"Are you dying?" Mattathias asked dubiously. "Papa says not to bother him when he's working unless someone's dying. Or if nobody can help me go on the chamber pot."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Pratik rubbed his face and slid the rest of the way to the ground from where he'd been crouched. What could he even say? Of course, that had been what he'd been told. And being a good little obedient child, he wouldn't break the rules.
He wouldn't hurt a child, but Pratik wasn't above lying to them. "Yes, I am. Can you go get your Papa to come help me?"
"u and rina are systematically watering down the grammar of yws" - Atticus "From the fish mother to the fish death god." - lehmanf "A fish stole my identity. I blame shady" - Omni [they/he]
There was a pause, then a pitter patter as slippered feet fled the hall.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Goddamn it. Pratik pulled his hair again, trying to get his rage under control. He had to be able to temper it. To be calm enough that he could convince someone to come let him out. And then he was going to knock some fucking heads together until someone gave the notebook back.
"u and rina are systematically watering down the grammar of yws" - Atticus "From the fish mother to the fish death god." - lehmanf "A fish stole my identity. I blame shady" - Omni [they/he]
It was around half an hour later that the feet returned, along with the tap of a cane and the uneven gait of Gaius Ash. "I hear you're dying," he said thinly. He'd been calming down when his son burst in with the news that his "friend" from dinner was dying in Grandfather's room. Needless to say he was not in the headspace to deal with that nonsense, but he shoved down the other thoughts and became Lord of House Ash again.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Pratik had managed to keep his rage enough under control that he was no longer pounding on the door -- couldn't scare any other children -- but it was festering. He stalked back and forth in his room, getting more and more agitated with each passing moment. He stormed towards the door when he heard Ash approach. "Where's my notebook?"
"u and rina are systematically watering down the grammar of yws" - Atticus "From the fish mother to the fish death god." - lehmanf "A fish stole my identity. I blame shady" - Omni [they/he]
That was what this was about? Oh, gods. "In good hands, sir." Gaius had it on him now, actually. "There's nothing to be concerned about. If you're feeling poetic you can make do with the ink and parchment in the bottommost drawer of the desk. You're quite good, by the way. I'd put this in my library if you were willing to part with it." Mattathias looked between the door and his father with wide eyes.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Pratik ground his teeth together. He hadn't thought he could get more pissed off than he'd already been, and then, Ash spoke. And it somehow made him that much angrier. He was taunting him. Child, child, child, child-- Pratik reminded himself, forcing himself not to explode like Ash deserved.
"I. want. my. notebook," Pratik growled through clenched teeth.
"u and rina are systematically watering down the grammar of yws" - Atticus "From the fish mother to the fish death god." - lehmanf "A fish stole my identity. I blame shady" - Omni [they/he]
Gaius could hear the fury in Pratik's voice. He drew the notebook out of one of the pockets in his cloak. "If I unlock this door and find you ready to stab me I'm afraid our business relationship will be over," he warned. "Don't stab him!" Mattathias called eagerly.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"No stabbing," Pratik agreed, taking a step back from the door. Did he have the notebook with him now? What a smug bastard. Flaunting it.
If Ash didn't return the notebook, the business relationship would also be over. He had to let Pratik out eventually -- or, he'd simply find a way out himself. He'd snuck through plenty of keeps in the past for his work, it couldn't be that hard to figure out a way out of here if he looked. But he sure as fuck wasn't going to help Ash a single bit more until that notebook was back in his hands.
"I just want the notebook."
"u and rina are systematically watering down the grammar of yws" - Atticus "From the fish mother to the fish death god." - lehmanf "A fish stole my identity. I blame shady" - Omni [they/he]
"Of course." Gaius tucked the notebook under his ark and reached around to get the keyring on his right side. He unhooked it with some difficulty and sorted through the keys until he found the right one, then inserted the key into the door and unlocked it.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Pratik stood stiffly, every muscle in his body tense. He clenched his jaw, and held his fists out in front of himself, slowly, painfully, forcing them to uncurl so he could hold them out palms up and prove that they were empty. Not that he needed a blade to help him. But he had no interest in killing Ash if -- if -- he got his notebook back. And certainly not in front of his child.
"u and rina are systematically watering down the grammar of yws" - Atticus "From the fish mother to the fish death god." - lehmanf "A fish stole my identity. I blame shady" - Omni [they/he]
Gaius tugged open the door and took the notebook out from under his arm, flipping through it. The crooked fingers on his right hand gripped the pages awkwardly. "I do mean it," he said with a small smile, amused now. "You're a very good writer."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Pratik glowered at him, brow drawn and dark eyes fixing him in a murderous glare. He couldn't seem to stop his hands from curling back into fists, but he forced them down to his sides. What a fucker. He forced himself to take a deep breath, gaze snapping past Ash's leg towards the boy, then back to the Lord in front of him.
His compliments felt like salt in the wounds. Bragging that he'd read them. Oh god, did he get through *all* of them? Pratik wanted to die. Or murder. Or both. "You have no right. I gave you my weapons, you may not have my--" Poetry. "Notebook."
"u and rina are systematically watering down the grammar of yws" - Atticus "From the fish mother to the fish death god." - lehmanf "A fish stole my identity. I blame shady" - Omni [they/he]
"One can never be too careful." Gaius offered him the notebook. "I've never been one for writing poetry, in afraid. I did try it once for my wife, but that didn't go particularly well." He glanced down at Mattathias. "I believe you're supposed to be in bed, my boy." Mattathias nodded, blushing, and scampered off.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
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