[In terms of first impressions Liem could be making on new arrivals, “not an adept con artist” is not the worst he’s ever made, but it’s pretty low on the list. It is, however, deserved after his little joke, so he accepts the observation with a slightly rueful expression.]
That would be terribly irresponsible of me, don’t you think?
[He gives the glove another look, contemplating whether he should put it back in his pocket for now. He didn’t love having it in there before, truthfully, but he also is not, as this man suggested, about to abandon it under a bench. First of all, that would be littering. Second of all, what if someone else found it and did decide to put it on? The result would hopefully just be weird and unpleasant, but for all he knows this thing might actually be hazardous.
He shifts his grip on it so he’s holding the edge of the glove instead of one finger, and slides it carefully back into his coat pocket, where it can go back to writhing against the pocket lining, looking for loose threads.]
I don’t want to imagine what might come of providing it anything resembling a place to grow. I don’t need a matched set on my hands.
[Not that he’s intending to ever put the glove(s) on his hands.]
What I actually need is a handy fire somewhere that doesn’t see too much use. I’d dispose of it in the kitchens, but frankly, I’d worry about residue contaminating the food. One never knows, with magical things.
no subject
That would be terribly irresponsible of me, don’t you think?
[He gives the glove another look, contemplating whether he should put it back in his pocket for now. He didn’t love having it in there before, truthfully, but he also is not, as this man suggested, about to abandon it under a bench. First of all, that would be littering. Second of all, what if someone else found it and did decide to put it on? The result would hopefully just be weird and unpleasant, but for all he knows this thing might actually be hazardous.
He shifts his grip on it so he’s holding the edge of the glove instead of one finger, and slides it carefully back into his coat pocket, where it can go back to writhing against the pocket lining, looking for loose threads.]
I don’t want to imagine what might come of providing it anything resembling a place to grow. I don’t need a matched set on my hands.
[Not that he’s intending to ever put the glove(s) on his hands.]
What I actually need is a handy fire somewhere that doesn’t see too much use. I’d dispose of it in the kitchens, but frankly, I’d worry about residue contaminating the food. One never knows, with magical things.