Fawkes thinks on it.
He wasn't exactly a poet, but there was a time when his illness kept him from leaving the office. His old compatriots would gift him with books, trying to provide a healthier distraction other than agonizing over the mad patterns of movement in the Free Marches. Words fascinated him almost as much as music, eternally jealous of the way others could paint a picture with the quality of dictation; a simple speed and strength of vibration making all the difference.
The suggestion of simply a day or a week made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The Leaden Mirror rarely toyed with the Wyrd for such an insignificant amount of time. Understandable Abraham—was of a Seeming defined by hubris. "A moon phase is traditional for short term agreements," he says airily, as if thinking out-loud.
"An alliance made on hollow'd ground,
I Pledge to thee while hands not be raised in violence,
My words carry truth and undoubted honour,
So we may carry on with peace between us with, until light of next full moon,
And let the traitor suffer for their deception—
A blood price taken with solemn dignity."
Type: Oath, Changeling's decision
Task: Alliance, Lesser (+0)
Boons: Adroitness - Expression +1, Persuasion +1 (+2)
Sanction: Vulnerability, Glamour (-3)
Durance: 1 month (+1)
He spins the Pledge without much trouble, pausing between each statement to think, as if reciting a poem without emotion. The only indication he is making it on the fly is the gaps are a little longer than they should be. The Wyrd is not invoked, however, with Fawkes allowing for Abraham to review.
With Abraham's question, his body language noticeably stiffens as if he were bracing. He takes a long drag of his cigarette. Was his hand trembling? His expression however, remains serene,
"I'll answer that once we're done."