Bartimaeus of Uruk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
likesfootnotes) wrote2010-05-14 05:34 pm
likesfootnotes) wrote2010-05-14 05:34 pm
Entry tags:
1st summon [audio]
Saved!
[There is an unmistakable air of vindictive triumph to the voice, and a squelch that just might be a blob of essence thrusting gelatinous limbs into the air to celebrate. This disolves into the sounds of dripping, as the blob falls apart and reforms sluggishly on. Then a few sloshes as Bartimaeus takes a gander at his surroundings and the device in front of him.]
No pretentious Mr. Mandrake here? Those were the sharp hooks of a summon I felt tearing at my essence. Not that I'm here to complain! Between an untimely and undignified death by silver tureen and a summoning to his presence, I would have to take his presence, even withstanding his atrocious fashion sense, the stench of that horrible prepubescent cologne he wears, and that terrible propaganda story-telling he does.
[Some more sloshing as he makes sure the insults have not done their part to summon up the magician. Nope, no silver-tipped spear being angrily thrust in his direction. This makes him pause; the only thing that could summon him would be his master, and the distinct lack therein suggests Mr. Mandrake did not survive to see through the summoning. That must mean he is home, sweet home!]
This is oddly well-formed for being the Other Place. Someone is being a little over ambitious. There are far too many spirits that like physical things lately -- skeletons, yucky fleshy bodies, and making rooms of our home. That's not a good sense of style.
[There is an unmistakable air of vindictive triumph to the voice, and a squelch that just might be a blob of essence thrusting gelatinous limbs into the air to celebrate. This disolves into the sounds of dripping, as the blob falls apart and reforms sluggishly on. Then a few sloshes as Bartimaeus takes a gander at his surroundings and the device in front of him.]
No pretentious Mr. Mandrake here? Those were the sharp hooks of a summon I felt tearing at my essence. Not that I'm here to complain! Between an untimely and undignified death by silver tureen and a summoning to his presence, I would have to take his presence, even withstanding his atrocious fashion sense, the stench of that horrible prepubescent cologne he wears, and that terrible propaganda story-telling he does.
[Some more sloshing as he makes sure the insults have not done their part to summon up the magician. Nope, no silver-tipped spear being angrily thrust in his direction. This makes him pause; the only thing that could summon him would be his master, and the distinct lack therein suggests Mr. Mandrake did not survive to see through the summoning. That must mean he is home, sweet home!]
This is oddly well-formed for being the Other Place. Someone is being a little over ambitious. There are far too many spirits that like physical things lately -- skeletons, yucky fleshy bodies, and making rooms of our home. That's not a good sense of style.
and yet every tag is more awesome than the last!
Twice fallen and six times ordered. They aren't that bad, if you're in the form of a rabbit when you go. Have you ever tried that? Probably not. Humans can't change forms where I am familiar. You must be a tiny one, to have fit in the first place.
[Imagination in questions or not, her attention to detail is good. Bartimaeus will give her that, and attention to hear it all. Unlike some with limited lifespans, his attention span can last quite a while. There is little reason to ever take this form, but he is certain by the end that he could create the form in greater detail than the original.]
Quite, and that puts us on similar ground, Lady Talksalot.
[The comment is wry and a far cry from his most imaginative, but it does suit her particular brand of verbosity.]
*SQUEEEE*
I have not! I imagine that it might be quite fun to be a rabbit, so long as there is the choice to be changed back, of course. I didn’t so much mind being grown as I did shrunk however – teapots aren’t the most accommodating of quarter and I find it’s quite easy to be stepped on when you’re six inches tall. Always too small, always too tall. Never the right size.
But, no. I didn’t shrink until I had landed, and only then was I able to have a little drink and slip through the door to Underland.
Talksalot? Why, that’s a new one! I suppose I could be labeled as such – though I imagine that were I not to talk as much as I do, I would be quite boring indeed.
hearts and hugs bb!
Humans are necessarily restricted. I knew one magician that thought a djinni could assist with that, but all I could do was remove his ears and stretch out his tongue for it. That's what becomes of wanting to be a frog -- I don't think he even did find a princess willing to kiss him.
Try living in a tobacco tin with rosemary. [Dry-sounded blob alert! Here's lookin' at you, Mandrake.] I'd bet you would embrace the teapot with gusto afterwards.
What else is one expected to call you but the name you earn?
blargh my html splattered all over the page
That sounds positively atrocious. I'll take my teapot, I think, so long as I'm stuffed into it with a bit more dignity than the last time.
Well, you could call me Alice, but I suppose you're right - in retrospect, I suppose that is quite the fitting name indeed.
better than certain other things that could splatter everywhere
(I know plenty, including myself, that say quite a great deal. Unfortunately, century after century it falls on deaf ears.)
Alice Talksalot it is then. I suppose it would be congenial to avoid stuffing you into a teapot, if you agree to avoid stuffing me into a tobacco tin. This is one of those rare mutual accords.
very true!
I think I quite like that name. What should I take to calling you? I hardly think 'Sir Blob' is very nice, even if it might sound fitting.
I do believe we have an agreement, sir.
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