[ She does find it entirely too forward and she can see the way Haran chases after the bait like a badly mannered cat, entirely too pleased with a chance to mock both of his guests at once. She purses her lips, staring down into her cup with a very dark expression not entirely hidden by the wild flow of her hair over her shoulders. ]
Yes, why not.
[ Someone other than Haran can pontificate, for once. Her inscrutable stare falls on Brandon, although the raise of one eyebrow certainly challenges how happy he is with the decisions he has made bringing him to this precious moment. With her anger to feed them, it feels as if all the many chairs have occupants now staring at the magus, waiting with bated breath. ]
[ The nice thing about the overabundance of malevolent attention directed his way is that it equalizes the pressure. From his point of view only, obviously. Not being a natural participant in the Morrison family dynamics, his presence is intended to be an unbalancing intrusion, an irritant plucking too many strings of the spider's web, and it is a truly fascinating view — as long as he keeps things going rather than bear the brunt of everyone's displeasure at once.
With that in mind, Brandon smiles at them both, gaze sweeping along the empty seats without lingering long enough to suggest he has the sense of invisible, yet dark attention emanating from there. ]
Having spent such a short time here, I am already in awe of the strength, and persistence, of the Morrison family... of how profoundly a family and a place can belong to and define one another.
[ Bland pleasantries, with an underlying ambiguity that Haran might not care about and Qetzi'ah might not be in the mood to accept, but it's mean to taint what follows with a similar meaninglessness. ]
The House seems to be full of them. Rich with their memories. It's to them, and what you have inherited, Master Morrison, that I would like to honor.
[ ... he'll wait to see how that goes down before lifting his glass. ]
[ Haran's laughter isn't boastful enough to be obnoxious, but he trusts it will be offensive to his cousin all the same, much like Brandon's attempt. Far from him to think that the newcomer has any clue of the games they play between one another, always testing the waters to see which one will drown first. Qetzi would gladly see Haran dead and he doesn't care whether she lives or dies. He doesn't love her so much as he recognizes her usefulness to this house... more of a maid than his kin. ]
Isn't he fascinating, dearest Qetzi'ah? He reminds me of a little mouse.
[ Trying to appease, perhaps, a very large cat. The mouse usually wins in fables like this, but Haran wasn't ready any stories as a child. ]
[ His cousin puts down her tea with a sigh. If they have to have this conversation.... She doesn't raise her eyes from her plate, cutting her dinner into civilized sizable portions of abomination with a silver knife and fork, tarnished but clearly ancient, real silver. Family heirlooms, bought by the first witch to make the House her home from French traders who had come through the area. They had lived to tell the tale so that they might bring such pretty things again. ]
Perhaps he would not be so fascinating to you if [ -- you were less of a bastard -- ] you took more time to travel beyond the Hill.
[ She says this with an airy patience, as if it is a friendly suggestion truly meant to broaden his horizons. ]
[ No one ever took the time to tell Brandon not to play with his food, and Qetzi is the only one here with real manners anyway, so absently arranging pieces of his meal into a rough pentagon is just something he does while he listens and thinks. There's no significance to not having eaten yet, either; he hasn't thought much on what it might be because he already assumes it's terrible, in nature if not necessarily in taste. The house is full of death, more than the volume of years would support, and cannibalism is one of the many possible explanations for why so many bodies met their end here. ]
It's true, there are hundreds like me.
[ Unspoken implication: but I'm the best one, really. Or at least, the only one who serves his particular masters. The Morrisons seem quite isolated here, though, and Haran also obviously doesn't care to do the equivalent of a magical background check. Why should he, when Brandon is here to entertain him? ]
Oh yes, I'm well aware. [ Kill one mouse and a hundred more will follow after it. The villagers will often complain about this problem, while the Morrison house stays relatively free of it, too wicked to lure in basic animal instincts that know better. Those that still escape them are a nice snack for the hyenas, which is also an analogy that could very well apply to the boy.
Finally he takes a sip from his drink, cutting into the meat next. Qetzi's suggestion and Brandon's question will have to wait while he chews pensively, lips pursed in a child-like manner. It's easy to forget that a monster who has done so much harm is still very young.
To say no would be very limiting, and there is no point in lying. Instead he finds comfort in settling with ] Not yet. There is still so much to do here. [ He turns his head to Qetzi'ah, smile small and gaze incisive. ] Don't you agree, cousin? I'd hate to leave you with all the work.
I WISH THE GOBLINS WOULD COME AND TAKE YOU AWAY RIGHT NOW
[ In the midst of that exchange, Brandon takes his first bite of meat, utterly unceremonious for the taint it should herald.
To say he recognizes the taste is not quite right. Once it's inside his mouth, however, he can better differentiate its sense of death from the layers upon layers of death that comprise this House and the lands; he and the piece of meat are, in a sense, sharing a personal connection that is about to become a whole lot more personal once he swallows. So it's not the taste, exactly. He recognizes the meat for what it is, as a necromancer.
Unhealthy, in his opinion, but then he is just a lowly human susceptible to things like parasites and prions, and this entire place is self-evidently unhealthy for him in personal terms. He chews and swallows. Perhaps neither of them even noticed the slight pause, or cared if they did. ]
I would be happy to accompany you anywhere you desired to go, Master Morrison. Or perhaps to stay behind and aid Qetzi'ah in any way she might require?
[ Neither of these proposals are not even remotely serious despite how earnestly he presents them. Haran isn't going to leave him behind in the House for long periods, and neither, Brandon's willing to bet, would he be interested in a magic mouse cramping his style. The whole thing is absurd participation in a flawed premise. ]
plot twist: haran dethrones and becomes the new goblin king
[ Said without looking at his cousin, stabbing his fork into a piece of meat to calmly chew at it, observing Brandon's verbal chatter. There's something other than what he has to say that he wants to watch closely; his reaction to the flesh, for one, which comes with no tell in his expression. Either he's ignorant or fully knowledgeable, and only the latter makes him a little more interesting. ]
You think I would require your company? [ As though the big bad world out there would be of any threat to him. ] Qetzi'ah would have you killed before allowing you to lay your hands on any one of her things, I'm afraid. She's quite peculiar about men. More so when they are strangers to the house.
[ Talking about her as though she weren't even at the table, or capable of speaking for herself. ]
But I'm sure your masters would praise you for your attempts.
You make it sound as if I think he's a thief, Haran.
[ She protests this airily, her eyes fixed on Brandon. The severity of her expression is strange. She protests, but what her cousin says is true. She would not want Brandon alone anywhere in the House, touching any of her family's things. They were not his to touch, they were Qetzi's to curate. ]
[ In turn, Brandon looks steadily at Qetzi. It might be a little rude, if rudeness was something that mattered during this dinner. Coincidentally or not, he hasn't eaten another piece of meat yet. ]
What is there to take from this House?
[ Of all the ways he could say it, the mild, bemused way he did use is either funny, insulting, or funny because it's insulting. It is also the truth, though. Would he care to try to carry off furniture, dead flowers, and the bones he presumably came here to bargain for, while Qetzi casts curses on him and the hyenas tear him to bits? Hardly.
The other funny/insulting question in what he asks is whether there is something around here worth protecting from a thief. To which he doesn't expect any specific confirmation, unless they think he's even dumber than he's been acting, or Haran wants to brag — all acceptable possibilities. ]
[ An idle remark, eyes down as his fork plays with his food, purposely ignoring any lessons that have taught him to do otherwise. Haran is an utter fool when it comes to proper manners, and yet he holds others up to his own set of standards.
Brandon's question follows apropos, which makes the brat smirk again. ]
All those pretty things you brought me, wizard. Your masters could change their minds and order you to take them back, couldn't they? I would be very sad.
[ The throws her cousin a look of poison, in her mind she stands at the table, shadows at her back screaming in witch's curse that he will be his own undoing. That is the nature of their home. That is the nature of their death's, their pride, their deceits, their greeds. The Hill would be pleased with her if she gouged out his eyes here and now but she knows he is too strong for her merely lunge at him across the table.
She will cry or she will throw something if she does not find some way to shake this hate....
She touches the brooch on her dress, a subtle gesture that looks merely mournful, sentimental. But she stabs its pin into her thumb until the screaming in her thoughts ceases, tucking its bleeding into her napkin silently. ]
They wouldn't have given them to you if they intended to retrieve them, Haran.
[ She chides him, her voice suddenly very tired. ]
[ Would it pass for wit, if one of them wasn't busy needling the other, while Qetzi more literally needles herself? Probably not even then, but Brandon delicately punctuates it with another bite of human flesh. He chews without hurrying, as if it's simply another step in worming his way into the already rotted wood of the Morrison House.
As if he doesn't notice the poisonous look or the exhaustion in her voice, Brandon continues addressing her, practically ignoring Haran; that's a risk, but it might prompt him to give the information that Qetzi likely has little inclination to share on her own, particularly at the moment. ]
I have yet to give you your gift, Qetzi'ah, and I apologize. I just cannot think of what would entertain or be useful to you.
[ He ignores Qetzi, like she doesn't know how fickle outsiders can be. Only witches can be trusted, and that is to betray at every chance they get. That is how they raised their boy to be. They should be proud. ]
She likes to read poetry.
[ Snatching her answer right off her, another needle pressed right into the eye of her pride, an invisible hand that wants to snap fingers right in front of Brandon's eyes. Pay attention to who really deserves it.
The tension in Haran's pause dissipates in another smile, turning his gaze to her. ]
Why not a new book? Contemporary, perhaps. She recites the classics so well, I should see her try something different.
[ She rolls her eyes. What kind of a childish little boy mocks someone for enjoying poetry? This kind, and really his petulance is the least of his ugliness and everyone in this room best understand it. ]
Whatever you like.
[ Her tone is utterly dismissive. She doesn't want to sit here and read to them regardless, changing the book will hardly ruin her evening. Although really, what would he know about classical versus modern? He's never watched a television in his life, the old texts with their thick prose were what he knew. Was he trying to look smart in front of his guest?
[ His eyes slide back to Haran, obedient, at the unspoken snap of the fingers, but he doesn't try to add to this particular tangent of the conversation immediately. All conversation takes a bit of work, especially embittered layers of polite contempt and political maneuvering. Despite their respective natures, it feels like they're all too young to grasp it with the finesse this setting practically calls for. Brandon drinks instead, though perhaps whatever's in his cup is no more trustworthy than the meat.
Staying silent will likely make Haran (more) petulant, however, on account of not being entertained, so he ventures some comment, politely easing off the subject. ]
Is it only by preference that you receive so few guests, Master Morrison? Guests who stay alive a while, anyway.
[ He is utterly sanguine about the clarification. Tell him all about any potential plans to open up a bed and breakfast in the heart of a monstrous woods, because surely it's only preference, and not wariness of who might come along with grasping, greedy hands. Just like Brandon, but less polite, and more powerful. ]
[ He smiles as if Qetzi made a charming joke, continuing lightly as if taking a less fraught conversational path. He has no intention of keeping it less fraught, naturally. ]
You aren't in want of some company, from time to time?
[ This question is directed between Haran and Qetzi, so presumably it's to both of them. ]
[ For the first time, she turns a look of sourness on Brandon as intense as the ones she graces upon Haran. She wants her sisters back. She wants to see her father and her brothers, both beyond the Hill but kept from her by the feckless animal that is her cousin. If she goes to see her father, Haran will kill him. If her father comes to see her, Haran will kill her.
She radiates hate for the question and says nothing. ]
[ He meets the look with blank watchfulness, just like his near lack of reaction to her pointed correction of his terminology when they first met in the kitchen. The detachment of it is not necessarily better than the childish glee Haran takes in needling her, yet it does make his inquiries strangely medical. Prodding sore areas to diagnose the injury.
The gift of her family is one that will have to wait, perhaps indefinitely. No sense in trying to raise the Morrisons when he has no idea where their remains are, what state they're in, if they'd treat him with any courtesy for taking the trouble if he did manage it. And, most pressingly, when Haran is right there, waiting for him to do something like that.
Brandon sips some more of his drink, letting his gaze move again from Qetzi back to the only other person here who actually wants conversation. ]
What do you do with your time, then, Master Morrison?
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Yes, why not.
[ Someone other than Haran can pontificate, for once. Her inscrutable stare falls on Brandon, although the raise of one eyebrow certainly challenges how happy he is with the decisions he has made bringing him to this precious moment. With her anger to feed them, it feels as if all the many chairs have occupants now staring at the magus, waiting with bated breath. ]
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With that in mind, Brandon smiles at them both, gaze sweeping along the empty seats without lingering long enough to suggest he has the sense of invisible, yet dark attention emanating from there. ]
Having spent such a short time here, I am already in awe of the strength, and persistence, of the Morrison family... of how profoundly a family and a place can belong to and define one another.
[ Bland pleasantries, with an underlying ambiguity that Haran might not care about and Qetzi'ah might not be in the mood to accept, but it's mean to taint what follows with a similar meaninglessness. ]
The House seems to be full of them. Rich with their memories. It's to them, and what you have inherited, Master Morrison, that I would like to honor.
[ ... he'll wait to see how that goes down before lifting his glass. ]
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Isn't he fascinating, dearest Qetzi'ah? He reminds me of a little mouse.
[ Trying to appease, perhaps, a very large cat. The mouse usually wins in fables like this, but Haran wasn't ready any stories as a child. ]
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Perhaps he would not be so fascinating to you if [ -- you were less of a bastard -- ] you took more time to travel beyond the Hill.
[ She says this with an airy patience, as if it is a friendly suggestion truly meant to broaden his horizons. ]
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It's true, there are hundreds like me.
[ Unspoken implication: but I'm the best one, really. Or at least, the only one who serves his particular masters. The Morrisons seem quite isolated here, though, and Haran also obviously doesn't care to do the equivalent of a magical background check. Why should he, when Brandon is here to entertain him? ]
Have you traveled far, Master Morrison?
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Finally he takes a sip from his drink, cutting into the meat next. Qetzi's suggestion and Brandon's question will have to wait while he chews pensively, lips pursed in a child-like manner. It's easy to forget that a monster who has done so much harm is still very young.
To say no would be very limiting, and there is no point in lying. Instead he finds comfort in settling with ] Not yet. There is still so much to do here. [ He turns his head to Qetzi'ah, smile small and gaze incisive. ] Don't you agree, cousin? I'd hate to leave you with all the work.
I WISH THE GOBLINS WOULD COME AND TAKE YOU AWAY RIGHT NOW
The work was managed before you were born.
[ Unsmiling, she saws in frustration at her food without really eating it, just shredding it down into miserable pieces of meat and vegetable. ]
wow is that a thing. a delivery service. can brandon have their number
To say he recognizes the taste is not quite right. Once it's inside his mouth, however, he can better differentiate its sense of death from the layers upon layers of death that comprise this House and the lands; he and the piece of meat are, in a sense, sharing a personal connection that is about to become a whole lot more personal once he swallows. So it's not the taste, exactly. He recognizes the meat for what it is, as a necromancer.
Unhealthy, in his opinion, but then he is just a lowly human susceptible to things like parasites and prions, and this entire place is self-evidently unhealthy for him in personal terms. He chews and swallows. Perhaps neither of them even noticed the slight pause, or cared if they did. ]
I would be happy to accompany you anywhere you desired to go, Master Morrison. Or perhaps to stay behind and aid Qetzi'ah in any way she might require?
[ Neither of these proposals are not even remotely serious despite how earnestly he presents them. Haran isn't going to leave him behind in the House for long periods, and neither, Brandon's willing to bet, would he be interested in a magic mouse cramping his style. The whole thing is absurd participation in a flawed premise. ]
plot twist: haran dethrones and becomes the new goblin king
[ Said without looking at his cousin, stabbing his fork into a piece of meat to calmly chew at it, observing Brandon's verbal chatter. There's something other than what he has to say that he wants to watch closely; his reaction to the flesh, for one, which comes with no tell in his expression. Either he's ignorant or fully knowledgeable, and only the latter makes him a little more interesting. ]
You think I would require your company? [ As though the big bad world out there would be of any threat to him. ] Qetzi'ah would have you killed before allowing you to lay your hands on any one of her things, I'm afraid. She's quite peculiar about men. More so when they are strangers to the house.
[ Talking about her as though she weren't even at the table, or capable of speaking for herself. ]
But I'm sure your masters would praise you for your attempts.
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[ She protests this airily, her eyes fixed on Brandon. The severity of her expression is strange. She protests, but what her cousin says is true. She would not want Brandon alone anywhere in the House, touching any of her family's things. They were not his to touch, they were Qetzi's to curate. ]
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What is there to take from this House?
[ Of all the ways he could say it, the mild, bemused way he did use is either funny, insulting, or funny because it's insulting. It is also the truth, though. Would he care to try to carry off furniture, dead flowers, and the bones he presumably came here to bargain for, while Qetzi casts curses on him and the hyenas tear him to bits? Hardly.
The other funny/insulting question in what he asks is whether there is something around here worth protecting from a thief. To which he doesn't expect any specific confirmation, unless they think he's even dumber than he's been acting, or Haran wants to brag — all acceptable possibilities. ]
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[ An idle remark, eyes down as his fork plays with his food, purposely ignoring any lessons that have taught him to do otherwise. Haran is an utter fool when it comes to proper manners, and yet he holds others up to his own set of standards.
Brandon's question follows apropos, which makes the brat smirk again. ]
All those pretty things you brought me, wizard. Your masters could change their minds and order you to take them back, couldn't they? I would be very sad.
[ He would also just. Get in the way. Messily. ]
I can't wait to see what more they will send.
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She will cry or she will throw something if she does not find some way to shake this hate....
She touches the brooch on her dress, a subtle gesture that looks merely mournful, sentimental. But she stabs its pin into her thumb until the screaming in her thoughts ceases, tucking its bleeding into her napkin silently. ]
They wouldn't have given them to you if they intended to retrieve them, Haran.
[ She chides him, her voice suddenly very tired. ]
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[ Would it pass for wit, if one of them wasn't busy needling the other, while Qetzi more literally needles herself? Probably not even then, but Brandon delicately punctuates it with another bite of human flesh. He chews without hurrying, as if it's simply another step in worming his way into the already rotted wood of the Morrison House.
As if he doesn't notice the poisonous look or the exhaustion in her voice, Brandon continues addressing her, practically ignoring Haran; that's a risk, but it might prompt him to give the information that Qetzi likely has little inclination to share on her own, particularly at the moment. ]
I have yet to give you your gift, Qetzi'ah, and I apologize. I just cannot think of what would entertain or be useful to you.
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She likes to read poetry.
[ Snatching her answer right off her, another needle pressed right into the eye of her pride, an invisible hand that wants to snap fingers right in front of Brandon's eyes. Pay attention to who really deserves it.
The tension in Haran's pause dissipates in another smile, turning his gaze to her. ]
Why not a new book? Contemporary, perhaps. She recites the classics so well, I should see her try something different.
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Whatever you like.
[ Her tone is utterly dismissive. She doesn't want to sit here and read to them regardless, changing the book will hardly ruin her evening. Although really, what would he know about classical versus modern? He's never watched a television in his life, the old texts with their thick prose were what he knew. Was he trying to look smart in front of his guest?
She does, at least, hide the sneer. ]
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Staying silent will likely make Haran (more) petulant, however, on account of not being entertained, so he ventures some comment, politely easing off the subject. ]
Is it only by preference that you receive so few guests, Master Morrison? Guests who stay alive a while, anyway.
[ He is utterly sanguine about the clarification. Tell him all about any potential plans to open up a bed and breakfast in the heart of a monstrous woods, because surely it's only preference, and not wariness of who might come along with grasping, greedy hands. Just like Brandon, but less polite, and more powerful. ]
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I hadn't thought about it. This house was so full in my childhood. I suppose I appreciated the quiet.
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[ A snide little aside, but she's finally begun to eat, the comment lacks all venom or real challenge. ]
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You aren't in want of some company, from time to time?
[ This question is directed between Haran and Qetzi, so presumably it's to both of them. ]
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Company rarely interests me. No doubt you fought for your right to have my interest, wizard. You should be proud.
[ Can't say the same for Qetzi, even if Brandon is desperately fighting for it too. ]
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She radiates hate for the question and says nothing. ]
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The gift of her family is one that will have to wait, perhaps indefinitely. No sense in trying to raise the Morrisons when he has no idea where their remains are, what state they're in, if they'd treat him with any courtesy for taking the trouble if he did manage it. And, most pressingly, when Haran is right there, waiting for him to do something like that.
Brandon sips some more of his drink, letting his gaze move again from Qetzi back to the only other person here who actually wants conversation. ]
What do you do with your time, then, Master Morrison?
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[ Another piece goes into his mouth and he chews, amused with the thought. ]
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