"Stoneclaw seems a sensible sort," she said, "which I suppose he must be, with as many bairnes as you have between you. They'll warm to him." She paused, her attention caught by something else, and took another swallow of the tea, rolling it through her mouth before swallowing. "This is different," she said, sounding pleased. "Pandaren, I assume? I like the spices, you'll have to tell me what the blend is."
It might have been nothing but a smooth aside, a minor side jaunt in the conversation, but she had only just mentioned both Ren and the cubs and the sudden segue to tea made Anduin quickly re-evaluate what was in his cup other than 'not the smokey stimulant brew' that he wanted. The result brought him up short, making him cough, and Moira raised one brow at him archly as she watched him splutter. "You've drunken it as well, so I'll assume it's not poison," she noted blandly. "And you're turning red. What in the Light's name is embarrassing about tea?"
Anduin shot her a sour look, forcibly schooling his expression and feelings into order until he was reasonably sure his complexion wasn't betraying him any more. "You didn't take the sugar and cream into account," he pointed out, which only made Moira laugh. Sighing, Anduin shook his head, putting his cup down. "Not the kitchen's fault," he acknowledged wryly. "I really only drink a few types, and all I told them was not the stimulant blend I use to stay awake."
( Read more... )
(and that's more or less the end of that scene, and I suppose I should write the actual wedding at some point instead of just all the pre-wedding jitters. =P)
This is intended to be a Dreamwidth equivalent of yuletide.
Clorinda had finally conceded that Sandy did not seem to have succumbed to a cold, after keeping him indoors for a couple of days, sitting by the fire, drinking sanitive preparations, with Motley curled up purring in his lap.
Really, sweet silly creature, one sneeze does not portend an attack of the influenza.
Mayhap not, but you are entire like to neglect precautionary measures, has ever been the case.
He could not contradict her, remembering those occasions in Naples where his neglect to put on a hat had had most disagreeable consequences. But, he said, I am quite entire well and able to pursue our investigations.
I am pleased to hear it.
He was inclined to think better of the matter, and in particular his refusal to take the carriage, saying he was in need of healthful walking exercize, upon venturing out into chill wind and flurries of sleet, but he persisted.
Indeed it was a considerable walk to the City, where the main counting-house for the Knowles' enterprizes was still located. Fortunately he found Sebastian Knowles in and not engaged with anyone else.
Come in, Mr MacDonald – take off your coat and come sit near the stove. What service may I be to you the day?
Why, I am sorry to disturb such a busy fellow as yourself, but 'tis possible that that sad rogue Karl Paffenrath is returned from America and finds himself in Town.
Sebastian sighed and said that one had, alas, heard that he had long given up that plan of going to live in harmony with Nature in the American forests, where one might have hoped he would be scalped by wild Indians, or mayhap, like the late Earl of Nuttenford, eat by a bear.
From his proceedings in civilization one might have expected to hear of him tarred and feathered or ridden out of town upon a rail according to the rough justice of those parts. But, Lady Bexbury takes some concern for poor Gretchen Paffenrath –
Why, I daresay the wretch might go beguile money from her out of the pity of her womanly heart, but indeed Papa was forethoughtful that the fellow might return and wish to live upon her, so he tied up provision for her very careful indeed, and we give her a monthly allowance, and pay the rent and parish rates upon the house, and does she have any especial expenditure, the bills are sent here.
You greatly relieve our concerns in the matter!
Why, 'twas entire proper in him: daresay had she been able to get free of the rascal Papa would have wed her in all due order; sure Vi and I took a little perturbation when he first took up with her, but she ever behaved very proper and respectful and she made him happy. Could have done a deal worse.
But, went on Sebastian, Meg says Bess and Harry are at outs again?
Yes, Bess came lately to open the matter to Lady Bexbury, was in a great taking. Something to do with the Admiralty –
Why, 'twould be a great thing did they get some commission from the Admiralty, but one would indeed want to have Bess in the negotiations.
Entirely, but I apprehend that 'tis very early days. But I will not take up your time any longer.
The weather had grown sufficiently worse when he stepped out into the street that he determined that 'twould hardly be an indulgence to take a hansom to the club where he was to dine with Geoff. He would be somewhat beforehand, but doubtless he could go into the reading room, or mayhap find someone to give him a game of billiards. And would be somewhere where he was in some confidence he knew the various parties and the undercurrents and who was at outs with who and over what. Whereas, at the certain club he felt there was a deal he did not yet apprehend about the fellows there.
Should, he thought, interrogate Maurice - Allard! – upon the matter: and why did his thought go immediately there rather than to Sir Hartley Zellen, that had been in what had once been known as the Raxdell coterie, but more lately as the Mulcaster set, these many years? Because it would be a reason for another private conversation, that always seemed to lead to matters abominated by society and that law and religion deemed unnatural, but seemed so very natural at the time?
He sighed, and the cab drew up outside the very unclandestine entrance of his destination.
He was indeed well in advance of the time of his appointment, and looked about the hall.
MacDonald? He turned towards the voice, taking off his spectacles to wipe away the mist on the lenses from the sudden warmth following the outdoor chill. Replacing them he saw that it was Sir Tom Ollifaunt, Bess’s husband. An agreeable quiet fellow. Come and join me for a drink? He asked.
Once they were seated with glasses of the club’s excellent sherry, Tom sighed and said he apprehended that Bess had bothered Lady Bexbury with this taking of hers over this matter of Harry and the Admiralty? Though he thinks Harry behaved entirely proper, came and opened the matter to her even had he been told 'twas confidential: but surely that could not mean his partners in the ironworks?
Sandy was inclined to think that indeed it did, and that Harry should not even have been making a memorandum of the meeting: but he did not say so. Instead he said that must be entire irksome to Bess was she supposed merely a sleeping partner in the business.
Quite! And then she is having some difficulties over this new theatre she purposes – the town council are a sad Evangelical set and go about to prevent her acquiring a suitable property, even though there is a considerable party in the town has solicited her, seeing how well her others do, the opportunities for business &C.
At this moment arrived Geoffrey Merrett, greeted them both very amiably, and said he would join them in sherry before he and Sandy went to dine. He seemed, however, a little preoccupied during Ollifaunt’s account of certain recent proceedings at his local assizes. At length the latter left them and they went to dine in one of the private rooms.
Geoffrey was unwonted silent while they were being served, and drank rather copiously of the wine that was poured. When they were finally left alone he sighed and said, there have been further developments concerning these extortionary demands.
Indeed? You mean, the matter has not entirely gone away?
Alas, no, and the matter becomes yet more troubling. He took another drink of his wine. There came another note to Lady Sarah, saying that did she have difficulty raising the ready, could she contrive to obtain certain documents of her husband’s, and leave 'em in a specified place, that would ensure their silence.
This was intriguing: possibly had been intended all along, for who would consider Lady Sarah a lady with much in the way of ready money at her disposal? While there was Sir Stockwell engaged in confidential matters at the Admiralty, and if matters were confidential, there were almost certainly those who would pay to discover them.
But the really dreadful thing, went on Geoffrey, is that she seems in every disposition to concede to the matter, because 'tis not even as if they desire to retain the documents: she may go away and then come back within the half hour. But who knows who this is or what is the intention?
(Half an hour, thought Sandy, was scarcely enough time, was it? to copy documents that he would imagine must be of some intricacy. And then a thought dawned upon him. But he would say nothing just yet to Geoffrey.)
She cannot have thought the matter through, said Sandy. 'Tis quite entirely wrong. And even are the documents returned, there will be some time during which they might be discovered missing.
Geoffrey groaned. Says 'tis like any suspicion would fall upon one or other of the servants, or mayhap some clerk at the Admiralty, was it so.
Sandy could feel the dour Calvinistical glare settling upon his face. Really, that was a deal worse than taking a lover, that might be excusable given the particular circumstance of her marriage.
What, he said, does she fear is your liaison disclosed to Sir Stockwell? A crim. con. action, and mayhap bringing a divorce before Parliament?
Geoffrey shrugged. Seems not to fear that, but that he will send her to live on his estate in Yorkshire, that she detests, even was it not exile from Town.
Sandy took the supposition that Sir Stockwell was unlike to bring the matter to the courtroom and the interest of the scandalmonging press, and that it would entirely suit his interest to remain married in the eyes of Society. Certainly his inquisition into whether she had a lover manifested more concern over the possibility of scandal, or so he made it seem, than for the gathering of evidence.
'Tis the greatest pity, he said at length, that Lady Sarah is not in Lady Bexbury’s set –
Alas, no, she dangles about that hell-cat, Lady Trembourne, that will, I confide, ever try to find somewhat adverse to say about Lady Bexbury and her friends.
- for I am entire sure that did she open the matter to her, she would find some way through this maze.
Oh, cried Geoffrey, if only she would!
Well, I will go convoke with her on the matter, she may find some means to come at it. I suppose, he went on, that you do not have the note?
Why, 'tis a curious thing, but I do: she was in a great fret that her maid or someone might find it, so she gave it to me to look after. He fumbled in an inner pocket and produced a somewhat crumpled note.
Sandy spread it out upon the tablecloth. It was written on less coarse paper than he had anticipated. The hand, though not elegant, showed some education, and the spelling was correct, and yet there was a little something stilted and unEnglish about the style – was there not something a little Germanic in the cadence?
Might I take this and show it to Lady Bexbury?
If you think it may help, my dear fellow, I should be entire willing.
This fellow's name on Earth is Dude, and he is a completely blind Haflinger who has an enormous presence and whose eyes look as if they contain galaxies. He lives at the same rescue as little Bonbon the Mustang, like the elder god of the horses. As befits his station he is aloof and brooks no foolishness from his equine subjects. He is kind to humans, though.
This painting is 16" x 16", acrylic on canvas. I was using acrylics because I was painting on site at the monthly open house, and wanted to work fast and loose and have it dry right away.
*Went to doc today for weird gag reflex/pill-swallowing issues. I feel like a cat who has abruptly gone NOPETOPUS DONE WITH THESE THINGS and started puking them back up on the rug five minutes later. SIGH, BODY. Also got my Rx for triptans started up again since this is now enough of a Thing that... yeah. Fucking bodies.
*Current vague birthday plans are gestures in the direction of "everyone shows up and laughs at me swearing at the loom until it works; also there is cake and food and booze." Still not sure who's in the area/able to become in the area over the right weekend though.
*STILL getting hammered sporadically in the PTSD-brain. Would like new brain. Failing that, would like less knowledge of why becoming an alcoholic is a really fucking bad idea. Failing THAT, would at least like the anhedonia to lift a little more.
*This weekend C goes out to LA to see his grandfather one last time, which you would think would be seriously stressful, and in some respects IS... but all I want right now is to be totally fucking unaccountable to anyone for where I go and what I eat and how I spend my time. So I'm super looking forward to it. There will be so much seafood, you guys. So much.
*Taking a lengthy hiatus from Twitter, despite every other thing fucking me up right now, is the best thing I've done for my mental health in an age. I get the Srsly Important shit, I get spoons back to actually *gasp* write my congresscritters (I KNOW WHAT A SHOCK), and I get people showing me cute shit on purpose. There was a goat and otter friendship thing today. Reader, I squeed.
— Thinking. Maybe a little, maybe a lot.
— Planning and / or researching.
— Sending things to the beta.
— Relaxing, taking a break, etc.
— Other stuff-ing. Look at the comment.
Silly question: What footwear do you have when you are writing? Do you prefer to be barefoot, are you more of a bunny slippers type, etc.?