"As far as petite blondeness, or general gorgeousness?" William asked, shutting the top drawer with a sigh. Nothing. Or rather, nothing useful. He started to check the collection of shelves and stacked boxes. Then he rewound the conversation and said, "Oh. You meant. Like. Spellwork and innovation."
He came over next to Jon, clearing his throat and pretending that there wasn't heat touching his cheekbones. Jon was setting aside a bottle of something liquid lilac that William was almost certain he'd never seen before, but which was ringing faint bells in his memory anyway. Murex brandaris, he read on the label, and almost immediately following that was the memory of a note on parchment: (and don't let anyone tell you they're good for eating).