[Murphy jumps, not having expected a voice from that quarter. She looks back and forth, lights on the bird, pauses; takes stock of present reality and her own expectations of it; finds a place that is both not resigned, but not uneasy. She leaves off picking through bowstrings in a hunter's stall and turns to face the bird, which standing on the crate isn't too far from eye-to-eye with her.]
Shit, [she says, conveying surprise, bemusement, and something almost impressed.] Are you for sale?
[It's actually sort of a serious question - magic construct for sale in the marketplace, or actual resident of the world?]
02
Shit, [she says, conveying surprise, bemusement, and something almost impressed.] Are you for sale?
[It's actually sort of a serious question - magic construct for sale in the marketplace, or actual resident of the world?]