"I dragged her," Dexter said with a shrug, pushing the chair in under her and then stepping back to pat the bike's handlebars. "She's a lightweight little thing. I pride myself in knowing my vehicles." Especially when said vehicles didn't exactly exist as any particular brand in the the world. What? If he had to engineer his own cars all the time, why not dabble with a few improvements?
"Just don't crash her," he added after a moment. "I mean, she'll hold up well under slight dings and so forth, but like all vehicles, crashing ..." He shrugged. "Eh. Not a good idea."
Especially since a blow hard enough to be classed as a proper crash would break the construct entirely, and then Sean wouldn't have a bike. Sean might not get the implication right away, but Paddy probably would, even though he'd never met Dexter before tonight.
He met the priest's expression with an innocent, eyebrows-raised one of his own, spreading his hands and shrugging again. What? Is it my fault that people are so gullible?
Solomon, meanwhile, was busy studying the construct itself. He could see it and it was bound, as they always were; they had to be, after all, to have any kind of physicality. But at the same time he could see that it wasn't quite real. It was just a construct.
And yet.
"What are you going to name her?" he asked mildly, as if out of curiosity. "A lady needs to have a proper name."
It was a construct. It was also a magical gift, freely given, to a specific person. There was intent in its creation. Intent had power, and before long, he suspected, even a construct like this would wind up with a connection. If it had a name, maybe it would last longer under 'dings' than without one.
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"Just don't crash her," he added after a moment. "I mean, she'll hold up well under slight dings and so forth, but like all vehicles, crashing ..." He shrugged. "Eh. Not a good idea."
Especially since a blow hard enough to be classed as a proper crash would break the construct entirely, and then Sean wouldn't have a bike. Sean might not get the implication right away, but Paddy probably would, even though he'd never met Dexter before tonight.
He met the priest's expression with an innocent, eyebrows-raised one of his own, spreading his hands and shrugging again. What? Is it my fault that people are so gullible?
Solomon, meanwhile, was busy studying the construct itself. He could see it and it was bound, as they always were; they had to be, after all, to have any kind of physicality. But at the same time he could see that it wasn't quite real. It was just a construct.
And yet.
"What are you going to name her?" he asked mildly, as if out of curiosity. "A lady needs to have a proper name."
It was a construct. It was also a magical gift, freely given, to a specific person. There was intent in its creation. Intent had power, and before long, he suspected, even a construct like this would wind up with a connection. If it had a name, maybe it would last longer under 'dings' than without one.