Probably the reason this conversation is going so well has something to do with the way her mouth quirks sideways, unwillingly charmed, by the sarcasm.
“Not in here,” she agrees, considering for a moment, tipping her head back to look at the ceiling —
oh, obviously. When she straightens to her feet, it happens so quickly that Small Yngvi is spilled unceremoniously from her skirts with an offended series of trilling cat mouth sounds, a thing that must be ordinary given that Gwenaëlle herself barely spares him a look and the swipe at her ankle seems half-hearted, more for form's sake than anything else.
“Alright, come with me.”
It's sort of a lot like her sharply tangential conversation, the way she takes the bow and gathers her skirts in one hand to very abruptly and without seeing the need to explain herself lead him — up. As luxuriously appointed as the interiors are, the staircases can't be described as rickety but they are certainly winding, most of them spiraling to save space, offering Stephen brief glimpses of other living spaces within but she is hurrying ahead,
it is nearly the top of the boat that they reach. It isn't immediately obvious that the spacious room that takes up the entirety of the uppermost floor is her bedroom — full length curtains hide her alcove bed from casual view — but it is clearly an intimate space, spread out, a bear-skin (with bear head, ready to make uncomfortable eye contact) and cushions on the floor in front of a low chaise, a writing desk and vanity filling a corner where the best natural light falls, cushioned glass-fronted cabinets covering one full wall filled with curios and keepsakes (and, in one central section, a wider variety of glass eyes and eye-patches, bookended by two beautifully ornate Orlesian masks on blank wooden heads where two tiaras rest, as well) and an open door into not a wardrobe but a separate dressing room. There is one more spiraling staircase that finally leads out to the salt air of the highest balcony.
Gwenaëlle disappears into the dressing room and returns with an arrow, which is probably nothing to broadly worry about where she keeps her weapons and how close to her bed.
no subject
“Not in here,” she agrees, considering for a moment, tipping her head back to look at the ceiling —
oh, obviously. When she straightens to her feet, it happens so quickly that Small Yngvi is spilled unceremoniously from her skirts with an offended series of trilling cat mouth sounds, a thing that must be ordinary given that Gwenaëlle herself barely spares him a look and the swipe at her ankle seems half-hearted, more for form's sake than anything else.
“Alright, come with me.”
It's sort of a lot like her sharply tangential conversation, the way she takes the bow and gathers her skirts in one hand to very abruptly and without seeing the need to explain herself lead him — up. As luxuriously appointed as the interiors are, the staircases can't be described as rickety but they are certainly winding, most of them spiraling to save space, offering Stephen brief glimpses of other living spaces within but she is hurrying ahead,
it is nearly the top of the boat that they reach. It isn't immediately obvious that the spacious room that takes up the entirety of the uppermost floor is her bedroom — full length curtains hide her alcove bed from casual view — but it is clearly an intimate space, spread out, a bear-skin (with bear head, ready to make uncomfortable eye contact) and cushions on the floor in front of a low chaise, a writing desk and vanity filling a corner where the best natural light falls, cushioned glass-fronted cabinets covering one full wall filled with curios and keepsakes (and, in one central section, a wider variety of glass eyes and eye-patches, bookended by two beautifully ornate Orlesian masks on blank wooden heads where two tiaras rest, as well) and an open door into not a wardrobe but a separate dressing room. There is one more spiraling staircase that finally leads out to the salt air of the highest balcony.
Gwenaëlle disappears into the dressing room and returns with an arrow, which is probably nothing to broadly worry about where she keeps her weapons and how close to her bed.