dismissal
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"Don't you fucking dare touch my husband," says Richard.

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...Timothy stuns him. It's a very satisfying sudden flash of red light.

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Barnaby shrieks and catches Richard's falling form in his arms. "He wasn't - he wasn't the summoner -"

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"He's not dead, he'll wake up in two hours moderate risk of a headache."

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...Barnaby takes his pulse. Relaxes, marginally.

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"Will you please send him home? Keeping him a couple extra hours won't help anything, I won't let you keep him longer than that, we can talk once he's safer and can move and can speak -"

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"Fine. Fine," mutters Barnaby.

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"Thank you."

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Tired exhalation.

"He's lying about the souls, you know, your brother."

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"I assure you I didn't just take his word for it."

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"Richard's grandma sold hers and was never the same after."

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"Ah. ...name?"

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"His grandma's? Why?"

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"Because it seems like maybe the evening would go more productively if she were here to talk with us?"

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"You can't g- you shouldn't get her."

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"Why not?"

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"Because she's in a high-security hospital and isn't allowed in the same room as sharp objects."

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"You do know that sometimes that happens to people, right, even if they didn't sell their soul?"

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"I know."

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"Would it reassure you any if I summoned three demons right now and sold each of them my soul for a paperclip."

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"You seem to have already had your psychotic break, thanks."

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"Summoners become daeva when they die. All of them, not just Minor."

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No response.

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"I can prove that, you don't have to think I'm sane."

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"Please don't kill us."

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