"I'd strongly advice against simply killing me," Amaretto said, voice and expression neutral, though a glimmer in his eyes told of bad things if Scalpel was to make such a choice. "This is by no means a threat, but I suppose that you know of the fire resistance in a Changeling's chitin, correct?" He waited a moment for the confirmation. "Then let me tell you this: Seeing a changeling cook in its own, melting shell is by a pretty sight." He grunted and looked away towards one of the bookshelves, a half-smile playing on his lips. "You're right, though, when you say that I won't just hand it over," Amaretto replied. "Far too valuable. As for the demonstration... Shouldn't be too difficult." He turned to the large double doors, striding confidently towards them, and then stopped in front of it, neck craned backwards just to see the top. "I can't promise exactly when I'll be back. Finding something suitable might take some time, as I might very well end up in the Foal's Section." He fished the key up from his bags again, holding it in the light for a moment before he levitated it towards the keyhole. It slid in without a problem and, in a flash, he was gone, the key with him. ----- "So... What now?" Amaretto asked, turning his head to look at Theá standing beside him in all her alicorn glory, her gaze fixed upon the large mountain in front of them. And also, the place where Arcon had made his home. "He promised me an hour's access to his vaults to peruse and view whatever I desired. Getting in is not the problem, but borrowing a book is what will be difficult. Most likely he has enchantments on every one of them, keeping them from being removed from his stronghold." She glanced down at him, holding his gaze out the corner of her eye. "However, with the possibility of a mortal achieving a fake ascendency, I am sure he will be willing to relinquish a single tome for a few weeks." She looked back upon the mountain, Amaretto mirroring her. "I damn well hope so," he grumbled. ----- Winterjet looked curiously at the keg passed between the soldier and the Baldie, or, if she had to be polite, Sweeper--as was actually her name. She had to hold back a small snort of laughter at how Sweeper reacted to the whiskey, obviously not being one for strong spirits nor able to hold her liquor, she suspected. "Iron Mares my ass," she said, a cocksure smile on her lips. "It takes more than downing a strong whiskey to be called that. At least where I come from... Speaking of, this may be sudden," she turned towards the still armoured alicorn. "Armifera, that was your name, right? I'm wondering... how good are you with Wingblades?"