tushanshu | o5 ☽ video;

[Catty's in a pair of overalls that are basically covered in paint, and she's got a smear on her cheek as well. But her hands are clean, and she's handling one of a set of books with care]

So...this post isn't exactly super-important-Mally-related. Or anything like that at all, actually. But I figured I should ask around! The thing is, I kind of got carried away with the auctions. I've never been to one before, and there were all kinds of interesting things for sale, and before I knew it I ended up with a bunch of French books that I've never heard of. At least, I think they're French. I don't even read French.

[She's grinning, though, amused by her own terrible decision making] Anyway, I've seen that people have been picking up stuff that actually belongs to other people, so I thought I'd ask if these belong to anyone. [She proceeds to dance the books across the screen, one at a time. She sets them down when she's done, but she doesn't seem quite ready to hang up.]

--Actually, this is something completely unrelated to the books, but something Vanessa said in her post reminded me. Do we actually have any places for clubbing here? Or dancing? I asked when I first showed up, but I never really got an answer. I think it'd be fun. And useful! Dancing before trying to save the world has a one hundred percent success rate, in my experience.

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[There's an odd look on Henry's face—he's pleased, relieved, but also a little disturbed, because those are his books. But he composes himself quickly and smiles.]

I live in the Fire sector, but I spend some time in the Wood sector. Where do you reside, my dear?

Oh, I'm in the Wood Sector too. WO-2B right now, if you want to swing by.

[He chuckles, amused.]

What delightful turns of phrases modern young ladies have. Very well; I shall "swing by" this afternoon, then, when I leave the book shop.

[That startles a laugh out of her] I'm guessing you're from a little before the twenty first century, huh? And okay, I'll be here!

Quite a bit before—but no matter. Thank you, my dear; I shall see you soon.

[And a bit later, there comes a knock at the door. Lord Henry is as dapper as ever, ebony walking-stick in hand—and there is also a very definite eagerness to get hold of those books at last.]

[Probably the first thing that Henry's going to notice when Catty opens the door is that there's paint everywhere. The ceiling has been transformed into the night sky, done in deeper purples and navy blue, wisps of cloud floating across a full moon. The floor, on the other hand, has been transformed into a garden, a riot of colour spilling out across the wood. Catty herself has splotches of the stuff over her clothes and face, but her hands remain totally clean.]

Hi! Wow, pimp cane and everything, huh? [omg shut up. She makes a face at herself] Forget I said that. But come in, please.

[Paint doesn't perturb Henry, even if this is more riotous than Basil's studio ever dreamed of being. Her language startles and amuses him, though, and gets both a raised eyebrow and a laugh.]

I have forgotten it already. [The hell he has.] Thank you.

[He steps inside, removing his hat, and looks around.]

You are an artist, Miss Turner?

Awesome. [If the human face could make the |D emote, that's what she'd be doing.]

Oh. Uh, yeah, you could say that. Mostly painting. [She smiles up at the ceiling.] The sky here didn't feel enough like home.

It is very lovely work. [He sounds maybe just a little surprised, perhaps, to find a young lady painting more ambitiously than the watercolour miniatures that girls of his own class tend to favour.] Have you been painting for very long, Miss Turner?

Thank you. [She sounds genuinely pleased at the compliment, looking back at him from the ceiling]

All my life. [A beat] Well, about ten years or so. [There's some time missing there for her] Do you paint at all, or are you just being nice?

[He laughs at that.]

I? No, not a bit of it; I should like to have learned, but I had no great facility for it. But one of my dearest friends was—is a painter, a very gifted one. [That change in verb tense is some kind of rebellion, some kind of resistance to fate and the future, and it's all he has.] He has a particular talent for portraiture.

[She notices the change in tense, has become intimately familiar with the way someone's language changes when it comes to death] I've done a few portraits, but most of the people I know are really bad at sitting still. I did have some really beautiful friends, though. They were always good for inspiration.

[Wait wasn't he here for somethi--] Oh! Your books are over there, by the way. [She points at the console, which is sort of a mess, but a clean mess. His books are safe]

[He brightens noticeably and strides over to the console to collect the books. He examines them as he speaks, noting that they are, down to the smallest detail, his books, which perhaps ought to bother him more than it does. But no matter. He is happy to have them.]

It is a great gift to have beauty in one's friends, and an even greater one if they are people of passion. [He smiles.] Thank you, my dear, for rescuing my books. Tell me, were you much inconvenienced?

[A delicate way of asking how much money she's out over them.]

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