Tadhg deals out all the compliment necessary. Lucius is otherwise preoccupied.
He moves on by, a dark shape of cautious steps and dragging coat in Erik's periphery, the fog dancing and blurring up the edges of things, including the furthermost end of the second carriage, faded off into white ether. By the time he is placing a hand against the door that had snapped closed beneath the train's singular convulsion, there is a glow of light glimmering at the end of his wand. It does nothing against the thick white fog, but may help against gloomy interior of the train.
With a creak of steel, Lucius wrenches it back open.
Upon the side of the carriage are painted words in yellow, or perhaps gold in another life. The other side they do not face is scraped to silver and bronze from its own impact, the windows emptied of its glass as fog comes seeping into the dimness, but the side they do is more or less clean for all the good it does. Whatever the words are, they are in no recognisable language any three of them will know or have even glimpsed briefly.
Something tugs at Tadhg's senses, however, a sluggish, sleepy feeling presence that is no doubt alive. It can be felt towards the second twisted carriage, while the one that Lucius stands before remains unoccupied. At the mouth of the doorway, he speaks, his voice sounding hollow where it half-echoes through the empty carriage and bounces off thick fog and space;
"We shall leave it otherwise whole, so I can sell its location to those with bigger machines and ambition than we."
no subject
He moves on by, a dark shape of cautious steps and dragging coat in Erik's periphery, the fog dancing and blurring up the edges of things, including the furthermost end of the second carriage, faded off into white ether. By the time he is placing a hand against the door that had snapped closed beneath the train's singular convulsion, there is a glow of light glimmering at the end of his wand. It does nothing against the thick white fog, but may help against gloomy interior of the train.
With a creak of steel, Lucius wrenches it back open.
Upon the side of the carriage are painted words in yellow, or perhaps gold in another life. The other side they do not face is scraped to silver and bronze from its own impact, the windows emptied of its glass as fog comes seeping into the dimness, but the side they do is more or less clean for all the good it does. Whatever the words are, they are in no recognisable language any three of them will know or have even glimpsed briefly.
Something tugs at Tadhg's senses, however, a sluggish, sleepy feeling presence that is no doubt alive. It can be felt towards the second twisted carriage, while the one that Lucius stands before remains unoccupied. At the mouth of the doorway, he speaks, his voice sounding hollow where it half-echoes through the empty carriage and bounces off thick fog and space;
"We shall leave it otherwise whole, so I can sell its location to those with bigger machines and ambition than we."