[ Mostly. Mostly, because normally if he shows up anywhere in the Nine Houses, everyone falls over themselves thanking him for the gift of his presence. That one might not fly, this time. ]
You think I should start carrying a knife, just to fake people out? Might be a bit late for it.
[ The look on Augustine's face —the sort of grim, We Are Not Amused exhaustion known to parents of small children throughout the worlds — says, quite plainly, I would facepalm at you, but my hands are full. ]
Yes, John. Of course. That's exactly what I meant, my Lord. [ (Oops, hey, watch the sarcasm —) ] Nothing at all to do with the way your mind is your greatest weapon.
[ This is, of course, by far one of the most polite ways he could phrase that part of it; nearly enough to hide the whisper, impossible to tell if the voice is Augustine's or Alfred's, of «Or the loyalty you inspire in others.» ]
Give him something he'll like, whether or not he's happy with you at the time, and you might just improve the frequency with which he is, [ Augustine continues (concludes) quickly enough. ]
[ He catches the murmur, and that's a knife. He covers the little flinch in his face as he turns away, advice taken and argument lost. Birthday party it is. ]
I'll make a note of that.
[ As though gifts would do much good for this situation, old and scarred as it is. ]
Far from the worst thing I've called you, isn't it?
[ Wry, maybe a quarter-apologetic, too — and there's a crinkle, behind John, at the last; Augustine holds out the note, rather than holding out the infantile dragon, sulking and squalling as he still is. (At least he's precocial enough that he hasn't needed to be diapered, and doesn't soil himself or the house as he's out and about.) ]
Here — whether or not you intend to use it for your notetaking — unless you want him to shred it for you?
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no subject
[ Mostly. Mostly, because normally if he shows up anywhere in the Nine Houses, everyone falls over themselves thanking him for the gift of his presence. That one might not fly, this time. ]
You think I should start carrying a knife, just to fake people out? Might be a bit late for it.
no subject
Yes, John. Of course. That's exactly what I meant, my Lord. [ (Oops, hey, watch the sarcasm —) ] Nothing at all to do with the way your mind is your greatest weapon.
[ This is, of course, by far one of the most polite ways he could phrase that part of it; nearly enough to hide the whisper, impossible to tell if the voice is Augustine's or Alfred's, of «Or the loyalty you inspire in others.» ]
Give him something he'll like, whether or not he's happy with you at the time, and you might just improve the frequency with which he is, [ Augustine continues (concludes) quickly enough. ]
no subject
[ He catches the murmur, and that's a knife. He covers the little flinch in his face as he turns away, advice taken and argument lost. Birthday party it is. ]
I'll make a note of that.
[ As though gifts would do much good for this situation, old and scarred as it is. ]
no subject
[ Wry, maybe a quarter-apologetic, too — and there's a crinkle, behind John, at the last; Augustine holds out the note, rather than holding out the infantile dragon, sulking and squalling as he still is. (At least he's precocial enough that he hasn't needed to be diapered, and doesn't soil himself or the house as he's out and about.) ]
Here — whether or not you intend to use it for your notetaking — unless you want him to shred it for you?