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: 2020-08-20 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.