#we are painting these to avoid drawing a coat bc its hard

[mantisgodsdomain]

fungus vi jumpscare

OH FUCK fungus vi jumpscare!

[takahero]

in honour of finishing inkspell, here are some basta observations I picked up along the way. also, inkspell spoilers warning! i also have MANY MANY thoughts so i’d love to hear what you guys think to some of the questions raised

“He hadn’t changed: the same thin face, the same way of narrowing his eyes, and there was an amulet dangling around his neck to ward off the bad luck that Basta thought lurked under every ladder, behind every bush.” — pg.138

“Basta’s left hand was bandaged, Elinor noticed when he took his fingers away from her mouth.” — pg.139

“‘I’d have been here much sooner, believe you me, but they put me in jail for a while on account of something that happened years ago. No sooner was Capricorn gone than all the people who’d been too scared to open their mouths suddenly felt very brave.’” — pg.140 (see they never tell us WHY he was in prison, do they? the possibilities are endless. we know he committed atrocious things, like arson, but imagine if he got put in jail for something completely different…LOL)

“‘You wouldn’t believe how often I’ve told him there’s nothing to be ashamed of in going to jail, particularly when your prisons here are so much more comfortable than our dungeons at home.’” — pg.140 (OHHHTMGOD MEME IDEA)

“Basta flung his arm so roughly round Orpheus’ neck that his glasses slipped down his nose.” — pg.141

“‘Hold your tongue, Basta!’ Mortola interrupted him abruptly. ‘You’ve always liked the sound of your own voice.’” — pg.141

“‘Well, Silvertongue, I’m sorry it’s taken some time,’ he said in his soft, cat-like voice.” — pg.180

“‘My son always said revenge was a dish best eaten cold,’ observed Mortola.” — pg.181 (question. did basta find out about mortola’s true identity between inkheart & inkspell? do u think he realised it when mortola cried when capricorn died?)

“Basta passed a finger over his throat and winked at him.” — pg.186 (wink 2 LMAO)

“Basta bent down and picked up a rusty helmet lying at his feet. ‘What do you expect me to say?’ he growled, throwing the helmet back into the grass with a gloomy expression, and giving it a kick that sent it clattering against the wall. ‘Of course it’s our castle. Didn’t you see the figure of the goat on the wall there? Even the carved devils are still standing, though they wear ivy crowns now — and look, there’s one of the eyes that Slasher liked to paint on the stones.’” — pg.190

“‘So Basta was right after all. He’s dead, here and in the other world too.’” — pg.191 (interesting….so Basta knew Mortola’s plan wouldn’t work? he just wanted a ride home?)

“‘I’d really like to know what happened!’ he muttered. ‘I always said Capricorn wasn’t here, but what about the others?…What are we going to do if they’re all gone?’ Basta sounded like a boy afraid of the dark. ‘Do you want us to live in a cave like brownies until the wolves find us? Have you forgotten the wolves? And the Night-Mares, the fire-elves, all the other creatures crawling around the place…I for one haven’t forgotten them, but you would come back to this accursed spot where there are ghosts lurking behind every tree!’ He reached for the amulet dangling around his neck, but Mortola did not deign to look at him.

“‘Oh, be quiet!’ she said, so sharply that Basta flinched.” — pg.192

“‘You’re going to leave them here?’ That was Basta’s voice.” — pg.193 (at first I was like oh so he has a heart….but then he was mean to resa straight after this 🙄)

“‘Sorry, but he must have overlooked me, shut up in that cage as I was,’ purred Basta in his catlike voice.” — pg.377

“‘Wasn’t it Mortola who had you put in the cage to be fed to the Shadow?’ Basta just shrugged his shoulders and flung back his silver-grey cloak. Of course, he had his knife. A brand new one, it seemed, finer than any he’d ever had in the other world, and undoubtedly just as sharp.

“‘Yes, not very nice of her,’ he said as his fingers caressed the handle of the knife. ‘But she’s really sorry.’” — pg.377 (okay so it SOUNDS like he threatened/made some kind of bargain with his knife, but I strongly doubt that considering how afraid he seems of her?? i know he’s technically working for the adderhead but even by the end of the book, it seems he is far closer to mortola than adderhead. what is their relationship? or does he sincerely think she’s sorry/has deluded himself into believing such? UGH SO MANY QUESTIONS)

“Basta had always liked describing his own and other people’s abominable deeds in detail.” — pg.378

“‘But we’re not going to shoot you.’ Basta came a little closer to Fenoglio, his face as intent as that of a stalking cat.” — pg.378 …. living for all the cat references tbh

“‘He wants you to crawl on your belly to him, that’s what our noble lord and master likes. But never mind, he pays well!’” — pg.378 (yes basta all abt getting that bread LMAOOOO)

“He slowly drew the knife from his belt. Its blade was long and slightly curved.” — pg.379

“‘Hey Basta, I know you like the sound of your own voice.’” — pg.379 (AHAHAHAHA HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE CALLED OUT BASTA ON THIS NOW? IVE LOST TRACK)

“With a regretful sigh, Basta put the knife back in his belt. ‘Yes, very well, you’re right,’ he said in surly tones. ‘I need to take my time with this sort of thing. Questioning people is an art, a real art.’” — pg.380 (LMAOOOOOOO HE IS SUCH A DRAMA QUEEN)

“Basta. The same thin face, the same twisted smile. Only the clothes were different. Basta was no longer wearing his white shirt and black suit with the flower in his buttonhole. No, Basta now wore the Adderhead’s silvery grey, and he had a sword at his side. With a knife in his belt too, of course. But he was holding a dead chicken in his left hand.” — pg. 455

“‘Yes, they are!’ purred Basta. ‘The little witch, and the fire-eater into the bargain. It was well worth the wait. Even though I’ll probably never get that damned flour out of my lungs again.’” — pg.455 (ok….so who’s gonna draw basta sitting amongst the flour AAHHAHA)

“‘Servant? Who’s a servant here? Just listen to him. As bold as if he’d never felt my knife! Have you forgotten how you screamed when it cut your face?’” — pg.457 … don’t call basta a servant…..noted

“‘Oh, don’t look so disbelieving, little witch, I still can’t read and I don’t intend to learn, but there are enough fools around the place who can, even in this world.’” —pg. 457 (i wonder how much capricorn influenced basta’s views on reading. because capricorn said that he learnt how to read from a maid, right? so basta certainly wouldn’t have trash-talked reading in front of him. and even after living in OUR world for nine years, I’m still surprised that he never attempted to learn, given how dependent we are on it. anyway my headcanon is that he secretly wants to, but doesn’t want to give others the satisfaction of knowing they have something he doesn’t. also nobody he knows would be willing to teach him (unless he threatened them) bc of his obviously violent and short-tempered nature…and learning requires so much patience. still, though, would love a fic of basta being taught how to read in secret and having some kind of positive interaction)

“‘You’re even more talkative than you used to be, Basta.’ Dustfinger’s voice sounded as if he found this tedious.” — pg.458 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH IM DYING. honestly the animosity between them was just. A+++

“Basta was in an even worse state. He was sitting close to Mortola, his face so red and swollen that Meggie almost failed to recognise him. But he had escaped death once again. Perhaps the good-luck charms he always wore worked after all.” — pg.526

“The sunlight falling into the room made Basta’s face look like a boiled lobster.” — pg.575 

“Basta put his hand to the amulet hanging around his neck. It was not a rabbit’s paw, as he had worn in Capricorn’s service, but something that looked suspiciously like a human finger-bone.” — pg.581 (THIS STILL IRKS ME SO MUCH)

“The Piper straightened his back, as ready to attack as the viper on his master’s coat of arms…He was a good head taller than Basta.” — pg.582 WHY DO I KEEP FORGETTING HES NOT TALL LMFAO

“The two men were standing so close that the blade of Basta’s knife wouldn’t have fitted between them.” — pg.582 HAHAHAJAHAAJAHAHHAAHAHAHAH PKESJENE I LOVE THIS SO MUCH … IMAGINE BASTA SQUARING UP W HIS NOSE JUST SMACK BANG IN THE MIDDLE OF PIPER’S CHEST OR SOMETHING

“The Piper struck Basta in the face so hard that his head hit the door frame. Blood ran down his burned cheek in a trail of red. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. ‘Take care to avoid dark corridors, Piper!’ he whispered. ‘You don’t have a nose any more, but one can always find something else to cut off.’” — pg.582-583 THIS SCENE WAS SIMPLY……CHEF’S KISS

are you serious is he dead??? WHAT. okay I knew dustfinger’s love for farid would be the end of him and basta being the instrument to rip that away from him was totally heartrending. i WISH it had been more climactic? like dustfinger unleashing his fury and fighting basta, blind with anger and grief. THE DIALOGUE POTENTIAL BETWEEN THEM AS THEY FINALLY TALK ONE-ON-ONE, and then some revisiting of the scene where dustfinger has the opportunity to kill basta but AGAIN withholds because killing is not in his nature….THEN MO IN SHINING ARMOUR SWOOPS IN TO DO THE JOB

now, off to inkdeath!

[unicyclehippo]

just a simple prompt if you want one: beau and jester play a game. interpret however you like!

ok so what follows came abt bc i thought of a joke that made me cackle & i wanted to write it in the context of a story so: ur welcome 🤙🤙

//

the fancy flop, like all good bars, is small, dimly lit, and grimy. the bar itself is sticky with spilled drinks that have accumulated over time into a thin laquer that coats the dark-red wood and beau’s cloak sticks to it as she leans over it, making sure that the bartender is well and truly busy with another patron down the opposite end to see her making off with a bottle of his best.

she wouldn’t do it ordinarily—and if she had, she wouldn’t’ve set more than the cost of the bottle in its place, as she does now—but she’d spotted the dusty plum purple bottle earlier and couldn’t get it out of her head. kamordah—her family—keep popping up like a cursed copper and beau figures, fuck it, why not face it head on for once?

so yeah. she steals—and then promptly pays for, because the bartender seems like a good enough lady—the bottle and scarpers, out the door and into the street, slipping the bottle into her bag before she catches up to the rest of the nein wandering their weaving way back to their inn.

‘beau!’ fjord greets her, laughing. his cheeks are flushed and his eyes glossy and beau notes, a little fuzzy herself, that his smile seems way more genuine, way bigger too, ever since he stopped fiddling with his tusks. ‘where’d you go?’

‘around,’ she tells him, makes a big show of complaining when he slings his heavy arm around her shoulder and neck and pulls her in. ‘you’re drunk,’

‘we’re all drunk!’ caleb corrects. beau glanced sideways to the faintly smiling clerics, shakes her head. ‘drunk on life, beauregard!’

it’s her imagination, probably, that makes her think jester narrows her eyes. because beau certainly didn’t earn a look like that, didn’t flinch at the sound of her full name.

‘drunk on mead, caleb.’

the man smiles. tilts his head up to the moon. ‘that too, my friend. that too.’

//

they shepherd everyone back to their rooms, to their beds, and it’s nice how these things go. the shuffle and bump of getting changed, the low murmurs from the washroom as teeth are cleaned, the creak and slow rising snore as friends fall into beds. beau guides a well-toasted nott into the room she shares with caleb, watches him lever up on the mattress when they cross the alarm. she lifts nott, sets her into bed alongside him at the mumbled instruction; beau watches as her friends curl up together without a care to her or what she might see in it, and leaves them be.

stepping out into the darkened hall, she catches a glimpse of a horned head, a flick of a spaded-tail as jester turns the corner, headed down the steps into the common space.

curious, beau follows.

it’s habit to drift toward the shadows, instinctual to tread gently and avoid those places in the floorboards where they bend and bow and creak. even so, she knows she hasn’t managed to hide her approach from jester, because the girl is waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. perhaps a little more hidden than she thought, actually, because it isn’t until beau is a few steps down to where the light of the common room washes pale against the stairs that jester blinks and shakes her head a little and smiles up at her.

‘oh good! i was hoping you’d come.’

‘me?’

‘mhm!’ she holds a hand up to beau, wriggles her fingers invitingly. ‘come on!’

‘where are we going? jes?’ beau asks, but if there is an answer she misses it, mind wiped blank by the feel of jester’s cool fingers twining in hers and the dizzying rush of being yanked forward, all while already the tiniest bit drunk.

they don’t go far.

jester has found, it seems, a mostly hidden table in the inn built into the corner, where support beams stand to block anyone’s view of the table and the roof sits low overhead. it’s close to the kitchen and awfully warm, fires still smouldering away to heat the water in gurgling pipes, and the scent of fresh baked breads travels out on curls of steam. jester slips into the alcove first, pulls on the hand she still hasnt released so that beau slides in beside her on the cushioned bench, not across as she would have done otherwise.

‘nice place you got here.’

jester grins, bats her lashes. ‘i’m good at finding sneaky places.’

‘i know that,’ beau nods. ‘yeah. this,’ she knocks on the wooden post. nods again. ‘solid.’

jester still hasn’t let go of her hand. beau swallows. hopes that her hand doesn’t feel as sweaty as she thinks it does. she always gets alcohol sweats, and with this sauna jester has found, she can feel her whole body prickling with it.

‘why are we - you couldn’t sleep?’

‘i’m not tired yet. and i wasn’t drinking.’

‘milk.’

jester rolls her eyes. muffles a small laugh with a look of exasperation, like she can’t believe she’s laughing at such a bad joke. her fingers slip over beau’s, tangling and slowly slipping away. beau makes an attempt to keep hold before she realises what jester is doing; cheeks flushing, she looks away, stretches her arms out to rest on the tabletop, fingers drumming on the wood, tracing over the slices and crude carvings, fingers swirling over the letters.

‘i wanted to play a game,’ jester tells her, pulling from her bag a deck of cards. it makes beau’s stomach plummet until she realises she doesn’t recognise them: these are not the brightly painted tarot, but considerably smaller and battered.

‘playing cards?’

‘uno!’

beau frowns. ‘the game you wanna play with your dad?’

‘yeah!’

it’s the drink making her bold, or the closeness of jester pressed soft to her side, that makes beau smirk. tilt her head. ‘if i play with you, does that make me your daddy?’

jester smiles back, all sharp teeth and hooded lids. ‘i don’t know, beau, does it?’

beau doesn’t recognise the tone, not from jester anyway, but it sends a bolt of energy lancing through her from the top of her now-prickling scalp to her core.

‘uh.’ she unsticks her tongue from the dry roof of her mouth. ‘um.’

jester giggles. drops her eyes to the deck, quickly splitting it and shuffling. beau is thankful that it gives her a moment to recover herself, swear at herself for losing her senses; beau is not thankful for the way it draws attention to jester’s clever hands, easily breezily moving the cards through a shuffle, a tilted riffle and a cut, before pressing them in a weave and cutting again.

‘holy shit. you’re really good at this.’

‘i like cards,’ jester agrees, nodding, but beau notes that she looks pleased by the compliment.

‘is it a problem that i don’t know how to play this?’

the cards explode out of the riffle, scattering across and beneath the table, a few smacking up into their faces.

‘ow.’

‘oh no, my cards!’

‘it’s fine, it’s fine, lemme—hold on, let me help,’

beau dives out of the nook, scrabbles around for the little cards. she slaps a few handfuls onto the table, ducking under it to find the remaining ones as jester counts. it’s hot, and dark, and jester’s tail snakes out to tap against beau’s arm as she fumbles around.

‘okay down there?’ jester calls.

beau grunts. ‘there’s—ugh—it’s like they washed the whole place with beer.’ her fingers brush against something furry that moves as she yelps, moves back too fast and knocks her head hard on the table above. ‘ow—fuck!’

‘beau!’

‘i’m fin—are you laughing?’ beau slides out from under the table, peeks over to confirm that jester is in fact laughing at her, wounded in the course of finding her fucking cards. ‘wow. real cool,’ she complains, though her hearts not in it, not with the way jester is having to fight to keep from busting a rib, eyes glittering with it. ‘did i get all the damn cards?’

jester counts them quickly. ‘two missing,’ she tells beau, who sighs and crawls beneath the table again, this time pulling down her goggles.

the first she finds under the opposite bench, while the second takes a little looking. it isn’t until jester moves her feet to try and help that beau sees it, the thin card stuck in the floorboards by jester’s feet. she reaches out, knuckles grazing against jester’s stockinged leg, and plucks it up.

‘got ‘em!’

beau climbs up, flops into place beside jester, who takes the cards with a quiet,

‘thank you, beau.’

‘don’t mention it.’ beau rubs at the top of her head. ‘i think i broke it. am i bleeding?’

‘lemme see.’ jester wriggles up onto her knees, bending over beau’s head. she’s of a height where beau has to keep herself very still and maybe close her eyes because jester’s chest is right there—and then her eyes flash open with the feeling of cold lips on hot skin, pressing gently to the bruised spot, and the warm fizzing feeling of magic crawling out from that space. ‘there,’ jester says, sitting again, the green light fading from her eyes. ‘all better.’

beau mumbles something that was hopefully an agreement, and tries to hide behind the cards jester hands her.