Xander imagines Giles taking off his glasses and polishing them on the hem of his button down shirt. “Yes, Xander, I’m afraid that’s an understatement of the highest magnitude.” Giles sighs and Xander can hear the faint clink of ice on glass. He can almost smell the scotch. “You can still go to her,” Giles says. “Time is of the essence. You’re not too late.”
Oh, yes, I am, Xander thinks. By years. He falls asleep that night to the smell of ink and paper, the sound of blades on whetstones, a librarian’s cough.
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winterfish
So, rather vagueish. :)
Date: 2009-03-29 06:08 am (UTC)Xander imagines Giles taking off his glasses and polishing them on the hem of his button down shirt. “Yes, Xander, I’m afraid that’s an understatement of the highest magnitude.” Giles sighs and Xander can hear the faint clink of ice on glass. He can almost smell the scotch. “You can still go to her,” Giles says. “Time is of the essence. You’re not too late.”
Oh, yes, I am, Xander thinks. By years. He falls asleep that night to the smell of ink and paper, the sound of blades on whetstones, a librarian’s cough.