Work Text:
"What fucking mess have you left me with?" He demands. "Where have you been? What has been going on! Why did you leave that letter?!"
Murray watches on in silence, jaw clenched. She'd like to know that one herself.
She shares a faintly nauseous glance with Azune, as Thimble nimbly sidesteps Bolaire's very reasonable questions in favour of demanding that one half of their favourite theatre nerds immediately drops what he's doing to do what she wants.
It could just be stress. It could just be that kind of day. But she doesn't much like the thread that's being weaved here.
She cements her opinion on her Magpies being her favourite theatre nerds, and not just generic theatre nerds, when Wiccander Halovar proves himself to have all the survival instincts and tact of a suicidal lemming.
And of course-
She feels a familiar presence brush against her mind and lets him in without a moments hesitation. She politely restarts her thought for him.
Bolaire's presence is... familiar. It's the weight of reality. She twists its threads every day. Hm. Now there's a thought.
She allows a faceless deity to take shape in her thoughts. She'll get back on her carriage of thought in a moment Bolaire, she's just had a very clever thought. So anyway. Faceless deity. Faceless deity and a familiar mask, pinching and tugging at the threads of reality just enough that a goddess might strangle herself with them?
There is a quiet chuckle in the back of her head. The annoying Bolaire kind, that suggests that even if she is right he had precisely no intention of telling her and will have a lot of fun while he does so.
Git.
She loves her tiding of Magpies.
There was a thought she had though. What was it. Hey, Bolaire, what was the thought she was about to have, man?
He blinks at her, sedately and obnoxiously, despite not facing her, or being capable of blinking, or even the lights in his eyes dimming in such a way. Because he's a right asshole same as her and she adores her tiding.
That was it!
They're inevitably going to be saddled with the fucking comedy duo, because nothing in their lives ever goes well.
Bolaire runs a hand over his face, exhaustedly. She feels that. She so feels that.
Hey, so, Azune is sort of standing around looking like he wants to be plotting a revolution. And there are way too many unknowns who are being way too loud and generally just too nosy in this room for them to be actively scheming one of their fun little schemes. But if Bolaire keeps up his little telepathy stint with her, and she pulls Azune in with a message? Hey? Hey?
Like, is Murray great, or is Murray great, huh?
There is a mental snicker. A snapshot of a stage. Herself and a floating mask with a pair of mage hands underneath himself are rubbing their hands together gleefully as they lie to the police so hard they tell the truth.
A different scene. They are very competently, look at them go, she could get behind this third person stagecraft memories thing, they look fucking sick, taking out an entire room full of criminals without so much as getting scratched!
She very, very Magpie-ie... ly does not start cackling. Damn right they're a force to be reckoned with!