"Where the Hell have you been?!" Corrival barked the very instant Erskine walked in the door, before he'd even really finished his sentence. Solomon covered his eyes and sighed, half with relief and half just in the hope that it would relieve some of the pressure in his temples.
Ghastly had talked him down to calm. No one had done the same for Corrival. As controlled as he was on the outside, the man's soul was snapping far worse than it had ever threatened during the election. Several times, Solomon could almost feel teeth when the eels lashed out at him. Dexter was standing, shoulders hunched, behind his chair, staying very carefully out of Corrival's way. He'd gotten the worst of it.
Which was why they were both going to make very sure that no one ever found out who had put the sign outside Corrival's office. He'd already ripped it down twice, but both Solomon and Dexter felt the warning was only polite for everyone else, and so far it had seemed to work. (That, or Tipstaff had, well, tipped everyone off.)
The only good thing about Ravel's coming in late was that, apparently, he'd had some therapy himself. His soul was practically gleeful.
"Please tell me this news comes with food," he said. "I haven't eaten all day, because someone wasn't answering his phone and I haven't had a chance to leave the Sanctuary yet. Which means my minion there--" He waved behind him toward Dexter. "--hasn't left either." Though they had managed to finish nearly all the remaining interviews.
"When," Corrival said in a low voice, "you're all quite done acting the fools, would you mind if we got some work done around here?"
All of the eels were turned toward them and snapping. Some of them actually shot forward, over the desk, and latched themselves onto Solomon's arm. He shook them off impatiently. In spite of his words, his tone had been edged with frustration.
"Actually, yes," he said, and flicked at a particularly persistent eel with a flash of quite deliberately gold light that made it recoil. "Corrival, if you don't take a breath and calm down, I'm going to have Ravel lock the door while I perform some kind of exorcism."
"You'll what." It was said flatly and without any humour at all.
"Or I'll just calm you down directly," Solomon said. "And by directly I mean with direct application to the soul."
"You can't do that."
"I can and I will." Even though he left note of the fact that it had been difficult to practice last night when the only person on whom he had to practice was himself. Well, no, that wasn't true. He'd spent the night in the Sanctuary, because Dexter didn't have a house and Merlin was still finding him an apartment, and Solomon had wanted to spend some time with the Host. Just in case. To see how they fit in with the wards.
So while Dexter had slept Solomon had experimented on one of the statues instead. The results had been quite interesting, to say the least, and now he knew for sure that he could do exactly what he said. Just ... not that the results would be completely what he meant them to be.
Either way, the threat made Corrival take a breath and exhale slowly, and his eels flocked close in. When he spoke next his tone was even--but the eels had their eyes fixed on Ravel. He'd better have a good excuse, or he was toast.
no subject
Ghastly had talked him down to calm. No one had done the same for Corrival. As controlled as he was on the outside, the man's soul was snapping far worse than it had ever threatened during the election. Several times, Solomon could almost feel teeth when the eels lashed out at him. Dexter was standing, shoulders hunched, behind his chair, staying very carefully out of Corrival's way. He'd gotten the worst of it.
Which was why they were both going to make very sure that no one ever found out who had put the sign outside Corrival's office. He'd already ripped it down twice, but both Solomon and Dexter felt the warning was only polite for everyone else, and so far it had seemed to work. (That, or Tipstaff had, well, tipped everyone off.)
The only good thing about Ravel's coming in late was that, apparently, he'd had some therapy himself. His soul was practically gleeful.
"Please tell me this news comes with food," he said. "I haven't eaten all day, because someone wasn't answering his phone and I haven't had a chance to leave the Sanctuary yet. Which means my minion there--" He waved behind him toward Dexter. "--hasn't left either." Though they had managed to finish nearly all the remaining interviews.
"When," Corrival said in a low voice, "you're all quite done acting the fools, would you mind if we got some work done around here?"
All of the eels were turned toward them and snapping. Some of them actually shot forward, over the desk, and latched themselves onto Solomon's arm. He shook them off impatiently. In spite of his words, his tone had been edged with frustration.
"Actually, yes," he said, and flicked at a particularly persistent eel with a flash of quite deliberately gold light that made it recoil. "Corrival, if you don't take a breath and calm down, I'm going to have Ravel lock the door while I perform some kind of exorcism."
"You'll what." It was said flatly and without any humour at all.
"Or I'll just calm you down directly," Solomon said. "And by directly I mean with direct application to the soul."
"You can't do that."
"I can and I will." Even though he left note of the fact that it had been difficult to practice last night when the only person on whom he had to practice was himself. Well, no, that wasn't true. He'd spent the night in the Sanctuary, because Dexter didn't have a house and Merlin was still finding him an apartment, and Solomon had wanted to spend some time with the Host. Just in case. To see how they fit in with the wards.
So while Dexter had slept Solomon had experimented on one of the statues instead. The results had been quite interesting, to say the least, and now he knew for sure that he could do exactly what he said. Just ... not that the results would be completely what he meant them to be.
Either way, the threat made Corrival take a breath and exhale slowly, and his eels flocked close in. When he spoke next his tone was even--but the eels had their eyes fixed on Ravel. He'd better have a good excuse, or he was toast.
"What news is this, Ravel?"