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After depositing William in the cells, Harry leaves a message at the Bar:

Friends of William Douglas may this day and night find him in the cells, where they have leave to visit him.

Harry himself can be found not far away if anyone has questions-- or just wants to chat.

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Combeferre comes in, laden with a heavy book on magic. "Coffee, please," he asks Bar absently.

Bar, in her wisdom, produces a coffee--and a sandwich. Combeferre sighs. "Thank you," he says, and sits down.

Glancing around, he sees that the bar is mostly empty. But, oh, there's a familiar (grumpy) face, and--a note? "Good day, Percy."

He's not much grumpier than usual! The William debacle was annoying, but mostly because it involved interacting with Jim.

"Good day," he replies. "How dost thou?"

"Well enough," Combeferre says, wondering if the grumpiness is caused by something or is simply a fact of (after)life as Hotspur. "And you? I hope the arrest wasn't difficult." He gestures at the note.

Harry snorts. "Why, no, it was no labor at all. Merely Jim provoking one to anger and earning himself a blow thereby."

"I must admit I have avoided this Jim, for precisely this reason. I can't see why he should be permitted in Milliways at all, after what he's done."

Combeferre believes in liberty and acceptance, but even he draws the line at those who blow up stables for kicks.

"True indeed," Harry replies. "But methinks none but the Landlord-- whoe'er he may be-- hath power to command such a banishment."

"Whoever he may be," Combeferre echoes. "Are you content to have that be a mystery?"

It should go without saying that Combeferre is not.

Harry gives him a sharp look. "Speak not to me of contentment. But I have no wish to seek a man who hath strange powers I know not of, who hides himself I know not where, and may be discovered I know not how."

Of course he doesn't. "Nosiness was never your sin, I suppose," Combeferre says, absently.

Harry can't tell if he's being mocked or not, which puts him on the defensive. He narrows his eyes. "If thou hast gained some knowledge of the Landlord, I prithee share it, and do not skirt about it with questions and sighs like a lovesick woman."

Combeferre snorts. "As if you've ever been around a lovesick woman."

Harry smirks. "Why, so! Thou know'st nothing of the Landlord. Thou didst seek only to provoke me."

"I know nothing of him," Combeferre admits, with a grin. "But I didn't speak to provoke you. It's just something that has provoked my curiosity, and I spoke of it as it came to my mind again."

Oh. "Oh." Well. "Well!" He scowls anyway. "Thou shouldst speak plainer."

Combeferre wants to laugh.

He doesn't, knowing how Percy will take it.

"You're right," he agrees, straight faced. "Many friends of mine have complained of it."

...usually while engaging in circumlocution designed to show off their own cleverness themselves, but Harry Percy can't be accused of that.

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