Have the Stars & Snow --Eons May Pass Side 1x1 w/ Clo & Mint

(Bump!)

(Hello! Would you like me to start?)

It also brought the coming of a well-dressed man, walking down the street outside before turning the corner and taking the steps up into the building at a pace that could best be described as brisk. Much like the air outside, honestly, even though the chilly wind was being kept at bay by warm clothing and the hat placed carefully over the man's head.

He took it off as soon as he entered the building, glancing around while warming up his hands. The man had a rough idea where he was going, but he took the extra couple minutes to further get his bearings.

He didn't care much for this place - and no one here (excluding family) really cared that much for him. But he ignored any unwanted attention and started heading in the direction where his son-in-law usually worked.

Only in this case he veered off after not too long on that path, heading for a different destination. He reached the door he'd been looking for and very carefully knocked against the obstacle between him and the person he was looking for.
"Hello?" he asked. "Inquiry for Francis Glover?"
Worth a shot, even though his eyes narrowed a fraction. This man didn't usually inquire about merchants. Not in this fashion.

Clearly the current resident of the room had not expected to see the alchemist and doctor to the tsar casually walk into a building he wasn't really welcome in.
Arthur stepped inside the room, carefully closed the door, and positioned himself neatly and without asking into one of the chairs.
"Hello," he said, almost brightly. His stance had shifted a bit and his shoulders were angled back. Confidence. "Excuse me for letting myself in like this. You're Francis Glover."
Not a question, just a statement. Arthur Dee observed the surroundings, taking in the papers, the various other items, the impeccable neatness of the room, and the window.
How nice. Particularly compared to his workspace, which was trashed.
"You've met my daughter?" he asked casually. Everything about him seemed casually, which should have sent alarm bells off for any decent merchant of Russia. Casual meant he was thinking - hard - about something and devoting all of his attention to it.
It also made the room a bit awkward if Francis dared meet Arthur's gaze.

It was an answer that Arthur had both expected and still didn't completely trust. His eyes narrowed by a margin. It wasn't like Francis was someone he trusted. There wasn't any basis for that trust.
He tapped his fingers against the wood of the desk. It was a very even rhythm. There was almost an attempt to be passively intimidating.
"I hear what you're saying, Francis Glover," Arthur said after a second, eyes not moving from the vampire's. Though he was unaware of the identity of the merchant, it was clear that the doctor still felt there was something there.
"When did you meet her?" he asked after his stare lasted one or two seconds past a comfortable amount of time. "My daughter only recently arrived in Moscow, so I'm quite interested in anyone she finds interest in. Tell me about yourself."

Francis' origin was logical enough for a merchant, Arthur supposed. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Something improbably was just a touch out of his attention.
And apparently would remain there, since he couldn't drudge it up from the mental bog of his own mind.
Ah well.
"I see," he said.
His attempts at intimidation had failed. He was almost impressed. Either Francis didn't shake easily or there simply wasn't anything to be shaken up about in the first place.
But why his own sense of unease?
He was half tempted to perform some sort of skrying technic or attempt to read Francis' horoscope, but that seemed like a waste on a mere Russian merchant. Friend of his daughter's or not. Even if it might give him some insight into this mysterious traveler.
"Interests, hobbies?" he inquired. "I would be interested to know what common thread of conversation you and my daughter follow."
At least there was slightly less tension in his voice now. Arthur couldn't keep it up for long periods of time anyway, so there wasn't much point in the overt stiffness. The pause for dramatic effect remained, showing that the alchemist still deemed this form of conversation serious.

(Boop. )

boopish

There seemed to be a small level of surprise from Arthur that Frances knew what he did. Then again, Arthur supposed just because he didn't have any knowledge about the merchant didn't mean that they didn't have any knowledge about him.
Maybe quite the contrary.
The alchemist considered how to respond, with potentially more than just a confirmation. "That is correct," he said. "From London, by order of the king."
He figured his own criteria was likely well enough known. Though it did brand him as a foreigner. Which wasn't always appreciated. Particularly by picky Russian merchants.
He had a question he wanted to ask, but wasn't sure if he was prepared for the answer. He felt a bit like he had a duty to ask it, however.
Just ... not know.
He glanced squarely at Frances' eyes.
"It's good that you and my daughter have taken up such a ... interest in each other." Was it? He wasn't sure yet. He knew nothing about this person.
"Would you be interested in attending dinner at the Dee residence next week?"
There. That seemed like the ... responsible question.

It was much easier for Francis- a quiet, relatively unknown merchant with a penchant for keeping their head down- to find out about Arthur- a well known, outspoken alchemist who worked for the Tsar- than it was for Arthur to find out about them.

And as for being picky about foreigners, Francis was a foreigner too, and with how much they traveled, quite used to being in that position. It wasn't easy, they knew, to be in a place where you didn't quite know all the customs or couldn't easily pick up the chatter in a restaurant. A place where people knew it wasn't your home- a place where your parents, grandparents, great grandparents hadn't been born there and people would hold it against you. It was no surprise then, that there was something challenging in Arthur's tone, like he was daring them to hold it against him.

"As I said, I came here up along the Black sea, but my family's from the East- I am as much a foreigner here as you are." Francis answered, waving their hand to dismiss the idea that cared that Arthur wasn't from Russia. They brushed back a lock of their hair, half pulled back and hanging loose past their shoulders. "Actually, my English is better than my Russian, so it's easier to me."

Arthur seemed to be someone who wanted to be liked, but was prickly or guarded about it. Like he was expecting the other person to be stand-offish and so decided to be stand-offish first. Hopefully they would warm up to each other, at least for Frances' sake.

Even if their gaze looked centuries old at times, Francis' expression lit up just like the twenty-something in love they were. "That's great! That you think that."

"Uh-" Arthur's question had clearly thrown Francis off guard. "I- um- yes- I mean, thank you."

They winced at their own awkward reply. Were you supposed to say yes or thank you? Ugh, etiquette. They cleared their throat and answered again, more measured this time, "Yes, thank you. I will attend."

One week later ---

Arthur had indeed prepared a dinner. Or rather, his wife had. He had paced around the house as if this was some how going to effect him.
Heh heh ...
That was the thing though. It might.
He had a bad feeling about this. Well, maybe not bad. He just had a sense that Francis was ...
Was what ...?
That was what kept catching him up. There was something there, out of reach, something he didn't quite know what to do with. But he was doing his best to calm himself. To be a good host.
There was food. That was the start. And he'd already informed Frances about the visit. He was interested in seeing the reactions when Francis got here. Mostly because he found it all just a touch amusing, his own feelings on the matter aside.

It was a servant who opened the door. A rather well dressed man in crisp clothing and carefully polite stance.
"Francis Glover," he said expectantly. Then he stepped aside, holding the door open. "Please come in."
It seemed formal. Which was, if anything, an indication of the Dee family's status. The house was a good indication of that as well, what with it's proximity to the tsar's palace and inner circle of buildings. It bore the same resemblance in style to the buildings around it, but very clearly housed a decent sized family within. Everything was neat and orderly, but there were signs all over that small children had grown up here. A scuff mark along the walls here and an odd discoloration on the floorboards there. It really put together a picture of having been lived in.
The servant stepped away from the door after closing it and walked down the hall, clearly expecting Francis to follow him to whatever waiting room was expected.

(Small boop while I reply.)

boop