RIFTER ARRIVAL: Guardian 9:45

[faderifting]

WHO: New rifters, rescuers, and anyone else
WHAT: New arrivals are collected and transported to Kirkwall
WHEN: Mid-Guardian, 9:45
WHERE: The hills north of Starkhaven
NOTES: This log contains prompts for the ARRIVAL and RECOVERY of new rifters, as well as the subsequent QUARANTINE period. All prompts are open to anyone.

Comments

[reshapes]

"My, what a bleeding heart you have, Kitty." But more importantly-- "However, seeing as you're of a mind to be so helpful. let's take a moment to clarify a few points, shall we?"

The boy twists around to face her, rearranging his limbs to sit cross-legged. He's quite straight backed now, focus cutting away from the prospect of poking the metaphorical wound of all of this and toward-- well, he isn't quite sure yet, honestly. But he knows potential when he smells it.

"Am I to believe that, as far as you know, I'm the only spirit being held by the Inquisition? If so--" The dark eyed boy cocks his head thoughtfully to the side. His attention on her is quite keen now. The last time they'd spoke she'd been very honest indeed about what she did and didn't know, who she'd been taught by and what her intentions were. Also, hadn't she been a little sharper in the face? If he didn't know any better (because what he suspects is fundamentally not possible) and if he trusted his ability to gauge the age of bright eyed teenage girls, he might almost say...

Well. It doesn't hurt to be careful. And for some reason, that flicker of uncertainty has him skirting away from the obvious questions: Why did you try to summon me again? And here of all places? That makes the most sense, doesn't it? That somehow, something had gone strange and crooked with how she'd last dismissed him and now here she was in a different place entirely, snapping him back out of whatever formless inbetween place he'd gotten stuck in. That, he thinks, almost makes sense.

But what if none of this makes sense?

It would be a real shame to be the one to give her ideas, wouldn't it?

"In which case," says Bartimaeus. "I wonder if you have any theories as to how I'm here now."

[rathercommon]

"All I know's what I've been told."

She reaches up and gathers her hair behind her head (is it too long? She feels self-conscious about it now, which is stupid, because what's a demon know about style, anyway) and lets it fall.

"I haven't got any way to confirm it, or deny it. No one has. But what they think is that - The realm you came out of, the greenish one that the other dem- spirits came out of with you, is called the Fade. It's where all magic comes from in this place. It's also where all dreams come from. So what they think - what they say - is that we were at some point dreaming versions of ourselves that manifested in the Fade. Then magic brought those dreams to life. And that's what we are, essentially - a sort of new version of ourselves, born out of our own imaginations."

So, there. The complete story. How's that for helpfulness? (Not, it must be admitted, all that great. The story sounds completely ridiculous, and it only half makes sense. But she still stares at Bartimaeus once she's finished with her shoulders squared and a face that reveals no embarrassment at all.)

[reshapes]

For a a moment, he says nothing at all. Motes of dust kicked up from his ealier shifting swirl dreamlike in the dim light of the cell then alight gently back to the cold stone floor from which they were first stirred. There is the distant sound of a door opening, then banging shut. From the center of the small dark room, the narrow faced boy with the knobby knees, the slightly too big hands and long, delicate fingers, simply looks back at Kitty. His eyes are very dark and the world above them is so very far away.

Then:

"Well if that isn't the barmiest thing I've heard in my whole life, then I don't know what is."

[rathercommon]

She'd actually thought that it took. For a single, mad moment, she really thought he was listening to her. A frustrated grunt looses itself from her lips, and she shakes her head -

"Believe me or don't. But it's what I've heard, and for my part, I don't see any reason not to believe it." Then, with a shake of her head - "Here, they think everything about our world is mad, so I don't know if we're really in a position to judge."

[reshapes]

"Who's judging!¹ I don't doubt that's what they think is going on. And hey, maybe pieces of it are bang on. How should I know? Waking up out of a magical fever dream might explain why you're here, but I don't have anything to do with dreams so unless the bottom suddenly fell out of the Other Place - which would be difficult, seeing as it hasn't got one - and I punched through it in transit then--"

A pause.

Hm. He regards the miasmic glow of magic in his palm.

You know, saying it aloud like that (and not hearing it from out of the mouth of a girl who wouldn't know a binding rune from a lewd hieroglyph) and suddenly it does seem a little less unintelligible.

"Well never mind. Let's move on to the better question: Is the person, place, or thing making swiss cheese out of everything present and accounted for?"

1. Any more than usual.

[rathercommon]

Do demons not dream? She didn't know that. Makes sense, though, she supposes - she never once came across a demon sleeping in the course of any of her burglaries. She wants to ask more, but - Well. More important things.

"Swiss cheese?" She shakes her head, puzzled. "D'you mean the person who brought us here, or...?"

[reshapes]

Behold: a far more interesting turn of conversation that conveniently involves him interrogating her instead of the other way around.

"This isn't a pick and mix, Kitty. --Unless of course it is, I suppose. Yes, that's exactly I mean. Who summoned us here? Was it on purpose? If so, I can't imagine they got what they paid for with you. No offense, but you're not exactly an Afrit now are you."

He's got a few bones to pick, you see. Preferably out of his teeth after finishing with the summoner in question.

[rathercommon]

"Neither are you," she replies tartly. And then she wonders why she feels irritated over that comment. Ugh, Bartimaeus has the most frustrating ability to get under your skin.

She tries to release her frustration with a long breath. Be helpful. "And no. There's no summoner. Not as far as we know. If there's anything, it's this." She raises her hand to show the green fleck. "We can control portals with these - portals into the Fade. So these things- they seem to be what drew us here. But if a person was involved...they haven't made themselves known yet. Which, by this point, they ought to have done."

[reshapes]

"Unless they don't want you to know. Haven't you ever thrown a rock through a window and played dumb when someone came around asking?"

Purely hypothetically speaking, of course. He's never thrown a rock through a window in his life. He has however thrown quite a few other things through and out them, the grossly short list being: himself, a spear bound with the spirit of the great Afrit Ukba (not as disrespectful as it sounds, really), a wheelbarrow full of bricks (not technically rocks), and a certain crown prince of Numidia.

Anyway. Not the point.

"I assume someone's already tried just jumping back through the nearest portal, eh?"

[rathercommon]

"Yeah." She hesitates, debating whether to admit this, then decides there's no reason not to. Aside from the fact that Bartimaeus will have some choice comments. Which she can put up with.

"I ended up dragged along on that trip. There wasn't any way back through there." She sighs and shakes her head. "Anyway, don't magicians generally order you about soon as you're summoned? Isn't that how it works?"

[reshapes]

Choice comments later to come, apparently.

"Well generally, sure. But generally I don't fall out of a hole in the world, down a flight of stairs, and into a brawl either. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say I've been somehow lost in transit."

Here, the boy pauses. Maybe if he holds a moment, the nonsensical shape of it all will suddenly unknot itself and present a clear solution. He waits maybe a second for it to do that. When it stubbornly resists, he pivots:

"You know, this all seems like a conversation that would be much better to have outside of a cell."

[rathercommon]

Here, Kitty responds without much hesitation. She'd expected this request earlier, so she's got an answer ready to go.

"I expect it would. Not something I can take care of, though."

[reshapes]

And there goes the apparent good will that the whole mystery of his circumstances had inspired in him. Bartimaeus wrinkles his nose, sighs, and sags back to lying on the cell floor.

"In that case, I'm tired of being poked and prodded. Don't you have anything better to do than sit there and taunt me with your freedom?"