Log; On-going

[kittyjones.livejournal.com]

When; Feb 6th, Morning (Just Post-Midnight)
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Bartimaeus djinni_tricks, Ptolemy i_am_ptolemy and Kitty kittyjones
Summary; Bartimaeus and Kitty argue again about his situation, but this time they are interrupted...
Log;

Kitty was... exasperated. In a matter of days things in the City had gone from good to bad to worse. The curse where everyone changed into their opposites had been... stressful to say the least, doubly so since she had been unaffected. Not that she blamed anyone for what had been said, but it didn't change the fact that she had had one hell of a headache the next morning. But that was nothing compared to how she felt now. Bartimaeus was... it was happening again. She had known the little healing she had managed to give him would not last, but she hadn't expected...

It was too soon.

And he was being so stubborn. He refused to accept things that were obvious to her, refused to accept the best help she could offer him, refused to even speak properly on the subject. As though avoiding it would make things better!

She frowned, running her hand through her hair as she sat on her bed, trying to make sense of it all. The day's haikus hadn't helped her thought process; no enlightenment came to her. It wasn't fair, it didn't make sense, and nothing could change that. She didn't understand why he wouldn't... Taking a deep breath, she stood up suddenly, decisively. She was not going to sit and brood. She was going to make him talk about this, one way or another.

The young woman marched into the living room, where she just knew Bartimaeus would be sprawled on the sofa. Hands on hips, she spoke in a clear, level tones. "You are too stubborn for your own good."

Obvious, yes. Hypocritical, certainly. But whatever it took to get the spirit talking.

Comments

[djinni-tricks.livejournal.com]

Bartimaeus had indeed been laying on the sofa that had become his permanant bed now that he'd given his room to Ptolemy. He closed his eyes, trying to will the deep ache in his essence away. He'd been rather unhappy about the entire previous day, having every plane of thought that wasn't muddled by the pain thinking in haiku was difficult. Especially since usually only one plane of thought did that.

He rested one arm over his eyes, about to try and fall asleep, to try and replenish his essence, even just a little. He moved his arm as he heard Kitty's dork open and footsteps. She was probably just going to get some water or something... But no, that thought stopped when she stopped near the couch, her hands on her hips in that indignant pose that was her signature.

And then she accused him of being stubborn. He looked up at her, not bother to sit up. "That's the pot calling the kettle black."

[kittyjones.livejournal.com]

And he did even bother to... no. Of course he didn't bother to even get up. Because he didn't dignify this worthy of a proper response. As usual. She could say whatever she liked, and she'd still just get the "I'm-5000-You're-20" look out of him. Kitty felt a deep, almost irrepressible urge to scream, but managed to hold it back with a quick clench of the jaw.

"So what if I am? Doesn't change the fact that you are what you are," she highlighted these words with a sharp point in his direction. "And apart from being stubborn, what you are is..."

Kitty clenched her fists, looking away from him for a moment - looking at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but her friend. Another hypocritical point: she accused him of not being able to talk about it, but she could barely get the words out herself. Shaking her head, she promised silently he would not be insinuating she was a pot again (she had always hated that analogy). "What you are is sick. You need help, Bartimaeus. And you know full well I can help you."

[i-am-ptolemy.livejournal.com]

Ptolemy had rarely slept well after his return from the Other Place, and coming to the City had not changed that. After a few hours, he inevitably awoke from a restless slumber to the familiar dull aches in his body.

Tonight was no different, in that sense. Kitty had coaxed him into trying to rest, and he awakened in his room, surrounded by sheets of paper alternately scattered and piled. His notes, both on the Other Place and on the City.

What was different was that he had not woken on his own; the sound of a voice, coming through his ajar door, had brought him back to consciousness. As he slowly sat up, Ptolemy could hear Rekhyt speaking--assumably to Kitty. He did not sound particularly pleased.

Kitty's response was no friendlier, and while she spoke, Ptolemy slid off the bed, onto all fours. Sick. Needing help. It had to be a discussion about whatever was troubling Rekhyt. Making as little noise as he could, he began to crawl at a snail's pace towards his door, to better hear what was going on.