Only a little, [ Jeannot answers offhand, without thought or upward glance: of course not. Freddie is terrifying when wrathful.
But then his eyes still on his book and he hums thoughtfully before he goes on with arch and only mildly guilty thoroughness: ]
Andraste is with the Maker, and until the Herald emerged from the Fade she had not truly interfered with us for a thousand years. However great her disappointment, she will leave you alone. And you need not face the Maker's wrath until you have died or He has returned, whichever is first to occur—or you need not face His wrath at all, if you die penitent and obedient. That is more likely to occur if you reach old age, and you are more likely to reach old age if you do not anger Freddie. In this way, fearing Freddie most of all is nearly an act of faith.
[Yes, that checks out. Val nods, and--thoughtfully--scratches his fingernails against his tongue to clean it of quill.]
Have I told you lately that I am so very glad you are here with me? Where would I be without you? Locked in a moral quandary, at the very least, to say nothing of the miserable company I would suffer.
[He begins to write again. After a few seconds (while still writing), he adds:]
Though I cannot imagine I will be a very penitent old man.
You will be. It will be your gift to me in your dying days, because you will be generous and want to ease my grief at the thought of going to the Maker without you while you wander forever lost in the Beyond.
[ Is he joking? Yes. Is he serious? Also yes. Is he glad Val is here as well? Most yes. ]
The remarkable contrast of the transformation will approach le miraculeux. There will be songs. I will ensure that I outlive you solely so that I may write them.
That is reasonable. Will you be Valentine le Miraculeux or only Le Miraculeux? If it is the latter, you may need to allow me a nickname. I will be old as well, and likely missing teeth.
Obviously you will still be permitted to call me Val.
[Special favors for friends.]
Except in formal settings, where I will insist upon being called Le Miraculeux, no matter how many teeth you have. [Also. His quill pauses in its scratching against the parchment, and he looks around at Jehan.] Missing teeth?
On account of the sweets. [ Deadly serious. Every indulgence has a price. He looks up from his book again, contemplative, and adds, ] Luh Miahcooloh, [ with his tongue glued over his front teeth. ]
[And so, in declaration, Val raps his knuckles against the tabletop.]
It's decided. Val. I will let everyone else say my title and save you and I both the trouble of having to listen to you try to pronounce it. And if anyone asks, I will say that you are an old and dear friend and so of course are permitted to call me anything you like, within the bonds of affection. They will not be able to argue with that.
And we will commission you a very fine set of false teeth.
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no subject
But then his eyes still on his book and he hums thoughtfully before he goes on with arch and only mildly guilty thoroughness: ]
Andraste is with the Maker, and until the Herald emerged from the Fade she had not truly interfered with us for a thousand years. However great her disappointment, she will leave you alone. And you need not face the Maker's wrath until you have died or He has returned, whichever is first to occur—or you need not face His wrath at all, if you die penitent and obedient. That is more likely to occur if you reach old age, and you are more likely to reach old age if you do not anger Freddie. In this way, fearing Freddie most of all is nearly an act of faith.
no subject
[Yes, that checks out. Val nods, and--thoughtfully--scratches his fingernails against his tongue to clean it of quill.]
Have I told you lately that I am so very glad you are here with me? Where would I be without you? Locked in a moral quandary, at the very least, to say nothing of the miserable company I would suffer.
[He begins to write again. After a few seconds (while still writing), he adds:]
Though I cannot imagine I will be a very penitent old man.
no subject
[ Is he joking? Yes. Is he serious? Also yes. Is he glad Val is here as well? Most yes. ]
The remarkable contrast of the transformation will approach le miraculeux. There will be songs. I will ensure that I outlive you solely so that I may write them.
no subject
[Pros, cons. Val weighs them with appropriate deliberation.]
I think when I become a penitent old man, I will change my name. You will have to call me Le Miraculeux.
no subject
[ A page turn. ]
That is reasonable. Will you be Valentine le Miraculeux or only Le Miraculeux? If it is the latter, you may need to allow me a nickname. I will be old as well, and likely missing teeth.
no subject
[Special favors for friends.]
Except in formal settings, where I will insist upon being called Le Miraculeux, no matter how many teeth you have. [Also. His quill pauses in its scratching against the parchment, and he looks around at Jehan.] Missing teeth?
[Ew.]
no subject
no subject
Once more, please. Luh--
no subject
[ He is nothing if not obliging. Or he is several things if not obliging, but where Val is concerned: obliging. Usually. Today. ]
Fal, [ he adds, with some effort to produce the F, before putting his tongue back where it belongs. ] You see? Slightly more tolerable.
no subject
[And so, in declaration, Val raps his knuckles against the tabletop.]
It's decided. Val. I will let everyone else say my title and save you and I both the trouble of having to listen to you try to pronounce it. And if anyone asks, I will say that you are an old and dear friend and so of course are permitted to call me anything you like, within the bonds of affection. They will not be able to argue with that.
And we will commission you a very fine set of false teeth.