[Shortly after the return to Liminal Space]

[pseudologist]

Nice flowers.

Not that I'm complaining about being away from all the raging teenaged emotions, but what happened to get us all sprung so fast? I don't think we were at the Shambala any more than a week - definitely not our usual stay.

Comments

[bypartisan]

Possibly the Trumps only wanted us to catch new and exciting diseases to spread to the others.

Still. For a Jaunt... a Walkabout, I suppose, that was... remarkably unhorrible. Apart from ruining a suit, the bar catching on fire, and repeatedly turning into a giant weasel.

I think I may have caught a cold.

[pseudologist]

New and exciting magical diseases. You forgot the best part.

[If he sounds like he's laughing at you, By, it's because he absolutely is.]

Looking back, it does seem like we were short a lot of people. Maybe they didn't wan to turn that hotel into an entire travelling circus.

[bypartisan]

Magical diseases. Because heaven forbid we infect anyone with something so mundane as the flu. Or my cold.

Perhaps the lack of people was why it was so restful.

[Because for the most part it oddly was.]

[pseudologist]

Probably. That and the lack of dire stakes - I don't think much of anything was riding on those competitions besides money and ego.

I'm dying to know: are you still turning into a weasel every time you sneeze?

[bypartisan]

... yes.

And I have a damned cold.

[It's Weasel City here.]

[pseudologist]

[One benefit to conversing over the psychic network: his laughter isn't audible unless he intends it to be.]

If I see anyone chasing a giant weasel, I promise I'll head them off.

[bypartisan]

I would appreciate that, yes. What about you? Did you come down with anything at the Shambala?

[pseudologist]

[There's a pause in which Varric absolutely doesn't absently check for the presence of rodent ears, or something similarly ridiculous.]

Not that I'm aware of. Either I got lucky, or the diseases are close enough to magic that I'm immune.

[bypartisan]

Meanwhile, I assume I'm from a magic-free world, so I'll be susceptible to all sorts of conditions like this. Lovely.

[pseudologist]

If it's any consolation, this is only the fourth magical plague I've encountered, and the other three are a lot harder to catch.

[bypartisan]

Only, you say.

[Four is much too many if you ask Byerly. One is much too many.]

[pseudologist]

It's all a matter of perspective.

Don't let anyone bite or bleed on you until they've checked out disease-free, and you should be safe from the ones you haven't already caught.

[bypartisan]

Oh thank god. They're not airborne. Why turning into giant animals should have such an inconvenient disease vector...

[pseudologist]

I'm just going to assume that it's because that world runs on narrative laws that skew towards absurdity.

[And everything he knows about disease vectors could fit in a thimble.]

[bypartisan]

Yes. Yes, I think it does.

[pseudologist]

And just so you know, I am still going to make a story out of that incident in the bar.

[bypartisan]

And like I said, just change the names.

[pseudologist]

I will.

Although I don't think there are enough giant weasels in Liminal Space to reliably maintain your cover.

[bypartisan]

So far as we know. The Trumps might bring in a wholesale weasel shipment next.

[pseudologist]

That would fit with the whole tunnel theme they have going this time. It probably wouldn't help with the sneezing, though.

[bypartisan]

Perhaps the next liminal will be made of pepper. There will be nothing but sneezing weasels as far as the eye can see.

[pseudologist]

Not to mention everyone else.

If we end up in a giant spice mill, I'm holding you responsible.

[bypartisan]

You're welcome.