Listen, the ammonia was a good joke, but if Ford's not going to stop him he actually gets nothing out of messing with what little trust he's already managed to eke out. It's not a hard judgement call even with completely cold logic.
"DOESN'T MATTER! THE IMPORTANT PART IS THAT IT'S SOMETHING MAGICALLY USELESS AND WILL MESS UP SOMEONE'S CIRCLE! WHAT ABOUT INK? YOU'D GET A KICK OUT OF THAT, I BET."
Joking with Ford Pines is hard. When it isn't a joke, he will often assume it is, and when it actually is one, he'll take it without blinking. Especially in this case, because the man's become positively blase about injury and death.
And, apparently, turning his blood to ink.
There's a spark of irritation about the fact that Bill knows him well enough to predict that yes, yes he thinks that bleeding ink would be cool. His eyes narrow and he looks at Bill sideways. He's considering it, but irked that Bill nailed it.
"It's still not an ideal substance to have sitting around in an open wound," Ford says slowly, "but if most of it could be kept safely out of my bloodstream, it just might work."
The funny part of the joke would have been Ford getting mad at him for suggesting it. Oh well.
Ford writes more than he cleans, if he's anything like he used to be. It's not a hard leap to ink.
"NOTHING IS IDEAL TO HAVE SITTING IN AN OPEN WOUND!"
Except literally nothing -
Bill's eye brightens.
"GOT IT! THIS'LL WORK."
He shoos away the divided circle and point symbol of alkali volatile and draws in a simpler one: upwards triangle, split by a line. The rest of the spell squiggles around. Bill has made the process much more complicated and fiddly trying to get a liquid to turn to air for no reason.
"JUST MAKE IT DISSOLVE TO HYDROGEN. OF COURSE, IF THEY THINK YOU'RE JUST NOT BLEEDING THEY MIGHT STAB YOU SOMEWHERE ELSE..."
But that's a sacrifice Bill is willing to make. Most sacrifices involving Ford getting injured he's just dandy with.
This is a man who set his face on fire instead of shaving even before the other Bill messed with his ideas about dying horribly and how it really isn't so bad once you get used to it.
"Perfect!" he exclaims, placing his hands on his hips and looking the formula over. "That'll render all attempts at blood magic completely useless, and won't give me a case of ink poisoning."
Ford nods, committing the pattern to memory. He'll find somewhere suitable to put it. Somewhere less obvious than the lining of his coat, since this is a last-resort kind of deal rather than the first line of defense. Inside the clothes, maybe inside a pocket or on a sock.
"Let's see. There's the magic nullification runes, the blood-to-ammonia spell, the blood-to-hydrogen glyph, and an unlocking spell," Ford rattles off, counting them on his fingers. "Is there anything else I should know that will help me stop your enemies from killing me to get to you?"
Obviously not, he can't turn his blood into both at once. They're a one at a time deal.
The little buckler appears, and Ford starts: he looks at it in surprise, then turns his arm around to examine it from a few more angles. He's still trying to figure it out when Bill mentions DD&MD, and he answers half-distracted by the mechanics of the magic shield. "Mm, hard to say. There's plenty of spells I used to use back in the day -- Generic Magic Blast, Prestochangatation, Raise Undead -- I've always been fond of Mallefluvius's Rope Trick. But what does that have to do with this?" Look man, give him the opportunity to nerd out and he'll nerd first and ask questions later.
"That was a disaster," Ford argues, making a sweeping one-handed gesture like he's clearing a pile of his own missteps off an invisible table. "If it hasn't been for that barbershop quartet, I'd have been done for!"
Sure is lucky no one else is listening to this, or else that would have sounded humorously random and certainly have piqued a listener's curiosity about just what kind of story could possibly be behind a statement like that.
"THAT WAS GREAT. ...ANYWAY, I CAN'T GIVE YOU ROPE TRICK. IF IT WAS THAT EASY TO KNOCK A HOLE BETWEEN DIMENSIONS I'D HAVE DONE IT ALREADY! GENERIC BLAST COULD BE DONE... YOU MIGHT NEED TO MAKE A WAND!"
Prestochangination he's straight up not getting. You've already killed Bill with a sleight of hand illusion once. Fuck you guys.
"Wait, wait, wait. You're asking me for Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons spells so that you can give me the real-life edition versions?"
Ford's smelling something suspicious. The nerd spells, the shield, all of it is starting to feel like overkill. It's too much; he doesn't trust it.
"Bill, I got killed once. The effect on you wasn't even fatal! We've already worked out precautions against blood sorcery. That's fine. But if you're trying to put me in your debt by giving me more magic than I need, I'm not interested in owing you a favor."
Ford dispels the arm-shield with a quick outward jerk of the arm. "I don't need you handing me weapons, Cipher, I'm perfectly capable of building my own! I'll take it from here."
"What I've got will be more than sufficient to keep me alive in the event of a similar spell. In the meantime, if you really hate it so much, try to avoid insulting blood sorcerers!"
"FIRST OF ALL, I INSULT EVERYONE! SECOND OF ALL, HE DIDN'T NEED A REASON, HE JUST DOES THIS SOMETIMES! DID YOU SEE WHAT HORSERIVER DID TO HIS WARDEN? ODD THOMAS COULDN'T INSULT SOMEONE WITH A GUN TO HIS HEAD."
"Neither am I!" Ford insists angrily. "I don't need your help, Bill. I survived thirty years in dozens of hostile dimensions without it, and now that I know what I'm up against, I have more than enough defenses against it. He won't get me the same way again, so -- just calm down!"
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He considers the glowing math a moment, thinking it all over. Then, he crooks his hand at Bill.
"Give me the spell to change it myself. Without the pressurization."
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"LISTEN, IT'S GOTTA BE SOMETHING THAT'LL WORK WHILE YOU'RE KNOCKED OUT! WHAT ABOUT SOMETHING OTHER THAN AMMONIA, CAN I TALK YOU INTO THAT?"
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"DOESN'T MATTER! THE IMPORTANT PART IS THAT IT'S SOMETHING MAGICALLY USELESS AND WILL MESS UP SOMEONE'S CIRCLE! WHAT ABOUT INK? YOU'D GET A KICK OUT OF THAT, I BET."
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And, apparently, turning his blood to ink.
There's a spark of irritation about the fact that Bill knows him well enough to predict that yes, yes he thinks that bleeding ink would be cool. His eyes narrow and he looks at Bill sideways. He's considering it, but irked that Bill nailed it.
"It's still not an ideal substance to have sitting around in an open wound," Ford says slowly, "but if most of it could be kept safely out of my bloodstream, it just might work."
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Ford writes more than he cleans, if he's anything like he used to be. It's not a hard leap to ink.
"NOTHING IS IDEAL TO HAVE SITTING IN AN OPEN WOUND!"
Except literally nothing -
Bill's eye brightens.
"GOT IT! THIS'LL WORK."
He shoos away the divided circle and point symbol of alkali volatile and draws in a simpler one: upwards triangle, split by a line. The rest of the spell squiggles around. Bill has made the process much more complicated and fiddly trying to get a liquid to turn to air for no reason.
"JUST MAKE IT DISSOLVE TO HYDROGEN. OF COURSE, IF THEY THINK YOU'RE JUST NOT BLEEDING THEY MIGHT STAB YOU SOMEWHERE ELSE..."
But that's a sacrifice Bill is willing to make. Most sacrifices involving Ford getting injured he's just dandy with.
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"Perfect!" he exclaims, placing his hands on his hips and looking the formula over. "That'll render all attempts at blood magic completely useless, and won't give me a case of ink poisoning."
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Bill sits back and examines the spell.
"...THIS ONE'S ALSO GOTTA BE WORN OR INKED ON YOU. PUT IT WHEREVER YOU THINK IT'LL BE SAFE - SOMETHING NOT TOO OBVIOUS."
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"Let's see. There's the magic nullification runes, the blood-to-ammonia spell, the blood-to-hydrogen glyph, and an unlocking spell," Ford rattles off, counting them on his fingers. "Is there anything else I should know that will help me stop your enemies from killing me to get to you?"
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Hmm. Is there anything else?
"WELL, I'M GONNA GIVE YOU ONE OF THESE -"
Bill shoots finger-guns at Ford and gives him a little glowy blocking shield over his forearm.
"AND ...WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE SPELL OUT OF DUNGEONS, DUNGEONS, AND MORE DUNGEONS?"
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The little buckler appears, and Ford starts: he looks at it in surprise, then turns his arm around to examine it from a few more angles. He's still trying to figure it out when Bill mentions DD&MD, and he answers half-distracted by the mechanics of the magic shield. "Mm, hard to say. There's plenty of spells I used to use back in the day -- Generic Magic Blast, Prestochangatation, Raise Undead -- I've always been fond of Mallefluvius's Rope Trick. But what does that have to do with this?" Look man, give him the opportunity to nerd out and he'll nerd first and ask questions later.
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Really well = someone almost died.
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Sure is lucky no one else is listening to this, or else that would have sounded humorously random and certainly have piqued a listener's curiosity about just what kind of story could possibly be behind a statement like that.
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Prestochangination he's straight up not getting. You've already killed Bill with a sleight of hand illusion once. Fuck you guys.
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Ford's smelling something suspicious. The nerd spells, the shield, all of it is starting to feel like overkill. It's too much; he doesn't trust it.
"Bill, I got killed once. The effect on you wasn't even fatal! We've already worked out precautions against blood sorcery. That's fine. But if you're trying to put me in your debt by giving me more magic than I need, I'm not interested in owing you a favor."
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Ford dispels the arm-shield with a quick outward jerk of the arm. "I don't need you handing me weapons, Cipher, I'm perfectly capable of building my own! I'll take it from here."
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"Well, since you clearly know him better than I do, what are the odds that he'll even try the whole blood-magic psychic-connection trick again?"
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"IT WAS A BAD CURSE!"
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