"I dare say some of your students might find themselves with some job offerings," Solomon admitted. "I've spent all morning interviewing people and it still amazes me how many incompetents can get hired in a seat of government."
"You mean that's unusual?" Vex wondered.
"No, but it's still generally amazing when you stop to think about it." Craven was effective in his own dismal way, Quiver very definitely competent, and so was Solomon. Tenebrae had valued creativity--to a point. Meritorious and his compatriots had valued safety, and it showed. The people they hired didn't have a whit of wit, so long as they retained the status quo. Solomon wasn't particularly enthused by that, and the Dead Men had never been able to work like that under Corrival's command. All of which meant that a good chunk of the Sanctuary employees were going to get a rather unpleasant shock by the end of the week.
The cellar was always a bit difficult to get down, but Solomon managed, moving more slowly than China and with one hand firmly on the wall. "They may well turn out telepathic to us as well," he said, and finally stepped down onto the floor proper. "You left them with a lot of potential, and the belief of angels-as-messengers leaves them in need of some form of communication. I don't imagine instruction and use will be much of a problem."
Shadows they might be, but the angel had had a tenor of unbridled potential--like a swath of malleable rainbows, fit for their painting. The Cleavers sucked everything in and left nothing to mould. "And they will," he added in afterthought, "very much be able to read things as I do. Do let me know if I can take credit for that inspiration. I get the impression my resume needs some padding."
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"You mean that's unusual?" Vex wondered.
"No, but it's still generally amazing when you stop to think about it." Craven was effective in his own dismal way, Quiver very definitely competent, and so was Solomon. Tenebrae had valued creativity--to a point. Meritorious and his compatriots had valued safety, and it showed. The people they hired didn't have a whit of wit, so long as they retained the status quo. Solomon wasn't particularly enthused by that, and the Dead Men had never been able to work like that under Corrival's command. All of which meant that a good chunk of the Sanctuary employees were going to get a rather unpleasant shock by the end of the week.
The cellar was always a bit difficult to get down, but Solomon managed, moving more slowly than China and with one hand firmly on the wall. "They may well turn out telepathic to us as well," he said, and finally stepped down onto the floor proper. "You left them with a lot of potential, and the belief of angels-as-messengers leaves them in need of some form of communication. I don't imagine instruction and use will be much of a problem."
Shadows they might be, but the angel had had a tenor of unbridled potential--like a swath of malleable rainbows, fit for their painting. The Cleavers sucked everything in and left nothing to mould. "And they will," he added in afterthought, "very much be able to read things as I do. Do let me know if I can take credit for that inspiration. I get the impression my resume needs some padding."