( this is not dignified with a response. it doesn't, in Gwenaëlle’s view, merit one: she's said her piece and either the petulant new arrival will self examine later or not, but obviously, it isn't happening now.

probably there's an argument to be made for being less combative in correction if she wants it to land— but the arrogance pissed her off and further, her way has worked more often than it hasn't. she reads the message back out loud, incredulously, to both hardie and small yngvi present (supportive and disinterested respectively), turns back to her paperwork, and has largely forgotten the exchange by the end of the day.

it isn't on her mind when she's filing resources she'd borrowed back into the library, announced by the whisper of heavy burgundy skirts and the gentle metallic clink of her chatelaine at her (tightly corseted) waist. she's passing an unfamiliar, studious face when she overhears the dittany line— )

More akin to 'marijuana' in effect if you've heard of that one, I've been told, ( is offhand, the accent orlesian, as she hauls a shelf ladder towards her. ) Although I understand whatever that is, it doesn't share the same benefits of using elfroot alchemically.

( behind her, a fucking enormous shepherd dog is padding sedatedly through the shelves. he seems familiar with the space, quiet, watchful. )