the irreparable |

[unreadability]

Characters: unreadability & assassinskeeper
When: 17.06 - early afternoon.
Where: Ray's house in the Northeastern Quarters.
Rating: PG(-13) at the most.
Summary: Mireille drops by as she promised to, bringing Baudelaire and a sense of understanding.

Comments

[walkingtheweb]

Ray was in the back yard when Mireille knocked, but apparently, miniature dragons make for good door guards, since the little brown came zooming out to find him the moment she knocked.

"Come in, come in" he says, opening the door wide, and giving Mireille a smile. Argent chirrups a greeting of his own as he settles himself on Ray's shoulder.

"Can I offer you a drink or food before you attempt to culture me?"

[unreadability]

She grants him a light smile as he lets her in, the presence of the small... dragon still making her feel somewhat ill at ease, although it has proven itself an altogether friendly and sweet animal. Waiting for him to close the door behind her, she proceeds to lead the way into the kitchen, placing the basket gingerly on the table. She has been here so often, profiting from his vast knowledge out in food preservation, that she can hardly count as a guest anymore.

"You have already provided for me, haven't you?" It's not a question. Glancing up at him, she sets aside the tattered copy of poetry to dig out the small treasure stored away underneath it, at the carefully lined bottom of the hamper. The bottle isn't large, but the liquid is golden like amber and, she can tell from the year, an excellent vintage. She believes Father might even once have had it in his collection.

[walkingtheweb]

"It's nothing" he says, as he watches her set her basket down, wondering what all she's brought with her besides the poetry.

His eyes widen as she pulls out the bottle, the perfectly golden color of the liquid hinting at it's nature. "Where did you manage to find brandy here?" The question bears hints of incredulous, but also a very deep seated sense of flattery.

[unreadability]

"It's a matter of price rather than establishment," she replies, tentatively. It's not pride or propriety which makes her unwilling to share what exactly she had to pay in order for the man to entrust her with the two bottles - one of cognac, of course, in Father's honour and a slightly larger bottle of whisky, because... Jean Louis is rarely home during the evenings these days, isn't that so? And she has nothing of true value with which to welcome him home either. Since her company, apparently, holds no appeal in and by itself.

No, it's not pride. Nor is it propriety. A hint of guilt, perhaps. The hairpiece was 18 carat gold, after all. Not to mention an heirloom from her mother.