[ If he could see it, if he could be honest with himself on these matters, it is likely the information would not change his behavior, but... he's attracted to that kind of need, whether it's from a lonely faerie or, as now, a curious beast. So many other people need things from him in other, less satisfying capacities, and he is dutiful in answering. This has only a thin veneer of duty. It serves his ego before it serves anything else, and it makes his hand steady and careful as he extends it over Ivor's messenger. ]
It's not so big a secret.
[ His fingers move in a slow and clear sketch of a glyph, making visible lines in the air, lines that have their own gentle illumination without truly glowing. The glyph seems to react with something in the messenger, causing its wings to bunch up and squirm vigorously, shedding the dirt it's accumulated in little oily flakes that slither off and fall to the ground. ]
Not like making one. That would take a long time to teach.
[ Longer, he doesn't have to say, than he probably has, either because he will die in this farce, or if he somehow succeeds, he will go home and never come back. Not for love, money, or power. ]
he's a delicate buttercup
It's not so big a secret.
[ His fingers move in a slow and clear sketch of a glyph, making visible lines in the air, lines that have their own gentle illumination without truly glowing. The glyph seems to react with something in the messenger, causing its wings to bunch up and squirm vigorously, shedding the dirt it's accumulated in little oily flakes that slither off and fall to the ground. ]
Not like making one. That would take a long time to teach.
[ Longer, he doesn't have to say, than he probably has, either because he will die in this farce, or if he somehow succeeds, he will go home and never come back. Not for love, money, or power. ]
But no, I don't mind.