Oh: he had grinned again, and Atticus Foxwood looked like a very different person when he grinned ike that. A much more fun person, Phyri decided. And the snort! For a split-second, he’d shed all of that society trimming of restraint, those forced smiles and upright posture and amusement hidden behind his glass. (Not that she was well-placed or remotely predisposed to give anyone spouse-hunting advice, but admirable Mr. Foxwood would find himself a wife he actually liked far quicker, she thought, if he bothered to enjoy himself more.)
She made no effort to hide her laughter at the thought of the added bagpipe playing at this already horrendous theoretical dinner party, anyway, just threw her head back and laughed: the amusement was quite infectious. “Ah, well, thank Merlin for Merlin,” she exclaimed, supposing that Atticus hardly needed a wife at all, for how much affection he evidently still foisted upon that owl.
She was still brimming with ideas of how to make a terrible dinner party worse – Porphyria Foxwood could turn all the guests to owls when they annoyed her, like a veritable Circe; or turn them to mice and rats to feed to Merlin – but, since the hag in question still seemed to be nowhere in sight, Phyri thought she had better let Atticus Foxwood slip off again back to his friends and more eligible young ladies while the coast looked clear. “And if that’s the case,” she merely pointed out, teasing, of having an untalkative statue of a spouse, “perhaps you will have to turn to taking up the bagpipes, after all. Here’s to 1892,” Porphyria added, toasting him cheerily. “I look forward to seeing it.”
She made no effort to hide her laughter at the thought of the added bagpipe playing at this already horrendous theoretical dinner party, anyway, just threw her head back and laughed: the amusement was quite infectious. “Ah, well, thank Merlin for Merlin,” she exclaimed, supposing that Atticus hardly needed a wife at all, for how much affection he evidently still foisted upon that owl.
She was still brimming with ideas of how to make a terrible dinner party worse – Porphyria Foxwood could turn all the guests to owls when they annoyed her, like a veritable Circe; or turn them to mice and rats to feed to Merlin – but, since the hag in question still seemed to be nowhere in sight, Phyri thought she had better let Atticus Foxwood slip off again back to his friends and more eligible young ladies while the coast looked clear. “And if that’s the case,” she merely pointed out, teasing, of having an untalkative statue of a spouse, “perhaps you will have to turn to taking up the bagpipes, after all. Here’s to 1892,” Porphyria added, toasting him cheerily. “I look forward to seeing it.”
a sublime set by Lady! <3