Hearing his name, Percy looked up sharply. To his utter astonishment, his brother's figure swept past, heading towards a selection of quills.
"Bill?"
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose in case he was seeing things (never mind the fact that he'd heard Bill clearly) and felt his face heat. Good lord, of all the people he might run into today, it would have to be a member of his family, though he supposed the chances of that happening were larger than most.
He turned his attention back to the inkwell, pretending to be extremely interested in its price. The cogs were spinning steadily in his head, and he wondered how he might best get out of the situation. Unfortunately, most of those plans included the term "abort", and with the empty inkpot in his pocket, well, that just wasn't an option. He needed that ink for his day tomorrow.
Swallowing in resignation, he glanced back at his brother. He could see Bill's profile now, and the thick scars that ran across his face.
Percy's insides wrenched.
"I," he stammered, "I--" Oh, hell, he sounded like a bleeding idiot. By some miracle, he managed to move one foot in front of the other, until he was passing Bill. "Excuse me," he said, and was sure that his face was radish red by this point.