Thomas Raith (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
emptynight) wrote2009-05-26 01:05 pm
emptynight) wrote2009-05-26 01:05 pm
Just Bobbing Along
It was almost sunset when Thomas went back to his room after checking his email, a can of cat food in hand. “Dinner time,” he said, pushing open the door to the bathroom. For all he knew, the bathroom had sustained even more damage that day, but given that every surface had already been clawed to within an inch of its life, a few more weren’t going to hurt. Instead of a possessed cat clinging to a ceiling, Thomas found a normal cat sitting on top of the toilet tank, tail flicking serenely, and a bright sparkling orange cloud hovering over a leather-bound journal and a sea of papers.
Thomas watched in fascination as a pen rose over the papers and began scribbling. “You just gonna gawk or are you gonna help me do my job here?” Bob asked irritably, the pen pausing in its scribbling.
“What do you need?” Thomas set the cat food down in a corner and approached the stack of papers.
“Would it have killed you to leave a romance novel or some porn in here?” The journal’s pages flipped and the pen’s scribbling continued, leaving behind words in a neat script. “Stack the papers. They’re numbered in the top corner. This is all I’ve been doing all day. Even riding around on the cat gets boring. Cats don’t have thumbs.”
“Whine at Harry, not me,” Thomas answered, gathering up the sheaf of papers and shuffling through them, skimming them as he sorted. “Hey what is this? ‘Five cups of rice, two hundred pieces of silver, last thing I remember, all hope lost at Lost-Hope, That the uncertain and adult'rate fruit Might put the palate in dispute.’ This makes no sense, Bob.”
Somehow, Bob managed to heave a sigh without lungs, lips, or even a corporeal body. “Of course not, Thomas,” it said. “There’s serious mojo being worked in this book, and the last thing the writer would want is for any idiot who can read demonese to figure out what they’re talking about.” Bob’s disembodied voice paused and Thomas had the distinct feeling that the cloud of orange light smirked at him. “Or any idiot who can hire a spirit of intellect. Even translated, it’s context coded.”
Thomas growled in frustration. “You mean we still don’t know what it says?” he demanded. This was supposed to have given him answers, not more questions and a mess of papers fit for burning.
“Spirit of intellect here, remember, boss?” Bob asked, voice smug beyond belief. “I’ve already figured out the code. If you want to know what it says, just ask.”
Resisting the urge to swat the spirit of intellect in its bright orange cloud of incorporeal lights, Thomas sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Will you tell me what the completely decoded journal says?”
“Sure, boss. On one condition.”
Glaring at the orange light, Thomas growled, “What condition?”
Bob’s lights shone brighter and the cloud rose from its hovering position above the journal to bob around Thomas’ eye level. “One night’s ride-along.”
Cursing abundantly, Thomas glowered at Bob. “Does it matter who?”
“Nope!” Bob’s voice was triumphant. “It doesn’t have to be one person all night either. I’ll people hop. Or vampire-hop.”
Thomas thought over Bob’s offer then began speaking carefully. He didn’t want Bob to have any wiggle room in this deal because he’d been sloppy about his words. “You’re only riding along. You’re allowed only to experience through the senses, no control or tampering of thoughts or bodies. You won’t go rooting through anyone’s mind unless they give you explicit permission. You leave when they tell you to or when I tell you to. Understood?”
“But I get a full night. If you tell me to hop out of someone else, I’m coming straight back into you,” Bob insisted.
“Fine. You’re allowed to ride along tonight, and you’ll give me the meaning of the journal when the sun rises and you get back into Mister. Do we have a deal?” Thomas asked, making sure to keep his voice formal.
The cloud of orange lights spiraled exuberantly and extended an amoeba-like blob if itself, as if expecting a handshake. “Deal.” Thomas extended his hand and the cloud of light flowed against it, disappearing into him.
There was a faint tingle against his hand as the spirit of intellect shuffled into him, and Thomas felt, for lack of a better word, overstuffed. “Wow, it’s crowded in here,” Bob said, his voice an echoing presence inside Thomas’ head even as he watched a small pool of orange light pulse against his palm.
“Yeah, so don’t get too comfortable,” Thomas answered, glaring at the light in his hand.
Thomas watched in fascination as a pen rose over the papers and began scribbling. “You just gonna gawk or are you gonna help me do my job here?” Bob asked irritably, the pen pausing in its scribbling.
“What do you need?” Thomas set the cat food down in a corner and approached the stack of papers.
“Would it have killed you to leave a romance novel or some porn in here?” The journal’s pages flipped and the pen’s scribbling continued, leaving behind words in a neat script. “Stack the papers. They’re numbered in the top corner. This is all I’ve been doing all day. Even riding around on the cat gets boring. Cats don’t have thumbs.”
“Whine at Harry, not me,” Thomas answered, gathering up the sheaf of papers and shuffling through them, skimming them as he sorted. “Hey what is this? ‘Five cups of rice, two hundred pieces of silver, last thing I remember, all hope lost at Lost-Hope, That the uncertain and adult'rate fruit Might put the palate in dispute.’ This makes no sense, Bob.”
Somehow, Bob managed to heave a sigh without lungs, lips, or even a corporeal body. “Of course not, Thomas,” it said. “There’s serious mojo being worked in this book, and the last thing the writer would want is for any idiot who can read demonese to figure out what they’re talking about.” Bob’s disembodied voice paused and Thomas had the distinct feeling that the cloud of orange light smirked at him. “Or any idiot who can hire a spirit of intellect. Even translated, it’s context coded.”
Thomas growled in frustration. “You mean we still don’t know what it says?” he demanded. This was supposed to have given him answers, not more questions and a mess of papers fit for burning.
“Spirit of intellect here, remember, boss?” Bob asked, voice smug beyond belief. “I’ve already figured out the code. If you want to know what it says, just ask.”
Resisting the urge to swat the spirit of intellect in its bright orange cloud of incorporeal lights, Thomas sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Will you tell me what the completely decoded journal says?”
“Sure, boss. On one condition.”
Glaring at the orange light, Thomas growled, “What condition?”
Bob’s lights shone brighter and the cloud rose from its hovering position above the journal to bob around Thomas’ eye level. “One night’s ride-along.”
Cursing abundantly, Thomas glowered at Bob. “Does it matter who?”
“Nope!” Bob’s voice was triumphant. “It doesn’t have to be one person all night either. I’ll people hop. Or vampire-hop.”
Thomas thought over Bob’s offer then began speaking carefully. He didn’t want Bob to have any wiggle room in this deal because he’d been sloppy about his words. “You’re only riding along. You’re allowed only to experience through the senses, no control or tampering of thoughts or bodies. You won’t go rooting through anyone’s mind unless they give you explicit permission. You leave when they tell you to or when I tell you to. Understood?”
“But I get a full night. If you tell me to hop out of someone else, I’m coming straight back into you,” Bob insisted.
“Fine. You’re allowed to ride along tonight, and you’ll give me the meaning of the journal when the sun rises and you get back into Mister. Do we have a deal?” Thomas asked, making sure to keep his voice formal.
The cloud of orange lights spiraled exuberantly and extended an amoeba-like blob if itself, as if expecting a handshake. “Deal.” Thomas extended his hand and the cloud of light flowed against it, disappearing into him.
There was a faint tingle against his hand as the spirit of intellect shuffled into him, and Thomas felt, for lack of a better word, overstuffed. “Wow, it’s crowded in here,” Bob said, his voice an echoing presence inside Thomas’ head even as he watched a small pool of orange light pulse against his palm.
“Yeah, so don’t get too comfortable,” Thomas answered, glaring at the light in his hand.