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[rathercommon]

crystal | letter | cease and desist notices slipped under her door | action

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[reshapes]

There are certain visitors one might expect to find upon opening the door to their narrow little accommodations in the Gallows which might be considered unpleasant but wouldn't necessarily be wholly unexpected. Spiders? Certainly. Flies and gnats? In the summer heat, Kitty should be thankful every shadowy corner isn't crawling with them. Maybe even a big obnoxious seagull right there on the ledge of the window left cracked in an attempt to cool the room, whooping and hollering at its competition swirling endlessly wing over wing over the high towers. And then there is the visitor she has: a great tawny lioness sprawled the length of the unmade bed.

Hours ago, having entered the room through that open window in the guise of an unnaturally large grackle, he'd taken this form with the intention of sitting in the center of the room and showing her all his teeth the moment she came through the door. But the effort of holding this shape in the interim combined with the alteration he'd done to take it over that of the bird, has driven him to the indignity of exhaustion as he raises the lioness' head now and curls back its upper lip for a measly flash of one or two long fangs.

"Alright," he growls. For those wondering, it is a very fullthroated, caramel-y type of rumble. It most certainly does not betray any of the effort he's gone through for this, or speak to any doubts he has concerning his ability to pounce on her should she turn to run. Really. "Out with it. Which dark pit have you pushed him down?"

[rathercommon]

She wishes she could pretend that she's not terrified at the sight of the beast. Especially since - well - that's really not the most impressive lion she's ever seen, not by far. Kind of pathetic and ragged, really. But even a pathetic, ragged lion is more than enough to rip her limb from limb.

Bartimaeus' voice, issuing from the creature's mouth, is hardly any sort of reassurance, either. After all, as she's reminded constantly, she hardly even knows him. And he certainly doesn't ever seem particularly warmly inclined towards her. Case in point. And yet even so - even so, she's got to be perfectly polite to him, hasn't she.

So when she sees him stirring on her bed, she fights hard to keep herself from grabbing at her dagger, or going for the silver pendant in her pocket. Instead, she just clenches her fists, and takes in a level breath to keep from yelling in fear, and says, "I don't know what you're talking about. Which dark pit have I pushed who down?"

[reshapes]

"A likely story," gasps the lioness from the bed. It would be more impressive if it were to gather its back legs beneath it in this moment in preparation to pounce, but let's not open the floor for critique. He'll be the one making pointed accusations here, thank you very much. "Don't pretend you haven't been keeping tabs on Mandrake since the moment he arrived. What do you take me for?"

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"I've been busy lately," she snaps. Which isn't untrue. And - well - keeping tabs on him had seemed less of a priority of late, honestly. No real reason. He'd just...proven himself to be not quite as dreadful here as he'd been back home. That's all. It wasn't trust or anything like that, just -

She turns her attention to the animal. "Why?" Kitty asks. "Where is he?"

[reshapes]

"How should I know? This may shock you, but I'm not very practiced with hunting down my masters. Much better at the 'avoiding at all costs until jerked into a pentacle by a few choice words' song and dance."

Candidly (a state which he'd rather not enter), he'd been doing just that - having returned from doing a few laps around Val Royeaux's Grand Cathedral, he'd anticipated being snatched back to the boy's stodgy old interior room and made to give a full report of what he'd heard from a series of convenient window sills and what have you. Instead, he'd been allowed to fuss around the Gallows to his heart's content - playing cards, placing the skull in the jar under the Seneschal's chair, extending his leg to unbelievable lengths in order to trip Matthias, putting rotten eggs into Colin's pockets. You know. The usual.

And still no summons had come. Some might think, Ah the threats worked after all. The lad's finally had a change of heart, or is at least too paranoid to be drawing anything in chalk on floors. But blind optimism without a healthy dose of underlying suspicion is for lesser beings who haven't spent at least a few thousand years being jerked around. And so:

The lioness flicks her tail irritably. "He's not in the Gallows. I've looked."

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"Maybe he disappeared, then."

She wants to say that dispassionately. This is just a fact of life with Rifters, after all. They're summoned out of nothing, out of the magic of the Fade; they vanish just as quickly. It's happened to plenty of people she's known. Lakshmi was one of the most recent, but she's certainly not alone...Life here isn't permanent. And it's been lost by people way more worthy than stupid John Mandrake.

But even so, even raising the possibility makes her feel vaguely ill. Which is so stupid. It must be because she's just anxious about how it's going to happen to her, eventually. That's all.

She goes over to the window and pushes it shut. "Sorry. You're not going to be able to blame me for this one."

[reshapes]

"Disappeared."

It isn't easy for Spirits to do - particularly those as complex and multifaceted as himself -, but every now and then, one manages the perfect crystalline specimen of a single particular emotion. This one is indignantion, clear from the lioness's tawny fur down to the very filament core of his rift shard anchored Essence.

"If Mandrake had just evaporated into thin air, I think I would have been the first to know about it. More likely he's somewhere in Lowtown, bound spidery milk white hand and smelly teenage foot."

[rathercommon]

This isn't an argument that Kitty really wants to have. No, really, you're stupid, he's dead - Why would she want to fight to make Bartimaeus believe that? The smart thing here is to just shrug and say all right and let Bartimaeus carry on with his searching until he finally comes around to logic. And yet, she can't help herself - she bites back -

"How would you know, exactly?" She shakes her head. "How would that work?"

[reshapes]

The lioness looks at her. As certain entertainment media giants have taught us, the simulacrum of photorealistic lions aren't very expressive; even so, this one is impressively blank faced.

"If he was gone, I would be too. That's how this works." There are rules to these things. That's as true here as it is anywhere else. It has to be. "Without a master, there is nothing legt to bind me here."

That is true. Some might call it a guiding principle. Those days spent in the Gallows dungeon had him briefly considering some morbid alternative, but the moment he'd been wrenched free of it via the power of the summons, he'd dismissed the thought out of hand as paranoia.

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"You were here before he was."

She finds herself desperately in need of something to do with her hands. In a stroke of luck, she hasn't dusted her shelves or table or anything in nearly a week; there's a very faint layer of grime upon them. So she goes for a rag, and starts setting to, flicking the cloth to dislodge what's there.

"How do you explain that, then?"

[reshapes]

He squints.

Had he been? He'd never actually asked Nathaniel when he'd come tumbling through his own rift. It had seemed insensible to quiz him on it - like suggesting it was possible the world just spin the other direction for fun. Nathaniel had been present, and so he had stopped asking questions about the nature and timing of his being here. Simple as.

"Some kind of...mistiming as we traveled through the Fade would be my-- Say now, there's a warm thought. The same could be true in reverse."

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She swipes harder at the dust. Nausea churns higher in her.

"What, you want to die, then?"

[reshapes]

He snorts. It's a strange thing for a large cat to do, and a very normal one for a spirit.

"Die. Well that's a little dramatic, isn't it? I know object permanence isn't a human's strong suit, but still."

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"That's what it is." Her voice is quiet and flat. "When Rifters disappear. It's not like when you kill a magician and the demon gets un-summoned. There's no coming back from it. When you go, there's nothing more. No more consciousness, no more life, nothing. It's dying."

She scrubs at an oily smudge hard. Her fingernail catches on the wood and jams.

"If Mandrake's gone, he's dead."

[reshapes]

One prefers to having a clock ticking in these situations. It makes it easy to tell how long the awkward pauses stretch for. In its stead, the lion on the bed twitches the tuft of its tail back and forth, back and forth.

"Nonsense. Who put that idea in your head?"

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"Literally every other Rifter?" She ought to stop. What's the point of Bartimaeus knowing about this? Wouldn't it be better if he just assumed that he'd be going home? All she's going to do is make him miserable. Or hostile, and less prone to trusting her still.

So she shakes her head. "Anyway. What does it even matter to you, what happened to him?"

[reshapes]

Well, one these avenues of conversation has a point to it and the other is potentially theoretical nonsense spouted by a series of people who may or may not have any clue as to what they're going on about. That makes no sense, he might say. If a Rifter disappearing is equivalent to death, how would they even know about it to say so?

So. Sticking firmly with the reasonable, the panting lioness draws itself up and puts on its best look of cool regard.

"Because I'm tired, I would prefer to be dismissed properly, and we had a deal. You may be perfectly happy to stay here for as long as they'll have you, but some of us need to get going sooner rather than later."

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She shakes her head tautly. "Dismissed properly?" she asks in return. "What is it you think Mandrake's going to do? He was as clueless as the rest of us, here. More clueless, even." A little bubble of odd, incongruous anger. She ignores it. "You think he would be able to send you home? When he was here for months and couldn't even send himself home? Please. If he made a deal with you, then he was lying to you. Which oughtn't be a surprise, considering the source."

[reshapes]

Here, at last, something close to bristling emerges in the spirit's crisp tones. "What I expect him to do" --whether he has to go find himself a rift and climb into the Fade and hunt the boy's drifting filaments down to accomplish it-- "is try. Because I can't stay here."

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"Well, he didn't try, did he." She turns her back on Bartimaeus, her shoulders hunched as she wipes down the handles of her drawers. "Or if he did try, he failed. He's a liar or didn't know what he was about. Big bloody surprise."

[reshapes]

Well what does she expect? For him to argue with her? As far as he's concerned, she can call Mandrake whatever nasty names she cares to. It doesn't make a lick of difference to--

"Hold on. Are you upset?"

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She tenses, hand gripping the rag. She doesn't turn around, but just says, sharply, "What a stupid question. Why would I be upset?"

[reshapes]

"I really haven't the slightest idea. But if you spend any longer polishing that drawer knob, it will start to seem vulgar."

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That makes her turn around, a flash of offended anger in her eyes. Unfortunately, as soon as her righteousness fades, it leaves her facing him, and - and what? What is there to say? How can she convince him she doesn't care? Because she doesn't. It's just some existential fear for herself that gives her...gives her that churning, miserable feeling.

"Why do you care if I care, anyway?" she asks (rather lamely). "You hate me and you hate him. So what does it matter?"

[reshapes]

The lioness' dark eyes study her there from across the narrow room. Flick, flick, flick goes its tail.

"Ah," he says. "Never mind. I've figured it out."