I've never stuck around this plane long enough to require a journal before. Time-keeping and posterity are non-issues when your natural habitat flaunts time as much as this one does length, depth and breadth. It's not my first time in the kingdom, and it's not the first time a magician has purposely summoned me either, but perhaps it's the first time in memory when someone read the damn records. We should never have let the Internet concept fall into the hands of modern humans at all, let alone the hands of modern wand-wavers. They're all so...smart now. I remember not so very long ago when most of them didn't have easy access to common points of reference, they kept on making the same mistakes and, in the days before fast travel, living in different villages was damn near a guarantee they had no idea what they were really doing in the first place. It made the working relationships much easier to figure out. All cards on the table. The summoners couldn't hide things from us because they had no idea what to expect when we answered, and even then we were afforded the power to ignore them if we felt the calling was wrong.
Thanks to that berk Solomon and others, we get wrenched all over the place. No time to settle while we're here. Whatever happened to the good old days of the local parish infernal, or the cushy roles, like forest spirit or house imp? I swear, you give mankind an inch and they take a lightyear (I probably screwed up the phrasing, but distances don't really matter where I come from, either). I'd be pleased for them if I weren't so positively and outrightly irritated right now.
So here I am, writing these words, dictated by a habit of my present host (worse still, a willing host, so I've been poured into her and bottled until my new masters break the confounded seal).
It's only been a few days but I can feel her influence is well within me now. I tried to put this off, and I managed it for about a week, but there's this angry scratching in the back of my...her skull. If I resist further I reckon I'll start suffering from withdrawal pains. My host has these dairies all over her home. The ones I've dug up go as far back as her last years of secondary school, though I'm of the opinion there are more yet to uncover. She probably has entries dating all the way back to the womb, the obsessive-compulsive little cow. I am using this only to share my thoughts, as I certainly can't do so in everyday conversation, with all the normal humans. It's a bit of an unspoken law that we can't reveal ourselves to people who aren't open to us. There are lots of atheists these days, but the loophole is that the harder they try to make themselves disbelieve, the more the images haunt them, and the more open to us they become because their grip is so desperate and tenuous. There are very few who are truly closed. I admire their ability to shield themselves, but I know some soft-hearts feel sad for their isolation. I always did like my own company. Either way, the existence of those few are the reason we can't set light to sinners or outrun the EuroStar or bound over rooftops in full view of the public. Don't ask me to go into much more detail than that. I'm a guardian, not a lawyer.
A guardian of children, as a matter of fact. Wouldn't expect that of a dæmon, would you? Well, angel, monster, god, djinn, those are all just names. We're different species, certainly. I'm not made out of smokeless fire, and I'm not a four-legged spinning lion's head, or a ball of holy light so bright I'd have to struggle not to burn onlookers alive. At the end of the day, we're all doing the same job, or close enough to it that we maintain a kind of truce. More political twaddle I don't like to stick my nose into. I've been tagged to kiddies since just a little while after I was forged. I like them, well, I don't mind them. If I had a heart, some of them would warm the cockles of it with their antics, but I have learnt to keep my relationships with them as strictly professional, especially if circumstances necessitate moving them to my office. Entities inside the spheres have a nasty tendency to find out everything about you and what you're doing, and some are the very reason I have to play bodyguard, if you know what I mean. I like to think I'm good in a trans-dimensional fight, but it's always annoying when you have to worry about the N.P.C.s.
This pen's running out. If she knew this was going to happen, the least she could've done was set a spare biro aside for me. I'll write more when I have a new--
Last edited by Dee Arris
on Sun Feb 05, 2012 9:13 am, edited 1 time in total.