gifted_hands: (Rumpled)
(bendy-timed to May 3rd, continues from this phone conversation.)

There. Ready. Well, more or less.

Tadhg had reduced the clutter in his living room and studio to a level that could pass for relaxed and artsy, instead of just chaotic. A plate of jam shorties waited on the dining table for the tea his soon-to-arrive guest had said she'd bring along. A portfolio of past designs, a sketchbook and an array of colored pencils sat nearby.

All this with ten minutes to spare. Not bad, really.

One last circuit of his workroom and check of his wards ensured that he was ready for his visitor in mystical as well as mundane terms. Rian Baxter. Writer, and more to the point for the afternoon's plans, witch. A witch with a very interesting background as such, according to his father, though Da had given him few details beyond that. He supposed he'd see for himself shortly.

The púca sprawled his six-foot frame into a comfortable armchair in the living room and settled himself to wait. Diúc immediately plopped his sizeable self in front of the chair in his favorite scratching position, panting happily. Chuckling softly, Tadhg extricated his foot out from under the wolfhound's hindquarters and obliged him.

A car pulled up outside. Diúc's head turned toward the front door at the same moment that Tadhg felt his wards alert him. His guest had arrived.

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December 2011

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