"Er... yes, okay, I suppose I should tell you that if you're trying to reach me I'm not here, and if you're trying to reach me because you want to do something involving pointy bits of metal or otherwise painful objects, I'm never going to be here. So sorry."
[Rincewind draws up his legs, curling further into the chair. There's little left in his glass now - most of it has already seeped in like a warm blanket. He can't imagine how Chilton hasn't already passed out yet, given what he knows the man has had tonight.]
Well, when the alternative is drowning. [lightly. He suspects he's being mollified, but he's fine moving on - the universe has a habit of snatching good things away if he brings too much attention to them.]
Last one then. ...I did think cat was rather apt. [thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling.] Bit too independent, maybe. Although I suppose it depends on the cat. ...Octopus? They're intelligent, I've read. Bit secretive. They can do that thing with the ink. Or is that squids? ...No, no, on second thought that's not quite suitable either...
[strap in, Chilton, apparently this is now a matter of Great Importance.]
[Said Chilton, his attempt to mollify Rincewind by downplaying this matter of Great Importance. It occurred to the psychiatrist that his friend might get a little invested in the game -- often individuals who suffered from constant anxiety and, in Rincewind's case, paranoia for their own safety put strategic emphasis on the little things that they could control.
[a touch hurried, like he can feel the clock ticking down on his window of opportunity. When the light-bulb finally goes off, it's with a snap of fingers and a look of triumph.]
- Ferret! There it is, that's it. Absolutely. They're clever, but they aren't the bastards that weasels are. Bit cute and fluffy, really. And they ferret things away - I mean of course, being ferrets - and their curiosity gets them into trouble but they're small and quick enough to usually get out of it again.
[Rincewind folds his arms smugly, looking exceedingly proud of himself to have ended the game on a proper note.]
Ferret, well. [Chilton could tell it was a compliment, mostly but the contextual evidence that Rincewind had so kindly and wisely provided. He raised his empty glass in gratitude, dipping his chin to complement the motion.] That is both lovely logic and a fine conclusion.
[With noticeably quivering legs, Chilton dared to stand.]
Would you feel comfortable staying the night? We have a guest room. I would be more -- more than happy to ensure you rest well.
[Praise that goes as quickly to Rincewind's head as the wine; he grins his triumph.
The idea of going to bed is absolutely lovely, though, and a long time coming. Rincewind gets his long limbs sorted out well enough to straighten and stand as well.]
Absolutely. [with a cheerful nod, shoving aside a moment's concern that any bed Chilton offers him will match the styling of the rest of his furniture - that is to say, lacking comfort or a noticeable intention for human use.] I would never turn down your magic fingers.
[a beat.]
...Which, erm, sounded better in my head, I think.
Perhaps it was lucky that Raina didn't hear you say that.
[Chilton didn't believe his own words, of course; nothing was lucky about Raina being exported. But it was all he could do, to cling to those whispers of humor.]
... But my fingers appreciate the praise, regardless. Come on, now.
[The closest he could come to saying thank you, Rincewind for the good company and proper, non-box wine.]
[hopefully he's made the home just a little easier to sleep in tonight for Chilton. Rincewind knows it will be for him, pleased to follow Chilton to whatever guest room the man has in mind.
(But if there are low windows anywhere, a certain many-legged guardian may spend the night perched outside them, staring woodenly inside, brooding as best as a travel accessory can.)]
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Well, when the alternative is drowning. [lightly. He suspects he's being mollified, but he's fine moving on - the universe has a habit of snatching good things away if he brings too much attention to them.]
Last one then. ...I did think cat was rather apt. [thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling.] Bit too independent, maybe. Although I suppose it depends on the cat. ...Octopus? They're intelligent, I've read. Bit secretive. They can do that thing with the ink. Or is that squids? ...No, no, on second thought that's not quite suitable either...
[strap in, Chilton, apparently this is now a matter of Great Importance.]
no subject
[Said Chilton, his attempt to mollify Rincewind by downplaying this matter of Great Importance. It occurred to the psychiatrist that his friend might get a little invested in the game -- often individuals who suffered from constant anxiety and, in Rincewind's case, paranoia for their own safety put strategic emphasis on the little things that they could control.
Like word association games.]
no subject
[a touch hurried, like he can feel the clock ticking down on his window of opportunity. When the light-bulb finally goes off, it's with a snap of fingers and a look of triumph.]
- Ferret! There it is, that's it. Absolutely. They're clever, but they aren't the bastards that weasels are. Bit cute and fluffy, really. And they ferret things away - I mean of course, being ferrets - and their curiosity gets them into trouble but they're small and quick enough to usually get out of it again.
[Rincewind folds his arms smugly, looking exceedingly proud of himself to have ended the game on a proper note.]
Ferret.
no subject
[With noticeably quivering legs, Chilton dared to stand.]
Would you feel comfortable staying the night? We have a guest room. I would be more -- more than happy to ensure you rest well.
[Said Chilton, with a wiggle of his fingers.]
no subject
The idea of going to bed is absolutely lovely, though, and a long time coming. Rincewind gets his long limbs sorted out well enough to straighten and stand as well.]
Absolutely. [with a cheerful nod, shoving aside a moment's concern that any bed Chilton offers him will match the styling of the rest of his furniture - that is to say, lacking comfort or a noticeable intention for human use.] I would never turn down your magic fingers.
[a beat.]
...Which, erm, sounded better in my head, I think.
no subject
[Chilton didn't believe his own words, of course; nothing was lucky about Raina being exported. But it was all he could do, to cling to those whispers of humor.]
... But my fingers appreciate the praise, regardless. Come on, now.
[The closest he could come to saying thank you, Rincewind for the good company and proper, non-box wine.]
no subject
(But if there are low windows anywhere, a certain many-legged guardian may spend the night perched outside them, staring woodenly inside, brooding as best as a travel accessory can.)]