Quoted By:
>Nah bitch
>31, 29, 39 vs. DC 75 — Mitigated Success
What troubles you? You can't answer that. And even if nothing at all troubled you, if your conscience were pure and stainless as your heart, you're still not sure you want your future... clarified. It'd probably be useful. You knew it'd be useful. That's why you came. But staring Certified Liaison Draven in the face, you just— you just—
The trouble is, you <span class="mu-i">know</span> your future will be great. Spectacular, even. And it feels much better if you don't know why or how it'll be great, you know? There's no complications if you don't know. No obstacles. You can just breeze on by to a bright and glorious new chapter of your— not chapter. (That sounds temporary.) New era. New epoch. Yeah. Things are looking up for you <span class="mu-i">and</span> Gil, in the short term or long term or both, and you don't need some stupid fake pagan man to tell you that.
You just, um, don't know what to say instead. You blink. "Are you... Arledge?"
"Pardon me?"
"Arledge? He's some... guy. He's sort of boring. He has a ponytail... he's pagan?" You are rapidly exhausting your storehouse of Arledge facts. "He chews on toothpicks?"
"He seems like a real character," Certified Liaison Draven says gently. "I'm afraid I've never met the man, though. Do I resemble him?"
Maybe? Their jaws are both sort of squareish, but you could say the same about any random man you plucked off the street. It occurs to you that C.L. Draven could very well be Arledge himself, giving off a bazillion telltale Arledgy signs, and you wouldn't <span class="mu-i">know.</span> You'd have zero idea. Damnit. If Richard were—
You feel the lump in your throat and stop that before you get started. Maybe you can ask Lucky to find him, whenever you find <span class="mu-i">Lucky.</span> If he doesn't find you first, you guess— you don't know how Courtiers react to weird manses. Whatever. You're not in dire need of him yet.
And Draven is still looking at you. "Uhh," you say. "Ye— no. Maybe. From a certain angle. It doesn't really matter. Can you use your fancy stuff to find out where I find him?"
"Where you're most likely to find him, you mean? Presuming you do?"
You fidget with your hands. "Whatever."
"Very well. Please give me a moment." Draven wipes his own hands on his towel, then picks up the small knife. He dips it carefully into the bowl, wipes the handle, and presses the dripping blade to his forehead. He says a string of words under his breath.
Then he presents the knife to you. "Would you kindly cut yourself?"
"What?"
"I recommend on your thumb or the meat of your palm, though you're welcome to do so anywhere you feel comfortable. I will heal it after."
(1/3)
