IP: 2.28.12.27
Posted on September 12, 2013 at 04:18:47 PM by gwythr
| Gwythr did not look up from his papers when Mordred spoke. “You have not been granted permission to use that name,” he said in his smooth, enigmatic voice, a light frown creasing his brow as he continued writing. “You will use proper form when addressing me or you will get out.”
The tone was unthreatening, but firm and without bluff. Gwythr held the cards, and he knew it; if Mordred wanted to leave the Scipius with the information he sought, then he would have to play by the rules. He gave no indication of what the proper form of address to a god was. That, more than the demand, should have made it plain to Mordred that this was no game: this was the real world. In real diplomatic exchanges, there was no helpful guide to tell you what to do or how to behave. If you got it wrong, you failed. As if to emphasise this point, Gwythr finished the sentence he was writing and looked up at his visitor with a distinctly unimpressed expression, one of his grey eyebrows arching pointedly. “And you can drop the act,” he added icily. “It is redundant, and frankly insulting. I am your creator; I know what you are.” He returned to his letter. The pen was an old-fashioned ink with a slightly flattened nib, lending the text a beautiful calligraphic appearance, and every now and then he had to dip it into a bottle of black ink to refill it. The words themselves were written in Italian, so even if he could decipher them upside down they would make no sense to Mordred. In the quiet that followed, the only sound which could be heard was the gentle scratching of the nib against the parchment, which was thick and tinged slightly yellow. Gwythr finished the letter and added his name to the bottom in beautiful italic handwriting, before pushing the paper a little away from him. He reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out an envelope, on which he printed a name and addressed it to Rome. The letter was folded neatly and tucked inside the envelope, which was then sealed using red wax and a standard Earth lighter. Finally, he stamped his seal over the hot wax: the symbol of the balancing scales. The deity reached inside his robes and pulled out his divine pendant, which was attached round his neck by a fine silver chain. He muttered something inaudible and tapped the envelope to the pendant twice. It vanished in a flash of white, and he tucked the pendant back inside his robes. Still without bothering to look up at Mordred, Gwythr reached across his desk for another blank piece of paper and started to write a name and address across the top of it. “I know why you are here,” he said in a bored tone after a moment, without looking up or ceasing writing. “The question is, do you?” |
Replies:
- man-made madness - By m o r d r e d September 12, 2013 at 05:53:58 PM
- you never had a heart; - By gwythr September 12, 2013 at 10:49:05 PM
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