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

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[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'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! ))

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"Well, if you're able to stick with your toes, then I'd be impressed."

She smiled a little, and watched him. At least he had some sense of humor and was trying...well, trying not to let what happened to him pull him down. Even if he was homesick. She understood it. She wasn't homesick per se, but she did miss what she used to be.

"Mm." She slid her feet into position, side-on, even as she lightly tapped her staff against his. Letting him feel where she was, before she called out.

"All right. Low block."

She moved slowly, going in with plenty of time for him to block her. After that, she'd call out mid and high, again slow, and remembering how it felt. She'd missed this practice.

"Haven't tried it yet, but there's a first time for everything. I'll do the second round with my boots off."

He won't, really; prehensile toes were not among the advantages the Maker had given elves over their human counterparts. But it's sort of amusing to entertain the idea that he could.

He tips his chin up as she makes first contact, silently appreciative she gave him that much warning, then moves smoothly into the low block as she calls for it. His form hasn't suffered much for however long he's been out of practice, but the fact he can't see her is--well, quite obvious throughout the entire series. Though he improves on the mid and the high, expression one of intense concentration as he listens for her and tries to make sense of the flow of air around them.

"Again?" he says immediately when they're through. There's a note of frustration--at himself--to the word, but his enthusiasm's hardly dampened any for it. He can figure this out. He has to figure this out; he might be a liability now but he won't let Philomela be right for the rest of his life.

Sokie snorted, and spun her stick idly. Using his feet indeed. That'd be funny to see though maybe, or at least see the attempt.

But for now, practice was more then good enough. It was satisfying to feel the tap of wood against wood; they were well connected, even if they were going slow so make sure it happened. It was obvious that Myr was blind, and was only going by sound.

"Again. Remember, slow and steady. We're still warming up." Just to remind him even as she readied herself. "Low, mid, high. First block."

Again, slowly, even if it was frustrating. They needed to be sure they could keep up with each other.

He does not, as threatened, take his boots off.

But when she advises him to go slow and steady, rather than bristling at the advice as he might--he lets out his breath and nods his assent. She's...kinder than Enchanter Philomela would be about this, but has some of the same energy about her.

It's reassuring. It's--damned reassuring, to have someone who'd take that sort of interest in helping him better himself. Even if they are doing it as more of a trade.

He lifts his staff to the first block; he does better this time, being a little less tensely focused on doing it right. Trust will do that for you.

Thank you for sparing her from boot smell!

But she's glad that he's taking his time. They're both a little rusty at this. But it's nice, as she can feel her body remember, bit by bit. She wouldn't be doing any tricks any time soon, but maybe, with a little more practice...she'd get there.

And maybe Myr would too.

"Better." Sokie praised because it was honest. She didn't give out fake praise usually. "You're remembering to breathe. That's good. Maybe once you're feeling more comfortable, we can start to speed up-or even move, a bit."

The praise has him brightening, but his expression's not without a lingering note of chagrin.

"You'd think," conversationally, as he's setting up for their next pass, "breathing wasn't something you'd forget how to do."

He can't really say he's comfortable yet with what they're doing, but time--how little he's got of it, before a confrontation with the SQUIP becomes inevitable--weighs heavy on him. He has to be better than he is now. He's got to get back to where he was before--

"We can go a little faster this round." Does that sense of urgency show through? Maybe a little.

At least it's brightening somewhat. She'll take what she can get.

"You'd think, but it happens when you're out of practice." Her tone was warm, letting him hear the smile she had on her voice. But not knowing the possible stakes, she makes a soft noise, seemingly concerned.

"Just a little. Just to see if we have the right breath for it. This isn't a race, right Myr? We're just here, having a good time."

"This isn't a race, right Myr?"

It's a rhetorical question and therefore one he's not obligated to answer, but... The tangled knot of responsibility and worry and doom-seeking that sent him out here tonight--that set his feet on a path he's half-certain has only death at its end--could use a little light shined on it. (Besides, she's one of Everett's friends, too. If she knew and could be around to comfort him if the worst happened--or, better still, could help Myr get through this alive...)

"Afraid it's a little more urgent than just good fun." Rueful, resigned. "While I don't fancy my chances against anything hostile around here without magic, I'd like 'em better if I were back in practice."

She was one of Everett's friends of sorts. Someone he enjoyed flirting with certainly, and a wine buddy for certain. But then, she was always kind of weird having the word 'friend' attached to her. It made her feel like she was wearing shoes a size too big.

"Oh Myr." She grimaced, and pulled back with a sigh. "Well now you just ruined fun stick time. You're trying to go against someone specifically. Right?"

She tapped her staff on the ground. "Before you answer, I'll say I don't want specifics, I don't want in either. I'm also not going to tattle, because you're...mostly an adult...and it's your life."

Ah, well. The danger of leaving hints around is someone would pick up on them and put them together, wasn't it? "Got it in one--and sorry for casting a pall over the whole thing."

Myr's expression is decidedly chagrined as he grounds his own staff. "Only mostly an adult?"

Now that that's out in the open, he can--abide by her wish in good conscience, and let himself be decoyed off into being querulous about the idea she sees him as some kind of kid. He's been Harrowed for nearly a decade!!

"It's fine. Sometimes the fun things can't last for the right reasons."

She smiled a bit though at the fun little sidetrip. He might remember to tell her about it, he might not, but it was fine. Maybe he'd feel better for having a silly conversation like she was planning to have.

"Only mostly. To be fair, it's like a sliding spectrum of being an adult and then not being an adult-you're just on the mostly adult side right now. I also slip and slide on it."

"Oh. If it applies equally to both of us then I s'pose I can hardly be offended then." And just like that, he's not! Because, well, what she's said is utterly true for just about everyone he's ever known--and not something pointed at his own vast gaps of experience.

Someday that'll be less of a sore spot. It hadn't been back home, but...

"It's another Witch," he continues, rebounding back to the previous topic. "That's come out acting like one of our demons from back home. I can't simply stand by, knowing that."

"Oh, pfft. If I pretended I wasn't, I wouldn't be fooling anyone. I'm as much as a doof as any other adult-especially because I haven't felt the need to always be super serious, so."

One day he may not be prickly about it. But today wasn't that day. And hearing about the Witch...Sokie wrinkled her nose, and rubbed her hands against the wood. Acting like one of their demons huh...

"And you haven't asked one of the Coven to provide a behavior modifier without evidence of their transactions, previous and current? Because frankly Myr, while I understand your position, there's also the ethics of you doing something about it. Are you better then them if you hurt them for what they've done? Especially when you're not in a position of Authority?"

"We'll be going to the Coven about it first." He fidgets with his own staff, mirroring her without seeing what she's doing. "It's not a question of my being better; I know from outside it looks--a premeditated evil, to go after it for what it might do. But I've spoken to those who know it, who care about it, and even they say that it can't be shifted from its behavior. That it should be excused for it, forgiven, and permitted to continue exactly as it is."

There's sparks of anger, well-controlled, beneath the words; he is clearly upset about all of this. "I don't know whether they're charmed or warped and I suppose it makes no difference in the end, but if the Coven will allow it to go on until it hurts or kills someone else--I can't, Sokie. I can't let it, even if it means they'll hang me for murder."

Which is what they'd do with an elf who went after (something shaped like) a human back on Thedas. If he even stayed alive long enough for hanging and wasn't otherwise disposed of. The more he learned of the Witch and Monster dynamic, the easier it was to slot that into the same mold...

She listened quietly, and her hands kept rubbing against the wood, warming it against her hands. Hah. There were a lot of things that she could do with this-the undercurrent of anger, the despair, the grim determination.

Sokie could walk away from this. Or she could do something about it. She could feel the anger stirring in her too, but she stepped down on it and let it drain from her, keeping calm and rational.

"You do seem to be quick to judge Myr. The fact that you're willing to go all this way-it's frightening. It's very, very frightening and concerning. I don't know what this person is. Or who. But you know if you attack them and it doesn't work, they'll twist it, right? They may do the very same thing to anyone that may assist you in the matter. You'll make them into a martyr, capable of doing greater evil while decrying they're a victim...to more people...and they won't have to lift a finger."

She took in a deep breath and sighed. "Also going to the Coven is not the only place you can go. Nessie is not your only contact. Remember that. This isn't the Circle anymore. This is a fight of cold logic, not hot blood-or you will enable them."

Sokie almost mentioned no sticks until he thought but she would keep that until later if this cold argument didn't work.

"You think I've not thought of that?" Ah, there's the despair in his tone. He rests his forehead against his staff. "As it is, I'm sure it's only a matter of time until it does begin insinuating it's the one that's been wronged and misconstrued in all it's done. It wouldn't be a hard argument for it to win against its accuser."

This was a bad idea. But probably also a necessary one, to have his own reasoning on the subject dragged out and examined, and all that could go wrong with it explicated in detail.

He takes a deep breath in, lets it out slowly. "Where else would you have me appeal? Parliament? The other Mirrorbound?"

"I honestly don't know." There's the outright despair. The witched watched him thought, instead of outright going over to comfort him with touches and such. Besides, he might end up being spooked from a sudden touch. She knew she'd be. Then again...she had a bit of a hidden paranoia.

"This sounds like a really nasty fight. I dislike those. But yes, Parliament, law enforcement, spies among the children, Nessie's bonded...not everything is so cut and dry. And maybe it's not so much a need for action right off but...priming the pump."

Sokie shrugged. "But you don't have to listen to me. I don't have a stake in this."

He nods along with her suggestions; whatever the dismal expression on his face, he's taking them in earnest and making a note of them. (It brings home just how little experience he's got in this kind of thing, how circumscribed his thinking was when it came to ways to deal with a demon in the Realm of Opposition. It was easier in the Fade. Might've been easier in the dreams here, but whatever was done to it there wouldn't stick.)

"No," he finally says, "you don't, but you've thought of things I haven't, so I'd be a fool to throw that aside."

He doesn't know if any of it will make a difference in the end, when it comes down to it, but at least he's considering things he hadn't before. He straightens u-- gets a half-grown antler caught on his staff and has to disentangle himself before straightening up, muttering invective the while. Somehow, having to deal with such a stupid problem is a help in breaking out of the despair. Even if it just replaces it with abject irritation.

"--And if these bloody things don't make me break my neck hanging up on something, I'll see what can be done without going right after it and getting myself killed straight off." So--he's thinking, at least, and not quite so set on glorious martyrdom.

At least he was listening. She knew of a few people that wouldn't listen and go with the fire in their belly with...mixed results to put it kindly.

"You also know more about the situation." She shrugged, but still, she moved carefully forward, even as he untangled himself, and lightly rested her hand on his head, between his antlers.

"Maybe you'll get lucky and these," She tapped a finger against one, "Will shed come fall. Maybe, maybe not. It depends on the species you take after. Also, don't get killed. That's stupid. And you, Myr, aren't stupid. Right? Or are you a dunce of a mage?"

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

it's the stick mania

concur. stick mania a real danger. also i'm so sorry!!

no worries! time for stick mania~

S T I C K M A N I A

S T I C K M A N I A!!!!!!!

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dw ate my notif for this, SUPER RUDE

SO RUDE

and a slip n slide is the best way to not be an adult. wait, what?

I cackled

8D

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