It has been an hour already, but Pasmodius, long time Cousin of the House Lineacrux, of the Chapterhouse of Patrex, still stands outside the Infirmary door. He is waiting. And listening. As he has been for a while. After all, no one listened to an old fool, not really anyhow. No one. Ever. Paid. Much. Attention. Not then, and not now.
He’s even made it easy for them, inserting himself as a blatant contradiction – the Patrex Chapterhouse! Of course it was brilliant, despite not being entirely his doing- into the House of Lineacrux line, Lineacrux, a House whose members were renowned for the dubious honour of being underestimated due to members’ propensity to adopt an aged appearance, the very appearance the Assassin had striven to cultivate in the long months prior to the start of the so-called Restoration.
As for the other hand of contradiction, no one ever paid attention to anyone of the Patrex Chapterhouse; it was why the Assassin had chosen it. Rassilon had seen the disguise’s potential immediately. And that was like never being seen at all. Just like the Other in the War. Oh yes, he can take a page.
Like he is right now.
Old Pasmo would of course, bring and so has brought, a selection of easily spirited eats to such a watch, the whole procedure being more fun than an old dodger like himself has any right having. Perhaps a nice pickled smallfish from his pack…