Schön W. Freund (
u_can_have_it_4_a_song) wrote2015-08-26 07:09 pm
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A Moment of Introspection (Locked to Verity)
Schön keeps an office in the Nexus, although he does most of his work outside it, an opulent retreat from the timeless bustle outside. Richly colorful Oriental rugs allow only glimpses of a polished oak floor. The desk is a monolith of mahogany, inlaid with accents of rosewood and teak, carved with reliefs of twining roots and branches, of fanciful creatures, and of faces peeking from among the leaves. The chairs before and behind the desk are upholstered in silk and buttery-soft leather, the one behind the desk tall and evocative of a throne.
The walls, papered in a deep Chinese red pinstriped with navy, are densely clustered with art in a dizzying array of styles; most are paintings, but a few cameos hang as well, and a Stradivarius enjoys pride of place over the mantle. Shelves behind the desk are similarly crowded with books and odd little knickknacks, the former rarely comprising the sort of orderly matched sets that tend to fill shelves behind desks in offices. To one side of the door stand a coat rack and a sideboard loaded with bottles of exotic libations, while to the opposite side stands a small table bearing several indistinct articles over which has been draped a gossamer shroud. Against one side wall sits an overstuffed couch, and in the opposite wall is set a fireplace, where a multicolored flame pops and crackles merrily, sending an occasional swirl of rainbow-colored sparks up the chimney.
The room has also been warded to a fare-thee-well, to keep out prying eyes and ears, ensuring that all which transpires within remains private. The wards, to an extent, even work both ways, for when the door is closed, all the noise from outside falls away.
Hanging up his hat and cane as he enters, Schön turns to offer a hand to escort Verity inside. "Please come in, Ms. Willis, and be seated comfortably. May I offer you anything to steady your nerves?"
The walls, papered in a deep Chinese red pinstriped with navy, are densely clustered with art in a dizzying array of styles; most are paintings, but a few cameos hang as well, and a Stradivarius enjoys pride of place over the mantle. Shelves behind the desk are similarly crowded with books and odd little knickknacks, the former rarely comprising the sort of orderly matched sets that tend to fill shelves behind desks in offices. To one side of the door stand a coat rack and a sideboard loaded with bottles of exotic libations, while to the opposite side stands a small table bearing several indistinct articles over which has been draped a gossamer shroud. Against one side wall sits an overstuffed couch, and in the opposite wall is set a fireplace, where a multicolored flame pops and crackles merrily, sending an occasional swirl of rainbow-colored sparks up the chimney.
The room has also been warded to a fare-thee-well, to keep out prying eyes and ears, ensuring that all which transpires within remains private. The wards, to an extent, even work both ways, for when the door is closed, all the noise from outside falls away.
Hanging up his hat and cane as he enters, Schön turns to offer a hand to escort Verity inside. "Please come in, Ms. Willis, and be seated comfortably. May I offer you anything to steady your nerves?"
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Okay, so she's not eloquent. She's never claimed to be a poet. Or an art critic, but she knows what she likes. Maybe when she can see the pieces individually she'll have favorites, but at the moment it's all one crazy bundle of gorgeous and she is wide-eyed and helpless in its presence. The girl really needs to spend more time at museums.
He may need to repeat the question.
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He does let slip a soft chuckle, but there is at least a feeling that it isn't directed at her. "I like to savor beauty and wonder whenever the opportunity presents itself. We all have our little ways of keeping young, do we not?"
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Her gaze drifts up to the artwork again, coming to rest on a playful abstract piece, all bright dancing colors and nothing hinting at illusions or metaphors or any of those other things she doesn't understand. "It keeps you young?"
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Offering her the glass, he holds one of his own, as well.
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"I find it's often a matter of finding a piece that speaks to you, touches you. It's no failing not to be moved by what someone else adores. Inspiration is a very personal, very intimate experience."
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There are so many things she needs that she doesn't even know how to ask for. "I've never... I've never felt that. I mean, I can see that things are beautiful, I just." She doesn't even know. Rather than trying to explain she'll sink down into the chair behind her. Oh god even the floor is gorgeous.
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Starting with time enough to learn? "Haven't found that special something?" he hazards gently. "It's alright. As I said, it's personal. When it's right for you, it will be right for you." His voice is softer; he sounds almost a different man entirely than the boisterous salesman or the hard-edged enforcer of deals.
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Time is something she has in spades, because she might be the last living survivor of her universe soon. Not much to do after that is there? The change in his tone gets her to look up, wondering... "I don't know if there's a right anything for me. Maybe..."
Sigh. "Maybe I should stop wasting your time. I'm sorry. Do I need to stick out my tongue and say 'ah'?"
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He pauses for a sip of his drink, then sets it down on the edge of his desk (on a coaster). "I may appear to change, to your eyes, but the promises I have made will still hold true." And that is not a lie.
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She too takes a sip of her drink before setting it down, making sure she's found a coaster first. "Okay. I'll try to hold still." Hopefully it'll be an interesting show, otherwise this is likely to just be awkward.
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"Be at peace, Verity Willis. No harm comes to you this day." He extends a hand, palm toward her, fingers spread, and something presses out from it. There's no show of lights, just a feeling--a breeze on a summer's night, after rain, when it's both warm and cool at once, and the air is fresh. It flows over and around and through, and it cannot possibly be there, or real--but it is.
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But it's time to move on. She opens her eyes and looks up at him, curious but patient, and with a new light of admiration. She'd never realized magic could be so nice.
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"But not all is woe. I believe it possible for you to bear some enchantments safely. It is likely that you will reach your threshold for layering them without mishap sooner than most, and some may simply not work for you, but I do not find it likely that more spells would bind to you as this one has."
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"Thank you. I appreciate your help."
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