inbox.

[unshut]

(crystal | written | action)

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[unshut]

You seem much improved, Messere, [is her cheerful greeting, made from her bower of pillows. The enchanted book is still open on her lap, crystal glowing pale in its spine, and she has ever appearance of only just now having set down her pen.

The bad news is that she is still ill at all - it has done her complexion a rather poor turn, left her eyes quite bright and dark in the harder angles of her face -, but the good news is that she is clearly mending: quite chipper, and ready with a curling smile for him as Byerly takes the chair at her bedside.

She closes the book and removes the crystal from it.]

Set these on the bedside table for me, won't you?

[bouchonne]

I am a man of eternal good fortune.

[ He offers her a bow, the gesture flowing seamlessly into a hand presented to take her book from her. Then he sits down, crossing his long legs, regarding her. ]

Your eyes are striking, my dear.

[unshut]

I've always thought so.

[She makes no move to sit up straighter, perfectly content to be propped up in her nest of pillows. Her eyebrows rise.]

What did you bring me?

[bouchonne]

[ He reaches into his pocket, and he pulls out - a pair of gloves. They're wrought from Antivan leather; it's fine stuff, no doubt of that, soft and supple. On the backs of the hands, embroidery picks out scrollwork patterns. The embroidery itself is not quite professional quality, but it's quite nice.

Cheerily: ]

I did it myself.

[unshut]

[Here, she does sit up by a half degree - brightening markedly as she takes the gloves.]

My, and a seamstress as well? [Fingertips running across the picked out embroidery. She pulls one on, flexing long fingers down into smooth leather.] These are charming.

[It's an easy thing to say. But— they are. Charming.]

[bouchonne]

One of my many womanly skills.

[ He's a bit pleased, in spite of himself, at her response. It actually seems rather genuine. To be fair, he'd have been pleased if she'd rolled her eyes and mocked him, as well; any reaction from her is exciting and fun. But the smile is better. ]

I hope they will keep your precious fingertips warm.

[unshut]

[She holds her hand out before her, making a gentle fist to see how the leather gives around the embroidery.]

I've trouble finding pretty gloves that fit, you know. [Her hands are long - long fingers, long palm; a little mannish, maybe. She lowers her hand and begins to work the glove from it. With a small sideways smile:] You're a quick study, Messere.

[bouchonne]

As do I.

[ He holds out his own hands, a match for hers. Long-fingered and elegant, with tapered fingertips. Maybe a more appropriate set of hands for a man.

He holds out his hand for the glove as she takes it off. ]

But I study that which I admire. These hands are amongst your most striking features.

[unshut]

[The glove is deposited into his waiting hand. She grins.]

Would that I could have you in Antiva forty years ago to say as much to my mother. She used to tell me to keep them behind my back if I wanted to find a husband.

[bouchonne]

[ He accepts it with a bow, presses it to his heart. ]

And did you?

[unshut]

No. But I don't believe my husband found them objectionable either.

[bouchonne]

[ With approval: ]

A sensible man, then.

[unshut]

Not in the slightest.

[bouchonne]

No? Was he fanciful?

[unshut]

The very picture, I'm afraid.

[bouchonne]

That must have driven you mad, my practical-minded beauty.

[unshut]

Much to my own disappointment, I apparently have a fondness for the type.

[This, punctuated with the appropriate sidelong glance as she settles back against her pillows and the headboard.]

[bouchonne]

[ He flutters his eyelashes at her. ]

And I, a weakness for the squarely unromantic.

[unshut]

Oh? [A look of surprise punctuates the tip of her head.] Who is this mysterious unromantic individual who has you so charmed, Ambassador?

[bouchonne]

Someone who is also very beautiful. And clever.

[unshut]

Good for you. You should have some diversion from your work. [Lacing her long fingers together over her middle, she lowers her voice by a half degree.] It's giving you wrinkles, Messere.

[bouchonne]

It is not.

[unshut]

I'm afraid so. There's a little mark just there on your brow. You've been frowning.

[bouchonne]

I'm incapable of frowning. I'm a very mirthful man.

[unshut]

And yet, that mark. Not to worry, Ambassador; wear a few more lines like that one and you might eventually look quite respectable.

[Her smile curves.]

Which I only say because I know how much you enjoy to be told terrible things about yourself.