(Untitled)

[young_tmriddle]

It's been a few weeks since Tom encountered Marjory Stewart-Baxter again. It's been fewer still since she laid her eggs in his arm. Tom and Marjory have a long, odd history, but he has been judged worthy of incubating her puppetlings.

He doesn't know this important fact. He does know he's having strange, unsettling dreams of late

Comments

[nitro_is_ace]

Now, Ace considers Mr. Riddle to be... if not a friend, at least friendly. He takes good care of Ingress, which counts for a lot in her book.

He's also kind of creepy. He hasn't done anything, no, but... huh. It's probably the 'British Public School' vibe. Or something. She's always been a little leery of magic-users since Tim, not that she thinks he's much like Tim in any respect (too much gender-identity and responsibility).

So when someone who's fairly decent and a little spooky starts looking edgy, it's enough to put the local kitty-girls on edge too. Hrm.

[nitro_is_ace]

Ace shrugs.

It's not her that'll have to go face Door.

That's entirely his problem. And frankly, she's fairly sure that if she married him? Door isn't spooked at all by ... whatever reason Tom is spooky.

[young_tmriddle]

He passes one hand over his eyes.

"Do forgive me if I seem tetchy. It's- you're probably right. I should seek medical attention of some kind. Perhaps I should do so immediately."

[nitro_is_ace]

"Sooner done best mended." Sure, old sayings can be trite, and sometimes annoying. There's also usually a reason they're remembered old sayings, rather than the multitude of ones that have disappeared into the mists of time.

"It can't be that bad, y'know." She adds, with her helpful experience of not having to go to a doctor in some years now.

[young_tmriddle]

He nods, but inwardly he is merely planning escape. If he can get to a dark corner he can enjoy his scotch in peace. Surely by the morning, one of the potions or unguents will have worked and it won't be a problem anymore.

"I shall go owl a Healer straightaway. I'll give Ingress your regards."

One of those weird twinges pains his arm, and he rubs it, as he turns to weave his way through the crowd.

He leaves five tiny puppetlings, dropped from under his sleeve, in his wake. They scatter underfoot into the shadows. Will they make it to the lake and then to comparative safety?

Only Marjory will know for sure.

And she'll never tell.