We're going to suppose that a very good looking young man, reading sedately on a windowsill, focused in all appearances on a heavy mythological volume might count as entertainment... considering who he is.
Oooh, he does look entertaining. She smiles, just a little, tucks her blue black hair behind her ears, and leans slightly in his direction. "Excuse me?"
He looks up, eyebrows raised. "Yes?"
Isn't he fine. Subtly admiring. He would make a nice pet, and she can tell that he's a fighter as well. Interesting. She gives him the smallest of almost shy smiles. "I hope I am not disturbing your reading so much, though I am curious what tome holds your attention so..."
He holds the book up. It's Malory's Morte Darthur, because the typist is obsessed with it these days and can't think of anything else and it could be amusing, considering who Melisande knows. "This."
The book has the picture of a knight, vanquishing a dragon on a green field of battle.
Her eyebrows arch slightly, but all she says is, "How interesting. A favorite of yours?"
"A classic, in my homeworld. One really can't go without reading it at least once."
We thought we'd send a redhead. This one, however, is (almost) harmless, and currently drinking tea. She'll nod politely to the lady before she returns to her writing.
Melisande, however, thinks this redhead looks shiny. Very shiny.
"Excuse me, may I sit down?" With the utmost politeness, easily adapted to suit the person she is trying to manipulate. Or at least sound out.
Sugar sets down her pen and stands to curtsy, politely. "My lady."
She inclines her head, slightly. "Please, sit. I wouldn't wish to disturb you."
Sugar sits, and looks at the lady, curiously. "As you wish, My Lady. Was there anything...?"
She pauses a moment. "Yes, I suppose there is. I have been - secluded, for a time, and am curious as to the state of affairs of some friends of mine..."
Here's someone with something furry... Husdent II isn't particularly threatening at the moment, though his training has been starting to yield results. The knight (though he still looks more like a scout than a knight, with his longbow, his leather jerkin and the blade at his side) wanders in with his dog at his side and pauses a moment. This woman looks familiar - though he's not sure this is who he thinks she is.
He's a bit pale, though. He still thinks that her death was ill done.
Ah, but she remembers you, Tristan, and remembers that you offered mercy. And that makes you a very interesting person for her. She draws herself up, not quite disdainful but definitely fully self-possessed, full of complete dignity.
"Sir," coolly, expression utterly neutral. Intentionally neutral.
Pardi, it's her. He takes a breath. Dead people talking to you, when you've seen them die and been unable to help them, no matter how terrible they were...
She keeps her gaze on him, only lightly accusing. Lightly, she imagines, should be enough. "It is a surprise to see you again."
"Your surprise cannot be greater than mine, lady."
A slight curve of a smile. "No, I suppose not. Please, sit. I see you keep better company than...before." A nod at the actual dog, almost amused.
Innocent sweet girl here, sitting by a brand new (yay!plothole!) trestle, and sowing with absent dedication. She's humming a quiet French song that may or may not sound D'Angeline, and is fairly absorbed in her work.
Awww. How cute.
Melisande sits down in a rustle of skirts. "You are very quick with that needle," she murmurs.
She smiles, a little, and looks up. "Thank you, Madame."
"It is a skill one does not often see anymore, I find. Many are too lazy to pick it up. I myself simply have no gift for it." A rueful laugh, meant to put Angelique at ease.
She blushes more. "Doubtless Madame has no need for doing such things herself."
"Madame sometimes wishes she had the skill. But what are you making, if it isn't too pert to ask..."