inbox

[reshapes]

action + written + crystal

Comments

[reshapes]

[A great, labored sigh. Somewhere, Bartimaeus replaces the torch he'd been intending to light the end of a trussed up Kirkwall brigand back into its holder. He makes a one moment please gesture to the squirming cut purse.]

Has that ever stopped you before?

[rathercommon]

Erm - right. I was about to...

[ Kitty trails off, distracted somewhat by - ]

What's that noise?

[reshapes]

There's a dog whining out here. Now go on. Regale me.

[rathercommon]

Oh.

Well, erm - I was just going to...run some errands. And I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me.

[ this is stupid. ]

[reshapes]

[Can she hear him squinting?

Certainly she must be prepared for the smart remark--:]

Oh sure, why not. Shall I meet you over at the docks?

[He's pointing to his eyes and then back to Trussed Cutpurse, miming a talking head with his hand and a Almost Done Here, Really Thank You So Much For Your Patience wobble of the head.]

[rathercommon]

[ This is so stupid. ]

I mean...Yeah. Would you?

[reshapes]

I've already agreed, haven't I?

[A cluck of the tongue, and then the line - or you know, whatever you'd prefer it to be called - goes dead. Somewhere in Kirkwall, a boy says to an unsavory gentleman tied hand and foot: Well. I'm sorry to say that today's your lucky day, old chap.

Etc etc and so on. Honestly, he never would have agreed, but he'd backed himself into a corner discussing all the nasty things he was going to do for finding a stranger's hand in his pocket, and this is a welcome if rather anticlimactic solution to the quandary of what he actually was intending. So with a spring and a step, he's off.

A half hour later, there is a rather fetching youth draped handsomely over a convenient ledge near the ferry slip. He is recognizably Bartimaeus - or rather the guise he's taken to -, and yet absolutely not Bartimaeus at all. All the pretense of pointy elbows has been smoothed out, eyelashes appropriately darkened, hair given a slight windblown and tousled quality. Both a fishmonger's daughter and son keep looking in this direction, but alas. The good looking lad only has eyes for--]

There you are! I've nearly pined myself right to death waiting here.

[What, like he wasn't going to at least attempt to mortify her? Please.]

[rathercommon]

[ Why on earth is he all sprawled out like that? And why on earth are those two, the boy and the girl, looking at her like they want to murder her? Maybe they're actually looking at him. Maybe he did something to make them angry. Definitely wouldn't put it past him. ]

Sorry. I was caught up in a few things.

[ She adjusts the parcel tucked under her arm, and then tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She still feels a churning, electric anxiety pumping through her, but stupidly, it's just a little bit less intense with him standing here. Which is stupid, because if anyone showed up to kidnap her, Bartimaeus would probably just blow her a kiss and scoot off without a single backward glance. ]

D'you need a hairbrush or anything? You're looking a bit mussed.

[reshapes]

Do I-- no I don't need a hairbrush. Mind your own business.

[It's dashing, you neophyte.]

Well don't just stand there. These had better be exciting errands.

[rathercommon]

Well - sending letters and the like.

[ She nibbles a little on her lower lip. ]

Could you...look like someone else for this?

[reshapes]

Look like someone else? [Here, the good looking boy pauses to look about them as if certain he will find some third party observing this absurdity.]

What do you take me for - a bit of clay? A doll you can just make up however it pleases you? Do you realize the effort it takes to-- hold on, let's have this conversation elsewhere.

[That fishmonger girl looks like he might he considering heading this way.]

[rathercommon]

What? Oh. All right.

[ Kitty's head comes around, and she frowns. ]

D'you know that girl?

[reshapes]

[Instead of answering, the boy with his artfully tousled hair simply dives forward between and around the various elbows and sailors' shoulders populating the docks. Keep up, Jones.]

[rathercommon]

[ Oh, for -

She looks round to see him disappearing, and has to trot to catch up to him. An elbow knocks into her upper arm; she nearly drops her parcel, but recovers it. By the time she actually draws level with him, she's looking a little mussed herself. ]

Slow down a bit, please -

[reshapes]

Slow down, Bartimaeus. Deliver letters with me, Bartimaeus. Be a different person, Bartimaeus.

[He has slowed though, and the nasal falsetto impression of her is hardly his best.]

Go on then. How would you prefer I look?

[rathercommon]

I don't know.

[ Her jaw tightens. She can't help but feel miserable at the sudden - but expected - lashing out.

More accurately: ]

It doesn't matter. You just shouldn't look like yourself.

[reshapes]

[He laughs. No, guffaws is a better word for it.]

You think this is me looking like myself. Why shouldn't I?

[rathercommon]

[ She lets out a noise of frustration. ]

Because I don't want someone seeing you with me and you getting in trouble for it.

[reshapes]

[It's not easy to squint and lead a person up a series of stairs at the same time, but what do you know - he manages to do it just fine.]

Has someone been off getting into trouble?

[rathercommon]

[ Nor is it easy to stare balefully at your feet while ascending that selfsame staircase, but here she is. ]

Yes. But it doesn't matter. It just oughtn't spill back onto you, that's all.

[reshapes]

[Doesn't matter? Doesn't matter! The boy puts a hand to his heart, and all but oozes up the steps ahead of her carried forward solely by his own delight.]

I think you'll find it most certainly does? Imagine, little Miss rabble rouser Kitty Jones in the kind of trouble she doesn't want to talk about. It strains the imagination. How about this - you tell me what you did, and I'll clean up my face?

[rathercommon]

[ Why does he seem so happy? She shakes her head - ]

Why? What does it matter what it was about? Why d'you want to know?

[reshapes]

Because. Now either you give me the details or you're stuck with me as I am, and who knows what might happen if I were to be tangled up in whatever it is you're so worried about.

[rathercommon]

[ It's not a secret. It's not a secret, so there's no problem in telling him. Not at all.

But she doesn't want to. He's going to be so - So - ]

There's a secret I'm keeping from the department heads, and they know I'm keeping it. It's going to be trouble for me. I don't want them getting convinced that you know it, too, because that'll make it trouble for you.

[reshapes]

What secret?

[And if she didn't expect that to be the follow up question, then he has a nice bridge to sell her on the way to the courier.]