#oh stuff

"Now carefully - that is to say with immense care - pull your end over mine and tie it into a simple knot." Instructed the spectral haired screenwriter, holding one end.

"…Like this?" Asked the dramatically eyepatched bit-part actor, holding the other.

"Yes, now bring that end around and over- Stop - You’ve twisted it."

"Have I? It felt like the right thing to do. Stylistically."

"Style comes later. This is foundation. A bowtie may be flourished, dotted, sleek or stern, but if tied improperly, will lose all potential finess and flare."

"A logical approach. I’m surprised."

"Take your end- wait no, untwist it first-"

"What was it that one of your beloved critics said?"

"Now bring that end around and through the-"

“'All flash, no bang'?”

"-Hole." The slam of a judge’s fist splintering their own hammer could not compare to the weight and finality of the glare that came across pale brown eyes, smoldering and rolling like a storm behind a closed and curtained window, as carpalled fingers twitched in their cast, something far stranger than any known breed of irritation racing through RGB’s arm, reminding him of precisely what he was and was not capable of - and it did indeed rally his rage, quite obviously.

Magnus hadn’t meant to wound him, it’d been a poke of fun poorly thought through, given his hands were so very close to his throat and his joke so very close to his confidence. But RGB of all men was a man of vocabularies, well versed in the worth of words and weight of phrase used and used again, well aware that “sorry” was a spider silk thread across a quickly yawning doorway, quickly becoming nothing but a crooking of one’s voicebox.