dastardly | saltburnt inbox

[ He should let him go, let him have his privacy if that's what he needs. Maybe once, he would have. Now though, Stephen's palm meets wood and offers resistance, a first step to stopping the closing of that door. He has others. He'll have to decide whether or not to use them if it comes to it. ]

Josias.

[ Careful not to overstep with a more familiar name he'd never taken the time to earn the use of, the word still lands somewhere between a scold and a plea. ]

[Resistance meets resistance, for a moment - then, abruptly, it's gone, Josias releasing the door, walking away.]

Of course, what was I thinking? Please, come in.

[A wide gesture at the room as he pads through it, as if offering Stephen a seat. There aren't any, unless he sits on the unmade bed, one of the boxes, or a window sill.

The last is the seat Josias claims, leant back into the frame, one leg drawn up, seemingly unfazed by the cold. Looking at Stephen expectantly. Defiantly.]

I'd hate to keep you from completing the mandatory token gesture of concern.

[ A fair blow. It lands, as it ought, evident in the brief lowering of his gaze as he turns from the door he's pushed most of the way closed behind him, shame its own easy tell. Stephen doesn't languish in it. Picks himself up to cast an eye over the room, taking in the furniture still in its boxes, bare walls and still-packed belongings. ]

You want a hand with this?

[There's a scoff, immediate, that likely would have come for anything Stephen would have next said. The dismissal that should follow is stalled, however, as Josias catches up with the question that was asked.

When he'd first realised what the boxed furniture was, he'd dismissed it as ridiculous - but a day later is time enough for some small seeds of embarrassment to have planted themselves. It isn't like he hasn't overcome many such moments since his first waking up in Saltburnt, but being confronted by his lack of knowledge or capability in the face of something others seemed to accept as norm still rankled, felt like insult. Right now, he finds himself without the energy to turn it to curiosity, to challenge, and he refuses to be so pitiable as to ask for help. Accepting an offer, though--

He looks between the boxes and Stephen, some reluctant consideration in his expression, wary. Answering yes could lead to mockery, pity - or, worse yet, it could lead to Stephen staying. What would either of them be meant to do with that?]

Are you a carpenter, now?

No.

[ Not a carpenter, but then nobody need be a carpenter to build the kind of furniture left for them here. He doesn't rub that knowledge in, aware the ground he stands on is already shaky. Instead, a lift of his hand and a twist of his fingers through the air and the end of one box laying on its side unsticks itself, opening up to make way for the flat of a tabletop to slide out onto the floor, bags of screws and a few paltry tools following after and stopping neatly in a row.

He watches Josias quietly for a reaction. Some here are more used to magic than technology, others find any stretch of power a concern. ]

But it shouldn't be too hard.

[A wave of Stephen's hand and the box begins to unpack itself, wood and tools moving to, Josias presumes, fit themselves together into whatever piece of furniture they're destined to become. The wary curiosity in his expression lingers for one moment at the sight, then dulls to something more like resignation. Disappointment.

Of course, Stephen wouldn't be offering to help if it was something that required real time or effort.]

They keep mages locked up in towers where I'm from.

[As light and flat as if he were discussing the weather, and not invoking a vast simplification of the Circle's practices, the dark history of it. He doesn't even keep his attention on Stephen to see his reaction, turning to look out of the window as he continues:]

I'll be sure to tell them of all the convenient construction and decorating services they've been missing out on, if I ever return.

[ He's not quite sure what it means, the look on his face once it settles out of his immediate reaction. Unimpressed, maybe, though Josias of all people could be trusted to put on a better show of disinterest than that. So if it's not a performance to mask intrigue...

Stephen watches him turn, cite the practices of a world it seems would cage him if it could, and stands there amidst the boxes and crates, at a loss.

Are you a carpenter, now? hadn't been a no. This isn't a no, either - but it feels like a dismissal, where before there was consideration. He thought he'd want him gone as quickly as possible, given he never wanted him in here in the first place. But maybe... ]

It comes with instructions. You don't have to be a carpenter.

[ The wood and screws and tools sit still where he's emptied them out onto the floor. Stephen waits, uncertain, to see if he's hit the right nail on its head. ]

[There's nothing of note to hold Josias' interest in the view outside his window, but the slide of his attention back to Stephen is still slow, reluctant to keep humouring the charade of care. Frowns, at the pieces of wood and fixings now spread about his floor rather than boxed up and out of the way. It looks a mess. It looks, a little - if those pieces there were legs, and that piece there was a stretcher - like a puzzle.]

Weren't you enchanting it to prance about and build itself?

[Turned back fully, despite himself, to examine the display.]

I was enchanting it to get it out of the box.

[ Had the intention been to get it all made with a few breezy wafts of his hands? Sure. But it seems like even the beginnings of that train of intention had rubbed Josias the wrong way, in spite of how little he wanted to see him in the first place.

Instead of admitting as much and leaving the full onus of choice on the shoulders of his unwilling host, aware that one wrong move will have him hissing a retreat, Stephen follows it up with - ]

I have time. [ A turn of his wrist and the instructions appear in Stephen's hand. Doing them both the favor of a moment of privacy, he flips them open to take an idle glance. ] Do you?

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