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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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.