First, a complaint is made to the landlord, which grumbled up through the staff until it reaches some faceless creature in a faraway office block. A complaint made in this manner functions as a sort of invocation, which (after a waiting period somewhere between three days and forever) summons an extraordinarily unprepared-looking old man carrying a small tube of sealant. He doesn't tell anyone that he's arrived, but one can see him through the window staring at the street and whistling through his teeth in the way tradesmen do when they know they're about to disappoint you. Eventually, when he's exhausted the full length of time someone can stand on a street staring at the floor without looking suspicious, he sighs, and begins to plug up whatever cracks and gaps he can find with silicone. As soon as he has left,. the thumping and rumbling of subterranean London begins to dislodge his efforts, and a few days later the tiles are as permeable as ever.
- Oliver Darkshire, Once Upon a Tome, p. 129
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