“Mihtas, Espoi, please–”
“I can’t believe you did that! What in the cosmos possessed you to use my scythe to sharpen your sawblade?!” Mihtas was in rare form. Anger was an emotion she didn’t let out often.
“I said. Accident.” Espoi, on the other hand, was far more familiar with anger, not to mention sentences of as few words as possible.
“Come on, surely–”
“How do you accidentally sharpen a blade with my scythe?!”
“You wouldn’t appreciate the–”
“QUIET!”
All librarians have it in them to deliver a “Quiet!” of such ferocity that it immediately shuts down any and all argument in the vicinity. This was a well-documented fact, even acknowledged by the prolific researcher Octavius Esry in his Treatise on Things Not To Do in the Vezretti Library. Meion was no exception to the rule - quite the opposite, in fact. As the god to whom librarians tended to pray, his “QUIET!”s were nothing short of earth-shaking.
A silent moment passed. Espoi looked down towards the ground. Mihtas rubbed the back of her head.
“I guess I mean… I can understand accidents,” Mihtas finally said.
Espoi traced a design on the ground with his cane. “I… apologize,” he muttered.