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

[meds4sale]

"Friend ...hm?"

How friendly people could be when they wanted something.

"It was ... two years ago now that I first came, though I have been ...absent for latter half."

It was hard to get a good look at the Medicine Seller as he was standing off to the side, but he looked quite like the elves here. Pointy ears, facial markings that may have been makeup, may have been tattoos, or maybe something else. His attire was almost ludicrously opulent, contrasting sharply against the cold, flat affect of his expression and voice. If Bartimaeus had the sense for it though, the Medicine Seller wouldn't feel anything like the elves.

"Arrival can be a little problematic for some."

[reshapes]

The boy tips his head slightly farther, as if that might help him to see through the door better. But it's a lost cause. Something itches a little at the back of his thoughts, a kind of strange lack of familiarity with the shape of the figure's aura, but it's not like he's in the position to give it a proper study now is he? All the odd texture of it really accomplished is inspiring him with more questions, and he already has quite enough of those, thank you.

"Absent? Absent where?"

[meds4sale]

"The Fade, one would presume. Whether or not that is what happened..."

Even if Barteaeus couldn't see the shrug, it was practically audible in the Medicine Seller's tone.

"One of many mysteries that plague the rifters, I am sure."

[reshapes]

"You can't say for certain? You don't remember going there?"

That's... troubling, in a word. No, he doesn't like the sound of that at all. It's the sort of creepy-crawly thing a spirit who's spent a few centuries trapped in a plinth or a bottle or a house slipper and has gone a little off in the Essence might say.

[meds4sale]

"It is the working theory for now."

In other words, more information was needed before he could say anything for certain.

"In the battle with the demons, you were able to change your shape, yes?"

[reshapes]

That puts him on his heels, a cold finger of dread walking lazily down the length of his Essence. A little uncertainty in life, particularly when it comes to the world of humans, is to be expected. It's part of why he isn't overtly concerned now. Does any of this make much sense? No, not at all. But he's operating under the expectation that it will. If he's patient, that little itch of instinct at the base of his metaphorical skull tells him that something somwhere will reveal itself that makes all of this fall neatly into place. Ah ha!, he'll say. I knew had to be such-and-such thing all along!

There's something very unsettling indeed about the possibility of not knowing, of melting away into a place unseen and not realizing you've gone at all.

Carefully, with a note of caution now: "That's right. Why do you ask?"

[meds4sale]

"I have known some back in my world. And I had known one here," he said by way of explanation.

"It is a useful talent, but one many might consider... blasphemy of sorts."

[reshapes]

"Yes, yes, blasphemy. That much is obvious from the whole currently in a dungeon thing - or haven't you noticed?" (Maybe attacking members of the Inquisition had more to do with it than any profane horror did, but whatever. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.) "Go back to that other part - the one where you've met someone like me before. When you say you knew them 'here', does that mean they were... of this world? Or were they like you and I? Did they have one of these?"

He's wandered closer to the door through this, and now lifts his left hand. He wriggles his fingers, the light of the rift shard dancing from his palm and over his fingertips.

If there's another spirit out there...

[meds4sale]

"A human of this world," he explained, and that was about as far as he'd go on that. Discretion was the better part of valor or whatever the saying was.

"There are no guarantees with who to trust, but people like... ah..."

There was another pause, and when he continued, there was a lilt of amusement in his tone.

"...us are not entirely without those who will not look immediately upon us with suspicion."

[reshapes]

A long, contemplative pause follows. The boy in the cell lingers there, halfway between the cell's door and rear wall, his head tipped to the side like a bird studying a particularly interesting insect far, far below the wire on which it's perched.

Eventually, he says in clear tones of 'let's put that on a shelf for later examination, shall we?': "Well, this has been all been very illuminating."

[meds4sale]

"I am glad to have been of some help," the Medicine Seller said with a bow of his head.

"Is there anything else you might be curious about?"

[reshapes]

And just like that, it occurs to Bartimaeus that he's been the chatty Kathy in this situation. --Well, no. He's always the chatty Kathy, but in his case he's doing all the heavy lifting when it comes to trapping them both in this conversation, isn't he?

Hm.

The boy in the cell straightens. He gives the slot in the door an imperious look. "No, I think that's all for right now."

[meds4sale]

"Then," and there was a shuffling noise of something wooden being scraped over the stone, and something else that went clink, "I will take my leave."

His footsteps began to recede, and then stopped.

"My best wishes for your speedy release."