It is, maybe, disappointing, to the Emperor's First Saint, that this chunky-monk-ey of the Ninth House gives in so readily.
... Still, he's not going to let it stop him; the man clearly needs someone to encourage him to stand up for himself, shake out his vestments, learn to live a little under the skull paint, right?
(Isn't he the one with the terrible mother, after all? From what little Harrowhark said of the matter, he can't begin to think that she would have encouraged the boy to become a man, in the way of such things.)
"You as well, eh?" is offered conspiratorially, or almost affectionately — and then the Saint of Patience slings an arm around Ortus's shoulders, steering him back toward his (his!) shed, cigarette ashing itself into nothingness as it falls from his other hand (and never quite lands). "Let's see what you've got to commence repairs with, then! No time like the present!"
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... Still, he's not going to let it stop him; the man clearly needs someone to encourage him to stand up for himself, shake out his vestments, learn to live a little under the skull paint, right?
(Isn't he the one with the terrible mother, after all? From what little Harrowhark said of the matter, he can't begin to think that she would have encouraged the boy to become a man, in the way of such things.)
"You as well, eh?" is offered conspiratorially, or almost affectionately — and then the Saint of Patience slings an arm around Ortus's shoulders, steering him back toward his (his!) shed, cigarette ashing itself into nothingness as it falls from his other hand (and never quite lands). "Let's see what you've got to commence repairs with, then! No time like the present!"