Tuck Friar would have been more than happy to point out that he'd prefer taking Glen Ballard's position on the little journey to the Tree Spirit Colony. Yes, it would likely be a tedious transition; as Hatter had started, but Tuck was more of an adventurer than someone to sit around and try to make sense of a situation he wasn't even all that well acquainted with. He possessed standard knowledge of the Acromantulas. But a very, very, very old cat who acted plenty full of himself probably knew more. Much more than him or most present. Mr. Friar was doubting himself here; in his own knowledge. He didn't act as quickly as the extraordinarily clever cat did, but he was still undoubtedly clever, and more irrelevant to that; there were books here. Bounds and bounds of books. Some falling apart, and some in extraordinarily good condition. He was in the presence of them and in the dusty pages and boundless chapters there was knowledge and adventure.
He thought of all this in the very short moments that were left before a rather malevolent looking man made his way into the room and called all attention upon himself. Tuck was literally a very quick-thinking individual; but even quick-thinkers stopped thinking of how much they would enjoy themselves staying behind rather than going back (well, he still did want to go. Or he wouldn't mind going. But this was a win-win situation for him here, so he wouldn't say a word about supporting his going or subsiding his staying) when they are interrupted with the pause-filled and utterly inappropriate speech of an incredibly unpleasant person. Tuck didn't form any opinions against him as he spoke. There was a much more important thing to worry about while he spoke. Glen Ballard's formed opinions. The cat was always quick to judge, and when he deemed someone to be a pompous a**, there was no relent in his words or tone as he spilled insult after insult upon them. Some were more well-constructed than others, and some could actually be pathetic; but if you were someone who didn't specialise in the field of retaliations, you would soon enough be at a loss for words.
But Mister Chester Darwin seemed a man to specialise in the field of retaliations, unlike Tuck. So maybe this would end up being the grand performance that played before the selected few left the Library.
The words that the sinister-looking man spoke weren't meant for him, nor were they meant for Glen Ballard's close colleague. They shouldn't have irked him as much as they did, really-- and in all honesty they did not (the cat found the sly way that the words slipped off his tongue to be admirable, if anything else). But he had, indeed, deemed Chester Darwin to be a pompous a**, and the cat had no intentions of that letting him slide by him. Even if there were plenty of very important and much more prestigious things to get too asides from bickering like cats and dogs, and even though the bickering had no started (it had been envisioned, at least), Glen Ballard had an odd feeling that it would commence very soon. Or it wouldn't-- he could decide not to say anything, or the other could shrug his shoulders at his comments and they would be off to speak about business once more.
"A brilliant introduction, if I must say so myself." The feline starts off, and as he was standing on the table, edged closer to Tuck Friar then he really needed to be, he decided to sit down. Cats weren't the kind of animals to stand unless they had to, although that was something that sounded as if it only applied to smaller cats. Maybe it only applied to him, actually; but it didn't matter. No-one had time to contemplate such insignificant thoughts, and Glen Ballard was especially amongst the crowd. He had things to say, and he did not intend on allowing them to go unsaid, although others might very much appreciate his lack of words. "It was a little brutally-honest and off-topic, but I don't know entirely what's going on. I'm an ill-informed and old cat, you see. I can't hear or understand things as well, and the cause for that is something I'm not sure of. Unless it's what you just said-- and as deafening and unpleasant as it sounded, it's probably exactly what's causing my poor hearing. They're not nearly as sweet on the ears as the young woman you seem to be describing appears to be. They're. . . sour, if anything. I don't particularly like sour things."
Sorry for the super-late and not-that-good replies. Lost the paragraphs for them plenty of times and this time I didn't really bother much with coding/layout. Just used the colours and I'll get to adding Glen (hopefully) soon but otherwise have a Tuck response that I didn't proof-read yet
but will later
