(no subject)
Lost is one of those words that is ever so very often a matter of perspective. A person can know exactly where he is (or think he does) and it will never occur to him that someone else might be lamenting the fact that he is lost. Things that are lost to one party are won to another (and sometimes won is just lost tarted up like a Pyrrhic whore, but that's a story for another time).
And sometimes a thing that is lost was quite deliberately placed where it is by someone who found it, or made it, or has acquired it. It's not lost, it's just not meant to be found, and confusing the two, well, it can lead to . . . unpleasantness.
And if some glory-seeking archaeologist with delusions of Indiana Jones grandeur decides to go snooping around for a lost artifact that was hidden by the powers beyond his comprehension . . . that's when things are going to get unpleasant.
Let's get something straight: Verity may be just a saleswoman by her own admission, but she is not some black-eyed errand girl. She's a specialist, she's an expert. Her orders can come from close to On High (or perhaps On Low) as it has gotten for centuries upon centuries. And if she's being sent to take care of something outside her job description, you do not want to be the something she's taking care of.
It's the work of mere minutes, and it only takes that long because all work and no play is no way to live. (Also because it would be such a pity to get viscera on Jimmy Choos, even "borrowed" ones. One does have to take some care.)
The wreck of the archaeologist is left with his team and his equipment to be some other century's discovery. And the thing that was never actually lost are also still not found.
Nor will it be, not where it is now.
And sometimes a thing that is lost was quite deliberately placed where it is by someone who found it, or made it, or has acquired it. It's not lost, it's just not meant to be found, and confusing the two, well, it can lead to . . . unpleasantness.
And if some glory-seeking archaeologist with delusions of Indiana Jones grandeur decides to go snooping around for a lost artifact that was hidden by the powers beyond his comprehension . . . that's when things are going to get unpleasant.
Let's get something straight: Verity may be just a saleswoman by her own admission, but she is not some black-eyed errand girl. She's a specialist, she's an expert. Her orders can come from close to On High (or perhaps On Low) as it has gotten for centuries upon centuries. And if she's being sent to take care of something outside her job description, you do not want to be the something she's taking care of.
It's the work of mere minutes, and it only takes that long because all work and no play is no way to live. (Also because it would be such a pity to get viscera on Jimmy Choos, even "borrowed" ones. One does have to take some care.)
The wreck of the archaeologist is left with his team and his equipment to be some other century's discovery. And the thing that was never actually lost are also still not found.
Nor will it be, not where it is now.