CLEVERER. Well now she's just being insulting on top of everything else.
"I'm not trying to frighten you, Kitty," says the hollow cheeked figure on the bed through his sweetly bared teeth. The light of the rift shard glows between his bone narrow fingers, glinting in his fist. "I'm merely pointing out what is typical."
Kitty scoffs. "Now who is it who wants a medal for showing a little basic decency? Congratulations. Thanks. You're not murdering me for fun. I'll make sure that when I make a trophy for well-done-being-somewhat-not-hateful, I won't make it of silver."
Oh, that does rankle. Were he a more petty, low humored sort now would be the time to become a thing of all teeth. Why, he could be more bristling than a dozen Nile crocodiles if he cared to. And while he might not have a particular taste for human2, occassionally one can find pleasure in even the most pedestrian of hobbies.
But at this rate, he's half beginning to think she wants to be eaten. He'd have her halfway down his gullet and Kitty Jones's shrill voice would come floating back up to say, I told you so.
"You are missing the point," protests the dessicating body, flesh stretched taut. "The point is--"
Good question, actually.
"The point," he repeats. There's a period at which when becoming a mummy where one naturally trends towards sounding a little dusty and parched. He clears his throat and insists, "Is that I don't have to put up with this."
Which is more or less the instant in which the gangly body unfolds like a particularly morbid accordion and rises from the bed.
"Typical," is her response. Her arms are crossed; she surveys him with an absence of fear. Indeed, she's fully committed to this decision to prioritize irritation over fear; she positively radiates it.
"It's a dreadfully poor showing from you, you know, Bartimaeus. I make a great many very good points, and your response? Is to threaten to eat me and then run away. Because you haven't got any actual good answers." And then, with a shake of her head - "It's stupid. It's all stupid, you know. We ought to be working together, but instead you're too up your own arse with hating me and deciding that, oh, a human could never possibly do anything for you, oh, Kitty Jones, she's a wicked little monster who's too pathetic and weak to ever even help."
That's a rather lengthy speech, and yet Kitty is a talented young woman; she delivers it rapid-fire enough that it's finished before Bartimaeus has even fully risen.
It's nearly exhausting enough to melt flesh from bone. But honestly, he's never been one for the naked skeleton look. Even with his Essence at it's most gaunt, he's done his part to keep a scrap of skin or a paltry down of feather on hand. And really, the pulsing chunk of magic crammed at the edge of him might be unpleasant - will, he is certain, rip him to pieces if he isn't careful -, but it's not like it's doing much more than siphoning him off in slow motion right this second.
So no, the skin stays. But he adds a bit of unearthly smoke and nauseated green asp tongues of fire racing here and there for effect. And because he is annoyed.
"What exactly is it that you think we should be working on together? Knittibg socks for all the Kirkwall orphans? Sending me flapping around from one end of the continent to another, dropping baskets full of puppies whenever I spot a large enough pack of people with sad eyes? Or, no. I'll bet it's closer to Bartimaeus, I'd like you to go straight away ti fire bombing Minrathous if you please. Never mind the semantics."
The look she gives him is scathing. "Minrathous is full of enslaved people. Asking you to do that would be stupid." And then she shakes her head, because that's beside the point -
"And I think we ought to be working together on - " On what? "On something you care about," she says after a moment. "I've got lots I care about, all sorts of things here, but I won't make you get worked up about the things I think are important. But you - I know you've got to care about something here. The elves, or the spirits, or the mages, or something."
It's such an absurd suggestion that he practically trips over it, which is the only reason he has time to rethink things before he gets round to the requisite scoffing and gagging. Something he cares about, eh?
The downside to the whole mummified corpse wreathed in unholy fire gig is that it's not really made for subtle implication. Lifting an eyebrow isn't really done. So he settles for cocking his head slightly to one side and giving her the nearest approximation of a sidelong glance he can manage. It's half taut, like she's managed to catch him jumping from one conclusion to another.
Which, to be fair, she has.
"Look, kid. Even if there was something - and I'm not saying there is -, what could you even offer? I hate to break it to you, but you're dead weight to the likes of me. "
That gets him a derisive snort. "'Cause you're so all-powerful here, are you?" She shakes her head. "Be real, Bartimaeus."
Then she pushes her hair from her face. "And what I offer depends on what you want." A beat, and then she looks at him, and asks, "D'you have any idea about anything that you'd actually want?"
It should be noted for the record that this is a singularly odd position for a spirit to find himself in. With only a handful of exceptions, he can't honestly think of a time in which someone asked him what he wanted without him first having that person well on the ropes2. And usually in those circumstances, he finds that his desires are fairly simple - Hand over the talisman, give up that name, dismiss me and I might let you live, and so on. So is it any wonder that he comes up a little empty handed?
Not that she needs to know that. In fact, he's quite prompt about answering.
"Yes, actually. I'd rather like to arrange a conversation with whoever is running the show for the Venatori. Not Corypheus necessarily - anyone with half a brain and one eyeball could tell you that one has to be at least somewhat free of his rocker. But the sensible person he has to his right would do nicely. If anyone knows how to fix this whole mess, I expect it would be them."
3. Or clinging to a window ledge by little more than their fingernails. Potayto, potahto.
It's an answer, but not a very good one. It's just - an action he thinks is sensible to take, not a dream he has. So it's definitely more than she was expecting (at some level, she was anticipating he'd gape at her in astonishment for actually asking about his desires) but it's still not especially ambitious.
"So you want to fix this mess?" she says. "Which mess? Us being here?"
"Us being here, whatever brought us here in the first place - you may not mind it, but speaking for myself I'd rather like to be certain that when I leave it will be for good." Not if; when. "There are quite enough people in the old world yanking my kind out and into service. I'd like to be sure no one else gets any bright ideas."
Imagine that. As if one reality full of power hungry megalomaniacs weren't enough.
She's quiet for a moment, thinking that over. It's - it's a valid point, isn't it. The worst thing that could happen to this place would be the enslavement of spirits like Bartimaeus. It ruined her world; it would destroy this one utterly. But even so, that answer doesn't quite satisfy her.
"It wouldn't really help these people, though, would it," she says, tugging restlessly on her fingers. "Not really. If we're going to die - if we're going to disappear at any moment - then oughtn't we make this place better? Really think about the whole mess - not just what involves us?"
The boy - for he is kn his way to being that again, the ragged and rail thin bag of dessicated bones dripping from his likeness as a layers of varnish flakes away - narrows his eyes at her. In the great lexicon of sideways looks that he's leveled, this one is very sidelong indeed. There might even be a frankness to it which could almost be called honesty.
"What?" The question startles her enough that she actually looks over at Bartimaeus - which is definitely a mistake, because the half-person half-monster look is really utterly dreadful. "Ugh," she says involuntarily, and looks away again.
Then - "Don't be ridiculous. This place is awful. Everyone's constantly kicking everyone else around and abusing them and hurting them, and it's not even mage-versus-commoner here, it's - that, and also elf-versus-human, and noble-versus-commoner, and so on and so on. A hundred more levels of awfulness and abuse and cruelty even beyond what we know."
And yet. She could end there, but something in her, some little spark of dreadful honesty, pushes her to admit - "People...do rather care what I have to say here, though. A bit."
--It is not, in immediate retrospect, really an ah-ha moment. Not yet anyway. After all, is there any word Kitty Jones loves more than 'care'? He can't think of one. Yet it feels like a kind of victory - some kind of point on the verge of being proven or an inch of hold he doesn't quite yet know how to leverage. But there is a gap there and he senses it deserves investigation.
"Reaaaally. I take it that you're enjoying the novelty. I know I would."
"Don't say that like - that," she mutters, because there's something she quite dislikes about his tone. Something dreadfully smug, when, what's there even to be smug about. "What I'm enjoying is the knowledge that I've actually got the ability to fight for things here. Back home, we stood about in Mr Pennyfeather's art shop and snarled at one another and got greedy. Here - Here, I've actually helped people. Saved people."
She feels horribly, dreadfully self-conscious, just then, and looks down at her feet as they scuff at the floor. You sound so stupid, Kitty. "So that matters."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2019-08-19 03:24 am (UTC)CLEVERER. Well now she's just being insulting on top of everything else.
"I'm not trying to frighten you, Kitty," says the hollow cheeked figure on the bed through his sweetly bared teeth. The light of the rift shard glows between his bone narrow fingers, glinting in his fist. "I'm merely pointing out what is typical."
no subject
Date: 2019-08-19 12:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-08-19 12:39 pm (UTC)But at this rate, he's half beginning to think she wants to be eaten. He'd have her halfway down his gullet and Kitty Jones's shrill voice would come floating back up to say, I told you so.
"You are missing the point," protests the dessicating body, flesh stretched taut. "The point is--"
Good question, actually.
"The point," he repeats. There's a period at which when becoming a mummy where one naturally trends towards sounding a little dusty and parched. He clears his throat and insists, "Is that I don't have to put up with this."
Which is more or less the instant in which the gangly body unfolds like a particularly morbid accordion and rises from the bed.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-19 12:51 pm (UTC)"It's a dreadfully poor showing from you, you know, Bartimaeus. I make a great many very good points, and your response? Is to threaten to eat me and then run away. Because you haven't got any actual good answers." And then, with a shake of her head - "It's stupid. It's all stupid, you know. We ought to be working together, but instead you're too up your own arse with hating me and deciding that, oh, a human could never possibly do anything for you, oh, Kitty Jones, she's a wicked little monster who's too pathetic and weak to ever even help."
That's a rather lengthy speech, and yet Kitty is a talented young woman; she delivers it rapid-fire enough that it's finished before Bartimaeus has even fully risen.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-19 01:23 pm (UTC)So no, the skin stays. But he adds a bit of unearthly smoke and nauseated green asp tongues of fire racing here and there for effect. And because he is annoyed.
"What exactly is it that you think we should be working on together? Knittibg socks for all the Kirkwall orphans? Sending me flapping around from one end of the continent to another, dropping baskets full of puppies whenever I spot a large enough pack of people with sad eyes? Or, no. I'll bet it's closer to Bartimaeus, I'd like you to go straight away ti fire bombing Minrathous if you please. Never mind the semantics."
no subject
Date: 2019-08-20 02:36 am (UTC)"And I think we ought to be working together on - " On what? "On something you care about," she says after a moment. "I've got lots I care about, all sorts of things here, but I won't make you get worked up about the things I think are important. But you - I know you've got to care about something here. The elves, or the spirits, or the mages, or something."
no subject
Date: 2019-08-21 03:07 am (UTC)It's such an absurd suggestion that he practically trips over it, which is the only reason he has time to rethink things before he gets round to the requisite scoffing and gagging. Something he cares about, eh?
The downside to the whole mummified corpse wreathed in unholy fire gig is that it's not really made for subtle implication. Lifting an eyebrow isn't really done. So he settles for cocking his head slightly to one side and giving her the nearest approximation of a sidelong glance he can manage. It's half taut, like she's managed to catch him jumping from one conclusion to another.
Which, to be fair, she has.
"Look, kid. Even if there was something - and I'm not saying there is -, what could you even offer? I hate to break it to you, but you're dead weight to the likes of me. "
no subject
Date: 2019-08-22 12:07 am (UTC)Then she pushes her hair from her face. "And what I offer depends on what you want." A beat, and then she looks at him, and asks, "D'you have any idea about anything that you'd actually want?"
no subject
Date: 2019-08-23 02:08 am (UTC)Not that she needs to know that. In fact, he's quite prompt about answering.
"Yes, actually. I'd rather like to arrange a conversation with whoever is running the show for the Venatori. Not Corypheus necessarily - anyone with half a brain and one eyeball could tell you that one has to be at least somewhat free of his rocker. But the sensible person he has to his right would do nicely. If anyone knows how to fix this whole mess, I expect it would be them."
no subject
Date: 2019-08-25 11:52 pm (UTC)"So you want to fix this mess?" she says. "Which mess? Us being here?"
no subject
Date: 2019-09-04 09:18 pm (UTC)Imagine that. As if one reality full of power hungry megalomaniacs weren't enough.
no subject
Date: 2019-09-05 02:11 am (UTC)"It wouldn't really help these people, though, would it," she says, tugging restlessly on her fingers. "Not really. If we're going to die - if we're going to disappear at any moment - then oughtn't we make this place better? Really think about the whole mess - not just what involves us?"
no subject
Date: 2019-09-24 12:21 am (UTC)It is, at the very least, honest suspicion.
"You prefer this place, don't you?"
no subject
Date: 2019-09-24 08:31 am (UTC)Then - "Don't be ridiculous. This place is awful. Everyone's constantly kicking everyone else around and abusing them and hurting them, and it's not even mage-versus-commoner here, it's - that, and also elf-versus-human, and noble-versus-commoner, and so on and so on. A hundred more levels of awfulness and abuse and cruelty even beyond what we know."
And yet. She could end there, but something in her, some little spark of dreadful honesty, pushes her to admit - "People...do rather care what I have to say here, though. A bit."
no subject
Date: 2019-09-25 01:07 am (UTC)--It is not, in immediate retrospect, really an ah-ha moment. Not yet anyway. After all, is there any word Kitty Jones loves more than 'care'? He can't think of one. Yet it feels like a kind of victory - some kind of point on the verge of being proven or an inch of hold he doesn't quite yet know how to leverage. But there is a gap there and he senses it deserves investigation.
"Reaaaally. I take it that you're enjoying the novelty. I know I would."
no subject
Date: 2019-09-25 01:14 am (UTC)She feels horribly, dreadfully self-conscious, just then, and looks down at her feet as they scuff at the floor. You sound so stupid, Kitty. "So that matters."