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abraxaslogs2023-08-06 01:54 am
pendejadas) wrote in abraxaslogs2023-08-06 01:54 amEntry tags:
pendejadas) wrote in abraxaslogs2023-08-06 01:54 am
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so he's going to enjoy it. for all he knows he could be taken back to his home world. wouldn't be ideal. he finally flicks his eyes towards the stranger, back to the person at hand as they are awakening and he gets to see their face, the green hair standing out. cute. reminds him of the first years at brakebills. this newcomer seems to have a bite, but it remains to what extent. less cute if it reminds him of alice. he raises an eyebrow. }
Sometimes Barbie can have a loose screw. At least you didn't get the George Washington edition.
{ a passing comment that makes it known he might be the cause of said dream. there's another turn of the page, not even bothering to look at the book. his attention is fully on the other. }
You must have gone to boring parties. I'll consider keeping your place, { he slowly turns another page, and then takes an ample pause before he dares to turn yet another page, } if you give me your name.
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Did you give me that dream?
Who is George Washington? Is he more attractive than Barbie?
[If someone is going to do dream magic on him and give him such…interesting dreams, Linhardt would like to ensure that he receives the best version possible. Sleeping is Linhardt’s happy place. The healer isn’t bothered by the spell; it hadn’t hurt him. That is the important thing: Honestly, if he had dream magic he would use it on people. Especially Caspar. His eyes follow Eliot’s movements with curiosity and interest, an open expression on his face.]
I have recently found that parties can be tolerable if I am permitted to drink alcohol but most parties are boring and dangerous. I would rather spend my time here - learning about magic is more fun than having yet another vacuous conversation about politics.
[His name? Is the other man approaching him? Linhardt gives him a confused look.]
My name is Linhardt.
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{ he makes the declaration with a rashness that is all confidence and a naught care if he comes off too brash. he walks his own path and it’ll become apparent when he makes the effort of trying to get the vibe from everyone around the castle. he’s actually behaving by not making an inappropriate joke about the sequence of the man’s name. it’s right there. he could. be proud of him.
he stops his hand from turning the next page and flicks it back to where it was originally. }
Sure. If you like an old bear. Not really my type, but if that gets you going, salute to the flag. I’ll give you Ken next time. I’ve had quite a variety.
{ there’s a sort of mischievous hint to the way eliot lowers his voice. at last, some entertainment. duly noted on finding more songs to wake the man if he sees him around. seemingly he thinks it might be a one time thing. he turns the book around and places it back on the table in front of linhardt. }
You come from a world of magic, too. Good. { and not to assess what sort. he could categorize them if he wanted. he falls under some sort of dazzle for magic, which is sorely missing some days. for a place that teaches magic, he’s yet to encounter the sort that attracted the physical kids. he scrunches his nose and then places his chin on his palm as he settles his gaze on the other. }
Parties aren’t all about politics. Whoever taught you that is wrong. Sometimes it’s about letting loose. It’s where the best spells occur. Since you’re a little magic nerd, do you have a discipline?
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He shoves the emotion into The Internal Box and returns his attention to the man in front of him.]
I cannot say I find older men particularly attractive - they lack stamina and are too inclined to lecturing, which I find tedious and not enjoyable in a bedmate.
[Or they're too similar to his father's peers, which is like pouring cold water between his legs. They're all...anti-arousing.]
There is nothing wrong with having varied experiences - how are you to know what you do or do not like without trying many things?
[This is not a conversation that anyone in Fodlan would have with him, but Linhardt doesn't mind. He's never really cared about what is 'socially appropriate', and the other man very clearly has a different culture. Linhardt doesn't understand anything he's referencing. Who is Ken? Why are they saluting a flag? The flag? Which flag?
Magic, though. Magic he understands. Linhardt brightens when the stranger brings up the subject.]
I do. Are there people here who come from worlds without magic? What a terrible thing to do to them.
[Eliot's proclamation that parties were for 'letting loose' and not about politics earns him a small smile.]
If you are trying to endear yourself to me, telling me that my father is incorrect is a very effective way to do so.
[More people should tell his father he is wrong. Ideally to his face so Linhardt can watch.]
I would go to more parties if they had magic that wasn't our healers peeling drunk nobles off the floor.
I primarily act as a healer, but I also know elemental magics and warp magic. All magic is fascinating, but I prefer to study forms that are not used to harm people.
[It would have taken Brakebills 2 seconds to declare Linhardt a Knowledge student. The man is obsessed with magic.]
I also am trying to determine how magic is inherited and I enjoy studying ancient magical artifacts.
[Little magic nerd is right.]
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{ he’ll be blunt about it, if only since he isn’t a fan of his terrible father. that’s all he’ll say, and deflect with the lingo of earth that is very much in the queer scene and probably further confusing. he waves his hand dismissively at the last part, because he truly has dabbled in quite a lot.
he does pause, if only to quickly catch on how linhardt brightens to the talk of magic. reminds him of quentin in a way, the nerd part - but also the headstrong. he misses him. it’s probably what drives eliot further into the open curiosity forming and he might as well lean into it briefly. }
I did find myself wondering about inherited magic versus learned. Not everyone can do telekinesis, but I discovered it when I was young. I didn’t practice the magic I had until it came to me later in life. Then I learned of my potential. Even if I didn’t activate it until later, it’s always been part of me.
{ it’s another subject that he won’t dive into fully, although he is creating the paths without meaning to. when it comes to the core of it, he can give an opinion that can be honest. then he disrupts it by a huffed out laugh as he tugs on another book on the desk, his fingers flicking the side of the pages. }
Very idealistic of you to seek magic that won’t harm people. Noble, some would say. In my experience, magic comes from pain one way or another.
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[Sleeping with a lot of people is far less destructive than starting wars, taking out one's issues on one's fellow citizens, or trying to stubbornly control everyone and everything around oneself. Linhardt's eyebrows furrow together again in confusion: He can understand Eliot's words but what the other man is saying sounds like a foreign language. This must be how Petra feels most of the time.]
It doesn't do to be too predictable.
[Linhardt doesn't know why he's supposed to think Eliot would be calling people 'Daddy' or why people would call Eliot 'Daddy' instead, but he does enjoy subverting social expectations. He tenses and reaches a half hearted hand out when Eliot takes another one of the books - this one is about Abraxan geography and geology. Lots of information about rocks. Linhardt pulls his hand back - it's a library book, the other man is allowed to look at it.
Besides, there are questions. Linhardt's blue eyes light up when Eliot talks about his experience with his magic. His hands move in enthusiasm as he speaks, now fully awake and engaged with what is in front of him.]
Do you have an inborn gift for telekinesis? I have an inborn gift for healing, which seems to pass on more reliably than most other Crests. My magic has always been a part of me as well, though I didn't learn to control any of it until I was about six.
[Magic coming from pain. That is an uncomfortable thought, both because it might be true and because it suggests that it isn't possible to do magic without hurting anyone. That can't be right. Linhardt frowns and looks down at his hands.]
You might be right. Maybe that is why Fodlan is such a dysfunctional place. Is your world the same?
[Linhardt sighs, a sound that seems like it comes from someone much older.]
I don't like to hurt people.
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instead he ignores the comment. he can tell linhardt is young, despite if he has encountered a jaded time in his home world. there's still the will of a good person there underneath in the statement, and he has always been on the other end of it in his personal view - someone always ends up hurt. eliot glances down at the book and sees the rocks, finds that they are just rocks. it doesn't interest him, which is easy to reach out and take linhardt's hand, opening his palm and settling the book on top. he did notice the protectiveness. }
Don't pout. Here. { nothing else to say there, only that he has stood up and gone to one side of the bookshelf, still close enough to talk. his fingers run along a few spines. }
You could say that. Six, huh. I was fourteen. I have telekinesis and some of my friends had other abilities. We had someone who could hop through worlds. Healing is useful. I could never get that, and yet I could do basic Horomancy.
{ time magic. despite the image he puts out, eliot has his bouts of being capable as far as solving high math in his head. which is making him want to study what it may look at abraxas to get back into it. he's going to need his bottomless flask, he can already tell. eliot leans his back against the bookshelf and just stands there with his arms crossed, an unreadable gaze upon linhardt's excitable one over the mention of magic itself. }
Court politics, gods being shit, magic malfunctioning, something trying to kill you every other week, apocalypses impending. It happens. I say it's no different than Abraxas right now. Actually, I might be safer here.
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He watches Eliot rise, eyes following the other man's movements. He doesn't leave, which is what Linhardt had expected. A lot of people want to stop talking to him, or regret starting a conversation with him. This man would not be unusual if he left. But he stays, and continues conversing.]
Mother thought that was too early. Father disagreed.
[Linhardt sits up straight at the mention of 'hopping through worlds'.]
Is that possible? To go from one world to another? Was this person restricted to their own worlds' timelines or could they visit other, unconnected worlds? Assuming any worlds are actually unconnected...
[His voice trails off in the manner of a scholar who has just found a new question, and indeed Linhardt picks up a quill and jots something down on a piece of parchment that is filled to the brim with equations, notes, and definitions.]
Can you use your horomancy here? My warp magic doesn't work correctly. It's very frustrating. I have to see what I'm doing.
[The grumpiness in his voice suggests that Linhardt finds having to use his eyes to do magic to be a great affront.
He nods in understanding when the man says he's safer in Abraxas.]
That is my situation as well. Potential murder or imprisonment in the future is better than imminent attempted killing or imprisonment.
I am glad you are safer here.
[There is one thing that nags at Linhardt's mind.]
What is your name? I cannot keep referring to you in my mind as 'the handsome man who knows telekinesis.
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Penny had talent, but he was an asshole. Last I heard he was working for The Library… It’s a fascist establishment, but whatever. Meanwhile, Penny 23 is alright. { an afterthought. } There are fountains to different worlds there. It’s enough I got chased by cannibals. I don’t think there’s something like that in Abraxas, but I could be wrong. The fountains to other worlds, I mean.
{ he shutters just thinking of his time near the fountains, but despite the mishaps it’s sort of nice to speak about his world. hell, even talking about penny — he must be desperate. so he’ll keep his fingers idly upon the bookshelf as he leans into it casually, the dim of the lighting sufficient. he can stay for a little bit. especially when he hears a compliment. he smirks. }
Hm, you can have my name. Eliot. I think we’re going to get along.
{ —or not, but he’s decided. it’s then that eliot catches sight of linhardt’s notes. eliot finds he might now be further invested in some questions being asked. and no, he didn’t seek it upon arrival. he was busy getting over not being literally trapped in his head. takes some adjusting. he waves a wrist in a semi-dismissal motion, figuring he might as well contribute to the topic properly. }
You know, I haven’t tried to enact any limits, or test how far I can bring it compared to Abraxas’. It’s not as if it got shut down. I haven’t been to the Horizon or this Singularity to speak of it further since my one visit. I was told it’s what brought us here. I’m sure one of the other magic nerds can explain it better.
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What is a 'fascist establishment'? I am unfamiliar with the term.
If there were a fountain to Abraxas - or from Abraxas to other worlds - we might not know about it or know where it is. Or perhaps there are subsets of worlds that are connected to one another, and the fountains connect to one subset while the Singularity connects to another. Perhaps your world is at the intersection between subsets.
[Oh. Wait. Most people would have reacted to the 'chased by cannibals' mention. Linhardt fights the urge to sigh. Conversations are hard. He is trying.]
I hope it was a short chase. I find being chased to entail a distressing amount of physical effort for no pay off.
[Linhardt does not like doing work. Running counts as work.]
Are you not a magic nerd, Eliot?
[The healer smiles, a quirk of the mouth. Why would Eliot be in a library in the middle of the night if he weren't a magic nerd?]
I would like to know what your limits are. Can you describe your magic to me?
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I’m more interested in what this world’s Wellspring is. The source of all magic. But, doubt any important books would be left out here. { his grin is sly, almost conspiring as he draws back to the table and sits down. he flicks the spine of the nearest book to draw attention, } I bet all the truly juicy ones are locked somewhere. Like a book on, let’s say, how to kill a god. And, no… I am not a nerd. I just am magic.
{ it comes out far too confident, but he knows what he’s about. congrats, you’ve earned an actual explanation in t-minus: }
Hands. We magicians always cast with our hands. Do you know that feeling of when you’re at the pinnacle of euphoria is? Our magic is a bird freely flying. It feels natural, like our own breathing. The better you’re at it, the more it seduces into its trenches. But, like every sweet addiction it’s not all luster. It always comes with a price, yet we can’t give it up. What does yours feel like since you seem to love it so much?
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[Unless they establish a Ministry of Naps. It would do less damage than any of the other ministries. It would need less funding too. Eliot has a point: There probably are books that are locked up. Suddenly, Linhardt wants nothing more than to know where those books are and what is inside of them.]
You're right. They probably are locked up. That is disappointing; it means I will need to find a way in.
[What, like the magic nerd is going to not read the books? Don't mistake Linhardt's nerdiness for a responsible temperment.]
I think that killing a god would be more logistically difficult than intellectually difficult. It may depend on the god, however. I'm only familiar with one and She is already dead. The Wellspring you are talking about is likely the Singularity.
[Linhardt smiles when Eliot talks about his magic. He says he's not a nerd, but he enjoys magic in the same way that Linhardt does. It is freeing and seductive. And it does feel natural.]
Like yours in some ways, though I use words in addition to hand gestures. It's...an extension of my being. Sight without seeing - acting without being restricted by my body.
[He stares at one of his own hands, flexing his fingers. Useful, but still limited.]
It's...exhilarating. Especially when I do something nobody else has done. I'm not aware of any price that has been extracted from me. Perhaps only magic from your world has a cost to it?
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{ he is rather good at diplomacy when he puts the effort, and once he sees more of the picture in thorne, he might decide to get involved just to get the true gossip on what he figures is another shady place under a prettier gist. he likes to believe people are good-intended when in power, since he once was, but he also knows that's not the case. it's the sort of vision quentin once had, which is not him, which ended up tainting all of them. eliot considers a response, but he really made up his mind minutes ago. }
I've been in a heist. I'll be up for another. Map a plan, and I'll join your merry band of chosen. { he then lightly snorts, mostly because logic only takes someone to a certain degree. } My friend killed a god. They are killable. Then we got magic shut down for a hot minute. I'd say they're just assholes, but they can be killed. At least the minor ones.
{ his face twitches serious for a moment, recalling that he had an entity in him that could easily kill gods. he recovers from the face crack, allowing the easeful smile right back as if it's been there all along and it was only a stumble of a thinking thought. he feels it all too well, what linhardt speaks of his magic. }
Which lead me back to my point, why not, let's steal some forbidden books. Putting it on my Abraxas bucket list. I once created a bottomless flask where I could have endless alcohol. It is fun to create one's own. I might consider doing it again, here. Magic is addiction. Frankly, I don't believe it's all fairytales in other worlds. C'est la vie, I suppose.