[Rincewind absolutely throws it away. One look at the return address and he's tossed it over his shoulder, fully content to go the rest of his afternoon while cheerfully avoiding whatever surely terrible news is inside that envelope.
The trouble is, sometimes instead of a rubbish bin over a person's shoulder, there's a bloody-minded box on legs. Said box eats the letter, seems to mull its contents over, and eventually, hours later, spews it back up into its master's face.
There's some hemming and hawing from the wizard at this (and a threat of termites which the Luggage nips at his robe for), but this time he sits down to read the damn thing. For the first time. And then a second. ...And then a third, eyebrows up so high they've nearly been lost to the unkempt thatch of his hair.
Baelish wants donations from him? No, no - Baelish wants him to work at his library.
no subject
The trouble is, sometimes instead of a rubbish bin over a person's shoulder, there's a bloody-minded box on legs. Said box eats the letter, seems to mull its contents over, and eventually, hours later, spews it back up into its master's face.
There's some hemming and hawing from the wizard at this (and a threat of termites which the Luggage nips at his robe for), but this time he sits down to read the damn thing. For the first time. And then a second. ...And then a third, eyebrows up so high they've nearly been lost to the unkempt thatch of his hair.
Baelish wants donations from him? No, no - Baelish wants him to work at his library.
Baelish has a library.
...Right. Bugger letters.]