Meetings

[begrimed]

Behind an ever traveling emerald green door (you'll find it when you really need it, but it never seems to be in the same place in the palace) lies a quaint office, often slightly ajar with a few notes of music beckoning guests inside.

In the center of the room lies an ornate cedar wood desk, cluttered but just short of messy, with various sheet music piled on top. The bookcases on each side are in a similar state, books shelved away neatly were it not for the lack of any semblance of alphabetization.

The boss of this domain can often be found with his feet up with no regard for decorum; a casual enough atmosphere for casual enough chats, surely.

Those who venture into the palace to seek out the emerald green door will find it's different than usual, sturdier, with a particularly bright sheen and emblazoned with an insignia.

The door is also always closed, though whether it's locked or not depends on when you visit.

Comments

[sempiternel]

[ They could make small talk, but tonight... It might be better stick to something a little more serious. What she really wants to ask about is Sunday, which is the one thing she promised not to ask about. Checking his hands does not count as breaking her promise - she hopes.

Maybe... ]

Since we are short on time... Could we talk about the... dead?

[begrimed]

[ Blink. ]

Eh? Why do you want to talk about Zola?

[sempiternel]

Not her, exactly. But earlier... there were some notes in the fountain. One of them was - [ She presses her lips together, waiting for a surge of emotion to pass, before continuing quietly: ] - very kind.

[begrimed]

[ A tilt of his head. ]

Oh? What'd it say?

[sempiternel]

[ She tilts her own head in response. ]

You don't know? [ A tilt in the other direction. ] It said we were doing our best and to protect the mirrors.

[begrimed]

[ It is desk sitting time again, but first he takes the tea and the healing salve and puts them away in one of the desk drawers. Then he sits on the desk as is apparently tradition in their talks, though he speaks as he's going through the motions. ]

I told you I hated spying, hm? Even here, that's something I won't do.

[sempiternel]

[ She goes to her seat - because well, it is hers at this point, isn't it? ]

Yes, I remember. I think about your words every time I leave this room.

[ Whether good or bad, she remembers everything they've talked about. She remembers everything about him. ]

These notes just felt - out of place...?

[begrimed]

One of these days you might just make me blush, my lady.

[ Not that it seems like he's inclined to do now, mind. To the question though, he shifts a bit as he settles into a comfortable position, one leg crossed over the other. ]

Hm? Because they were "kind"?

[sempiternel]

Surely you jest. [ She'll believe it when she sees it. ] My thinking about your words has nothing to do with thinking of you.

One was kind, yes. They didn't match any of our handwritings and... it did not sound as though they were currently in our position.

[begrimed]

Haha, maybe, maybe.

[ "A man can dream" his smile says. ]

But you think they're still part of the game?

[sempiternel]

If they are not, then why would they have information for us? I’ll ask plainly: are the dead still involved in this game? Regardless of that, is it possible to communicate with them?

[begrimed]

[ He shifts again, casting his gaze to the ceiling and then back to her. ]

My lady, you're not forgetting the part I play, are you? Their stories are over, and anything significant beyond that, would be off script.

And I can't let the story veer off course.

[sempiternel]

I never forget the part you play.

[ Just like she never forgets her part. A smile that’s more automatic than anything else. ]

I ask because at worst you will not answer. That leaves me in the same spot I was at before, so essentially I don’t lose anything by asking, no?

Thank you for your answer regardless.

[begrimed]

[ He laughs a little. ]

I wish that was the worst thing.

[ Small text intentional, but then he shakes his head. ]

Did you have anything else to ask me, my lady? Like my favorite color, perhaps?

[sempiternel]

[ An entirely list actually. ]

Oh, all right. What is your favorite color?

[begrimed]

Green. And yours?

[sempiternel]

[ She wears a lot of blue, but her favorite color would be... ]

Red, I think.

[ Because that color looks best on Lady Melissa. ]

[begrimed]

[ Honestly fair because he wears all purple. ]

I won't forget. Mind if I ask one? [ Well he sorta did, but he bounced off hers. ]

[sempiternel]

[ It would sound more romantic if he didn't already admit he can't forget anything. ]

You may.

[begrimed]

[ Them's the breaks. ]

Does my lady have a favorite flower?

[sempiternel]

[ She's received so many, but... ]

Hydrangeas...? And yours?

[begrimed]

[ He seems to think on this for a moment. ]

Blue Cornflowers.

[sempiternel]

[ There seems to be weight in his words. ]

May I ask why?

[begrimed]

[ Tilting his head, considering. ]

Some things are nostalgic, even for me.

[sempiternel]

[ She touches her pin, thoughtfully, considering his words. ]

... I’ll keep that in mind. The archives should have something on flowers, I hope.