WHO: Fitcher, Marcoulf, Bartimaeus (+) & YOU WHAT: Ye Olde Catch'all WHEN: Nowish WHERE: Kirkwall, The Gallows, le Misc. NOTES: Starters in comments; if you want something/someone who isn't here, just hit me up and I'll scrape something together.
It it not a mage throwing the sound, and neither is it cups or coconuts.
He's never really been all that big on horses, to tell the truth. While he'd once been very loosely acquainted2 with an Afrit whose favored guise had been that of a two headed stallion with brimstone red eyes and a coat so jet that it hurt to behold, he's also seen a five too many of the animals spooking at the word 'Boo!' and dumping crown princes into muddy fields to really get the romanticism. But sure. When it comes to making the painfully familiar a little spooky, a horse swimming up from out of the dark isn't the worst way of going about the business.
The horse that suddenly rounds into the crossroads doesn't look particularly ghostly, but it is a bright silver in the overcast night. It has no saddle or bridle, and for all the world appears to be just a loose animal - well timed, but hardly supernatural. Only, as it comes careening down the roadway forcing the whole tour to jump to one side or the other to avoid being trampled, it seems strangely high off the ground - pale hooves striking sparks against cobblestones at a level to which the street no longer rises.
And then it is past them and gone, evaporating into the dark of the night with a steady ring of hoofbeats. The road, with all its dust and pooled rainwater and general muck, is left undisturbed in its wake.
2. If by 'acquainted' one means 'watched from safely across the battle field while the Afrit in question literally ate its way through the left flank of charging enemy djinn', and he does.
What's a sure-fire way to tip your hand in a situation like this? That's right, acting like you've seen something before. Luckily, because Athessa is not expecting a full bodied apparition to come trotting out in mid-air, her reaction is appropriately shocked, awed, and so on. For a split second, she buys her own con, forgetting that this ghost horse must be Bartimaeus, and she's just one among the group with an expression of wide-eyed wonder on her face.
But then she clues in, and puts her astonishment to good use.
"This is truly a special night, everyone. I can assure you that that," she gestures to where the horse was. "Does not happen often." Hazarding a glance at the Little Shit that's intent on ruining the tour, she's pleased to find angry confusion on the brat's face. Coconuts indeed.
The next stops go by smoothly; the bridge over the canal, rumored to be the site of a tragic abduction of some half-dozen children (featuring the soft sounds of baby crocodile tears). Then, the gallows, simple and obvious.
It's at the burned tenement that Athessa and Bartimaeus' pre-teen nemesis pipes up with:
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He's never really been all that big on horses, to tell the truth. While he'd once been very loosely acquainted2 with an Afrit whose favored guise had been that of a two headed stallion with brimstone red eyes and a coat so jet that it hurt to behold, he's also seen a five too many of the animals spooking at the word 'Boo!' and dumping crown princes into muddy fields to really get the romanticism. But sure. When it comes to making the painfully familiar a little spooky, a horse swimming up from out of the dark isn't the worst way of going about the business.
The horse that suddenly rounds into the crossroads doesn't look particularly ghostly, but it is a bright silver in the overcast night. It has no saddle or bridle, and for all the world appears to be just a loose animal - well timed, but hardly supernatural. Only, as it comes careening down the roadway forcing the whole tour to jump to one side or the other to avoid being trampled, it seems strangely high off the ground - pale hooves striking sparks against cobblestones at a level to which the street no longer rises.
And then it is past them and gone, evaporating into the dark of the night with a steady ring of hoofbeats. The road, with all its dust and pooled rainwater and general muck, is left undisturbed in its wake.
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But then she clues in, and puts her astonishment to good use.
"This is truly a special night, everyone. I can assure you that that," she gestures to where the horse was. "Does not happen often." Hazarding a glance at the Little Shit that's intent on ruining the tour, she's pleased to find angry confusion on the brat's face. Coconuts indeed.
The next stops go by smoothly; the bridge over the canal, rumored to be the site of a tragic abduction of some half-dozen children (featuring the soft sounds of baby crocodile tears). Then, the gallows, simple and obvious.
It's at the burned tenement that Athessa and Bartimaeus' pre-teen nemesis pipes up with:
"So do we get to go inside, or what?"