scornfully | inbox.

inbox.

❝Hi, this is Arthur Pendragon's phone. Leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Ta.❞

voice | text | call | email

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He wasn't sure if he'd hear from him at all, but he'd done what his conscious told him to do. He's dealt with enough brats to also know when he was being one.

A little bit.]

Did you remember to warm it up? Tell me you remembered to warm it up. They lose their charm cold.

Yes, Merlin, I remembered to warm it up.

[ But his exasperation isn't annoyed - it seems a little more like his usual teasing fondness. But just a little. ]

I thought you'd polished them off by the campfire.

Nah. I was gonna give you just enough time to wish you had another one before surprising you with it.

Did you save the tinfoil?

[Because he was serious about the tinfoil thing.]

Well maybe next time--

[ But he catches himself before he goes there. There's no point in dragging that up in the first place, but more importantly, who said there's be a 'next time'? ]

... Yes. Why on earth did you ask me to save it, anyway? Building hats to keep the aliens away?

Not aliens. Birds.

Why don't you like birds?

They talk too much. Plus they steal things. This bird flew into my grandfather's shop one time? And later he was missing a Canopic jar.

Well maybe he shouldn't have stolen it from the owner's tomb. Shady business, the old antiques trade.

[ He should know. The Pendragon estate is a few Canopic jars away from being a museum itself. ]

It was a cookie jar! Strictly decorative. But it had a bird's head on it and I guess the crook thought it held the remains of one of its own.

Right. Anyway, I'll make sure your precious bird-repelling tinfoil gets back to you later today.

My guitar and favorite hoodie thank you.

Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. A bird couldn't steal a guitar.

A flock could. And birds of a feather flock together.

I had no idea you were so paranoid.

[ But oh my god he's done with this bird-talk, it's making him want to giggle. ]

So you play the guitar. How long?

Uhm.

[Merlin glances up, thinking. Counting.]

Six days.

[ He bursts out laughing at that - not maliciously, mind you, just. Amused. ]

Oh? And how's it been going for you?

[Even Merlin is forced into a sheepish smile at that.]

So far I just have a blister.

You should ask one of the Apollo lot to give you a hand. They love showing off.

I get the feeling I'd end up more an audience than a student when you put it that way.

Possibly, but it's surely worth a shot.

Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for the suggestion.

There's really no need to thank me. It's the obvious solution to your blister problem.

But not the only solution. We could take a needle to it.

I'll leave you to do that on your own, I think.

Ok. But don't blame me if something really bizarre happens and you miss it.

IM

scornfully - 2013-12-20 20:52 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only