stilljustandrew (
stilljustandrew) wrote2012-03-19 12:14 am
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Blackness.
Two minds, hovering in the blackness; they believe themselves to still have a shape, and so they do.
Two minds, hovering in the blackness; they believe themselves to still have a shape, and so they do.
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Here at the end of time, though, here from the long way around ... this must be every Fool. And, by extension, every Magician.
Tim, if you're in there at all ...
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"Okay," she says.
Likewise, she avoids brandishing the riddle like a weapon.
(But maybe not by that much.)
"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"
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He has to know this one, but --
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And pauses, finger still held aloft, mouth slightly open.
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Take your time, buddy.
She's prrrrretty sure he's not the kind of guy to come up with her answer. Maybe she's wrong!
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"But not what I was thinking of."
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"You didn't give the right answer," Andrew says. "She asked a riddle that you failed to answer correctly. Those were the terms."
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"It's a variation."
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and then breaks out into laughter. "Well played, mistress! Yes, tell me the answer, and I shall be your guide."
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Ava smiles.
"It's because both of them are really quiet after you hack them apart with an axe."
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Yeah, Andrew's just going to stand here and work mightily to keep a straight face.
(On the inside, though, he's grinning like a --
well.)
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"Guiding?"
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"Follow me, dear friends! Forward the Fools!"
And he heads toward one of the yawning corridors branching out from the throne room.