[ Warren West does not take things for granted, so when the rumors start flying about the strange wizard who showed up out of nowhere, he listened. He listened and he quietly took notes and when the name Jacob Randall inevitably surfaced, he became interested.
The Destroyer kept tabs on all of the Randall wizard’s friends- it wasn’t hard to do, really- but ever since the fire elemental had burned his house to the ground, he did so at a distance. (He had other homes, of course. Properties all over the globe purchased under a dozen different aliases and warded by the best Defenders and Illusionists money could buy. His issue was knowing that he’d underestimated Jacob and the company he kept once, and he would not do so again.)
Picking out the stranger’s routine had not been too difficult, and several weeks beforehand, he began frequenting the same café. He’d offer Dorian a polite nod and a smile. Brush past him once or twice and apologize for bumping into him. He kept his own schedule, coming or going partway into Dorian’s stay as he waited for the Maxwell wizard to finish at the bookstore. Sometimes he stayed longer and left after Dorian had departed, sometimes they left together. He was just another face in the crowd; nothing remarkable, though he made sure the greetings became friendlier the more they saw each other. Warren wasn’t friendly by any stretch of the imagination, but at over a hundred years old, he could fake it with the best of them.
He’s sitting at a table on the adjacent wall from Dorian, ostensibly for the outlet, since he’s typing away on his laptop. (He’s been watching, though, out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the slight glow illuminate the stranger’s coffee cup before steam began to rise. He’d be damned if he wasn’t curious.)
After a while, he gets up to stretch, meanders over to the counter for a refill on his coffee, and on the way back pauses by Dorian’s table. ]
no subject
The Destroyer kept tabs on all of the Randall wizard’s friends- it wasn’t hard to do, really- but ever since the fire elemental had burned his house to the ground, he did so at a distance. (He had other homes, of course. Properties all over the globe purchased under a dozen different aliases and warded by the best Defenders and Illusionists money could buy. His issue was knowing that he’d underestimated Jacob and the company he kept once, and he would not do so again.)
Picking out the stranger’s routine had not been too difficult, and several weeks beforehand, he began frequenting the same café. He’d offer Dorian a polite nod and a smile. Brush past him once or twice and apologize for bumping into him. He kept his own schedule, coming or going partway into Dorian’s stay as he waited for the Maxwell wizard to finish at the bookstore. Sometimes he stayed longer and left after Dorian had departed, sometimes they left together. He was just another face in the crowd; nothing remarkable, though he made sure the greetings became friendlier the more they saw each other. Warren wasn’t friendly by any stretch of the imagination, but at over a hundred years old, he could fake it with the best of them.
He’s sitting at a table on the adjacent wall from Dorian, ostensibly for the outlet, since he’s typing away on his laptop. (He’s been watching, though, out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the slight glow illuminate the stranger’s coffee cup before steam began to rise. He’d be damned if he wasn’t curious.)
After a while, he gets up to stretch, meanders over to the counter for a refill on his coffee, and on the way back pauses by Dorian’s table. ]
Good book?