[ Now here's a kid who would fit in among necromancers. The King Undying takes him in— scrawny arms, big eyes, Forceful Fauna of the Very, Very, Very Deep and all— and waves the young man over to his table, an invitation to set down that load. The gesture is casual, lighthearted, but there's a weary sort of set to his shoulders. He has that energy to him, on the whole: that of an overworked professor, a man never content enough to get a good night's sleep. ]
I don't know about pressing. I don't have an eye to the clock.
[ (This is a lie.) ]
But it's terrible thing, teetering just on the edge of a breakthrough.
no subject
I don't know about pressing. I don't have an eye to the clock.
[ (This is a lie.) ]
But it's terrible thing, teetering just on the edge of a breakthrough.