No, no, I can come to you. Or we can meet in a Lowtown, but only if you let me buy you a drink— [ He would either way really ] —to make up for making you walk so far alone.
[ He arrives before her, because who has a watch, nobody, and he doesn't have to descend all of those stairs—so he's already there, is the point, at a table in the middle of the room, because tucking into corners is for people with something to hide.
Someone is playing a lute and singing in the corner, and they aren't terrible, so his untimely death from a lack of music has been averted. At least temporarily. But he isn't so enraptured that he doesn't see Fifi enter and lift a hand to draw her attention to his position in the room, and once she's close enough he stands up as well. ]
If you put a rowboat at the top of the stairs, [ he says, in lieu of hello, ] and tried to ride it like a sled to the bottom, do you think it would be shaken into pieces by the stairs first, or that it would careen over the side?
[Fifi is wearing her Going Out Dress, which is a little less froofy than her Fancy Dress, but a little more interesting than her Work Dress, and those are the three dresses she owns. She seems at home here, coming into the pub and giving the room a once-over as she steps forward with a smile and takes a seat by Bastien. Leaning in, she furrows her brow as she considers his question.]
The stairs here? [she clarifies,] I imagine it'd depend on how old the boat is. It can't go over the side if there's no railing.
[ He gestures in the vague direction of the mansion-crowned cliffs, out there somewhere beyond the door and the wall, reachable for most only by climbing a small mountain’s worth of steps. ]
[ He begins to hold up two fingers, to make the very convincing argument that two ropes could be employed, but thinks better. ]
You will see my point better after a drink.
[ The mark of every good idea is that alcohol makes it sound better and less suicidal.
He’s getting her that drink, anyway, and another for himself, and as he returns with them the singer in the corner misses a note badly enough that he pulls a face—not one the singer can see, though. That would be rude. ]
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untiltheyarent) wrote2018-01-28 01:05 am
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THAT NIGHT,
Someone is playing a lute and singing in the corner, and they aren't terrible, so his untimely death from a lack of music has been averted. At least temporarily. But he isn't so enraptured that he doesn't see Fifi enter and lift a hand to draw her attention to his position in the room, and once she's close enough he stands up as well. ]
If you put a rowboat at the top of the stairs, [ he says, in lieu of hello, ] and tried to ride it like a sled to the bottom, do you think it would be shaken into pieces by the stairs first, or that it would careen over the side?
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Leaning in, she furrows her brow as she considers his question.]
The stairs here? [she clarifies,] I imagine it'd depend on how old the boat is. It can't go over the side if there's no railing.
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[ He gestures in the vague direction of the mansion-crowned cliffs, out there somewhere beyond the door and the wall, reachable for most only by climbing a small mountain’s worth of steps. ]
Enough rope might keep it on track to the bottom.
[ No one should do this. ]
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[She thinks for a moment.]
...no, that would be certain death.
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You will see my point better after a drink.
[ The mark of every good idea is that alcohol makes it sound better and less suicidal.
He’s getting her that drink, anyway, and another for himself, and as he returns with them the singer in the corner misses a note badly enough that he pulls a face—not one the singer can see, though. That would be rude. ]