She took a deep but shuddering breath as she sat in the chair pulled out for her.
Il est très beau, was all she could think for the first moments he stood at attention beside her.
After he moved, sat, and asked, she forced the words, "
That sounds lovely," from her throat in reference to the offer of wine. "
Yes," too, confirming it was alright he smoke, though it made her skin crawl back into the Phrik mines.
Conversing would be just like writing, she told herself; nay, dictating to Gabin. Just as with the
L'éloge de Gwenaël, she would say her piece with conviction and defend it until her dying breath. She just hoped that Count Meanur would not require as much, as Achille almost had that day up on the made-gallows. While she couldn't stretch the vision of the Count to her friend's memory with the first's blonde hair and scarred countenance, Mahaut did find their air similar enough upon the surface, and that was enough. Calmness steadily sat upon her. Her chest filled and let out slow. She maintained eye contact.
"
I do..." It was an altogether better atmosphere though she was not fully comfortable. But if this negotiation was to go over well, she would have to cater to him. "
Mhm." She nodded somewhat nervously at his guess as to her crowned house name, as even she was still altering it to size. "
And again. You assume rightly."
She took dainty hold of the wine glass an attendant offered her.
"
My western groves wither, ready to die," she explained further, pausing to take a sip of the beverage. It went down smoother than any alcohol she and Gabin had even illegally fermented under tyranny, but the stakes now offered her just as much adrenaline. And such was surely a better pairing than tobacc and caf. "
Forester Elaena from my lands informs me she has seen the infecting rot once before. Apparently, her grandfather encountered in in a woodrace against--"
A sudden shift silently infested her gut. She stalled her speech, raising an open hand to her mouth.
Oh, mon Dieu, she thought as the sensation crept up her throat. The pace was steady but quick, and in a moment she decided she had to race it to its climax. She got as far as setting down her vessel, a controlled movement all things considered, and sitting back as to avoid knocking it over when a belch pushed out of her lips.
She felt the heat of redness on her face immediately. "
Excusez-moi, my Lord." An excuse. What excuse? Any excuse. She fumbled through her vocabulary, searching for one or another. And then, she grabbed at one. A long shot, but maybe he would accept it. "
I must not be used to the... richness of Naboo.
"
M-might I try some mild tea instead?"