𝙞 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙚𝙣.

[pendejadas]

Who: eliot & co.
When: august shenans.
Where: thorne, nocwich.
What: open + closed prompts!
Warnings: n/a for now.

 

Comments

[pendejadas]

{ the mention of family glides over eliot, but it’s noted. he’ll tuck it away into information about people. there’s no point in mentioning his own, since he has long forgotten them on purpose. they can rot somewhere for all he cares. what’s much more interesting (for now) is the overeager newbie with a thirst for magic. it’s slightly entertaining, so he’ll stay since he has nothing better to do and he has been known to be a creature of habit in his bias, which include that he’ll be more inclined to the magic users around. unfortunately he barely sees his fascinating roommate, and eliot isn’t one to stay without company for long. }

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.

[sleepfan]

[It is time for Linhardt to provide Eliot with yet another blank and somewhat confused look. This is threatening to be a running theme, but someone has mentioned that many of the Summoned are from 'Earths' and Linhardt is as filled with curiosity as he ever is.]

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?

[pendejadas]

Overthrow your government, kids. { another dismissive wave towards the subject, and ignoring that he had been part of a monarch which goes against overthrowing. lindhart reminds him a little of fen in that he will keep saying these notions that are very earth and leave a confused face behind. meaning, he’s an expert at keeping the confusion and giving something, clearly. }

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?

[sleepfan]

If I were making the decisions, we would. I can't be expected to take a place in the government if we lack a government.

[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?

[pendejadas]

Who says we lack one? It's probably just a better illusion. Maybe I'll decide to play political dolls one of these days.

{ 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.