“I’m pretty sure my sister would say the same thing, but she’s the mastermind behind all our plans.” He replied as he leaned forward on his hand, resting his chin in his palm. Had he known her better, Gus may have batted his eyes at her to convey his innocence, but he didn’t; instead he hoped to get that he knew how sisters could be, even if he just had the one and not a plethora like Endymion did. A jovial chuckle followed about Miss Porphyria being a talking bird – now that was something Gus could imagine being hysterical and wouldn’t let Fig live down. He was just pleased it hadn’t ever happened to him.
He watched her lips quip into a smile, and he leaned back then and took a sip of the tea, before his face twisted. A fifth sugar cube followed well after the other four had melted, and as he brought the tea up to his lips Gus nodded. Much better.
“A writer of fiction. I’m impressed, Miss Dempsey.” He flashed his own grin at her. He didn't like writing (and people didn't like to read his because he had terrible handwriting that made people squint and guess as to what he'd been trying to say), and tried his best not to do when he could. “We have that in common. I’m a storyteller, though nothing is written. I just like to talk, I guess.” And boy did he like to talk. His grin widened as he nodded toward the notebook – she was a very serious writer then. He took a moment then to dig through the pockets of his pants (thankfully it was still summer and he didn’t have to wear the forsaken professor robes that were attached to dreaded professor word people insisted on calling him), before he pulled out a small box that fit into the palm of his hand; there were intricate designs carved into all the sides. A few portions of it were sunken in, while one or two stuck out a few inches from the other portions of it. He slid it onto the table toward her.
“This is what your brother helped me find. I’m not quite sure what's inside of it because it’s the one thing I could never quite break the curse on, but I'm going to find out.” It used to burn whenever he touched it, but he’d broken that curse a few months ago. Now it just spit fire whenever he tried a spell on it it didn’t like. “My Da has a collection of cursed objects at our house in Bartonburg, if that ever strikes your fancy. I think I still have a genie lamp I was trapped in in a box, too.” His nose wrinkled; Gus had been trapped inside for months before someone was finally able to pull him out, and then he’d gone and lived in it for a few weeks afterward because it had been homey. “It’s not actually a bad place to sleep, once you can get yourself in and out of it.”
He watched her lips quip into a smile, and he leaned back then and took a sip of the tea, before his face twisted. A fifth sugar cube followed well after the other four had melted, and as he brought the tea up to his lips Gus nodded. Much better.
“A writer of fiction. I’m impressed, Miss Dempsey.” He flashed his own grin at her. He didn't like writing (and people didn't like to read his because he had terrible handwriting that made people squint and guess as to what he'd been trying to say), and tried his best not to do when he could. “We have that in common. I’m a storyteller, though nothing is written. I just like to talk, I guess.” And boy did he like to talk. His grin widened as he nodded toward the notebook – she was a very serious writer then. He took a moment then to dig through the pockets of his pants (thankfully it was still summer and he didn’t have to wear the forsaken professor robes that were attached to dreaded professor word people insisted on calling him), before he pulled out a small box that fit into the palm of his hand; there were intricate designs carved into all the sides. A few portions of it were sunken in, while one or two stuck out a few inches from the other portions of it. He slid it onto the table toward her.
“This is what your brother helped me find. I’m not quite sure what's inside of it because it’s the one thing I could never quite break the curse on, but I'm going to find out.” It used to burn whenever he touched it, but he’d broken that curse a few months ago. Now it just spit fire whenever he tried a spell on it it didn’t like. “My Da has a collection of cursed objects at our house in Bartonburg, if that ever strikes your fancy. I think I still have a genie lamp I was trapped in in a box, too.” His nose wrinkled; Gus had been trapped inside for months before someone was finally able to pull him out, and then he’d gone and lived in it for a few weeks afterward because it had been homey. “It’s not actually a bad place to sleep, once you can get yourself in and out of it.”
![[Image: UkiVTG8.png]](https://i.imgur.com/UkiVTG8.png)