He does like them. He understands them; he knows what they're feeling, no guessing and no lies, and for a few years of his childhood they were frequently the only company he would tolerate.
All things he would rather shove his feet into the fire than say out loud. He'd prefer to eye Kitty like he's waiting on an explanation for why she might think otherwise—one he does attempt to prompt, if not ask for outright, with, "There were—spirits where you came from. You said."
"Mm." She settles down a bit, placing her chin on her knees, watching the wisps as they float. "Yeah. Not really like these, though. The ones back home - they'd talk to you. They all had...life, and intelligence, and personalities. Free will, even if they were never allowed to use it."
For a moment, she hesitates. Then - Well. It's Kostos. Kostos is all right. He looks at these spirits, little tiny bits of nothingness, with affection; he nurtures them. It's all right to talk to him about this sort of stuff. "Have you ever met Bartimaeus? He's sort of an expert on them. On spirits. You might ask him sometime."
no subject
He does like them. He understands them; he knows what they're feeling, no guessing and no lies, and for a few years of his childhood they were frequently the only company he would tolerate.
All things he would rather shove his feet into the fire than say out loud. He'd prefer to eye Kitty like he's waiting on an explanation for why she might think otherwise—one he does attempt to prompt, if not ask for outright, with, "There were—spirits where you came from. You said."
no subject
For a moment, she hesitates. Then - Well. It's Kostos. Kostos is all right. He looks at these spirits, little tiny bits of nothingness, with affection; he nurtures them. It's all right to talk to him about this sort of stuff. "Have you ever met Bartimaeus? He's sort of an expert on them. On spirits. You might ask him sometime."