(no subject)

[lapwing]

[On the network is what appears to be a young boy, about 12 or 13 years old. For a moment, he stares quite soulfully at the video output impossibly deep, black eyes, and then pokes at the screen with one fingernail.]

Not even a proper imp in there, how's that for you...?

[He pulls back and mimes clearing his throat. A voice far, far more booming than is fit for the child's face resounds across the feed.]

Right, broadcast. AHEM. This is just a friendly, non-suspicious question, inquiring on when the next coup or violent overthrow of this government is going to be. Not that I'm actually advocating it, I just know you humans really can't resist.

I'm pretty handy with a popcorn machine if anyone can provide good seats.

Comments

[jacksonian]

[ His face tightens further, and then he orders Bartimaeus to: ]

Fuck off.

[ And he hangs up. ]

[lapwing]

[ Mark may have turned off his line, but the laughter goes out over the network. ]

Oh. OH WOW. Even easier.

[Later - Private]

[lapwing]

[ As things wind down, Bartimaeus gets bored. Thus, while researching ways to Annoy Miles Vorkosigan, he runs across a certain post introducing and explaining Mark.




Oh. This is going to be grand. Very deliberately, he keys in Mark in the directory. ]

Miles! Hey squirtlet, I've got something important.

:')

[jacksonian]

[ Mark grinds his teeth. Finally, after a long time, he answers with a low growl: ]

This is Mark. Not Miles.

[lapwing]

[ Illusions don't travel well over electronic devices, Bartimaeus was sure it was why it was somewhat slow to adopt in London. Not that the upper crust wouldn't like the luxuries of wealth, they much rather be able to fool their counterparts more. Being a resourceful djinni, it just meant having things be a bit more real. Bartimaeus curses rather convincingly, and somewhere behind him is the sound of an explosion.¹ ]

Fine! Whatever! I don't have time so get a message to him from Kitty.

[jacksonian]

[ Oh. His anger fades just a little bit in the face of this apparent crisis. So he barks out: ]

Fine. What's going on.

[lapwing]

[ There's another unnerving boom, Bartimaeus looks behind him and then the background turns into a lurching, terrible blur as the djinni takes flight. Over the wind, the boy's voice is clear: ]

Tell him: [ It's a short phrase in another language.¹ ] It's got to be exact. He'll know what it means.

[jacksonian]

Tell him - what? [ That sounds like Greek...Mark's Greek is terrible. Something that had caused him...well. A lot of trouble over the years. ] You tell him that! I can't remember that!

[lapwing]

Seriously!? [ He repeats it again, biting the edges off of the consonants. ]

[jacksonian]

Say it in English!

[lapwing]

Fine! It's - [ The screen rolls wildly and the connection cuts. ]

[jacksonian]

[ Mark curses. ]