"We do have a room," Solomon pointed out dryly. "If it bothers you so much, you can always leave."
Corrival laughed, a bloom of warmth in him that took Solomon by surprise. It was so vivid that he actually saw the fragments of memories in it, voices more than images, jokes frequently passed between men who knew each other well. The realisation was both warming and unnerving, and both sensations felt strange enough that Solomon went on quickly. His mind, apparently, was working fast, the same whenever he did when he worked on the fly. For the moment, he was grateful for that.
"We might be able to come up with another alternative," he pointed out, putting out a hand to find his chair and ease himself back into it. Now the adrenaline was wearing off, he was starting to feel fatigued all over again. "Some of the research the Necromancers went into involved constructs, but they were never able to advance much further than the sorcerer who created the Golem of Prague, and I imagine you both know how that turned out. Still, with some help, we might be able to replace the Cleavers with something less ... gravitational."
Assuming it was necessary. Assuming the Cleavers would be lost anyway, not that Solomon would complain if they were. Assuming a great many things they would now have to deal with. If nothing else, this first day was turning out to be a leap in the deep end.
"Either way, it doesn't matter what we say," Corrival said. "That's a worry for after we've found out our options. For now, we'll settle for just finding out what those options are."
A ripple, the exact same ripple as before, washed under the door. "Come in," Solomon said absently before Tipstaff could knock, and there was a pause before the Administrator opened the door to take one step inside.
"Grand Mage, the American ambassador is still waiting."
"Right." Corrival sighed. "I'd forgotten all about him. Shall we, gentlemen?"
"Must we?" Solomon murmured sardonically.
"Only if we don't want to make an enemy of the Americans on our first day, Wreath." The chair scraped as Corrival rose.
"I thought you'd already taken care of that." Reluctantly Solomon followed suit, wishing he could have at least finished off his whiskey, and then spread his hands with a lifted eyebrow and a faint smirk in Erskine's direction. "Well, Ravel, here's your opportunity to service me after all."
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Corrival laughed, a bloom of warmth in him that took Solomon by surprise. It was so vivid that he actually saw the fragments of memories in it, voices more than images, jokes frequently passed between men who knew each other well. The realisation was both warming and unnerving, and both sensations felt strange enough that Solomon went on quickly. His mind, apparently, was working fast, the same whenever he did when he worked on the fly. For the moment, he was grateful for that.
"We might be able to come up with another alternative," he pointed out, putting out a hand to find his chair and ease himself back into it. Now the adrenaline was wearing off, he was starting to feel fatigued all over again. "Some of the research the Necromancers went into involved constructs, but they were never able to advance much further than the sorcerer who created the Golem of Prague, and I imagine you both know how that turned out. Still, with some help, we might be able to replace the Cleavers with something less ... gravitational."
Assuming it was necessary. Assuming the Cleavers would be lost anyway, not that Solomon would complain if they were. Assuming a great many things they would now have to deal with. If nothing else, this first day was turning out to be a leap in the deep end.
"Either way, it doesn't matter what we say," Corrival said. "That's a worry for after we've found out our options. For now, we'll settle for just finding out what those options are."
A ripple, the exact same ripple as before, washed under the door. "Come in," Solomon said absently before Tipstaff could knock, and there was a pause before the Administrator opened the door to take one step inside.
"Grand Mage, the American ambassador is still waiting."
"Right." Corrival sighed. "I'd forgotten all about him. Shall we, gentlemen?"
"Must we?" Solomon murmured sardonically.
"Only if we don't want to make an enemy of the Americans on our first day, Wreath." The chair scraped as Corrival rose.
"I thought you'd already taken care of that." Reluctantly Solomon followed suit, wishing he could have at least finished off his whiskey, and then spread his hands with a lifted eyebrow and a faint smirk in Erskine's direction. "Well, Ravel, here's your opportunity to service me after all."