Fortunately for both Tybalt and the desk, the man turned his attentions briskly to the latter, and rectified the situation with as much grace as it was possible to. Tyb eyed the dust-blanket that had settled over everything with a grimace and, determined not to be responsible for any more mess in this man’s office, uncomfortably held in a sneeze.
He bit his lip as he watched the gentleman take a seat and use his newspaper to new effect. He had been watching almost too intently to have been expecting the question so soon. “Kirke,” Tybalt said quickly, trying not to flounder. (He was not floundering in this job: just keep telling himself that, and maybe one day he’d in a hundred years he’d forget this fire.) “From the Duelling Commission.” He might’ve tried to shake the man’s hand upon this introduction, if the other man had not been, obviously, otherwise preoccupied. “I, uh, came to ask whether - if it’s not too much trouble - we would be able to get an extension on the latest spell list,” he improvised. It was not exactly a lie at this stage, anyway, given Tybalt had just sent a week’s worth of his own meticulous work up in flames: they would need re-doing now, wouldn’t they? Hopefully the desk-fire hadn’t worn out his patience. “And I’m sorry about your desk, sir,” he added as an aside, with a smile-grimace of commiseration.
He bit his lip as he watched the gentleman take a seat and use his newspaper to new effect. He had been watching almost too intently to have been expecting the question so soon. “Kirke,” Tybalt said quickly, trying not to flounder. (He was not floundering in this job: just keep telling himself that, and maybe one day he’d in a hundred years he’d forget this fire.) “From the Duelling Commission.” He might’ve tried to shake the man’s hand upon this introduction, if the other man had not been, obviously, otherwise preoccupied. “I, uh, came to ask whether - if it’s not too much trouble - we would be able to get an extension on the latest spell list,” he improvised. It was not exactly a lie at this stage, anyway, given Tybalt had just sent a week’s worth of his own meticulous work up in flames: they would need re-doing now, wouldn’t they? Hopefully the desk-fire hadn’t worn out his patience. “And I’m sorry about your desk, sir,” he added as an aside, with a smile-grimace of commiseration.
