He scoffs or laughs with a certain superior, but no doubt infinitely kind and knowing air. It might be easy to forget that for all that Kitty knows a thing or two about-- well, about a thing or two, that she doesn't have a clue when it comes to numbers three through forty thousand if it weren't for her habit of bringing it up every thirty seconds or so. If he were a less understanding sort and she was a little more irritating, he might find himself telling all sorts of stories purely because no one in the room would know enough to catch him at it.
But he's tired and boundless though his creativity is, it might be best to keep a lid on it before he talks his way out of that free ride she's offering. Besides, she can't exactly help being so painfully oblivious.
He settles for airy, but painstakingly educational: "As a matter of fact, I can't. I might be above most of the rules that you have to deal with, but I can't just jump around willy nilly without being summoned. And you--! Well you're even more exhausting to take with me that way than this one. And you have enough complicated parts that it might be perfectly understandable to lose a few on the way even for the likes of me."
Somewhere in there, the falcon has disappeared. In its place - and clambering wearily into her open palm now - is a field mouse with twitching whiskers and small velveteen ears.
It's always funny to see Bartimaeus in forms like that. She sometimes wonders what it means when he goes drab and little. Most of the time, he's so ridiculously focused on looking powerful and impressive, picking his guises to strike awe into the hearts of onlookers. Like that absurd sphinx - honestly, he probably could have made it another hundred miles if he hadn't been so focused on ensuring that the helmet was perfectly gleaming and gorgeous. It must have taken quite a lot of mental energy. If she were in a situation like that, she'd absolutely give no thought whatsoever to her appearance, as she's quite above common vanity of that sort, thanks.
She tugs her tunic back into place and adjusts her hair as she straightens up. Her resilience is, no doubt, less than pleasant for him, so she slips him instead into her breast pocket. Close enough that they can chat, but sheltered from her skin and from the world around them.
"Well, then," she says, "I do quite appreciate you taking the slow route. Not least because the view was quite lovely." She uses a single finger to stroke him gently where he's nestled.
She's a little weary from the journey, but in decent enough condition that she can stride towards the village at reasonable speed. "Now, I'll need you to be my translator, if you don't mind. Doubt any of these people speak English. And do it subtly, if you please, I'd sooner not have any of these poor folks getting nervous about demons and all that. How do I ask for - oh - I suppose something with apples in it would be nice. One of those turnover-type things?"
He's being low profile, thank you very much. It's a shape perfectly calculated for subtlety, for whispering things secretly at her, for - as is just so happens - fitting neatly into pockets where he can nest with his long tail tucked close about him like a cat's. If anyone spots him in this guise, they can mistake Kitty for a batty woman and nothing more.
Which of course he thinks no part of whatsoever, seeing as she's been so prudent as to keep her thoughts to herself. But had Kitty mentioned anything about his chosen form or if he were the sort to uselessly rationalize at length to himself, that might be the sort of thing he'd come up with. Instead, the mouse flicks it ears, wets a paw and smooths its fur back where the tip of her finger - he really should correct that behavior - has mussed it.
"You might as well ask for it in German. --Hey now, here's your chance to really get in some practice on those finer points we discussed earlier," he says, then tells her slowly and with typically flawless pronunciation how to go about it all the while cleaning his whiskers and squirming to get comfortable in the corner of her pocket.
Now that's more like it. The strange squint-and-miss-it texture of her aura isn't quite as offensive like this as it had been after hours of her behind his wings.
"Slow down when you say it," Kitty says, a little exasperated. "That was way too fast. And also, did you use one of those swear words in there? You know I can pick them out now that you've taught them to me."
The town really is a sweet little place. There were parts of the countryside that she'd seen when she traveled that were still scorched with remnants of magic from the Great War those hundred years before. There were parts of London like that, too - areas that felt unsettled and poisoned, wastelands of destruction where no one dared to live. She supposed that that's what the remnants of the Crystal Palace would become, too, in time...But this town clearly had been untouched by the hand of war, hadn't seen violence or destruction or anything of the sort. It's just nice and ordinary.
She does hope it stays like that. Things do have a tendency to get destroyed when Bartimaeus is around, after all.
There's an inn with windows bright and golden with the light inside. Kitty pushes in and is rewarded with warmth and bustling activity, the noise of two dozen people enjoying a pint and chattering away to each other. She gets a few curious looks, but no suspicion or hostility; she suspects she's not the only outsider to come here, not with the train line so close. In fact - yeah, there's a table with a knot of three people with travel-rumpled clothes, hunching over a map and looking awfully confused...She'll be fine here.
"There's a fire in the corner," she says to him softly. "Would it help your essence to be near it?" She knows Bartimaeus is made up of fire and air, more than anything else - but, admittedly, she doesn't exactly know what that means for him in terms of...things that make his time on Earth more comfortable or anything like that.
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But he's tired and boundless though his creativity is, it might be best to keep a lid on it before he talks his way out of that free ride she's offering. Besides, she can't exactly help being so painfully oblivious.
He settles for airy, but painstakingly educational: "As a matter of fact, I can't. I might be above most of the rules that you have to deal with, but I can't just jump around willy nilly without being summoned. And you--! Well you're even more exhausting to take with me that way than this one. And you have enough complicated parts that it might be perfectly understandable to lose a few on the way even for the likes of me."
Somewhere in there, the falcon has disappeared. In its place - and clambering wearily into her open palm now - is a field mouse with twitching whiskers and small velveteen ears.
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She tugs her tunic back into place and adjusts her hair as she straightens up. Her resilience is, no doubt, less than pleasant for him, so she slips him instead into her breast pocket. Close enough that they can chat, but sheltered from her skin and from the world around them.
"Well, then," she says, "I do quite appreciate you taking the slow route. Not least because the view was quite lovely." She uses a single finger to stroke him gently where he's nestled.
She's a little weary from the journey, but in decent enough condition that she can stride towards the village at reasonable speed. "Now, I'll need you to be my translator, if you don't mind. Doubt any of these people speak English. And do it subtly, if you please, I'd sooner not have any of these poor folks getting nervous about demons and all that. How do I ask for - oh - I suppose something with apples in it would be nice. One of those turnover-type things?"
no subject
Which of course he thinks no part of whatsoever, seeing as she's been so prudent as to keep her thoughts to herself. But had Kitty mentioned anything about his chosen form or if he were the sort to uselessly rationalize at length to himself, that might be the sort of thing he'd come up with. Instead, the mouse flicks it ears, wets a paw and smooths its fur back where the tip of her finger - he really should correct that behavior - has mussed it.
"You might as well ask for it in German. --Hey now, here's your chance to really get in some practice on those finer points we discussed earlier," he says, then tells her slowly and with typically flawless pronunciation how to go about it all the while cleaning his whiskers and squirming to get comfortable in the corner of her pocket.
Now that's more like it. The strange squint-and-miss-it texture of her aura isn't quite as offensive like this as it had been after hours of her behind his wings.
no subject
The town really is a sweet little place. There were parts of the countryside that she'd seen when she traveled that were still scorched with remnants of magic from the Great War those hundred years before. There were parts of London like that, too - areas that felt unsettled and poisoned, wastelands of destruction where no one dared to live. She supposed that that's what the remnants of the Crystal Palace would become, too, in time...But this town clearly had been untouched by the hand of war, hadn't seen violence or destruction or anything of the sort. It's just nice and ordinary.
She does hope it stays like that. Things do have a tendency to get destroyed when Bartimaeus is around, after all.
There's an inn with windows bright and golden with the light inside. Kitty pushes in and is rewarded with warmth and bustling activity, the noise of two dozen people enjoying a pint and chattering away to each other. She gets a few curious looks, but no suspicion or hostility; she suspects she's not the only outsider to come here, not with the train line so close. In fact - yeah, there's a table with a knot of three people with travel-rumpled clothes, hunching over a map and looking awfully confused...She'll be fine here.
"There's a fire in the corner," she says to him softly. "Would it help your essence to be near it?" She knows Bartimaeus is made up of fire and air, more than anything else - but, admittedly, she doesn't exactly know what that means for him in terms of...things that make his time on Earth more comfortable or anything like that.