[A pause. It might even be called a contemplative one.]
Of course, I'll have to conduct a test of your writing ability. These things are very delicate, as I'm sure you understand. And you really must be discreet.
That's what they all say then the next thing you know, they've written all the greeting cards in the corner market. --But sure, what the hey. I'm a trusting, friendly sort of person. What could go wrong?
Oh, that old place. [Here's the hoping the floors have gotten less sticky.] Fine. Six o'clock.
[And so, at ten past six, a narrow and exceptionally dark eyed youth appears out of the surrounding interlocked public houses surrounding the Bad Actor. Somehow - whether it's good instincts or the fact that he'd spent the last ten minutes perched on a rooftop in the guise of an especially tatty looking cat watching to be sure he knew who he was looking for - he wings his way deftly up the street and directly to--
Well. He never did actually get her name, now did he?]
[ She's emerged from within: Swanned into the alley and around a puddle with the wide-eyed luck of the empty-headed. A spotty man trails behind, tugged at the end of a wrist. The handsomeness of his cloak does little to shape a perilously young face — this encounter must be somewhere between cradle robbery, and the real thing. ]
Monsieur, you must see reason, I am waiting for a friend,
[ She laughs as though that's any sort of joke; fingers grazing pockets to bat his own hand. A glance over her shoulder finds Bartimaeus, narrows a moment only before sparking into feigned recognition: if he kept walking, she'd like as not have this conversation with a stranger.]
And here upon cue, [ A spin to disentangle, to present Bartimaeus with a hand (to vanish a roll of parchment into skirt). A pout: ] You have left me quite late, you know.
[Let's be honest: this isn't the first time he's been in this position. If there's any hesitation to be found in the dark eyed youth, it's so brief as to be invisible.]
Chin up, blondie. [In all the tones of 'I've definitely called her this nickname more times than I can count, no really, I swear.'] I'm here now, aren't I? Not that it's stopped you from trying to replace me.
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[A pause. It might even be called a contemplative one.]
Of course, I'll have to conduct a test of your writing ability. These things are very delicate, as I'm sure you understand. And you really must be discreet.
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[And so, at ten past six, a narrow and exceptionally dark eyed youth appears out of the surrounding interlocked public houses surrounding the Bad Actor. Somehow - whether it's good instincts or the fact that he'd spent the last ten minutes perched on a rooftop in the guise of an especially tatty looking cat watching to be sure he knew who he was looking for - he wings his way deftly up the street and directly to--
Well. He never did actually get her name, now did he?]
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Monsieur, you must see reason, I am waiting for a friend,
[ She laughs as though that's any sort of joke; fingers grazing pockets to bat his own hand. A glance over her shoulder finds Bartimaeus, narrows a moment only before sparking into feigned recognition: if he kept walking, she'd like as not have this conversation with a stranger.]
And here upon cue, [ A spin to disentangle, to present Bartimaeus with a hand (to vanish a roll of parchment into skirt). A pout: ] You have left me quite late, you know.
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Chin up, blondie. [In all the tones of 'I've definitely called her this nickname more times than I can count, no really, I swear.'] I'm here now, aren't I? Not that it's stopped you from trying to replace me.