likesfootnotes | 2nd footnote [video] a curious morning?

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2nd footnote [video] a curious morning?

[Why is a raven like a writing desk? There is only one explanation: The djinni taking that form buggered it up. How else could one mistake furniture for being a bird?

Bartimaeus, in contrast, paints a fine picture of a raven as the video starts up - his beak is even the right colour! (Though he will forever maintain that his first interpretation featured such a fetching shade of blue in the beak that the species ought to evolve in emulation.)

Yes, he is currently out and about as a raven. Sized sufficiently to carry his record, which he's toted out to The Green after a quick, tight circuit to see what his feathered friends took to wing about. Though he's not so foolish as to head into the forest to discover the true details. They can summon and bind him to that task all he likes, but showing initiative to risk his essence isn't Bartimaeus's idea of a good time.]

Quite a bit of excitement over one minor Detonation, but no harm done. Just a few feathers ruffled. I don't sense or see anything on the seven planes to get worked up about.

[Then again, he also does not realise that while his shapeshifting's survived more or less intact, the rest of his abilities are diminished. Do you really want to trust a potentially blind djinni that thinks he can see?

In the meantime, Bartimaeus is unconcerned and begins to preen his feathers. After a moment, he ends the feed.]

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[Oh lord how beautiful. In his haste to respond, Malkus kicks on the video function. A long, pale birdmask pops up with a look of pure excitement behind the lens.]

Another marvelous creature that can also speak? Every day brings a new surprise in this keep.

[Seems someone has completely disregarded anything this raven has actually SAID. Much more interesting that it can actually communicate.]

A new face? Or a feathery thief with a misplaced journal of another resident?

[The picture ruffles his feathers a bit. Been five hundred odd years since Bartimaeus has seen one of those masks and even the great and powerful Oz gets put off his rocker now and again.

His feathers have settled somewhat by the time he responds, but that bit of curiosity is curious for certain.]

Had I stolen this, then why make such a bland post? This would be the perfect opportunity to laud my virtues and the accomplishment of the theft. I work with carefully applied style and flair, I'll have you know.

But you are correct! There's hardly a more marvellous creature to be had in this keep, I assure you. I brighten up the surroundings by my mere presence and taste.

[Like being a raven near an executioner's grounds. He's pleased with the death symbolism symmetry.]

Oh this is true, my apologies for making such rude assumptions about a feathered creature as elegant as the one I'm seeing. It must be difficult to gain any proper respect when your peers seem so keen on squawking and picking at corpses.

[The doctor's so excited. Pigeons are nice but ravens have that glossy black coat and beak that remind Malkus so very much of his own apparel.]

Hardly, indeed. Does this spectacular creature have a name? I admit to being quite ignorant to the culture of the feathered. Partially because it's so impossible to find one to hold a decent conversation with me.

[Bartimaeus considers bursting the illusion by revealing himself, but what's life without a little bit of mischief? Boring and to the perfect pitch for a magician - all the more reason to engage in it!]

There's little accounting for poor tastes, oh masked one. They have their vices, be it consuming things or cawing madly about kitchens -- [Why, yes, that was a jibe at Jabor and Faquarl. He'd be dreadfully amiss to neglect such an opening.] -- and I have mine.

This creature does indeed have a name, but cannot so freely give it out. There's a trick to learning it that starts with you providing yours. It's a sacred tradition to us ravens, you see.

That's understandable. I'm lucky to have the opportunity to converse with such an intelligent creature, I must say.

[It makes him want to rethink the whole desire to keep one in a cage in his room at some point. Would it be any different from keeping a prisoner?]

Oh, how rude of me. My apologies. I am Malkus Iverwelling, doctor of the plague.

Your taste and sense are quite appreciated in an age of such ignorance. You wilfully recognise my better attributes and confess them. I don't suppose you'd be available to provide etiquette lessons to the greatly less learned that are my masters?

[It might indeed! And could you tolerate the sad clink of a tin cup as the raven passes it mournfully across the bars? All hearts should break at this very idea!]

A doctor, you say! Dare I presume it's not doctoring of magic tricks?

Ah, the plague! The memories bring a tear to my eye.

O-Oh. Well thank you. I'd provide a lesson in manners to any who are willing, though it's generally rare to find someone who is. I occasionally get the feeling that I may be a bit... "Behind the times" with some of these residents and politeness, apparently, has stayed behind with me.

[Like hundreds and hundreds of years behind with some.]

Magic tricks? No, no I admit to being quite plain. A simple human and all. It's pleasant enough, I suppose. I needn't worry about the occasional backfiring spell or anything. If that's how it works, anyways...

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Seven planes?

For the son a magician, you know very little. Seven is the number of planes that a respectable djinni can see. An excellent skill for penetrating various guises and sensing all manner of traps.

Huh. Sounds pretty useful.

[Except the other Magicias where he's from would have no idea what the seven planes were either. Go figure.]

You have, as expected, the human comprehension of it. The uses are innumerable. For example, were it not for my speech, only a glance at the fifth level would show me as anything but a bird.

So it works for almost everything, or somethin'?

It works to weed out the feeble-minded follies of the lesser beings. Another djinni would be expected to conceal itself up to the seventh level, unless it were thoroughly stupid.

2even plane2?
and how do you know 2omethiing blew up?

[What do you know, ravens can roll their eyes. Who'd have thought it? Bartimaeus pulls it off and settles himself in plain view of the record.]

Seven planes are the bare minimum to check, for those who have eyes for it. Trolls, as I've heard, can see the fourth. An anti-troll such as yourself is limited, no doubt, to the human scope of one.

And I said a minor Detonation. The mere facts that no debris litters the ground and no devastation surrounds us are proof that it was most minor. A proper Detonation would have widespread destruction and a menacing boom to it. A giant breaking wind would have destroyed more.

*He's just going to ignore that anti-troll/pro-human crap this time.*

let2 2tart agaiin, 2even plane2 of WHAT?
iit could have been 2omethiing el2e, there are weiird thiing2 iin that fore2t, they could have ju2t broken 2omethiing.

You are possibly the most ignorant mage I have ever encountered.

[Oh, yes, your gig is up Magi-Troll! Bartimaeus has a purrfectly reliable account that you are a mage. He sees what you did there with trolling him about the troll, oh-ho!]

Truly, there are only one or two more that I would think close to your ignorance in all my time in the physical realm. You ought celebrate it!

Think back to your little magician studies and recall that you, like all humans, can see but one plane to reality. I can see seven, all overlaid in perfect synchronosity. Imagine an onion, if you can, and the ability to see through to its core - I can do all this and more. What can hide on the first may not always hide on the last. Rest assured that when I say I see nothing, there is nothing there.

ii'm not A mage, ii'm THE mage, there'2 a diiference.

*He's not entirely sure what that is, except that he can't do magic, though.*

what the fuck ii2 an oniion?
and what iif 2omethiing ii2 on another plane, one you can't 2ee? then iit'd 2tiill be there you ju2t wouldn't be able two 2ee it.

There's no difference from where I perch. One or many, there's still a magician and that is the fundamental flaw in all things. Have you considered renouncing that pastime for something a little more wholesome?

[Bartimaeus is not dignifying the onion comment with a response at this time, not when he can torment the magician about knowing nothing magical.]

I may no be able to see something on a plane beyond seven, but only things of great power can exist beneath that. In such a case, it would be like an invisible elephant being in the room: I could sense it, even if I could not see it. Great beings give off great ripples, you see.

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Only minor? Where's the fun in that? Here I was hoping someone just set off a vein of unstable lyrium.

Minor is as minor does. Disappointingly bleak, if you are the sort to indulge in violence.

Can't say I indulge in it but it certainly loves to follow me around like a lost puppy.

Judging by this place's record something strange and ominous will follow it soon enough.

That's a new one, even for me. Likening violence to a puppy seems like it would be the misunderstanding of the century. People welcoming it with open arms, only to have them bitten off quite abruptly.

Does the Keep have a flair for the dramatic? To be expected, with such ancient architecture. Doom, gloom, and ominous natures do tend to come standard with parapets.

Normally I just try to ignore while it begs for scraps. Then suddenly it tries to take a bite out of my leg and I have to swat it with some rolled up paper.

Oh no it's far more than just a flair. This place practically oozes with it.

You are quite a terrible pacifist, you know. Possibly the worst at it that I've ever seen.

Ah, a self-styled professional. How unoriginal. You never hear of castles with automatic confetti dispensers.