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"I do, yes. Very interesting." Richard extends a hand toward you. "Fortunately, you and Charlie have worked something out, yes? The matter can still be looked into."
"Yes!" You release the suspenders, now, and draw The Sword. The firelight plays off Gil's widened pupils. "Indeed! And really quick, too! Just hold still, Gil, and—"
"Charlie, you don't want to scorch him. Would you like to trade?"
You look between The Sword, blazing merrily, and what Richard's extending out to you: The Sword's dead ringer, sans blaze, and with something a little funny about the handle. As you were fully anticipating an ugly knife, this seems more than fair, and you sheath your blade and grab Richard's. "Very well! I shalt utilize this inferior copy, just this once, and..."
You stop. "Yes, Charlie?" Richard says.
The hilt of the Not Sword is mottled brown and black. Tortoiseshell. Bile rises in your throat.
"Lottie?"
What are you to say? You yourself don't have a clear explanation for what this indicates. Did Richard produce this by accident? On an idle whim? Or is the real Richard in there somewhere, bitter and snarling, scheming to get a rise out of you? Why does this get a rise out of you? It's a hilt. You can hardly give it back because of a hilt.
"Ehm," you say. "A-hem. ...Yes. I was merely surveying its inferiority. Now I shall perform a feat of great daring upon my retainer, whom—"
"No daring should be required, primrose. You need to make a small incision, deepen it somewhat, and retrieve from it some dormant beetles." Richard lifts an eyebrow. "I will be watching to ensure you don't get too creative."
Gil doesn't thank Richard, but his face kind of thanks Richard. You narrow your eyes. "Fine. I will perform a feat of great <span class="mu-i">boringness</span> upon my retainer, who's going to stay still, and not scream or run away or shoot me, because that would mess the whole thing up. Right? He's going to stay there, and shut his eyes..."
After a beat, Gil shuts his eyes. His fingers clench, and you administer a comforting tap to his forearm. Then you heft the Not Sword, wrapping your own fingers around the vile handle, and contemplate his chest.
<span class="mu-i">This is what you need to do. It's for the greater good.</span>
What if you stabbed him and blood spurted out after all?
<span class="mu-i">Part of being an adult is doing things you don't want to do.</span>
What if you stabbed him and blood spurted out and he screamed?
<span class="mu-i">Again.</span>
What if he didn't scream? What if he just looked at you in utter silence, like you were the worst person in the world? Like you were dirt? To swear to protect somebody and then to stab them, that's—
