Don't get it wrong - generally speaking, Bartimaeus might be all too happy to be seen doing degrading menial labor in the form of a variety of lesser beings like giant insects, sentient fog, or the human one he now wears. There's usually something to be said for choosing to toil away an unsettlingly familiar shape in front of people when they know he can be anything whenever he chooses.
But it's different with this one. For one, no one here knows enough about anything to get when they're being insulted, which takes all the pleasure out of it. For two-- well, he's apparently stuck with this shape for the immediate future, and he'd rather no one know him as That Guy Who Does Whatever We Ask Him To, No Matter The Smell1. He'd spent the morning as a bird of prey terrorizing the fishermen in the harbor for giggles and has burned through enough of his reserve that he's tired and can't quite get it up to change into something less recognizable.
No, much better to be That Guy Who Waits Just Long Enough For The Person Who Gave Him This Job To Disappear Around A Corner Before Ditching His Newfound Responsibilities.
So the moment their supervisor is gone, Bartimaeus turns to the unlucky sop who's been assigned cleanup duties alongside him. He says, "You can handle this, can't you?" with all the simpering charm of a shapen with rather more curves and shoves the broom into their hands. You're welcome.
1. And the mess in the courtyard does. Nothing like a combination of embalming fluid and decade old rat hearts to really open up the sinuses.
KIRKWALL. Being in Thedas comes with a long list of very immediate negatives for a distinguished djinn such as himself. The body? Disgusting. The necessity of keeping his frankly stellar reputation as a powerful, cunning, relentlessly clever spirit under wraps? Not only terribly close minded of the local population, but practically impossible. The magic shard in his hand steadily draining his essence? Concerning, to say the least.
But you know what's actually a little good?
Beer is, as it turns out. Or mead. Or whatever watered down paint thinner they're serving in the Hanged Man. Funny - seems those Egyptians really did know a thing or two after all.
So if you're wondering who won that drinking contest, look no further! However, if you're looking for help trying to get the Marquis down the ruinous number of stairwells throughout Kirkwall, you're out of luck. Bartimaeus is in this instant tripping and falling down after him with a pitched yelp.
BURN BOOK. In scratching, anonymous script:
I spied with my little eye something beginning with the letter 'D' and ending with 'id you know that a frankly shocking number of members of the night patrol sleep through their shifts?'
bartimaeus (the bartimaeus sequence)
Menial labor? In this guise?
"I think not."
Don't get it wrong - generally speaking, Bartimaeus might be all too happy to be seen doing degrading menial labor in the form of a variety of lesser beings like giant insects, sentient fog, or the human one he now wears. There's usually something to be said for choosing to toil away an unsettlingly familiar shape in front of people when they know he can be anything whenever he chooses.
But it's different with this one. For one, no one here knows enough about anything to get when they're being insulted, which takes all the pleasure out of it. For two-- well, he's apparently stuck with this shape for the immediate future, and he'd rather no one know him as That Guy Who Does Whatever We Ask Him To, No Matter The Smell1. He'd spent the morning as a bird of prey terrorizing the fishermen in the harbor for giggles and has burned through enough of his reserve that he's tired and can't quite get it up to change into something less recognizable.
No, much better to be That Guy Who Waits Just Long Enough For The Person Who Gave Him This Job To Disappear Around A Corner Before Ditching His Newfound Responsibilities.
So the moment their supervisor is gone, Bartimaeus turns to the unlucky sop who's been assigned cleanup duties alongside him. He says, "You can handle this, can't you?" with all the simpering charm of a shapen with rather more curves and shoves the broom into their hands. You're welcome.
KIRKWALL.
Being in Thedas comes with a long list of very immediate negatives for a distinguished djinn such as himself. The body? Disgusting. The necessity of keeping his frankly stellar reputation as a powerful, cunning, relentlessly clever spirit under wraps? Not only terribly close minded of the local population, but practically impossible. The magic shard in his hand steadily draining his essence? Concerning, to say the least.
But you know what's actually a little good?
Beer is, as it turns out. Or mead. Or whatever watered down paint thinner they're serving in the Hanged Man. Funny - seems those Egyptians really did know a thing or two after all.
So if you're wondering who won that drinking contest, look no further! However, if you're looking for help trying to get the Marquis down the ruinous number of stairwells throughout Kirkwall, you're out of luck. Bartimaeus is in this instant tripping and falling down after him with a pitched yelp.
BURN BOOK.
In scratching, anonymous script: