Alcuin considers the space warily, but with far more calm than he had expected. So. It is his turn, is it? Sobeit.
Stepping silently forward, he brushes his fingertips over the glass and murmurs the Mending cantrip. No need to waste wine. There. The ceiling cannot be fixed so easily, but so long as it does not decide to drop plaster in his glass, it can be mostly ignored.
He brushes any spare plaster from the plush sofa and settles himself รก la Helene upon it, fixed glass in hand, to wait. He can be patient, and his hostess would not have brought him here if she did not wish something.
no subject
Stepping silently forward, he brushes his fingertips over the glass and murmurs the Mending cantrip. No need to waste wine. There. The ceiling cannot be fixed so easily, but so long as it does not decide to drop plaster in his glass, it can be mostly ignored.
Sixteen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.
Tower. Moon. Sun. Judgement.
Interesting.
He brushes any spare plaster from the plush sofa and settles himself รก la Helene upon it, fixed glass in hand, to wait. He can be patient, and his hostess would not have brought him here if she did not wish something.