I was the most handsome and interesting tradesman on my street. I miss that. There is so much competition here.
[ He opens the case and holds it toward Isaac.
More sincerely: ] The high point of most of my days was the feud I had with my neighbor. She was furious that I was feeding stray cats—the smell and the noise, you know? And she was too nice to do anything to the cats, but she was out for my blood. I pretended not to notice. It was fun.
[ The jokes — We've tradesmen? Your fault for rooming with Rutyer, else: We ought to branch out to the ugly — vanish on a laugh. It isn't only for the cigarette. (It's a bit for the cigarette) ]
Soft heart. [ He flicks leaf from fingers before plucking a roll, an appreciative nod that must pass for IOU. ] You know, I'd wager she kept it up when you left. Seething, and still setting out milk.
[ It's as good odds the woman owns a lovely new pair of fur gloves, but people are funny like that. Sentimental.
Hands cup about spark, smoke; a small and habitual miracle. It wasn't so long ago that he was careful, bothered to disguise the gesture. It may well be a lifetime. Paper tips between finger, stained with the faint old press of ink. Everything runs thinner of late, and perhaps it's that; or it's only that he has what he wanted. He chances the overstep, ]
It might be different. He'd go with you.
[ Of that Isaac's certain; they're disgustingly public in some regard. But it wouldn't be different, and he's rather sure of that too, or Bastien would still be holed up writing letters. ]
[ Bastien has been here five years; he's not any less fascinated by or jealous of that specific use of magic, cigarettes set aflame from nothing, than the day he arrived. He watches it happen, and he thinks for the fifth time this month that switching to a pipe would be more economical, and he blows smoke out his nose. ]
Probably,
[ is what it works out to when both of those hypotheticals are averaged together. ]
But on the way there he would have to cut out a piece of himself that I am pretty fond of.
[ All he intends to make Isaac endure on that subject. ]
There was a mage from Montsimmard at the conservatory where I studied. Too good a flautist to leave in a tower, you know? [ It wasn't that at all. Obviously. ] But he was older. Around our age now, maybe. I thought that was ancient—but he had been there for a little while, [ is the point, ] so he probably left the Circle before you time.
When you're told that you want something often enough, [ a shrug. bastien will be familiar. ] And then, some doors open one way.
[ he'll know that, too. everyone's ancient to a child. (it isn't only circles that take their students young, and in a minute, maybe he'll ask.) ]
I went about six. But he'd have known my tutor. Aged, withered like a prune. Probably fifty. [ a flare of theatric disgust. ] He'd tell us he was a war hero, whenever he was drunk, and he must have been because they kept letting him drink —
[ (in a minute. when he finishes this smoke.) ]
But he was a Senior Enchanter. Had some hand in the selection.
[ Bastien's laugh at the tone of fifty shakes his shoulders more than it makes any sound, amusement stretching out to still color his voice when he asks, ] Does that mean he liked you or that he wanted you to scram?
[ Drunk mages—there's a new thing to worry about when Byerly is infuriating Lowtown strangers in the evening. But it's been ten years and no one's turned him into a block of ice yet. Probably fine? ]
Never learned to play anything, though. They'd have kicked me right out your doors. What did you do before instruments? For, mn, the fascination of it —
[ anyone can drum a bucket, but the cello doesn't come cheap. ]
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no subject
[ He opens the case and holds it toward Isaac.
More sincerely: ] The high point of most of my days was the feud I had with my neighbor. She was furious that I was feeding stray cats—the smell and the noise, you know? And she was too nice to do anything to the cats, but she was out for my blood. I pretended not to notice. It was fun.
But I wouldn't go back.
no subject
Soft heart. [ He flicks leaf from fingers before plucking a roll, an appreciative nod that must pass for IOU. ] You know, I'd wager she kept it up when you left. Seething, and still setting out milk.
[ It's as good odds the woman owns a lovely new pair of fur gloves, but people are funny like that. Sentimental.
Hands cup about spark, smoke; a small and habitual miracle. It wasn't so long ago that he was careful, bothered to disguise the gesture. It may well be a lifetime. Paper tips between finger, stained with the faint old press of ink. Everything runs thinner of late, and perhaps it's that; or it's only that he has what he wanted. He chances the overstep, ]
It might be different. He'd go with you.
[ Of that Isaac's certain; they're disgustingly public in some regard. But it wouldn't be different, and he's rather sure of that too, or Bastien would still be holed up writing letters. ]
no subject
Probably,
[ is what it works out to when both of those hypotheticals are averaged together. ]
But on the way there he would have to cut out a piece of himself that I am pretty fond of.
[ All he intends to make Isaac endure on that subject. ]
There was a mage from Montsimmard at the conservatory where I studied. Too good a flautist to leave in a tower, you know? [ It wasn't that at all. Obviously. ] But he was older. Around our age now, maybe. I thought that was ancient—but he had been there for a little while, [ is the point, ] so he probably left the Circle before you time.
I've wondered if he had much say in it.
no subject
[ he'll know that, too. everyone's ancient to a child. (it isn't only circles that take their students young, and in a minute, maybe he'll ask.) ]
I went about six. But he'd have known my tutor. Aged, withered like a prune. Probably fifty. [ a flare of theatric disgust. ] He'd tell us he was a war hero, whenever he was drunk, and he must have been because they kept letting him drink —
[ (in a minute. when he finishes this smoke.) ]
But he was a Senior Enchanter. Had some hand in the selection.
no subject
[ Drunk mages—there's a new thing to worry about when Byerly is infuriating Lowtown strangers in the evening. But it's been ten years and no one's turned him into a block of ice yet. Probably fine? ]
no subject
[ a punctuating flake of ash ]
Never learned to play anything, though. They'd have kicked me right out your doors. What did you do before instruments? For, mn, the fascination of it —
[ anyone can drum a bucket, but the cello doesn't come cheap. ]