[ 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.
[ Verso's not afraid of her messing with the not-wine. However, he is a little afraid of trying her not-wine. The violet drink had been so acrid and strong, with a strange undertaste he can't quite name, and he half-expects this drink to taste the same. He swirls it, too, sniffing its aroma—far less intense, thank god—before committing to a sip.
Instant relief. It's much more mild. Not quite wine, but palatable. He sets the cup down on the table. ]
That one's better, [ he admits. Although he's hesitant to come across as ungrateful after she brought him here, she did ask him to describe what he'd like better, so, ] ...But in Lumière, wine is made of fermented grapes. There's, ah, Merlot. It can almost taste like a bittersweet chocolate.
[ it begs the question, doesn't it? why pay for wine at all if she can simply...change it. except this is truly a bit of flash and indulgence. soulcasting takes enough stormlight to make the whole thing rather...uneconomical.
nevertheless, a scene plays out similar to what happened before they took the oathgate to the shattered plains. jasnah breathes in, stealing the glow from a garnet in a nearby brazier — the winehouse staff won't appreciate it, but dun spheres were still worth their value in the rosharan economy. for just a moment, there is a far-off look in her eyes as she shifts her attention to shadesmar, the realm of thought underpinning the physical.
change, she commands the surly axi of the violet wine. they resist. change, and be savoured. change, and be enjoyed. the very molecules wobble. and when jasnah exhales, stormlight leaks from the corner of her frown. she convinces the violet to become an auburn, honing in on his mention of fermented grapes.
a moment longer, and she sits back. satisfied. ]
Go on. [ she sets the cup back on the table. ] Try not to make such a face this time.
[ an auburn ought to be closer to a red wine. it's made with a different fruit, however, and will never actually approximate real wine. ]
[ Magic is a relatively common occurrence in Lumière. The Chroma within every living thing allows for casting, although how attuned one is to the Chroma varies. Verso himself can only do a little, infusions of light energy into his blade; shockingly mundane given the intelligent design behind his existence. Even those who are more gifted with magic can't do anything quite like this, though, so the soulcasting impresses. He watches carefully, one eyebrow raised in interest. ]
Impressive. [ Unlike Jasnah, he's not withholding with compliments. ] Although I don't recall making a face.
[ He definitely did.
The auburn is certainly more to his taste. More recognizable as— not wine, exactly, but something close. Still, for a moment, there's a wistful look in his eyes as he realizes he may never taste his favorite wine ever again. As long as he's here, he'll never have a model train set. He'll never find a new composition for the piano.
It's a small price to pay, and so he shoves any inappropriate disappointment down. ]
Better still. Is everyone here capable of wine transmutation?
[ she gives him a look that says "you definitely made a face." but it's all soon swept away by a measure of self-satisfaction. she takes pride in her surgebinding, and so rarely uses it for something so mundane. more often than not, it's a skill kept guarded unless she considered something to be a valuable application. ]
Soulcasting. [ her correction is mild — more informative than corrective, really. ] And no. Only two Knight Radiant orders are capable of it, and in both cases it's a rather advanced technique. We do have fabrials, however, that can achieve some similar effects.
[ fabrials, as he's doubtless learned by now, are simply any device or machine powered by infused gems. his room has a fabrial heater. the elevators in the tower are fabrials. the oathgates are just giant fabrials. technology, but make it magic!
she goes back to her orange wine, intentionally ignoring the minor scandal it would be if someone learned she'd shared a cup with a man. alethi gender norms are messed up. ]
In future, order an Auburn. Not least of all so you can make it down the stairs without stumbling.
[ In future, she says, and Verso does not ask if that means there will be more outings like this one. Another thing he doesn't mention, although his eyebrow quirks a little higher as he contemplates it, is the fact that she just used what she herself proclaims to be an 'advanced technique' when she could have simply sent his drink back. Jasnah, he thinks, may be as much of a show-off as he is.
Case in point, he brags. ] I can hold my liquor better than that.
[ He cannot, actually. A few glasses of wine in and he's liable to start wine-drunk crying, but Jasnah never needs to learn that. ]
You'd like our wine, I think. It's... elegant. Sophisticated. [ A cant of his head, as if to make the comparison like you. ] Sometimes bitter, but in a pleasing way.
[ what are you talking about. jasnah absolutely must learn that. ]
I'd like that, I think.
[ she swirls her orange, eyeing its contents before taking about mouthful. she lets the taste settle, then swallows. it's weak by design, as he now knows, and tastes close to juice than alcohol. ergo, she makes no face. ]
Trying wine from another world. Comparing it. Learning all the little divergent paths through history and society that made that wine what it is instead of what it isn't.
[ if she catches the implication under his adjectives — ah, well, she ignores it. or she chalks it up to his playful nature. or she dismisses it as conversational manipulation. believes anything other than what it could be.
she stares at him a moment. eyes narrowing, a question forming in the back of her throat. jasnah inhales, ready to ask — when a smudge on the horizon catches her eye. ]
The highstorm. [ she stands, pushing back her chair and carrying her wine the few feet it takes to step onto the balcony. she looks back at him, excitement undeniable. ] It's coming.
[ Ah. This is definitively not a date, because she'd taken his attempt to flatter her with a thinly veiled comparison and made it about comparing and contrasting drinks from different worlds.
He shakes it off, following her lead and taking his cup along with him as he once again plods behind her like a lost puppy. Jasnah's gaze is on the horizon, so he turns his there as well, squinting at the dark spot before turning his attention back to her. ]
Is it safe to be out on the terrace like this?
[ She'd just gone on about how deadly the storms are, after all. It's less a concern for his own safety—no matter what happens, he'll bounce back quickly enough, like it never happened—than for hers. ]
[ that smudge on the horizon grows, gains texture, sparks with lightning in the depths of its clouds. so strange, she thinks, to now know what powers the heart of that storm — the stormfather, a cognitive shadow of honor himself. ]
For now.
[ the air temperature drops. she can feel her skin turn to gooseflesh under her havah. jasnah braces herself with a breath and resists a shiver. ]
When the stormwall crosses into the camp, they'll shutter the balcony and escort us into the bunkers. That's the true point of this place, Dessendre — a perch from where we can watch the storm hit. And then retreat.
[ did he think she'd brought him here for the wine alone? she could have had amphora delivered back at urithiru. no, if he is to eke out any kind of life here on roshar then he needs to gain a healthy respect for the highstorm. ]
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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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
[ — 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.
no subject
Instant relief. It's much more mild. Not quite wine, but palatable. He sets the cup down on the table. ]
That one's better, [ he admits. Although he's hesitant to come across as ungrateful after she brought him here, she did ask him to describe what he'd like better, so, ] ...But in Lumière, wine is made of fermented grapes. There's, ah, Merlot. It can almost taste like a bittersweet chocolate.
no subject
nevertheless, a scene plays out similar to what happened before they took the oathgate to the shattered plains. jasnah breathes in, stealing the glow from a garnet in a nearby brazier — the winehouse staff won't appreciate it, but dun spheres were still worth their value in the rosharan economy. for just a moment, there is a far-off look in her eyes as she shifts her attention to shadesmar, the realm of thought underpinning the physical.
change, she commands the surly axi of the violet wine. they resist. change, and be savoured. change, and be enjoyed. the very molecules wobble. and when jasnah exhales, stormlight leaks from the corner of her frown. she convinces the violet to become an auburn, honing in on his mention of fermented grapes.
a moment longer, and she sits back. satisfied. ]
Go on. [ she sets the cup back on the table. ] Try not to make such a face this time.
[ an auburn ought to be closer to a red wine. it's made with a different fruit, however, and will never actually approximate real wine. ]
no subject
Impressive. [ Unlike Jasnah, he's not withholding with compliments. ] Although I don't recall making a face.
[ He definitely did.
The auburn is certainly more to his taste. More recognizable as— not wine, exactly, but something close. Still, for a moment, there's a wistful look in his eyes as he realizes he may never taste his favorite wine ever again. As long as he's here, he'll never have a model train set. He'll never find a new composition for the piano.
It's a small price to pay, and so he shoves any inappropriate disappointment down. ]
Better still. Is everyone here capable of wine transmutation?
no subject
Soulcasting. [ her correction is mild — more informative than corrective, really. ] And no. Only two Knight Radiant orders are capable of it, and in both cases it's a rather advanced technique. We do have fabrials, however, that can achieve some similar effects.
[ fabrials, as he's doubtless learned by now, are simply any device or machine powered by infused gems. his room has a fabrial heater. the elevators in the tower are fabrials. the oathgates are just giant fabrials. technology, but make it magic!
she goes back to her orange wine, intentionally ignoring the minor scandal it would be if someone learned she'd shared a cup with a man. alethi gender norms are messed up. ]
In future, order an Auburn. Not least of all so you can make it down the stairs without stumbling.
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Case in point, he brags. ] I can hold my liquor better than that.
[ He cannot, actually. A few glasses of wine in and he's liable to start wine-drunk crying, but Jasnah never needs to learn that. ]
You'd like our wine, I think. It's... elegant. Sophisticated. [ A cant of his head, as if to make the comparison like you. ] Sometimes bitter, but in a pleasing way.
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I'd like that, I think.
[ she swirls her orange, eyeing its contents before taking about mouthful. she lets the taste settle, then swallows. it's weak by design, as he now knows, and tastes close to juice than alcohol. ergo, she makes no face. ]
Trying wine from another world. Comparing it. Learning all the little divergent paths through history and society that made that wine what it is instead of what it isn't.
[ if she catches the implication under his adjectives — ah, well, she ignores it. or she chalks it up to his playful nature. or she dismisses it as conversational manipulation. believes anything other than what it could be.
she stares at him a moment. eyes narrowing, a question forming in the back of her throat. jasnah inhales, ready to ask — when a smudge on the horizon catches her eye. ]
The highstorm. [ she stands, pushing back her chair and carrying her wine the few feet it takes to step onto the balcony. she looks back at him, excitement undeniable. ] It's coming.
[ ah! the adrenaline rush. ]
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He shakes it off, following her lead and taking his cup along with him as he once again plods behind her like a lost puppy. Jasnah's gaze is on the horizon, so he turns his there as well, squinting at the dark spot before turning his attention back to her. ]
Is it safe to be out on the terrace like this?
[ She'd just gone on about how deadly the storms are, after all. It's less a concern for his own safety—no matter what happens, he'll bounce back quickly enough, like it never happened—than for hers. ]
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For now.
[ the air temperature drops. she can feel her skin turn to gooseflesh under her havah. jasnah braces herself with a breath and resists a shiver. ]
When the stormwall crosses into the camp, they'll shutter the balcony and escort us into the bunkers. That's the true point of this place, Dessendre — a perch from where we can watch the storm hit. And then retreat.
[ did he think she'd brought him here for the wine alone? she could have had amphora delivered back at urithiru. no, if he is to eke out any kind of life here on roshar then he needs to gain a healthy respect for the highstorm. ]
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