[ a-ha, there it is. one building stands apart from the rest — taller, with a broad balcony open to the air on a higher tier. doubtless, it's less busy now than it would have been during the height of the shattered plains conflict; however, bodies still mill between tables. on highstorm days, this particular winehouse still manages to draw crowds.
yep. that's right. a winehouse. and yet, this certainly certainly certainly is not a date. ]
Ask you?
[ a brow raises, and she doesn't spare a glance at the doorman who (recognizing her) offers a stiff bow and moves nimbly out of her way. the door opens up to a narrow set of stairs, although she pauses in the stairwell to turn on him — two or three stairs adding even more height between them. ]
First, let's see how you behave in public. Then, maybe, I'll invite you to Kharbranth.
[ it's not that she doubts his manners — more like she hasn't had much chance to see him outside her sole company. ]
[ Verso has not been on a date in 67 years, but he used to go on quite a lot of them. (Used to be quite a bon vivant and man about town, to his father's deep, deep chagrin.) He's fairly certain he remembers how they used to go, though, and he does feel a current of smug pleasure flow through him as he realizes the purpose of the building she's led them to.
Someone else might be put off by being literally and figuratively looked down upon, but as always, it rolls off of Verso's back. He takes the steps until he's standing beside her, her height only a few inches over his now, and pretends not to notice how inappropriately close he's standing to royalty. A brief pause, and then he takes another step so that he can be, for once, taller than her. ]
[ — well. it's impossible not to read something into his pause, that scant heartbeat and a half spent on the same step. not a part of them bumps or touches, and yet it feels excruciatingly more intimate to co-inhabit that small space than all the elbow-touches and knee-nudges of the past two days.
jasnah isn't a coward. she holds his eyes through the entire moment, chin tracking upward as he rises one step more. insufferable bastard. ]
[ It probably says something about just how lonely he's been that he finds merely having his gaze held exciting. It's the most intimate thing anyone's done to him in at least a decade; selfishly, he lets the lapse in conversation linger for a breath longer than is natural, luxuriating in the feeling of being seen by another human being. She has nice eyes—pale, a color he's never seen anyone in Lumière have, bracketed by dark lashes.
Then it's over, and he gestures up the stairs with a flourish. ]
[ her shoulders lift and fall with a single, aspirated laugh. all that fuss to pass her on the steps, only to turn around and invite her back into that same sliver of personal space? damnation. maybe she is a coward.
jasnah's jaw works silently as she considers his gentlemanly offer — she considers the provocation beneath it, albeit a rather harmless one. and after a beat of hesitation, she chooses her tactic: don't do anything by halves. ]
Careful, Dessendre. You're playing with lightning.
[ as she passes him in turn, she doesn't avoid physical contact. jasnah places her (left, gloved) hand on his chest and shoves him stiffly against the stairwell's wall — adding inches to the empty space through which she passes. she doesn't turn toward him as she does it; she doesn't pause; she doesn't look back as she makes the landing and has a quiet word with the winehouse staff. ]
[ Unfortunately, Jasnah has decided to shove the most pathetic, touch-starved man in the world, so it's less intimidating than it should be; it only makes him grin crookedly again as he tries with middling success not to think very ungentlemanly thoughts about other, more exciting situations in which one might be shoved up against a wall. (She was right, by the way, to condemn him to 'fictional frivolities' such as bawdy romances.)
He follows politely after her, determined to impress or perhaps fondly irritate her with how well-mannered he can be. While she speaks with the staff, he lingers with his hands behind his back, patiently waiting for her to finish. The only clue that he's perhaps more impatient than he'd like to suggest is the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, much like a restless little boy waiting on the adults to finish talking.
When they finally do, he says, as if she's supposed to know what the word means, ] You've brought me to a brasserie.
[ after a half-minute of conversation, jasnah assures the winehouse host that she does not require the private room off the back of the establishment — not even after the man boasts of how often her cousin, adolin kholin, reserved the very same room on many a stormy afternoon.
— jasnah is too acutely aware of why her dear cousin so often rented those rooms. his reputation as a player and serial dater reached her even across the continent. no, no, she certainly will not be drinking with verso in the same rooms her cousin used as a go-to for his first dates.
(didn't stop her from still taking him to the same winehouse, though, whoops.)
eventually, they're led to a table. ]
Depends. What's a brasserie?
[ hers is a passable imitation of the word he'd used. funny, really, how ninety percent of what he says is perfectly understandable. and that final percent is utterly illegible. she's managed just fine, before now, doing distributional tests in her head to figure out the gist of what his interjections have meant.
language is an odd thing. it's bizarre that they understand each other at all — but jasnah chalks that up to something eerie happening with this man's Connection upon materializing on this planet. not dissimilar to how dalinar can touch two people on the shoulder and form a spiritual bond between them, allowing them to speak one another's language. ]
[ Verso pulls out Jasnah's chair before he seats himself, with a pointed look that practically screams See? Gentlemanly. In truth, he's not certain what manners are appropriate here and which aren't. Although it's been a long time since he's actually had to use his manners, the Dessendres were a rather preeminent family once upon a time, and he was brought up genteel—but that was Lumière, and this is here. Culturally, he's not sure what to expect.
He relies on the memories of dining at fancy restaurants and entertaining wealthy guests at the family home. When he sits, he places his hands in his lap, careful not to rest his elbows on the table. ]
An establishment that serves food and drink. Where you might take someone you wish to impress.
[ to her credit, she doesn't make a fuss over his gallant display of manners. jasnah takes her seat, barely remarking on the way in which he holds her chair for her and pushes it inward as she settles. less to her credit, this indifference is born mostly of privilege. it wasn't so long ago that she had a man who would trail after her like a shadow, smoothing out and navigating every petty inconvenience for her as she stalked through tower, camp, and battlefield. at a certain point, she's simply...accustomed to such service.
— that said, he certainly doesn't lose any gentlemanly points just because she's used to it. ]
If you're to be impressed, it won't be from the food and drink.
[ her tone is dry. she allows, magnanimously, that perhaps she does aim to pleasantly surprise him with their little field trip. but alethi food leaves much to be desired, and the drink...? well, jasnah isn't well-versed in liquors.
speaking of... ]
We simply call it a winehouse. This one is nicer than most, admittedly. [ she slides him a menu, although it's obvious in her pause that she considers simply ordering on his behalf. ] The different colours are of different strengths.
[ rarely does she drink anything higher than an auburn. ]
[ Ah, wine. Verso visibly brightens. As a fantasy Frenchman with no healthy coping skills, he's a longtime enthusiast—although instead of getting his alcohol from winehouses, he instead stores his collection of vintages inside a giant, talking wineskin. It's rather novel to be visiting someplace like this instead of sadly drinking alone by the river. ]
[ He's a red wine man himself, but it might be nice to try something new for once. Verso opens his mouth to decide on his order, and then— he deflates a little. ]
I... don't have any Chroma.
[ The magical life force energy that flows through all beings in Lumière and the Continent, while also inexplicably being used for currency when located outside the body. Aside from the Chroma running through his veins, he doesn't have any to spare. ]
[ chroma? jasnah frowns — thinking only briefly about how once wit explained a concept he called biochromatic breath as yet another means of harnessing investiture in the cosmere. does this man...?
no. she's agile enough in conversation to guess he must be talking about some sort of monetary unit. she's brought him out to a local business and now he's worried about how to cover his tab. jasnah's single laugh is sharp, low, and dismissive. ]
Spheres. [ she reaches into a pocket and produces a small bag. she passes it across the table. she had intended to pay for their drinks, considering her rank, but teasing him about it is so so so much more satisfying. ] If your ego requires it, feel free to keep them.
[ inside the bag is a collection of glass spheres, each containing a small gem in its heart. the gems are different colours and sizes, but all of them are infused with a soft light. stormlight, harnessed during the highstorm. such gems stand in as currency, as light sources (braziers around the winehouse are filled with glowing gems casting light), and as the fuel for fabrials and surgebinding abilities. ]
[ Spheres, he tells himself to remember. Unlike Jasnah, he doesn't keep practical lists in his notebook, although perhaps he should start. The visual arts have never been his passion—despite his parents' wishes and, perhaps, expectations—but he does have a natural talent for them, and he thinks of keeping one of these spheres to sketch in his journal.
He takes one between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up to watch the faint light it gives off. Maybe not just a sketch—maybe a watercolor, if supplies for it exist here. ]
My ego is exceedingly fragile, [ he jokes, offhanded. Whether this is a little or a lot of money remains unclear to him, so he's careful with it, gently placing the sphere back in the purse from which it came. ]
Interesting, indeed. I hope your stomach is made of sterner stuff than your ego.
[ her brows raise. it's not that she's judging, exactly, but a violet does seem like a bold choice for the afternoon. oh, who are we kidding? she's absolutely judging.
jasnah lifts a hand (right, ungloved) and a server comes a-scurrying. doubtless, the staff were carefully watching, primed to react the moment it looked as though they were needed. ]
Orange, please. [ her tone is no warmer than usual, but carries at least a measure of understanding that she is speaking to someone well outside the court and therefore doesn't deserve the worst of her sharp demeanor. ] And he'll have..
[ jasnah gestures to verso, encouraging him to order for himself. look! she's not a total tyrant and despot. just mostly one. ]
[ Orange wine! Almost as fascinating as the violet, although he imagines it as something closer to a red. It's obvious that he's a little surprised that she doesn't just order for him; in the short time he's known her, it's already become abundantly clear that she prefers to tightly hold the control in every situation.
With a tip of his head: ] Violet, monsieur.
[ His tone and body language are quite a bit warmer than hers, friendly charm not exclusively used on queens by any means. When he turns his attention back to Jasnah, it's with a curious expression. ]
Have you been here many times?
[ A polite, roundabout way of gleaning how many people she's taken here before. Jasnah is intelligent, beautiful, and royal; he imagines she must have an endless parade of— companions. ]
[ there! just there! another of those odd, not-quite-understandable words. her fingers practically itch to record it phonetically. mo-see-ur. again, reading context, she can assume it's some sort of honorific.
her thoughts are still twirling pleasantly around the linguistic mystery when he asks his question. it catches her off guard, but minimally. the staff hurries off to fill their orders, and she glances around at the winehouse interior. it's carved into a stone building, tables set out like any old establishment. the big difference (perhaps) is the open-air terrace across the room. with a railing, the deck is open air. big, metal shutters sit folded to either side.
jasnah is clever and quick, but the implication of his question flies well over her head. blunt and honest: ] Not at all. It's only my second time here.
[ the staff recognizes her less by familiarity and more by reputation. ]
[ Verso tilts his head slightly, looking not dissimilar to a confused dog. How should one take this response? It's difficult for him to imagine that someone like Jasnah would be anything but replete with admirers, so the possibility that she simply just doesn't have any is out before he's even given it any thought. That leaves the other possibility, which is that this is not, in fact, the sort of place that she takes...
[ all else about this exchange may have been lost on her, but she doesn't miss the odd — disappointed? — reaction that steals across verso. she, too, appears confused for a moment.
a little too quickly: ] I do have it on excellent authority that the trip is well worth it. We were between storms, when I last came here, so I wasn't able to appreciate the...
[ her hand raises, and she has to decide whether she wants to ruin the surprise. her lips tighten into a line. ]
The highstorm. There's one due within the hour. Urithiru...the tower sits above the storms themselves, so it's impossible to truly witness their power. But this cleverly designed winehouse doubles as a stormshelter. They don't close the shutters until the very last possible minute.
[ her hand drops, soft, settling on the tabletop. ]
I thought a lesson in highstorms and how they shaped Roshar might be — illuminating.
[ Yes, he's a little disappointed. Of course, Verso had never actually thought that a queen would ever have real interest in a foreigner who only started bathing with any regularity a few days ago. He had, though, thought he'd felt— a small spark. On his end alone, perhaps. Probably for the better that way, if he's honest with himself.
He recovers quickly, though. Disappointment is as familiar to him as breathing, and it only makes a small dent in his eternally pleasant and lighthearted conversation. ]
Sounds intriguing.
[ And it does—he's never witnessed anything like a highstorm before. To see his first one up close and personal is quite the event. ]
Lumière doesn't have any weather like that. It doesn't even snow on the mainland.
[ You'd have to go out to the Continent for that. The Dessendres used to visit the Frozen Hearts on their skiing trips. No more, obviously. ]
[ admittedly, she's only seen a dash of snow herself. nothing that lasts. seasons are...strange, on roshar. not in anyway that jasnah realizes they're strange, of course, because for her it's simply normal. at best, seasons last weeks and are more like cycling variations in temperature and precipitation.
but the highstorms (and the newer storm, the everstorm) are something else entirely. not weather, but splintered power — the shadow of a dead would-be god, roaming the planet. wreaking damnation.
— in the meantime, the server returns and places two cups and a plate of fruit. sliced; arranged; nudged more to jasnah's side of the table. currying favour with the sovereign. she thanks the man quietly before dismissing him. ]
There's no surviving a highstorm. [ well, that's not strictly true. but she's not about to tell stories about kaladin stormblessed today. ] To be caught out in one is certain death. Our homes, our villages, our cities are all built to break the wind and survive the rain.
[ Verso wonders what it might be like to stand out in a highstorm, the novel and fascinating weather raging around him, but his immortality doesn't mean invulnerability; he still feels pain, and the threat of that is enough to keep him from doing anything that might leave him battered and beaten. ]
Stay inside during storms. Noted.
[ He picks up his glass, gently swirling the liquid like a true connoisseur before taking a sip and— choking. It burns in a way he hadn't at all expected, body rejecting the unexpected sharpness as he swallows it. He coughs, palm pressed to his mouth. ]
[ idly, she touches a finger to the foot of her cup. while he's busy taking his first sip, jasnah breaths in a lick of stormlight and focuses on the cup, on its contents — it's over in barely a second, but she accesses her power just long enough to soulcast her orange wine into a pure version of itself.
— now, it likely already was a pure version of itself. but jasnah is a paranoid creature, and makes a habit of soulcasting any food or drink handed to her by a stranger. in case of poisoning.
precautions complete, she glances across the table just in time to catch his reaction. jasnah pauses, tilting her head, before her mouth quirks in a small smile. ]
I might not understand the words, [ she confesses, ] but I know profanity when I hear it. How very ungentlemanly.
[ placid, she takes a deep drink of her own wine. the orange is so much more palatable. ]
[ Fuck. This is not wine. Verso would know; drinking an excessive amount of wine is one of his regular pastimes, alongside playing Solitaire and brooding. Yet— they've called it wine, and it would certainly be culturally offensive to claim otherwise.
Culturally offensive and correct. ]
I was just surprised at how... good it is.
[ Gritting his teeth, Verso takes a large swig. Hard liquor is most certainly not his favored drink, and it actually stings going down. ]
[ her eyes watch him over the rim of her cup. jasnah drinks again, visibly enjoying the much milder orange. so mild, it's barely alcoholic. thoughtful, she sets her wine down on the table and — lifting just slightly out of her chair — leans forward.
[ Does he trust her? Not particularly. It's no slight against her; Verso hasn't trusted another human being in nearly seventy years. Maybe even before that. Trusting someone requires being willing to show them who you really are, warts and all. Verso hasn't done that since... well, ever.
But he isn't afraid of her messing with the not-wine, so he reaches out to hand her the cup, selfishly letting their fingers brush for a split second, as if by accident, before he withdraws his hand. Just because this isn't a date doesn't mean that he can't microdose a little bit of human intimacy. ]
[ — at least it wasn't a hornheater white, she supposes.
jasnah doesn't drink the stuff. rather, she swirls it in its cup, eyeing the liquid. thinking about her approach. determinedly not thinking about the brief contact between her thumb and the edge of his palm. ugh, if she lets herself stay distracted, she'll fail this display. soulcasting is a queer art, relying on a careful balance of confidence and plausibility. if she's going to peer into the cognitive realm and demand the very axi of this liquid to change, she'd better give it a compelling reason.
but before she attempts anything, she tilts her head towards her own cup. the mild, gingery orange wine. ]
Try mine. Then describe what you'd prefer. We'll see if we can't get you closer to what you should have ordered.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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yep. that's right. a winehouse. and yet, this certainly certainly certainly is not a date. ]
Ask you?
[ a brow raises, and she doesn't spare a glance at the doorman who (recognizing her) offers a stiff bow and moves nimbly out of her way. the door opens up to a narrow set of stairs, although she pauses in the stairwell to turn on him — two or three stairs adding even more height between them. ]
First, let's see how you behave in public. Then, maybe, I'll invite you to Kharbranth.
[ it's not that she doubts his manners — more like she hasn't had much chance to see him outside her sole company. ]
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Someone else might be put off by being literally and figuratively looked down upon, but as always, it rolls off of Verso's back. He takes the steps until he's standing beside her, her height only a few inches over his now, and pretends not to notice how inappropriately close he's standing to royalty. A brief pause, and then he takes another step so that he can be, for once, taller than her. ]
I think you'll find I'm very gentlemanly.
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jasnah isn't a coward. she holds his eyes through the entire moment, chin tracking upward as he rises one step more. insufferable bastard. ]
Too soon to tell.
[ and yet, she suffers him. ]
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Then it's over, and he gestures up the stairs with a flourish. ]
Ladies first.
[ Gentlemanly. ]
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jasnah's jaw works silently as she considers his gentlemanly offer — she considers the provocation beneath it, albeit a rather harmless one. and after a beat of hesitation, she chooses her tactic: don't do anything by halves. ]
Careful, Dessendre. You're playing with lightning.
[ as she passes him in turn, she doesn't avoid physical contact. jasnah places her (left, gloved) hand on his chest and shoves him stiffly against the stairwell's wall — adding inches to the empty space through which she passes. she doesn't turn toward him as she does it; she doesn't pause; she doesn't look back as she makes the landing and has a quiet word with the winehouse staff. ]
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He follows politely after her, determined to impress or perhaps fondly irritate her with how well-mannered he can be. While she speaks with the staff, he lingers with his hands behind his back, patiently waiting for her to finish. The only clue that he's perhaps more impatient than he'd like to suggest is the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, much like a restless little boy waiting on the adults to finish talking.
When they finally do, he says, as if she's supposed to know what the word means, ] You've brought me to a brasserie.
[ He's surprised, but not at all displeased. ]
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— jasnah is too acutely aware of why her dear cousin so often rented those rooms. his reputation as a player and serial dater reached her even across the continent. no, no, she certainly will not be drinking with verso in the same rooms her cousin used as a go-to for his first dates.
(didn't stop her from still taking him to the same winehouse, though, whoops.)
eventually, they're led to a table. ]
Depends. What's a brasserie?
[ hers is a passable imitation of the word he'd used. funny, really, how ninety percent of what he says is perfectly understandable. and that final percent is utterly illegible. she's managed just fine, before now, doing distributional tests in her head to figure out the gist of what his interjections have meant.
language is an odd thing. it's bizarre that they understand each other at all — but jasnah chalks that up to something eerie happening with this man's Connection upon materializing on this planet. not dissimilar to how dalinar can touch two people on the shoulder and form a spiritual bond between them, allowing them to speak one another's language. ]
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He relies on the memories of dining at fancy restaurants and entertaining wealthy guests at the family home. When he sits, he places his hands in his lap, careful not to rest his elbows on the table. ]
An establishment that serves food and drink. Where you might take someone you wish to impress.
[ He's teasing. ]
That's what we called them in Lumière, at least.
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— that said, he certainly doesn't lose any gentlemanly points just because she's used to it. ]
If you're to be impressed, it won't be from the food and drink.
[ her tone is dry. she allows, magnanimously, that perhaps she does aim to pleasantly surprise him with their little field trip. but alethi food leaves much to be desired, and the drink...? well, jasnah isn't well-versed in liquors.
speaking of... ]
We simply call it a winehouse. This one is nicer than most, admittedly. [ she slides him a menu, although it's obvious in her pause that she considers simply ordering on his behalf. ] The different colours are of different strengths.
[ rarely does she drink anything higher than an auburn. ]
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We don't have quite so many colors of wine, [ he notes with a raised eyebrow, skimming the menu. Fascinating! What might a blue wine taste like? ] Red and white, primarily. And an in-between sort, rosé.
[ He's a red wine man himself, but it might be nice to try something new for once. Verso opens his mouth to decide on his order, and then— he deflates a little. ]
I... don't have any Chroma.
[ The magical life force energy that flows through all beings in Lumière and the Continent, while also inexplicably being used for currency when located outside the body. Aside from the Chroma running through his veins, he doesn't have any to spare. ]
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no. she's agile enough in conversation to guess he must be talking about some sort of monetary unit. she's brought him out to a local business and now he's worried about how to cover his tab. jasnah's single laugh is sharp, low, and dismissive. ]
Spheres. [ she reaches into a pocket and produces a small bag. she passes it across the table. she had intended to pay for their drinks, considering her rank, but teasing him about it is so so so much more satisfying. ] If your ego requires it, feel free to keep them.
[ inside the bag is a collection of glass spheres, each containing a small gem in its heart. the gems are different colours and sizes, but all of them are infused with a soft light. stormlight, harnessed during the highstorm. such gems stand in as currency, as light sources (braziers around the winehouse are filled with glowing gems casting light), and as the fuel for fabrials and surgebinding abilities. ]
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He takes one between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up to watch the faint light it gives off. Maybe not just a sketch—maybe a watercolor, if supplies for it exist here. ]
My ego is exceedingly fragile, [ he jokes, offhanded. Whether this is a little or a lot of money remains unclear to him, so he's careful with it, gently placing the sphere back in the purse from which it came. ]
Merci. Violet wine sounds interesting.
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[ her brows raise. it's not that she's judging, exactly, but a violet does seem like a bold choice for the afternoon. oh, who are we kidding? she's absolutely judging.
jasnah lifts a hand (right, ungloved) and a server comes a-scurrying. doubtless, the staff were carefully watching, primed to react the moment it looked as though they were needed. ]
Orange, please. [ her tone is no warmer than usual, but carries at least a measure of understanding that she is speaking to someone well outside the court and therefore doesn't deserve the worst of her sharp demeanor. ] And he'll have..
[ jasnah gestures to verso, encouraging him to order for himself. look! she's not a total tyrant and despot. just mostly one. ]
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With a tip of his head: ] Violet, monsieur.
[ His tone and body language are quite a bit warmer than hers, friendly charm not exclusively used on queens by any means. When he turns his attention back to Jasnah, it's with a curious expression. ]
Have you been here many times?
[ A polite, roundabout way of gleaning how many people she's taken here before. Jasnah is intelligent, beautiful, and royal; he imagines she must have an endless parade of— companions. ]
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her thoughts are still twirling pleasantly around the linguistic mystery when he asks his question. it catches her off guard, but minimally. the staff hurries off to fill their orders, and she glances around at the winehouse interior. it's carved into a stone building, tables set out like any old establishment. the big difference (perhaps) is the open-air terrace across the room. with a railing, the deck is open air. big, metal shutters sit folded to either side.
jasnah is clever and quick, but the implication of his question flies well over her head. blunt and honest: ] Not at all. It's only my second time here.
[ the staff recognizes her less by familiarity and more by reputation. ]
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Er. Special friends. ]
Oh, [ he says eloquently. ]
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a little too quickly: ] I do have it on excellent authority that the trip is well worth it. We were between storms, when I last came here, so I wasn't able to appreciate the...
[ her hand raises, and she has to decide whether she wants to ruin the surprise. her lips tighten into a line. ]
The highstorm. There's one due within the hour. Urithiru...the tower sits above the storms themselves, so it's impossible to truly witness their power. But this cleverly designed winehouse doubles as a stormshelter. They don't close the shutters until the very last possible minute.
[ her hand drops, soft, settling on the tabletop. ]
I thought a lesson in highstorms and how they shaped Roshar might be — illuminating.
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He recovers quickly, though. Disappointment is as familiar to him as breathing, and it only makes a small dent in his eternally pleasant and lighthearted conversation. ]
Sounds intriguing.
[ And it does—he's never witnessed anything like a highstorm before. To see his first one up close and personal is quite the event. ]
Lumière doesn't have any weather like that. It doesn't even snow on the mainland.
[ You'd have to go out to the Continent for that. The Dessendres used to visit the Frozen Hearts on their skiing trips. No more, obviously. ]
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but the highstorms (and the newer storm, the everstorm) are something else entirely. not weather, but splintered power — the shadow of a dead would-be god, roaming the planet. wreaking damnation.
— in the meantime, the server returns and places two cups and a plate of fruit. sliced; arranged; nudged more to jasnah's side of the table. currying favour with the sovereign. she thanks the man quietly before dismissing him. ]
There's no surviving a highstorm. [ well, that's not strictly true. but she's not about to tell stories about kaladin stormblessed today. ] To be caught out in one is certain death. Our homes, our villages, our cities are all built to break the wind and survive the rain.
no subject
Stay inside during storms. Noted.
[ He picks up his glass, gently swirling the liquid like a true connoisseur before taking a sip and— choking. It burns in a way he hadn't at all expected, body rejecting the unexpected sharpness as he swallows it. He coughs, palm pressed to his mouth. ]
Putain de merde.
[ Less gentlemanly. ]
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— now, it likely already was a pure version of itself. but jasnah is a paranoid creature, and makes a habit of soulcasting any food or drink handed to her by a stranger. in case of poisoning.
precautions complete, she glances across the table just in time to catch his reaction. jasnah pauses, tilting her head, before her mouth quirks in a small smile. ]
I might not understand the words, [ she confesses, ] but I know profanity when I hear it. How very ungentlemanly.
[ placid, she takes a deep drink of her own wine. the orange is so much more palatable. ]
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Culturally offensive and correct. ]
I was just surprised at how... good it is.
[ Gritting his teeth, Verso takes a large swig. Hard liquor is most certainly not his favored drink, and it actually stings going down. ]
Mmm.
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[ her eyes watch him over the rim of her cup. jasnah drinks again, visibly enjoying the much milder orange. so mild, it's barely alcoholic. thoughtful, she sets her wine down on the table and — lifting just slightly out of her chair — leans forward.
she holds out her right hand. ]
Give it here.
[ do you trust her, verso? ]
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But he isn't afraid of her messing with the not-wine, so he reaches out to hand her the cup, selfishly letting their fingers brush for a split second, as if by accident, before he withdraws his hand. Just because this isn't a date doesn't mean that he can't microdose a little bit of human intimacy. ]
I'm not sure you'll like it any more than I do.
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[ — at least it wasn't a hornheater white, she supposes.
jasnah doesn't drink the stuff. rather, she swirls it in its cup, eyeing the liquid. thinking about her approach. determinedly not thinking about the brief contact between her thumb and the edge of his palm. ugh, if she lets herself stay distracted, she'll fail this display. soulcasting is a queer art, relying on a careful balance of confidence and plausibility. if she's going to peer into the cognitive realm and demand the very axi of this liquid to change, she'd better give it a compelling reason.
but before she attempts anything, she tilts her head towards her own cup. the mild, gingery orange wine. ]
Try mine. Then describe what you'd prefer. We'll see if we can't get you closer to what you should have ordered.
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aggressively backflips into prose
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