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?
[ This far along in the dinner, his politeness is gaining a hint of brittleness which contains his audible expectation he will not in any sense be delighted. He's here, though. He signed up for this. And Qetzi could use a break, if he's still following his balancing directives. ]
[ What a double act these two can be, Brandon reflects, keeping his own sourness to a thin, fully concealed ribbon in the back of his throat. It's almost a shame they don't get along.
No one seems to be eating at this point, and he follows suit, nursing along the last of his drink as he stores away their exchange and each nonverbal quirk to it. ]
And what does Tavor like?
[ Gifts, endless gifts. It's beginning to be something of a chore. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
I hadn't thought about it. This house was so full in my childhood. I suppose I appreciated the quiet.
no subject
[ A snide little aside, but she's finally begun to eat, the comment lacks all venom or real challenge. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
She radiates hate for the question and says nothing. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
[ Another piece goes into his mouth and he chews, amused with the thought. ]
no subject
no subject
[ This far along in the dinner, his politeness is gaining a hint of brittleness which contains his audible expectation he will not in any sense be delighted. He's here, though. He signed up for this. And Qetzi could use a break, if he's still following his balancing directives. ]
no subject
[ His smile is wicked, if subdued for an absolute child, turning his attention to Qetzi'ah. ]
Tell Tavor I would have the wizard come to the basement with me. Perhaps tomorrow.
no subject
Yes, alright.
no subject
No one seems to be eating at this point, and he follows suit, nursing along the last of his drink as he stores away their exchange and each nonverbal quirk to it. ]
And what does Tavor like?
[ Gifts, endless gifts. It's beginning to be something of a chore. ]
no subject
Tormenting his guests. He gets to do it plenty enough, don't you concern yourself with gifts for him.
[ He is the master of the dungeon, only because his family was much too disgusted by his existence to really allow him anything else. ]
He is not the one I want you to meet.
[ Rather one of the monsters his cousin keeps. ]
Thank you for this wonderful meal, Qetzi. I can see the wizard appreciated it as much as I did.