(no subject)
[Somewhere in the library, Narvin has appropriated one of the desks for his own use. There are a few Gallifreyan books neatly stacked on the table (books that, by all rights, shouldn't be there at all), but his focus is primarily on the datapad in front of him.]
[Apparently satisfied with whatever it is he's working on, he sets the datapad down, rubs his eyes, and reaches for a cup of tea that happens to be off to the side.]
[Only his hand never quite makes it.]
[One second, the cup is placidly sitting on the table, and the next, it's floating (alarmingly quickly) through the air and smacking into Narvin's hand. Narvin, for his part, promptly gives it a horrified look and drops it as if it were scalding. He snatches the datapad away from the growing puddle and glares at the offending cup, hoping beyond hope that no one saw that little display.]
[Rassilon, he hates magic.]
[Apparently satisfied with whatever it is he's working on, he sets the datapad down, rubs his eyes, and reaches for a cup of tea that happens to be off to the side.]
[Only his hand never quite makes it.]
[One second, the cup is placidly sitting on the table, and the next, it's floating (alarmingly quickly) through the air and smacking into Narvin's hand. Narvin, for his part, promptly gives it a horrified look and drops it as if it were scalding. He snatches the datapad away from the growing puddle and glares at the offending cup, hoping beyond hope that no one saw that little display.]
[Rassilon, he hates magic.]