[open/catch-all] live, i wanna live inspired

[faithlikeaseed]

Who: Myr + you! Yes, you. Over there. Stop hiding behind the furniture. (Starters for L + Connor in the comments.)
When: ~Septeril 2nd to Septeril 18th, author reserves the right to update date range at random to fit around the Dorchacht trip. Myr is in dignitary group number 2, so feel free to catch him any time up until the 14th!
Where: Around the City, mostly the Haven and the Coven.
What: ~*training montage*~
Warnings: None as yet; will update if any arise.

i. coven.
Though the invitation for Monsters to sit in on classes at the Coven was made plain from the start, Myr hadn't availed himself of it his first month in Aefenglom. Call it preoccupation with adapting to his new circumstances, call it having the run of a city for the first time in his entire life, call it having a regular job.

Call it anything but wounded, festering anger that he wasn't invited to those classes as a student, because Geardagas had seen fit to strip him of his magic on passage through the mirror.

He can't sulk forever; even early on, he'd acknowledged he would need to learn how magic works here, if no other reason than his own insatiable curiosity would drive him to it. But that acknowledgement hadn't amounted to action until he'd been given two very good bits of evidence, one (the SQUIP) right after another (Dorchacht), that the Witches here couldn't all be trusted to use their power for the common good any more than Tevinter's magisters could. And what does that fucking say for the Libertarians' arguments about mage rule...

In order to beat a Witch, he'd need to know as well as they did how magic worked. And--he couldn't keep weighing their ethics, their reasoning on Thedas' scale; couldn't keep up his reflexive judgment of everything said or done by a member of the Coven if he didn't know how they thought of themselves.

They're not the happiest reasons to finally come learn magic, but they're good enough to make him an occasional fixture in the back of the Coven's classrooms in early Septeril. Maybe he's reached over politely to attract your attention and ask, sotto voce, what an instructor's drawing on the board. Perhaps his newly grown antlers are in the way of you being able to see the board. Or maybe he recognizes your voice out in the hallway and gravitates over to ask, eagerly, what class you're bound for next--because sitting with someone he knows a little is absolutely better than being among total strangers.

ii. haven. i like sticks
An advantage of profoundly disordered sleep is that there's many quiet hours in the night for Myr to do those things he'd rather not people see him doing.

Like sneaking into a deserted park in the Haven after the bells toll three one morning, staff and dagger in-hand.

There's no one here in Aefenglom who knows who he was back home. There's no one to tell him he can't fight, that he's a liability, that he'll never sit his vigil--but all those things have come with him through the mirror, and they cling close as shame and keep him furtive about his combat drills and forms. Furtive, but not unfaithful, because with the trip to Dorchacht looming on the horizon, he needs to be in his best form.

Stripped to the waist and furred up his back in pale white fuzz, he stands out like a wraith among the darkened trees. Live opponents would be better than the invisible ones he constructs for himself from memory, but his staffwork's sharp enough anyhow to almost infer their presence from how the blade slices air.

iii. wildcard.
(( GO WILD. Myr works at one of the Daisy Chain locations as a gardener and might be found literally anywhere inside the Bright Wall if he's gotten lost exploring. Also prone to napping in some weird places when his awful sleep habits finally catch up with him. Hit me up (Plagueheart#0051 on Discord) if you'd like a starter! ))

Comments

for l;

[faithlikeaseed]

It's really a surprise the proper use of blood in a Witch's spells didn't come up sooner than Myr's second day hanging around the Coven.

"If you'd take up your athame," the Abjuration instructor intones, "we're going to practice the shallowest cut to your little finger. It only wants a drop or two of blood to empower a variety of useful mending spells, and those of you planning on a career with the Wilders will need to know how to cut yourself safely under a variety of conditions--"

He'd been sitting in back of the class, which means there's only the littlest disturbance when he gets up and rushes the door like he's forgotten an appointment. Nearly trips and sends himself sprawling over an unattended pack but--Maker be thanked--gets out the door and slams it behind him. His face his pale, his expression somewhere between furious and sick, like he's about to have the angriest vomiting session known to man.

"Fucking maleficarum," he snarls under his breath. "Of course they would."

That resolution to take it all in non-judgmentally sure didn't last long.

[hearthebell]

[Given L's considerable academic talent, he's advanced quickly in certain subjects taught at the Coven. Unfortunately, lately he's been struggling. His Bond is with another witch, and while the SQUIP has Bonded with a monster to offset the inherent instability, L's managed no such thing. He's poured hours into studying to distract himself from the personal problems created by the SQUIP's tendencies, falling into old habits and neglecting his basic physical needs to an alarming extent.

He had to leave his classroom, too. It's because even the relatively small amount of blood required for a spell left his vision blotching and the surface of his desk rushing up. He sits normally, if somewhat wilted, on a bench outside the classroom with a bandaged arm as his eyes half-closed when he sees a somewhat familiar faun burst out of one of the lower-level classes, looking fit to be sick himself.

He sits forward, canting his head, taking care to stand slowly so he doesn't get too dizzy.]

Did... something happen in your class?

[His voice, at least, should be recognizable to Myr, if on the slightly hoarse side.]

[faithlikeaseed]

Oh--a little bloodletting, [Myr's tone is tight and sarcastic in a way that's passing rare for him.] I'm to understand that's a common thing around here, opening a vein for magic.

[His posture's profoundly defensive for all he's not under any kind of threat, his palms pressed flat against the door behind him (and his staff sandwiched awkwardly between it and his back)--the line of pale fur just visible above his collar bristling with alarm.

It's a fearful thing to find oneself among blood mages, even if he doesn't want to acknowledge he's as much afraid as he is nauseated and furious.

That it's Linden that's asking makes things both better and worse; this is not how Myr would want to be found by someone he's begun to respect, but it's also a firm reminder he's got to get his emotions better control. He forces himself to take a deep breath and let it out--then one more, in and out--before peeling off the door and shuffling away from it, toward the sound of Linden's voice.]

It's not--usual, where I'm from. Certainly never taught in classes.

[hearthebell]

Oh?

[It's extremely clear that the blind faun disapproves of the practice, and that it was uncommon for a reason where he was from. Aside from squeamishness, and the obvious possibility of unscrupulous practitioners taking it too far and seeking additional blood in places they shouldn't, L doesn't feel the same way, but the contexts of their previous worlds and their shared current one are obviously very different.

As is their general physical health and constitution. Secretly, L is glad that Myr can't see him, because it would be generous to call him "peaky." He's been at this for a few days. He needs a shower and a change of clothes. He needs a few meals, perhaps even in one sitting. No, he more resembles death warmed over, but he doesn't have to sound that way. He clears his throat, tries to sound more hale.]

You make it sound almost like it's a taboo...

[And granted, the fact that it seems to sicken and offend Myr rather suggests that a little more firmly.]

for connor;

[faithlikeaseed]

There was a problem with Myr's budding plan to kill the SQUIP.

All right: There were many problems with it, beginning with the hideous odds of one small blind Faun ranged against two practiced Witches.

But it is characteristic of how Myr's mind works that the largest problem with the plan is not its tactical improbability, nor what punishments the Coven might level against a murderer, nor whether that act of premeditated violence would alienate him from those he cares about--

The largest problem is that the bloody demon has friends. Whether willing allies or unwitting hostages or something in-between, there were people in Aefenglom who cared about the thing--people that stood to be hurt in any attempt made to deal with it permanently. He needs to know who they are--as people, more than potential enemies--to know if his resolve's really up to this, to know if there's some way of saving them from what they've become entangled with. To know, in the worst case, the full consequences of what he's chosen to do before he does it, because there would be no repairing it after.

He's already something of the measure of Linden Tailor (not as much of one as he'd need, ultimately; and what he does know worries him sore, because the fellow's got a mind like a razor and already knows something's coming); but he doesn't know anything about the other man in the SQUIP's orbit. Only what Rich had revealed (charmed, coerced) and casual gossip that placed a certain Merrow more frequently in the demon's company of late.

So it comes that Connor's got a visitor on this particular misty Septeril morning--a visitor with half-grown antlers still in velvet, a bag of sweet rolls in his off-hand, and a pleasant hopeful smile on his face as he knocks on the door of the android's cottage. Here's to hoping Connor's in and up to receiving company despite the early hour.

[plasticasshole]

[One thing about being an android is that he doesn't need to sleep, so there's no problem with Myr knocking on the door so early. He answers, blinking at the Faun. He's seen him around before, but they've never spoken. He wonders what brings him here today.]

Hello, can I help you?

[He sounds politely curious, not at all bothered by the surprise company.]

[faithlikeaseed]

"Serah Connor? I'm Myrobalan Shivana--one of your neighbors here. I was hoping you'd share breakfast with me."

Myr holds up the bag by way of illustration.

"And a few minutes' conversation, if I'm not intruding on your morning. Else, the rolls are yours to keep."

You like sticks, I like sticks WE ALL LIKE STICKS

[weirdnecro]

"Ah. So this is what you've been up to."

She wouldn't be surprised if Myr had sensed her presence long before she said a word. She had been exercising her magic, trying to expand it to more then what she had. Mostly it meant a lot of book learning on her part, but she did do some practical magic too.

In any case, Sokie had been up with a (borrowed) quarter staff, unable to sleep and too restless to settle into spellwork. She had brought the staff for self defense, which she had brought out when she saw Myr's fuzzy form and...

Thankfully she knew who he was by his hair and blindfold.

"You know at first? I thought you were a fuzzy ghost. But thankfully, I was completely wrong. Hey Myr."

[faithlikeaseed]

When Myr reflects on it, it's a little strange that--even without eyes or magic--he's still got a sense for when someone's watching him. He had made a note of Sokie's presence, unconsciously, before she'd spoken up (an overheard footstep, some change in a passing breeze) and so doesn't jump out of his skin when she does.

He makes a pleasant noise of acknowledgment but doesn't answer her until he's finished the form he's on--parry, stop-thrust, withdraw--and grounded his staff. "This is what I've been up to," he acknowledges; there's maybe something a little abashed in the words. "Don't want to get out of condition, especially with Dorchacht looming. Hey, Sokie--sorry if I alarmed you any."

There's something teasing in it, even if he does mean it in earnest. Fuzzy forest ghosts probably were not what anyone expected to see in a park in the wee hours of the morning.

[weirdnecro]

Maybe it's the magic senses that she's heard about. She feels it too but-not intensly, and usually with focus, a kind of pressure that comes off of her and others if she feels for it. Myr...maybe he was more in tune with it, needing it more.

She didn't try to stop him in the middle of his exercises at least. In part because she was interested and well-it'd be rude to stop him.

"Alarm me? Oh Myr, it takes more then a ghost to alarm me, Dorry-ville or no Dorries." She leaned against her staff, looking him over. So he was changed already...but not as much as she thought he'd be.

"I just came out because I was restless. That, and...actually, pretty much that." She paused a beat. And then:

"You're not telling me you've been doing this since we've had the nightmare, are you?"

wildcard 🌼

[niespodzianka]

Geralt's hours at the Daisy Chain have been very uneven; he's not used to having a schedule. Hell, he's not used to living in a society with widespread timekeeping devices. Who has a fucking clock besides sorceresses and sovereigns? But, he's got so much experience as an alchemist that the proprietor is willing to suffer through his frequent no-shows and overnight hours.

Bad news, though, turns out he's going to be gone for an unknown period of time. Might as well tell the boss ... if she's even here.

"You the only one on deck?"

--hi. Perhaps unhelpfully, Geralt is unnaturally silent when he moves.

im love FLOWER

[faithlikeaseed]

That is extremely unhelpful.

Fortunately, it's not something Myr really holds against his coworker; unfortunately, it's also still bloody alarming when Geralt comes out of nowhere like that. Especially now that the Faun instincts have begun to come in and the very first thing Myr wants to do when startled is bound gracefully off into the forest--

Or nearly fall ungracefully off the chair he's perched on (when will he learn not to sit like some kind of idiot) at the potting table. The little pile of cyclamen tubers he'd been transplanting go every which direction; one rolls off the table entirely and hits the floor with a dull thud. "Andraste's tits, we oughta get you a bell--yeah, it's just me."

He's not really that upset, once the momentary alarm has passed; he leeeeeans precariously out of the chair to feel around for the missing tuber, loath to get up. "--need something?"

[niespodzianka]

If Myr has any echo-location, he might notice that when he wobbles, Geralt's hand went out as if to catch him - but then that nearly kicks in, and he withdraws, having only come within a millimeter of touching him.

"Yeah," he says, sounding somewhat reluctant, like his brainpower is preoccupied elsewhere. He bends down and picks up the tuber, and replaces it near the faun's hand.

Then, inelegantly: "Sorry. Thought the thing on your face was - fashionable, or something." Yes, the thing on your face. Geralt means well, he's just also an idiot. Ehhem. "Are you Aen Seidhe?"

i. Coven

[halfheartedmagician]

The few monsters who attend the classes always have a tendency to stand out, which Asra imagines doesn't really encourage them to keep attending, but he's pleasantly surprised to realise that he recognises one of the newer faces around. Not that he really has much claim to recognising who's new and who isn't, since that would require that he attend regularly himself, but this particular face stands out quite a bit to him.

"Myr," Asra calls out in greeting and to give the other man a way to orient on him. "Which class are you here for?"

[faithlikeaseed]

"Asra!" Hey, someone familiar! Myr halts in the flow of traffic--with a muttered apology to a Witch who nearly runs into him--and reverses direction to wade his way back toward the magician.

"Any of 'em," he responds cheerily, once he judges they're in suitable speaking distance. He's not quite turned the right way, but such is life. "Though I've been trying to sit in on enchantment today. Thought it was time I learned how magic worked here. You?"

[halfheartedmagician]

"Divination," Asra answers, but cocks his head curiously. "Is it very different from what you know from your own world? Or were you not familiar with it before you came here either?"

From his discussion with Solas, he'd gotten the impression that magic was similar in some ways here, and in others to what he was used to in Vesuvia. He'd thought as well that Myr had some magic as well, but perhaps both elves just had different skills and education and he was reading too much into it.

i

[bloodwit]

Of course Viren's here— clinging to some notion that magic will be relevant him once again beyond his status of a Monster, or else hoping to glean useful insight to Witch practices. But oh lord, he's not the only desperate Monster to attend class: There's Myr. And he's grown antlers, of all things. He's momentarily struck by that unfortunate similarity to the elves he's proclaimed war against, what with an unpleasant knot settling in his stomach, even as he rationally knows them to be wholly distinct.

And as Myr seats himself right in front of him, he can't help leaning forward on his desk, a heavy scowl and a bearing of sharp twisting his expression.

"Excuse me, Elf," Viren hisses in a loud whisper, his tone not unlike he's auditioning for a part on Mean Girls. "Your unfortunate set of antlers is blocking my view."

[faithlikeaseed]

"Oh, Maker--of course they," fucking, "are," Myr sighs; whether the exasperation in his tone is for himself, the antlers, or Viren is one of the great mysteries of the world. He picks himself up forthwith, inching sideways--so's not to tread on anyone's left-out belongings, as he's been struggling with all day--and tipping his head in the other ex-mage's direction.

"Is there a seat open by you, messere? And good day to you, too," because it's not that he dislikes Viren, whatever unfortunate prejudices the man might hold.

Just, well. Elf. At least it wasn't knife-ear.

[bloodwit]

Viren looks to his right - filled by a prim, excitable-looking little Witch. Probably the Hermione Granger of the class. And to his left, no one. He mulls over that possibility a moment - those antlers will just be blocking someone else's view, but.

Not his problem, then.

"Yes," he admits. He glances down the row of desks, most of them already taken; a few stragglers here and there hunting for empty spaces. Though he doesn't verbalize this little tidbit, for whatever reason, Viren does shift some of things — an ink bottle, a notebook — so as to make the desk look occupied. "But be spry about it."

iii

[firewalled]

Rich has been quiet since the talk he had with Myr on the network, though Myr might have spotted Rich at work or wandering from the market and back occasionally. Rich wasn't thinking a conversation was necessary, though, not until he was ready to talk to Nessie about the SQUIP.

Currently, he still wasn't ready, so what was the point getting Myr's hopes up?

He doesn't see the point of interacting with Myr at all, really. The man was certainly kind when they had spoken, but it was getting harder and harder for Rich to even consider confiding in people, when so many had decided to take his warnings at face value and continue associating with something so dangerous. Maybe after that conversation with Linden, Myr wanted to do the same. Maybe he was doubting his earlier resolve to stab the fucking SQUIP.

But even when Rich has no one to turn to, it's not like his brain will take a break on torturing him with problems he can't solve alone.

So it's in the early hours of the morning that, after a few particularly painful nightmares, that he remembers Myr's words about the temptation of the rope. Minutes later, he's at Myr's door, banging on it like it was merely 3 p.m. rather than... sometime around 3 in the morning.

"Couldn't sleep," he mumbles when Myr finally opens the door.

[faithlikeaseed]

Myr, in turn, had been allowing the younger man space; while the elf's got all the instincts the Maker gave a particularly overprotective mother hen... He's also well aware that he has them and precisely how stifling it can be to have someone hovering around fretting all the time. (He hadn't borne it any better when he was the incapacitated patient.)

So he'd made himself a note to check in with Rich if he didn't notice the younger man around (which he had) for more than a day or two, or something else changed to give him cause to go from passively concerned to actively worried--

And he'd gone about his own preparations for the trip to Dorchacht--and dealing with the SQUIP--much as he would've otherwise. (Though he'd put in more than a few words for Rich with the Maker and His Bride. Remind him there's people here for him before he does anything irreversible...)

It's fortunate that Myr's been largely nocturnal lately (when...he's been sleeping at all), and double-fortunate he's at home rather than out when Rich comes knocking; he's there at the door in under a minute, tousle-headed and half-dressed but quite awake. "Come in and sit down," he says, near-reflexive, to Rich's explanation, seeming not the least bit surprised or dismayed by the timing of the visit.

"And we'll talk, if you need."

[firewalled]

Rich steps in immediately when Myr steps aside, barely giving his new surroundings a passing glance. Fight or flight is still overwhelming him, so all he's really thinking about is being away from his bed and the cramped room and the lonely, isolated building of the barracks.

He sits down at what looks to be a kitchen table, resting his head on one hand, making sure not to cut his cheek open. He looks up at Myr then, noting his appearance for the first time... the blindfold, the slight horns... he's surprised to find that the man is so short. Is Rich actually taller than him? He tilts his head in thought.

"What made you think I'd need to talk? I'm sure I just needed a change of scenery."

ii. haven.

[ishisstrength]

Justine can't sleep and Connor wasn't home. He was likely doing the 100 other things that he did when everyone else rested and she quickly dismissed the thought to focus on her intimidate problem. She couldn't sleep because sleeping brought nightmares of monsters and loneliness; nightmares that she didn't want to face alone.

Pale delicate fingers tugged the sheer silky white fabric of her kimono around her slender frame and without any forethought, Justine wandered from Connor's home and onto the streets of Haven. She paused at the sight of her house, standing silent and lonely, and then continued. She didn't know where she was going or what she was doing, only that she needed to go... somewhere.

Her hair was unbound and against the moonlight she looked like a beautiful wraith of a restless soul. Her skin shown pale and fragile while her obvious weakness showed. Justine was barefoot but she didn't notice until the pavement made way to the grassy patch of the park. It was there she saw him, washed in moonlight with a staff in hand. She knew nothing about the art but there was something enchanting in the way he moved. Justine groped for a comparison but her thoughts were too unfocused and slipped through her fingers like granules of sand, leaving only a faint coating in her palm.

She was only a few yards away when she stopped walking, staring and saying nothing.

Any other day and any other time, Justine might have realized how odd this was but she wasn't thinking clearly enough to recognize it now.

[faithlikeaseed]

He doesn't know he's being watched.

Lost in all-consuming focus on what he's doing, Myr doesn't hear the faint brush of bare feet on grass; the spirit-blade forms require every bit of concentration he's got to execute. Step into an imagined blow and parry high with the staff--switch hands, draw the hilt--follow the opening you've made with a broad slash to drive your opponent back-- Then repeat, using the force of your assault to cross the distance and control the battlefield--

Justine's right in his theoretical line of attack. He doesn't know she's there--but something instinctive shrills sudden alarm at her presence right before he'd run into her and he freezes (like a deer in headlights) in sudden alarm, one foot off the ground and staff held up before him preparatory for a blow.

"Who--" He's too breathless, too surprised, to form the whole question.

[ishisstrength]

It's only when he's facing her that Justine notices the white cloth wrapped around his eyes. Can he see? Or does he choose not too? She didn't have an answer but the questions, as well as so many others, circle in a musical round through her thoughts as she stands silent and still in front of him.

Justine didn't flinch. Her reactions were too slow and sluggish to get out of his way but when he does stop, she moved and took a small step forward.

"Justine." Her voice was soft, sweet and deliciously feminine. "You moved beautifully. I was watching you."

There was no shame or hesitation in her voice.