20 05:49 am (UTC)She has only gone a few shades paler than chalk white in the process.
"Very good care, yes," she says absently. There's a snake on her but it's fine because it's not really a snake. "And if there is any particular thing she cares for - a sunny rock now and again, for example, I would be happy to indulge her."
no subject
Date: 2020-08-20 06:09 am (UTC)“If she does, she'll let you know,” he tells her, and stands to lead the way to the door, on the subject of sunny rock indulgence.
“Should you have any questions, you know how to find me.”
no subject
Date: 2020-08-21 01:50 am (UTC)Presumably more heartfelt expressions of gratitude and enthusiasm for their newfound partnership will have to wait.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-21 08:21 am (UTC)He closes the door between them.
Bye-eee.