Teddy has worked with the Falcon before, though not closely enough to go so far as to claim him a friend without him doing it first. It happens, when someone has abilities that have to do with home, and another deals in harmonious community. There are a cluster of others like her -- probably in any and all areas really -- where talents overlap: Teddy sort of notices who she sees more and less of, and sometimes asks for advice.
Other... Teddy had been using the word mage, personally, for years, or just Summoned. After enough years, though, after people who've never met you start leaving offerings in your name to hear them,
-- after you do hear them, and start to be able to answer people across the world, as you learn to be rock or tree or light itself to help them -- (No, after all that, he still hates the word God. It just matters less what he says or what people call him.)
The semantics of whether or not Teddy or even Sam's a god, though, isn't why they're here in his domain, nor are the Falcon's home-related talents.
Or not in that way. Teddy takes a deep breath, stepping farther into the echoing antechamber of the museum that makes up a good portion of his Horizon, looking up through where multiple floors cut away. Their stomach twists for the seven hundredth time, acid in the back of their throat, but they've thought about this. A lot.
"Hello?" Teddy closes her eyes and tries to reach out to the air, the little disturbances, the flow of it. The Horizon makes it easier and harder to feel what's there: things don't work quite like real physics here. Instead, she sends a sort of gentle nudge back, a little breeze with a soft spin to it like a question. Nicer than hollering.
[for sam] no more bad days
Other... Teddy had been using the word mage, personally, for years, or just Summoned. After enough years, though, after people who've never met you start leaving offerings in your name to hear them,
-- after you do hear them, and start to be able to answer people across the world, as you learn to be rock or tree or light itself to help them --
(No, after all that, he still hates the word God. It just matters less what he says or what people call him.)
The semantics of whether or not Teddy or even Sam's a god, though, isn't why they're here in his domain, nor are the Falcon's home-related talents.
Or not in that way. Teddy takes a deep breath, stepping farther into the echoing antechamber of the museum that makes up a good portion of his Horizon, looking up through where multiple floors cut away. Their stomach twists for the seven hundredth time, acid in the back of their throat, but they've thought about this. A lot.
"Hello?" Teddy closes her eyes and tries to reach out to the air, the little disturbances, the flow of it. The Horizon makes it easier and harder to feel what's there: things don't work quite like real physics here. Instead, she sends a sort of gentle nudge back, a little breeze with a soft spin to it like a question. Nicer than hollering.