Quintilian was in his office, bent over the books. In his absence, Lady Junia had a steady hand with the clientele – but her penmanship left much to be desired. He found himself chasing a few errant aurums from column to column. It was, oddly, a surplus. More suspicious than a shortfall, in its way.
Of course, there were over a month of records to comb through. Hopefully someone would tell him no next time he proposed to leave Minrathous on an [i]adventure[i].
Though it had not all been bad. An old acquaintance, long assumed dead, had turned up to join the expedition. (And it was never a bad thing to have a few talented mercenaries one could call on.) The griffon itself was a wonder – though like all infants it required an inordinate amount of care and time. For now, Argos napped on a low, plush bed by the window. No doubt he’d grow out of it in no time.
An unseen chime went off, alerting Quinn to a visitor in the hall and altogether breaking his focus on the books. He scribbled a short note to himself and blew on it to dry the ink before closing it between the pages – just as Madame de Solar swept in. It was always a pleasure to host his dear friend, though he didn’t anticipate her starting off with a muffled scream. Those poor cushions.
“Camille. It’s good to see you, too.” Chuckling, Quinn removed the reading lenses from his nose and tucked them away. He stood and stretched, rolling one shoulder and then the other, studying her slantwise. One could occasionally predict the currents of popular fashion from elements of her attire alone. A fabric or a dye or a particular cut that would be everywhere in a season or two, working its way from experiment to gown to copycat dresses in shop windows.
“What do they say? ‘The customer is always right in matters of taste?’” Perhaps true – it was largely so here, at the Blind Eye.
“Mm. All my gossip’s oh, at least six weeks out of date. That’s practically a lifetime.” He crossed the room in a few short strides, sinking down on the other end of the couch. “She bought the dress in the end, didn’t she?”
Of course, there were over a month of records to comb through. Hopefully someone would tell him no next time he proposed to leave Minrathous on an [i]adventure[i].
Though it had not all been bad. An old acquaintance, long assumed dead, had turned up to join the expedition. (And it was never a bad thing to have a few talented mercenaries one could call on.) The griffon itself was a wonder – though like all infants it required an inordinate amount of care and time. For now, Argos napped on a low, plush bed by the window. No doubt he’d grow out of it in no time.
An unseen chime went off, alerting Quinn to a visitor in the hall and altogether breaking his focus on the books. He scribbled a short note to himself and blew on it to dry the ink before closing it between the pages – just as Madame de Solar swept in. It was always a pleasure to host his dear friend, though he didn’t anticipate her starting off with a muffled scream. Those poor cushions.
“Camille. It’s good to see you, too.” Chuckling, Quinn removed the reading lenses from his nose and tucked them away. He stood and stretched, rolling one shoulder and then the other, studying her slantwise. One could occasionally predict the currents of popular fashion from elements of her attire alone. A fabric or a dye or a particular cut that would be everywhere in a season or two, working its way from experiment to gown to copycat dresses in shop windows.
“What do they say? ‘The customer is always right in matters of taste?’” Perhaps true – it was largely so here, at the Blind Eye.
“Mm. All my gossip’s oh, at least six weeks out of date. That’s practically a lifetime.” He crossed the room in a few short strides, sinking down on the other end of the couch. “She bought the dress in the end, didn’t she?”
10-05-2024, 11:22 AM
