The line of Desi's shoulders pivots by no more than a half degree from his hawkish observation of the appraiser at work. He does however turn his face to look at Veronica. Holding back a lungful of sweet smoke, and so communicated silently in tandem with the hot air drifting in through the open window: Excuse me?
The look that returns to him is meaningfully stoic. Does she dislike the smoke so particularly or just Desi's familiarity? Does it matter. They are sharing a moment of true, mutual inconvenience.
(This is also how she has on previous occasions described their brief marriage.)
“But do not let me hurry you,” she finishes, pleasantly, ostensibly speaking to the jeweler and gazing critically at her ex-husband.
He doesn't bristle. That would be stupid. Desi does however hold her eye even as he tips his face away to blow smoke out the side of his mouth.
"Does that glass of yours see enchantments, Messere? I've heard rings are easily cursed."
Rossi's brother's cousin-in-law has set the ring down on the square of velvet cloth laid alongside his tools. The magnified glass is fit back into its little case. Click. "No, the piece is quite ordinary. Er—magically speaking, I mean."
"Strange."
Maybe someone ought to have their finger checked. But not by the jeweler, who is bowing his head very studiously to the task of filling out the requisite scrip and stuffing it into an envelope.
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The line of Desi's shoulders pivots by no more than a half degree from his hawkish observation of the appraiser at work. He does however turn his face to look at Veronica. Holding back a lungful of sweet smoke, and so communicated silently in tandem with the hot air drifting in through the open window: Excuse me?
no subject
(This is also how she has on previous occasions described their brief marriage.)
“But do not let me hurry you,” she finishes, pleasantly, ostensibly speaking to the jeweler and gazing critically at her ex-husband.
no subject
"Does that glass of yours see enchantments, Messere? I've heard rings are easily cursed."
Rossi's brother's cousin-in-law has set the ring down on the square of velvet cloth laid alongside his tools. The magnified glass is fit back into its little case. Click. "No, the piece is quite ordinary. Er—magically speaking, I mean."
"Strange."
Maybe someone ought to have their finger checked. But not by the jeweler, who is bowing his head very studiously to the task of filling out the requisite scrip and stuffing it into an envelope.