"Then maybe I'll have something else to offer."

"Once upon a time someone didn't do his homework, and they nuked Champaign, Illinois trying to stop me, and it didn't work, not until they stabbed the right chair."

"Mmhmm. Why?"

"The other angels kept taking my cats."

"I really do think you'd get along well with the slaad."

"Maybe."

He hands her a feather carved of improbably iridescent deep blue jade. "Tap this twice on a solid surface if you decide you'd like to go. Your bonds won't hold long once you're there. It won't work for anyone else."

"They won't let me keep it."

"Then I'll have my clerics check in on you."

"Hm." She takes the feather, at any rate, pockets it.

And Fharlanghn moves on to the other daeva.

They're mostly congregated in the cafeteria at odd distances from each other trying to figure out what's going on. One of the fairies is signing through the glass roof at the security fairy, who ignores him.

Is he signing anything interesting?

Mostly "look it obviously didn't work haul us back to Ganymede so we aren't relying on acceleration for gravity".

He begins going around to the various daeva, explaining what's going on and offering them options of where to go. After a few minutes Boccob reappears and eases the demons' bindings so that they can speak.

This creates some ruckus. "YOU'VE BEEN PRONOUNCING MY NAME WRONG FOR FORTY YEARS -"

"O fortuna -"

"Where did you put my hairbrush? I can't just make another one!"

"Does this work on writing, get out of my way, I need to write a letter -"

"Oh me too -"

"What is going on?!"

It does work on writing, and Boccob produces paper and pencils. Fharlanghn ignores them; the angel he's talking to has no trouble hearing him over the noise.

Only one demon goes for the paper; the rest flock to the computers.

Boccob hangs out for a few minutes.

Demons write letters. An angel asks Boccob who he is.

"God of magic. This one's the god of travel."

"Okay but when you say you're a god what does that mean?"

"We embody our domains, more or less. All gods are magical but none of the others have the same knack for it as I do, and none of us have the instinct for adventure or revulsion at the idea of being restrained that Fharlanghn does. Not that it's possible to restrain him. God of freedom, and all."

"So you're... a species of concepts?"

"If you want to call us a species."