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[kassandraloxias]

Kassandra is downstairs.

A copy of The Wind in the Willows dangles half-forgotten from her fingertips as she trails through the bar. She found it somewhere

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[creator_raven]

Somewhere, possibly quite close by, there is a thump.

And then a voice, curious.

"It is meant for building?"

[kassandraloxias]

Full of birds today.

*She looks at him and smiles.*

My map? You had better not make guesses. It leads not to glory, nor shining things, nor a good story, nor hot food won by someone else's efforts, so it is not for you.

My map is going to lead to me.

Maybe it is for building. Maybe you are right. But before it can be for building, it has to be for breaking.

I am going to break in. Do you want a sandwich?

[creator_raven]

"As long as it is not the cousins, perhaps."

He grins back.

"I am always hungry, I think."

Then he tilts his head, blinking.

"It is a thing that requires lockpicks?"

[kassandraloxias]

Yes. Big ones. I do not know if men can make them. Or if seemings of men can make them, either.

But I think the lockpicks must be large, for when I get there.

What kind of sandwich?

[creator_raven]

"Metaphorical ones are easiest to carry."

He wrinkles his nose.

"Or possibly it is better to have large pockets."

He shrugs.

"I am not picky, I do not think."

Well, not with food.

[kassandraloxias]

Do you want a medal, or a fur? I do not have either to hand. I am busy, as you see, with my map.

*Beside her free hand is suddenly a large, plain ceramic plate full of large, dubious sandwich. Strange delicacies spill out of it at strange angles: salmon and suet and shining seeds.*

Here is a sandwich. Now you must tell me where to find large lockpicks.

[creator_raven]

"They might be made, I think."

He frowns, one sandwich disappearing almost instantaneously.

"There is a forge here. Or the beginning of one."

His nose wrinkles.

"It is not so difficult to smell, perhaps."

[kassandraloxias]

It is long since I recalled the smell of forge, or armory, or any place full of fire and metal.

I think they must be metal. But I do not know if they would shiver the locks of these doors. Gates. I do not know.

I think the gates themselves might be medal-furrical.

[creator_raven]

"Possibly it is better to squeeze between the bars."

He frowns.

"It is a difficult thing to know without seeing, I think."

Raven blinks.

"Imagining might serve better. Or believing. They are both tricky, perhaps. One might be tricky enough."

[kassandraloxias]

You are fond of tricks. Do you know how to become invisible, and can you teach that art to me?

[creator_raven]

Raven tilts his head, dark eyes fixed on Kassandra.

"There is invisible, I think, and then there is not being noticed. It is your choice, perhaps."

He grins.

"I am not so bad a teacher as all that, I do not think. So."

[kassandraloxias]

...If I was invisible, all unseen, could I come back to being seen again?

If not, I think I must learn the not-being-noticed. That is safer. Or more dangerous.

[creator_raven]

Raven laughs, quietly.

"I am fond of the second, I think. It is too easy to notice invisible."

He grins.

"It is a question of sound."

[kassandraloxias]

Sound?
I can be soundless, if needs must be!

[creator_raven]

"Also footprints."

He tilts his head.

"We will see, perhaps, which is best. There is time, here."

He grins.

"Bottled, I think."

[kassandraloxias]

Bottled time? Or bottled footprints?

*she cocks her head at him.*

You are a strange seeming of a man. Will you remember to come back and teach me, if I do not leave sandwiches?