Myrobalan Shivana (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faithlikeaseed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2019-09-06 09:08 pm
faithlikeaseed) wrote in middaeg2019-09-06 09:08 pm
[open/catch-all] live, i wanna live inspired
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'sgotten 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! ))
When: ~Septeril 2nd to Septeril 18th,
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.
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
for l;
"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.
no subject
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.]
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[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.
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[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.]
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[Which, he is aware, does not begin to encompass his--or the Chantry's--reasons for disgust at the practice. More explanation is owed. (Linden hadn't been so far off with his comment on those with knowledge having a duty to share, at least so far as Myr's concerned.)] Blood magic affects the mind--it strips men of their will and puppets them to the blood mage's command. It's a disgusting violation.
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If nothing else, it's clear that Myr has strong feelings about it, and represents new knowledge about the elf-turned-faun.]
The Cwyld is enough to be concerned with without worrying about demons, as well. In all my reading here, I haven't learned anything about their existence in this world.
[Perhaps an effort to put Myr's mind more at ease; perhaps a canny decision to refute the basis for his ire. His even tone betrays nothing.]
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But he's not--not really, nor does he think (however satisfying it would be) that pressing his particular interpretation of the SQUIP's nature would get him far. He's no doubt in Linden's ability to rationalize or reframe the facts of a situation as needed; one verbal excellence among a quiver of 'em the other man has already displayed.
It's both fascinating and infuriating, the latter largely because all that fearsome intelligence was an obstacle between Myr and any hope of rescuing Linden.
Like watching a champion swimmer insist being able to keep his head above water meant he wasn't being sucked into a whirlpool to drown.]
Thank the Maker and His Lady for that; all we'd need to worry about is the ones that might get pulled in through the mirrors, and they're apt to have stripped of the worst they can do like all the rest of us have been.
[He's close enough now to Linden to notice a...pong...in the air; an unwashed scent that is not at all unfamiliar to someone who's lived in a glorified magical university for most of his life. It feels like the wrong time of year for someone to have been driving himself that hard academically, but then Myr's not the most conversant with the exam schedule here.]
When's the last time you had a meal? Or slept? [Yeah, we're going for the abrupt change in topic; he needs longer to digest his own anger before he's willing to rant on it at length to a relative stranger.]
no subject
His brows raise as Myr mentions that he's thankful for the mirrors weakening what could be potentially damaging to others in Aefenglom, wondering if it's a segue into the topic that would be relevant while carrying the distinct possibility of turning heated and hostile. L actually awaits it eagerly, but as he's rising to the anticipated bait... there's a subject change he doesn't anticipate.
He blinks.]
Why... do you ask?
[Suddenly, his demeanor is guarded, and L is running over the possible ways a blind individual might have been able to guess at his general state of languor, the dilapidation of his personal care. His brow furrows, and he grasps a section of his shaggy dark hair, bringing it his nose, inhaling the scent of stale sweat.
That... might be it. Brilliant deduction.]
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And right now he's honestly a little concerned about Linden's immediate health, and would rather not wander off away from that.]
Food's usually last to go, but I'm guessing you're more apt to forget it than most.
[Given he'd gotten a feel of Linden's
bony, bonyarm last they'd met in person.]Does the Coven feed their students here or are the lot of you on your own for that?
no subject
Is that so? I hadn't realized...
[It's depressingly honest. L forgets himself surprisingly often for someone with a memory like his.]
Purchasing food is always an option, but I get involved with my studies. Sometimes hours pass and I'd rather not break my focus.
[Hours haven't passed. Days have passed.]
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Admirable as that is, [his tone's just a little less chiding than what he'd use for one of the older apprentices,] your body's the instrument for your magic. You let it go to pieces under you and all the study in the world won't avail you anything.
[Of course he draws the wrong conclusion from all of this: Linden's Bonded a demon and now, of course, inevitably, it's left him to ruin himself. Or driven him to ruin himself; it hardly mattered which.
That this could be Linden's base state occurs, but only dimly.]
C'mon. I'll buy you something and you can argue with me while you're eating it.
no subject
Left to his own devices, he can actually be very thoughtless and inept, and it shows.
He shifts where he stands, a hand going to rub at his bony upper arm.]
If you think it would be best... 33.3% of that sounds kind of fun.
[The arguing, of course.]
no subject
[He knows it's the arguing--had thought it might be an effective lure, after all--but like everyone else involved in the fine little clusterfuck that's grown up around the SQUIP, he's got being a shit down pat.
Just not much cause to use it, in the ordinary course of things.]
Know the way? [If so, he'll follow; if not, he's got no qualms whatever about buttonholing the next Witch to walk past them and ask.
Once they're en route to the cafeteria, he'll inquire:] What's been consuming you?
[Other than your Bonded.]
no subject
...ah.
[He might not be physically breathless, but his mind has just run a mile.]
Yes, I know the way.
[Perhaps because they've already established physical contact once, or because L senses in Myr a kindred and similarly intelligent spirit that makes him more comfortable with the faun, he simply reaches out for a shoulder to steer alongside him as he walks, though his steps seem slow, slightly reluctant. He's hungry, but eating is complicated. Self-care, period, is complicated, even when it is the most basic forms of maintenance.
The steps falter, just for a single moment, at that question, the way it's phrased. Myr's choice of words seems significant, perhaps a reference to how hungry he seems? Almost certainly?
He answers carefully.]
My magical studies, of course. I want to be prepared for anything, given the recent negative attention drawn to my Bonded.
[It's phrased that way for a reason. He doesn't want to give too much away, since it's clear that Myr and Rich are friendly... but he also doesn't want either of them to think that he's prepared to take an attack on the SQUIP lying down. It would, after all, be an attack on both of them.]
no subject
He doesn't slot that piece of the puzzle immediately into place, because it isn't quite right. But it's worth holding onto as a framing element--a way of thinking about what made Linden different. And perhaps, perversely, given the comparison, more vulnerable to a demon rather than less. If you'd tried to make a Tranquil of yourself for fear of some part of you...
Well. He doesn't know enough yet (and may never know enough) to draw that conclusion, but if the analogy gives him a better handle on the situation, he'll use it. Truth's important but not always functional.
A twitch of the head toward the touch on his shoulder is all the contact garners; Linden, at least, is one of those where that doesn't feel much like pity. (And whether or not the dragging steps are an unhealthy sign, they at least mean Myr doesn't have to walk as quickly to keep up with Linden's longer stride.)]
Understandably so. I admit I'm a little surprised your Bonded hasn't offered its side of the story as well. [But only a very little; a demon would prefer a mortal catspaw to revealing itself.] Come to think I don't know I've ever heard it speak up on the watches.
D'you have a school you're inclined to? [Surprisingly not a fish for anything other than, well, something to bond on. He'd asked it of transfers back home right off the bat, ferreting out the other Creation mages to get enthusiastic over their shared art with.]
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He keeps his gaze focused forward; an advantage to having a blind conversation partner is that the whole "eye contact" dilemma that can seem artificial, forced or awkward with L particularly is circumvented entirely.]
The SQUIP is a logical being. Rich presented the facts, from his perspective, in a very emotional manner. It's unlikely that any argument would have been compatible from the very beginning, had it chimed in at all...
[L's voice is slightly distorted as he speaks around a knuckle he chews on. Myr's question does sound like fishing to him, but it's in that ambiguous space where not answering as though it wasn't would actually be suspicious, potentially inspire more pointed questions and future digging.
So he answers, still speaking in a very deliberate, very measured and careful way as they turn a corner, toward the dense murmur of a cafeteria area. It's getting close to supper, and while it's still a touch early, a roast is cooking and the aroma is heavy in the air.]
Divination... and illusion.
[Finding what's hidden, and hiding things himself.]
I enjoy Runes, as you know... and using them to work out solutions to unique situations. There isn't always a spell for exactly what you want to do, so... being able to think on the spot is a boon in my line of work.
[And truly, that's only the half of it.]
Monsters attend classes here sometimes. To sate their curiosity, I assume, but you can't actually practice magic, if I understand correctly.
[Perhaps steering things intentionally toward something L believes that Myr might actually speak more emotionally on, find a more preoccupying and labor-intensive topic. He's bred for this, deflecting a topic before it can get too personal and reveal too much about his own life, his own secrets.]
no subject
That had changed in the space of a single letter.
Iseult hadn't even been one of his friends; she was more a worthy opponent of Linden's ilk, forever fratching at him for his rather liberal interpretation of the Chant. As was her right, he supposed; she'd been in her novitiate as a Chantry Sister when her magic had woken late and derailed the entire course of her life. All she'd wanted was for the Maker to undo the curse laid on her so she could return to that; having some scruffy elven boy try to convince her she'd be happier accepting life as a mage was intolerable.
Something of his argument must've gotten through to her in the end, though; she'd written him before her Harrowing, informing him of her intent to take the Rite instead. If anyone can convince me otherwise, it would be you, Shivana.
She hadn't written back to his fumbling response. A Tranquil wouldn't, though.]
Mm. Didn't seem to me like a logical response was the one required there, if it had wanted to pick Rich apart--it's very charming when it's minded to be, isn't it? [Why hadn't it? True confidence that its Bonded could argue for it, reluctance to show its hand, ... or maybe he's not understanding what's meant by logical here.
Was enough overemotional irrationality sufficient to overwhelm it? That wouldn't be like a demon at all; they fed on that.
More likely it was biding its time.]
Interesting pair, [and innocent as his question had truly been, he'll still take the direct answer to it as a warning. Neither school of magic mapped well to anything they had back home, so he's in the dark (ha) on what Linden's limitations might be, the bounds of what he could discover through magic alone.] I worked with glyphs back home--for much the same reason; they're tractable, if you need a new spell.
[And being able to draw his magic helped him focus around whatever the block was in his head on doing it the ordinary way.
Which--thanks, Linden--is also not a concern any longer. Myr gives a rueful little laugh at the reminder.] We're meant to be the companions of Witches, aren't we? Seems reason enough to sit in, to me.
We haven't the sort of magic Witches do, but we've skills of our own--I'm told. [Mine haven't shown up yet.
Which he resolutely wasn't going to worry about, or whether he'd end up completely without whenever he stopped changing.]
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While he can be a sardonic spitfire over the network, L's often comparatively quiet in face-to-face conversations, watching and reacting minimally so as to give less away. Myr's blindness requires more verbal feedback; he's still getting used to it, and he catches himself as he's simply and uselessly nodding, confirming by clearing his throat. An interesting pair, but one that makes sense; it's highly complementary, after all, knowing the ins and outs of each discipline can only help one understand the other one better. It's in L's nature, because while he might not agree with his opponent, understanding them was always the best possible way to defeat them in his extensive experience with absolutely rotten human beings.
With elves, fauns, or good human beings, he has significantly less experience... but reason is reason, across species, across motives, right?]
Meant to be? That sounds so fatalistic.
[A chuff of laughter that sounds strangely humorless, even if L likely intended it to actually lighten the mood. He's poor at this, communicating anything through tone alone that can put others at ease.]
You're "told?" You haven't experienced it for yourself?
[That is useful information, if it's true. It means that the faun is presently at a disadvantage, should he choose to fight a Bonded pair of witches who are on their guard and at least considering the possibility that they might be attacked at some point as a result of Rich's post.]
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Or maybe it's often right in general but wrong in the particulars. Having only the sound of Linden's voice to go on, Myr's left inferring the rest of the emotional cues that go with any vocalization...and that laugh's not so far off how he feels about the way Geardagas is organized.]
Is it really fatalism if they're pushing all the wonders of it on us? [Is that sarcasm? It might be sarcasm.
He's enough of a romantic that the idea of Bonds appeals on a deep level; the thought of a society woven together by acknowledgment of mutual need and mutual duty matches an ideal he's held since his youth.
But there's something behind the drumbeat of "find a Bond, any Bond, it's better you not run uncontrolled" that rubs him wrong; a subtle inequity that he can forecast sliding into Dorchacht's hideous philosophy with only the slightest push.] Just acknowledging an apparent natural law.
[What WERE Monsters truly Made for, anyway? Was anyone in this place even the least bit curious about it? And why didn't they bother teaching that in the Coven alongside encouraging Bonds as the best solution for the shortcomings of Monster and Witch alike?
Something to pursue if he makes it out of present straits alive.]
No, [and his tone is mild enough; he may know very well what it is he's giving away.] I've not. At least nothing so obvious as forcing our garden to bloom out of season.
[Even if he'd been in full possession of a Faun's gifts, they're...not exactly suited to combat.
Not the ones he has to will, anyway. Almost as if the world agreed with Enchanter Philomela on his usefulness in a fight--
And that's enough navel-gazing for one evening.]
But you've Bonded another Witch--leaving aside any issue of personality, is that really as magically volatile as they say?
[Linden's not the only one who can skip around topics.]
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[Even if it's only one's own reaction to an element that's otherwise wholly terrible and effectively hogties him into submission... technically it is still control.
The cafeteria is a little louder than the hallway, but the crowds aren't too bad considering they have some time left before dinner is served. There's not even much of a line.]
Yes...
[Answering carefully, but not so much as to sound suspicious. At least, that's L's hope, because any conversation involving the SQUIP is going to be inherently fraught.]
Bonds between Witches can be volatile, but there are precautions that can be taken. So long as the magic is continually cycled through practice... it helps with the buildup.
[And he's been here, long enough to start to smell apparently, doing just that.]
The SQUIP is my only Bond, at present, and so... I do really on it to practice often so it doesn't make our magic too unstable.
no subject
Probably. He's in the Coven in part to punish himself for sulking, after all.] There's always how we feel about the fix we're in, true enough.
[The line's short and Myr's patient about a queue when he's got someone to talk to; whatever-the-roast is smells decidedly edible (even if he's still too disgusted to eat; the Coven's managed a true feat, there); and conversing about magic, even if it's magic by other rules discussed with someone from another world entirely, is something he's always game for.
He feels more in his element than he's been since arriving, and relaxes a little for it.]
Maker, that's strange--magic welling up in Witches like they're a piece of the Fade themselves. All we'd ever had to worry about if we didn't practice was losing our touch.
What's it feel like, the build-up? Can you tell which of you it's coming from or is it just all in common across the Bond?
[Then, with an actual note of evident worry,] And if one of you stopped practicing, for a time--could the other balance all that alone? Or would you be doomed to burn out together?
[Now that he's actually thinking about it, the magical dynamics of bonds are troubling and fascinating at the same time.
It's not all that long before they're at the head of the line and Myr indicates he's covering whatever Linden's having. His dinner can bide 'til he's home; Archer's likely better than anyone working a cafeteria.]
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[Spoken, truly, like someone who often reacts very contrarily to the way he feels. The advice is sound to him, even safe.
L could probably use the iron in a decent slab of red meat. He's nauseated by the smell of the roast for different reasons, though, and his attention is immediately drawn to the sweet things, filled to the brim with jelly and sugar and empty calories.]
You're curious about this. It kind of sounds like you're trying to find something out, you know?
[Intoned dryly. Seemingly, L's pointing it out to make sure that Myr is fully aware that his hunger, his languor, his tactilely apparent skeleton have not made him lower his guard.
Still, he does answer the question after a manner. He doesn't assess it as that risky.]
I think it's supposed to feel unstable. Like there's something too big trying to get out of your body and mind, and you can't fully control it. First, you're in a bad and agitated mood... and then you might lash out, and then you might start to go crazy and see or hear things that aren't there. Think of it like lightning being drawn to a rod, or... fire igniting kindling.
[L struggles to describe it, not because he's never felt buildup, but because given his normal state of mind, that boredom, restlessness and agitation? It can be difficult to tell where it begins and ends.]
I don't know if a Bonded pair would "burn out together." Given my diligence... it won't happen on my account, and I'm not concerned about my partner, but even if it did... death affects the Bond's survivor, but it doesn't kill them. Even if they're both Witches.
[Very negatively, given the sudden icy tinge his voice has taken on. Glancing at Myr's billfold, the implied offer, L glances up and orders an entire cherry pie and coffee.]
no subject
Yet that emotional response is the first reaction, though perhaps there's wisdom in saying that's something entirely outside someone's control (frustrating as it is to acknowledge that).
Is this the promised argument he wants to pick? Not really; he can accede to the wisdom of Linden's way of stating it, tipping out a hand in a letting-go gesture as he does,] Perfect sense--the better way to put it, I'd say.
[And then he laughs at Linden's rejoinder to his questions.] Isn't that why anyone asks questions at all--trying to find something out?
[Accordingly he pays close attention to Linden's description, comparing it to his own feelings--restlessness, agitation, irritation--of the last full moon. It's something too big trying get out of your body that distinguishes the Witch experience of overload from a Monster's with listing feral--his had felt hollow at its core, the restlessness a seeking after something he couldn't lay hand to, the irritation the prickling of unsatisfied instincts that didn't want the situation he was in.
Interesting, how the symptoms could be so similar when the cause for each lay on the opposite end of the spectrum from the other. Excess and dearth: Unite the two and you had balance. (He could draw ribald comparisons to matrimony, if he'd wanted. Which casts that tension between Monsters and Witches, the uneven acceptance of Bonding between them, in yet another different light. Apparent natural law, he'd said, but it had taken society a long time to settle on its necessity...)
Once the description's given--take note of that ice--he circles 'round to answer Linden's intimation more properly,]
Largely I'm finding out what all of this is like from a Witch's end. [I miss having magic.] If, [a nod to the idea that yes, he can choose,] I'm going to Bond one I'd rather go in knowing as much as I can about what it is I'm preventing just by being there--and what their alternatives are.
I'd rather they came to me freely than out of fear or ignorance or the Coven's insistence, just as I'd like to do the same. [Because while it had been easy to latch on to immediately as being the socially responsible thing to do with himself, the more he thought through the mechanics, implications, and depth of Bonding... The more he'd worried.
It really isn't all or mostly high-flying ethical concern, even if that's a part of it. Simply: What kind of Bond partner would he be? And exactly how long would any "permanent" Bond last if--or once--his Bonded had access to those parts of him only the Maker knew? (They'd be disgusted, shocked; they'd draw away.)
The answer to that sort of fear is to make himself better so it no longer applies. Knowledge enough to guide a Witch as an equal partner was certainly a step on that path, wasn't it?]
Of course I'm also interested in, [extremely concerned by,] the specifics of your particular Bond, [because deception beyond social politeness isn't native to Myr, and besides, Linden's smarter than to try that with,] but I also imagine I'm not going to convince you out of it by pointing out magical drawbacks I know barely anything about.
[Unlike certain other individuals who have (or will) come after Linden to see he's feeding himself, Myr is less concerned at this moment with what's actually eaten so much as Linden does eat. The food-scarcity mindset is a hard one to shake even after years of living outside starvation's long shadow and under the thumb of a mentor who'd had as much of an inkling as anyone on Thedas could about proper nutrition.
So, entire pie and coffee? Sure, whatever. Myr'd eaten worse and kept
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[The limitations, in other words, aren't with Myr, but with language itself. That is the struggle, and yes, in his roundabout way it is something like a compliment.
He clears his throat, in a very deliberate and aware way, in response to Myr's little jest.]
There are the questions you ask, and then the ones that you don't but still expect an answer to. That's true for everyone who cares about more than what sits on the surface.
[Another compliment buried in what sounds, at first, almost like an admonishment. Myr might find that he's getting used to L's very particular way of communicating such things, perhaps more quickly than most.
He's been listening to Myr, this last little while, and takes the pie as it's passed across the counter to him, using an arm to balance it while he takes his coffee in the other hand. It doesn't appear that Myr will order anything, but in spite of how hungry he seems, people don't get to look like L by actually eating entire pies. There will be a lot leftover.]
I'm surprised that you don't have a Bond with a witch, yet, but... I can understand wanting to make sure it's an arrangement that's more than just an obligation. A Bond is significant and requires you to give a lot of yourself, no matter who it's with or how it's arranged, so... you'd at least want to make sure that you could trust that person to make sure they have your best interests at heart.
[It's a neat and fairly natural segue into talking about his own Bond, which he is tight-lipped about as a rule... but he recognizes that saying nothing at all about it isn't the right way to handle the suspicion and even concern of others. It's a normal Bond, like anyone else's, forged for good and healthy reasons, at least... that has to be the story. It helps that L genuinely believes as much, and can given the limited and stifling scope of his experience with relationships in general.]
I appreciate your honesty and your directness. I'd encourage more; it's my opinion that getting offended is a colossal waste of time.
[He nudges at Myr with his elbow; his hands are full, but he sees a quieter table in the corner. He wants to head that way, and make sure that Myr's able to follow with relative ease.]
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And it's undeniably part of the reason he's so intent on rescuing the younger man from what's, from his view, mortal danger--not merely to Linden's life, for the worse risk is really that that bright light of an intellect will be snuffed out or perverted by whatever the demon plans for it.
He catches the intimation of a compliment in the words; one corner of his mouth curls up in a lopsided smile.] Hard to keep all of the second sort subtle when I've got a dozen of them for every one I do ask,
[Not all because he'd grown up knowing there were questions one couldn't ask directly without drawing untoward attention; the world just rarely held still for the kind of direct and prolonged questioning he'd like to indulge in. People especially rarely held still, afraid to be pinned down on one answer or look deeply at the kind of things he'd pry for--and he entirely understood those reasons, even if he'd like to be, to believe, he could be exactly what he appears to anyone who looked.
He never had been and never could be but damned if he didn't hold it up as an ideal to constantly fall short of.
Another reason hanging around Linden's both refreshing and frustrating; as anyone did, Myr wants to be known but not all the consequences of it.]
Surprised? I strike you as the Bonding sort, then? [The admission of an incorrect assumption is fascinating in that very light.] --But you've put your finger exactly on it; while I'm no stranger to obligations, that's not a commitment I'd ever been at liberty to make. Now that I am, I'd like to do it right--even if I've got to arrange it with someone I've only known for a month.
[Whatever the pressure on them to Bond and have done with, it seems insane, even if it didn't have to be permanent.]
If you see something open, lead on; I'll follow your voice, [he says, to the silent one of Linden's invitations, before tackling the other:] Is trust in the person the same as trusting you've worked out the levers of its heart, and won't make the mistakes others have before you?
That seems a risky gamble, if you were limited only to what you could observe--and what it would tell you--before you Bonded it.
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