[ The Traveller and his companion's long since left them, and yet Neuvillette remains even after their conversation's ended. Respect dictates he keep from watching Navia as she has her moments of privacy, but he stands in such a way that she and the graveyard remains in the corner of his vision. Truthfully, Neuvillette's uncertain as to the proper distance one should keep from someone who'd come to visit their dead. The last thing he wants to do is to take any time Navia might have with her father away from her, especially after everything that's happened since he passed.
And yet something-- he's not sure what to call it, maybe propriety, maybe compassion, maybe that undefinable nail that's been pounded into his head since Navia came to visit him in the Palais Mermonia-- keeps him rooted to the spot. Neuvillette doesn't want to part from her just yet, not when the relief of her forgiveness thrums in his blood like a drug.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices she's turned to leave. Neuvillette turns his body to face her better then, and only through his own mental fortitude does he manage to open his mouth to speak once she approaches him. ]
Will you be returning home on your own this evening, Ms. Navia?
[ Strange. He can hardly remember the last time he felt so... nervous. But perhaps it doesn't matter. ]
[in the years following her father's untimely death, navia found herself compiling a list, of sorts, of stories she wished to share with him? of questions she wished to demand answers to. every day brought something new; the list seemed to double in size with each passing month, which sometimes—sometimes—coaxed a small smile to her lips. she always did love to talk, as her papa frequently (and oh-so fondly) pointed out.
funny, then, how soon she falls silent while standing before his grave.
but even with that seemingly never-ending list lodged in the forefront of her mind, navia knows that healing takes time—which, thanks to her father's selflessness, she has an abundance of. there is no shame in leaving today to return tomorrow, or the next day, or the next; her papa was, above all else, a gentleman, which is why navia turns toward poisson with a curiously light heart. melus will be waiting for her back at their base, she is sure. melus, a cup of fresh tea in hand, and—
—ah.
to navia's credit, she handles the shock that is the sight of the chief justice with grace—because even with his respectful distance, failing to notice his continued presence is, she feels, on her. has he been waiting here the entire time? if so: for what? perhaps he found her apology ambiguous, if not downright disingenuous; perhaps he's thus looking to apologize yet again, despite her insistence that he stop.
or, as she approaches him: perhaps he's simply wondering what he's meant to do in this awkward situation, for while he's somewhat difficult to read—that placid exterior disguises such deceptive depths!—navia still senses... nervousness, she thinks. discomfort. in this moment, neuvillette seems less an untouchable figure and more a man simply wondering how, precisely, one approaches a lady with whom one shares an, ah, uncomfortable history.
...hmm. lightly, almost gently:]
Shouldn't I be asking the same of you, Monsieur Neuvillette? Poisson is much closer than the Palais Mermonia.
[which sounds vaguely threatening, if one squints, hence the quick addition that is:]
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action | for scintiller.
And yet something-- he's not sure what to call it, maybe propriety, maybe compassion, maybe that undefinable nail that's been pounded into his head since Navia came to visit him in the Palais Mermonia-- keeps him rooted to the spot. Neuvillette doesn't want to part from her just yet, not when the relief of her forgiveness thrums in his blood like a drug.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices she's turned to leave. Neuvillette turns his body to face her better then, and only through his own mental fortitude does he manage to open his mouth to speak once she approaches him. ]
Will you be returning home on your own this evening, Ms. Navia?
[ Strange. He can hardly remember the last time he felt so... nervous. But perhaps it doesn't matter. ]
no subject
funny, then, how soon she falls silent while standing before his grave.
but even with that seemingly never-ending list lodged in the forefront of her mind, navia knows that healing takes time—which, thanks to her father's selflessness, she has an abundance of. there is no shame in leaving today to return tomorrow, or the next day, or the next; her papa was, above all else, a gentleman, which is why navia turns toward poisson with a curiously light heart. melus will be waiting for her back at their base, she is sure. melus, a cup of fresh tea in hand, and—
—ah.
to navia's credit, she handles the shock that is the sight of the chief justice with grace—because even with his respectful distance, failing to notice his continued presence is, she feels, on her. has he been waiting here the entire time? if so: for what? perhaps he found her apology ambiguous, if not downright disingenuous; perhaps he's thus looking to apologize yet again, despite her insistence that he stop.
or, as she approaches him: perhaps he's simply wondering what he's meant to do in this awkward situation, for while he's somewhat difficult to read—that placid exterior disguises such deceptive depths!—navia still senses... nervousness, she thinks. discomfort. in this moment, neuvillette seems less an untouchable figure and more a man simply wondering how, precisely, one approaches a lady with whom one shares an, ah, uncomfortable history.
...hmm. lightly, almost gently:]
Shouldn't I be asking the same of you, Monsieur Neuvillette? Poisson is much closer than the Palais Mermonia.
[which sounds vaguely threatening, if one squints, hence the quick addition that is:]
I can arrange transport, if you're in need.