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Amariah is starting a circle in her yard - minting and enchanting can pull heavier duty than witchcraft, and faster, too, but they won't scale unless she wants to hand out copies of her trump cards; novel spells will, since there are many witches across the globe.
And then Jane asks if she wants to be visited, by Juliet's Sherlock - Minus - and Amariah's reply is "Sure, I could take a break." Because she's been at this for a while now and was just about to wish a crick out of her back for the second time this afternoon.
She puts down her pitcher of oil and waits for him to appear.
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Hug! Amariah sets down her pitcher to return it. She's between runes.
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Path is sitting on a windowsill, over there, and he shuffles his feet a little. If Sherlock had a daemon he'd be talking to her (or him); this is a poor substitute.
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"If you had a daemon I'd be talking to her," Path says. "About how to help you."
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"It's true," Amariah agrees. "Well, at least compared to the people who have daemons. I'm not sure about compared to people with - interior souls."
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"All you said was hugs," says Amariah. "That could in fact be the only thing we can do, but we'd be more confident of that if you had a daemon and she said it."
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"Hugs may not be the only thing that can help, but they are the only thing I am comfortable asking of you, particularly in the context of returning me to Juliet undamaged. I am not a mislabeled parcel."
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"I know you're not a mislabeled parcel," says Amariah softly. "There are other reasons not to want you damaged."
eversomuchfun
"Oh, yes," he says, sitting down in the grass. "You'll find that Sherlocks are unusually sensitive to the implication that we are only valuable by proxy, because under the covers most of us believe it as a literal truth. I lost most of that nonsense with my soul, but either a little of it has snuck back in or it returns under sufficient stress."
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"Sorry," says Amariah. "I didn't know that. It was a bad joke." She sits down too.
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Time wears on.
Six days have gone by without a flicker from Jane.
The house is quiet, its occupants asleep.
Six days have gone by without a flicker from Jane.
The house is quiet, its occupants asleep.
eversomuchfun
Sherlock is asleep, too. He managed to fess up about needing to do it uninterrupted.
So when a small furry spotted creature appears curled up on his pillow, he is startled enough to wake up, and therefore so is she.
"Well," says Sherlock.
"Fuck," says his daemon.
He snorts.
So when a small furry spotted creature appears curled up on his pillow, he is startled enough to wake up, and therefore so is she.
"Well," says Sherlock.
"Fuck," says his daemon.
He snorts.
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In the next room, Amariah sits up in her hammock.
[...Sherlock?]
[...Sherlock?]
eversomuchfun
By way of answer, he conferences his daemon into the call.
[You'll never guess what just happened,] she says brightly.
[You'll never guess what just happened,] she says brightly.