[Depraved deceit. Jesus Christ. Those are not how Will would describe Rincewind at all, unless it came to, like, lying about just how much glitter he had in his shopping bag. Glitter that he'd find later, in carpets and sheets and clothing. In dog fur. In his own hair. But.

Chilton clearly did a Smart, and Rincewind clearly did a Not So Smart. There's something further than that, though, something more tense. He has to navigate this carefully. Like being blindfolded on a tightrope ten stories up.]

He likes you, you know. He likes you a lot. [That isn't scold, attempt to shame or entice guilt. No. Simple, quiet reminder that Rincewind is a pal. Aren't sins overlooked better for buds?] He asked me about Dorian. Asked if I even considered you a friend. I said yes and he told me that you aren't supposed to make your friends afraid. That's not the point of it.

[e. rincewind champion of frederick chiltons everywhere]