At least the other looked happy about Bartimaeus’ decision to stay. He wished he could say as much about the rest of his conscious mind that was shrieking more or less constantly. He drowned it out as best he could and chuckled, flattery being, as ever, the best way to Bartimaeus’ heart.
“Bad luck and circumstance, mostly.” He admitted. “But that’s how the best tales start. With a sticky situation and a dramatic way out of it.” Oh, for a quiet life. A life in the Other Place where he wouldn’t have to worry about anything human. Not that he hadn’t had enjoyable times here on Earth, he supposed, but those times were only enjoyable relatively speaking. All experiences were tempered by the ache in his essence and his forced servitude. He opened his mouth to protest that he wasn’t young, he was five thousand years old, before realising that to Iblis yes, he probably was young, and closing his mouth again. He shivered a little as the Jinn approached but held himself where he was, noting how slowly and carefully Iblis moved. Was the other concerned for his well-being? All this was strange. Bartimaeus had spoken with kings and philosophers and priests and sorcerors, but never with gods. And certainly not with gods who were so…well, considerate.
Sticky situations and dramatic exists. It was, of course, the basic arithmetic of story-telling. Iblis had little in the way of interest for stories. They were so often just works of fiction. Still, the creature had a modicum of appreciation for them. They were no different than art at its heart. “That’s true,” it conceded. “Though I do wonder, of course, if those sticky situations aren’t entirely all of your doing.”
The other Jinn seemed put off by something. Iblis halted its advancement in case it was putting Bartimaeus on edge again. Not that Iblis blamed him, really. The Ifrit’s essence was… strong. Bitter. But, no, maybe it wasn’t that at all. The age comment? Iblis was billions of years old. most creatures were children in its eyes. Unable to definitely pinpoint what was making Bartimaeus edgy, the Ifrit looked away, pulling its legs underneath it as it floated cross-legged. “You’re either very brave or very foolish. I’m still deciding.”
It’s meant as a compliment, really.