[closed] stay green a little while

[ordinar]

Who: Wilhelm & miscellaneous
When: throughout July and August
Where: Horizon, Thorne
What: Catchall for sad boy summer
Warnings: will be updated as needed


Closed starters to follow. Maybe some open ones if I'm feeling saucy. :)

Comments

wanda - starry haze, crystal ball

[ordinar]

At sundown, he waits for Wanda outside the house he's constructed with his mind. A modest bungalow — as different from the palace he grew up in as day is from night — it sits overlooking a curve of beach. The white sand seems to glow in the gathering dusk. The clear turquoise water, kept secret by low cliffs rising up on either end of the beach, shushes against the shore. Here and there across the landscape stand loose copses of trees and brush, but it looks like it's still deciding what it wants to be. The whole place gives off the impression that it's hiding from the rest of the world.

Beyond the house, there stretches a road to nowhere in particular. Wilhelm had intended to imagine himself a car, but after the recent onslaught of nightmares, every one beginning with the crash that ended his brother's life, he's shelved the idea — to be taken down again when the thought of climbing behind the wheel doesn't make his stomach clench in remembered terror.

Although he's never seen Wanda, he guesses that the woman approaching must be her. She doesn't look lost, anyway. Wilhelm lifts a hand in greeting and walks out to meet her.

"Hey," he smiles at her. He plunges his hands into his pockets — shorts, in defiance of Abraxan fashions. "How are you?"

While he would consider himself abjectly awkward in all situations social, a lifetime of formal events has actually imparted on him greater ease with talking to adults than most his age possess.

[carmesi]

With the inkling of his name, Wanda can traverse through the domains in the Horizon and find her way to the boy she had promised to meet. There is familiarity in what he's created here—similarities that come from her own little domain having a wide berth of nature, a sense of privacy with the woods and mountains that border it.

There's a slight shift in her expression when she sees him, when he greets her; a smile in the face of the modern-age defiance some of them have towards Abraxan fashion. She herself is wearing something more familiar to Wilhelm, too, in an easy jeans and sweater ensemble. Abraxan fashion can retire, as far as she is concerned.

"Wilhelm," she greets. "I'm well. Your place was not hard to find. It feels very familiar to me."

Something — else about it brings forth that familiarity.

Well, nevermind that.

"Where would you like to sit?" To learn about tarot. She won't mind just being out here at all.

[ordinar]

In the castle and around town, he puts up with the ye-olde-tunics-and-boots looks favored by the locals. But here in his own domain, he gladly borrows clothes from home, using his memory as a closet. What good is a mental retreat if you can't even dress in what's most comfortable to you?

There's a slight cocking of his head and twisting of his eyebrows as Wanda remarks on the familiarity of his domain. But the way she says it, like she's trying to name a song but can't place the notes, makes Wilhelm certain that questioning her won't yield much of an explanation. And anyway, he's got to turn his attention to playing host.

"We can sit on the porch," he suggests, leading her to the steps. With the house facing the sea, the porch aproning the front of the structure provides an excellent view. Despite the cooling evening air and the breeze rolling in from off the water, the temperature is comfortable enough with a sweatshirt.

In the warm porchlight, there had already stood a chair and a small table beside it, but a second chair manifests as they approach. It's still wild to Wilhelm that he can do that. He sits and gestures for Wanda to do the same.

"Do you, uh, want anything to drink?" While food and drink aren't really necessary in the Horizon, it seems polite to ask anyway.

[carmesi]

Wanda tags along, finding amusement in the fact that Wilhelm is playing host (and a good one, at that) in a way that feels vastly too formal for the circumstances. Still, suppose one would feel this way when meeting a new person in some magical realm separate from the physical world. Taking a seat, she marvels not at the structure that they are sitting in, but rather out toward the sea.

Of all the places she's lived in, none ever had the ocean so close. Sokovia was a landlocked country, and the Avengers compound felt more like a prison at times, keeping her in to the same four walls.

Her gaze turns back towards him, and she leans back on her chair.

"I know it's warm here, but..." she hesitates for a moment. "Tea would be nice. Any black tea will do."

Some habits die hard, and it feels appropriate in the midst of a lesson on tarot cards. Wanda brings her hands up before her and her scarlet magic reveals a wooden box, floating within the incantation, before it settles gently onto the small table.

Wanda leans forward, opens the lid with one hand.

"You said you don't know much about tarot, right?"

[ordinar]

He does feel like he's playing house more than host. That's just part of being sixteen and finding yourself with so much space of your own — finding yourself with nobody to answer to in your day-to-day life — for the first time. With a nod in answer to Wanda's request, and a focused breath in and out, he summons two steaming mugs of Earl Grey, which appear on the table between them. No teabags necessary.

Despite that, mild surprise pops in his expression when Wanda brings forth the wooden box, aloft in a glowing haze of magic. Horizon aside, it would seem that she has a few tricks up her sleeve.

"It's supposed to tell you about your future, right? I've seen some of the cards before." Spread out on Madison's desk in the loose minutes before class, as she predicted the other girls' fortunes. Of course, he'd always paid more attention to Simon, as he couldn't help but do whenever the other boy was nearby. So...he concludes with a shrug.

"That's it, though."

rhy - red wine and a ginger ale

[ordinar]

Within the week, Rhy makes good on his promise to introduce Wilhelm to all the best taverns the castle town has to offer. So here they are, at the table they've claimed by the only somewhat grimy window, waiting for the barmaid to return with the first round of drinks. Wilhelm remains surprised that nobody takes one look at his face, soft with the last vestiges of baby fat and besieged by acne, and throws him right out. Well, there had to be some trade-off for being stuck in this world.

Out of curiosity, he'd poked his head into a pub once while out exploring the town, but he was deterred from sticking around too long by the feeling of being alone in a crowded room. With company, the experience is much improved. And Rhy makes good company, friendly and funny. Flirtatious, too, except Wilhelm doesn't know how he feels about that. He's half sure he's not meant to take it entirely seriously.

"Quick, before she gets back," he says, leaning in conspiratorially. "Give me those tips on how not to set things on fire."

[londonbound]

If Wilhelm has taken particular note of how Rhy interacts with most people in the castle -- even the servants -- he'll realize that the charming smile and easily flirtation is simply a part of his manner. He isn't crass, of course; there's nothing too forward or inappropriate in his comments to Wilhelm, but Rhy pays compliments without hesitation and seems to enjoy seeing the boy fluster and blush.

It's nice to see that Wilhelm has begun to open up to it a little, rather than becoming too shocked and shy to do more than stutter a nonsensical quip back. He even looks more comfortable at the crowded tavern already, where he and Rhy are sharing a small table near the back, dressed down at Rhy's insistence so they don't stand out too much as Summoned from the castle. A good hat, Rhy explained, is a vital tool. (Don't ask him to explain this; he will consider it self-evident.)

When Wilhelm leans in, Rhy mirrors the motion, flashing perfect white teeth in a big grin.

"Naughty. I thought you said we should practice sober."

[ordinar]

Wilhelm needed no convincing to dress humbly. Deflecting attention has become one of the primary goals lodged in his subconscious, a natural result of growing up in the public eye. A natural result, at least, for someone who has never worn his title comfortably or borne scrutiny gracefully.

Another good thing he can say about this place is that maintaining a low profile is a lot easier when your face isn't instantly recognizable to everyone who's ever even glanced at the news. Sure, the native Thorneans hold a keener interest in the Summoned than Wilhelm would like, but he's just one of many, and too new to have any reputation attached to his name.

That's nice too, holding a blank page in his hands, with some power over the story it becomes. A clean start. Well, except for a few singe marks...

The gentle reprimand — if it can even be called that, when half of what comes out of Rhy's mouth is vaguely flirtation-shaped — gets a chuckle out of him.

"Exactly. That's why I'm asking before our drinks get here."

While he doesn't back out of their sudden proximity, he does spend a little too much energy trying not to be captivated by those unusual golden eyes. His finger traces idle patterns in the grain of the tabletop.

[londonbound]

"Very well." Rhy shakes his head, but he looks amused at most.

"But you might've told me you wanted to practice in the pub earlier. I'd have asked for a glass of water."

He's teasing. Mostly. But actually, it is a bit more complex without the tools he's used to, which is mostly chalk, but he doesn't keep any on him.

Rhy sits back again, just enough to give Wilhelm a clear view of the table between them, and begins shifting things out of the way to clear the space. With one finger, he demonstrates a circle on the tabletop.

"When I was first learning, I started out using a binding circle like this, drawn in chalk. Working with a starter -- just a little bit of oil in a bowl usually does the trick -- you try to form a flame and keep it within the circle. There are some runes you can add around the sides that should keep the fire within the ring unless it's broken, so you can safely practice casting and dispelling without having the spell break free."

[ordinar]

Wilhelm listens carefully, trying to be a good student — well, it's less that he wants to master magic and more that he wants to avoid failure. These are two very different things. Although he's the one who asked, and he's grateful to everyone who's gone out of their way to help him, absorbing advice from so many different mouths is becoming a little overwhelming. As Rhy concludes, he huffs a sigh.

"Seems like magic works differently in every world," is all he says, but some of his frustration bites through. He pushes his hands through his hair, scrubbing at the back of his head. "I can try it. If you could show me how to draw the circle right."

At this point the barmaid returns, and Wilhelm drags one of the mugs she sets down closer to him.

"So...healing and fire? You have any other tricks I should know about?"

open - a broken ankle, karma rules

[ordinar]

I. Thorne

There was an art to finding a good place to practice magic. Sure, the library hosts an entire hall dedicated to honing the craft, but it was rarely empty of mages who definitely have a better grasp on this than Wilhelm has. Stumbling through his exercises in front of so many eyes inspires the same kind of dread as those dreams in which you look down and realize you've somehow forgotten to put on pants before coming to class. Besides, all those extra bodies make it hard to concentrate. The spacious gardens outside the castle afford more privacy, but all that beautiful kindling makes him nervous.

He's found a fair solution in an obscure, ungarnished corner of the castle grounds, far enough from the gardens and stables and every other hub of activity that he feels safely alone. Here, Wilhelm sits in the shadow of the outer wall and practices calling fire to his hand.

A lot of people had hammered in the importance of controlling his emotions as a means of controlling his magic, and he holds that in mind once he's got a flame going. But to get there, he draws on what Lucifer had told him about inhabiting the heat of his emotions. Strike a match, kid. He's discovered a small collection of memories that have reliably served as flint for his new abilities. He thinks of August, cornered in the gym and unable to give him anything more than sorry. He thinks of his mother and all of her misplaced love for something as abstract as legacy.

And the fire comes. Warm where it dances in his palm, but it doesn't burn. Watching it, Wilhelm sinks into slow breaths, in and out. The pattern is as familiar as a well-trod path. In and out, he passes the flame to his other hand. Another count, and he returns it.

For all his concern about being watched — becoming a show, black-and-white infomercial incompetency — he doesn't even notice as someone else approaches.

II. Horizon

At some point, he realized that anything he can do in the physical world, he can do in the Horizon. The difference is that in the Horizon, he has control over not just the fire in his hands, but the whole world around him. That frees him up to get a little reckless. If he burns down his imaginary house, can't he just rebuild it in the time it takes to think over the contours of its architecture?

Today's experiment: just how big of a fire can he make before it escapes his control?

Wilhelm starts with the band of beach grass that borders his little crescent of shoreline. Once he transfers the flame from his hand to the first clump, it spreads without encouragement up the reedy blades. He watches for a minute, finding a quiet thrum of satisfaction in the destruction, the wild disregard of it all. Then he reaches for that inner flint again, and he pushes the flame outward. It's hard to tell, but he thinks it starts spreading faster.

If you're exploring the Horizon, don't be alarmed by the thin column of smoke rising up in the distance.

I.

[scrappyjedi]

Picking a more remote place in the castle is a great idea. Unfortunately, Cal's exploratory nature compels him to peep every inch of this place, especially if it's out of the way of every main hub. He struggles with his concern for bugs being planted around the castle, despite the technology of this place not being much, and so the places where surveillance wasn't likely to be an issue were just as important.

He finally got out of his newbie clothes and found something similar enough to what he would normally wear — something comfortable — which made him more bold in his explorations now that he can blend in more. Which is why he rounds the corner without much discretion, halting in his movements when he spots someone quite literally playing with fire. Fire magic, to be precise. But he isn't sure if he should be seeing this at all, what with it happening in such an obscure spot, so his immediate response is to appear guilty.

"—Oh, sorry!"

[ordinar]

The thing about startling someone while they're handling a live flame is that it can go awry fast. As Cal pokes into the alcove Wilhelm has claimed, his concentration snaps and the fire...flies from his hands. The grass at Cal's feet catches it, crackling and smoking.

"Fuck, fuck—"

He half crawls forward, hand frantically flapping open and shut like he's trying to grasp at something. Or like he's the conductor of a symphony that has veered disastrously off beat. Finally, remembering to gather up a breath, he snaps his hand shut and the flame extinguishes.

His shoulders sag with a relieved sigh. He shoves his hand through his hair. Still crumpled up on his knees, he throws an apologetic look at Cal.

"You okay?"

[scrappyjedi]

Yup. That's about right. On more than one occasion, Cal has been completely lost in thought, torch to metal, only to be startled by Prauf — a testament to how far in his own head he falls, Prauf is a big presence. One specific time, he learned never to leave his poncho lying around nearby.

Instinctively, Cal jumps back, his hand twitching as he considers snuffing it out with the Force — but thankfully Wilhelm takes care of it after a few, what he can only assume are, previous attempts.

Cal's hand comes up, placating, and nodding his head with a relieved sigh of his own. He's glad that didn't get out of hand. "Yeah, I'm good, I'm good," he assures. "I didn't mean to startle you — sorry. I, uh...are you okay?"

[ordinar]

When you've got a flame in the palm of your hand, there's a lot to pay attention to. Your breathing, your hand position. Where are your thoughts going? Which way do your emotions lie?

It's like when you begin to learn the piano, and pairing the right finger to the right key all while decoding strands of black notes occupies all of your attention. Later, it will become second nature, the notes on the page transforming instantly into music through the conduit of your hands — but first, you have to get through a whole lot of awkward clomping around on the keys. That's where Wilhelm is, the awkward clomping.

"I'm fine," he insists, standing and brushing bits of grass from his knees. "It doesn't burn me. Well, unless I accidentally light my shirt on fire or something."

The way he says it, half joking but half rueful, there might be a story there...

I

[ushiri]

This section of the castle isn't where Kahlil originally intended to exit from the Gray Space. The landscape he once could navigate with ease fights him at every turn, snaring his clothing and tearing a fresh cut across his palm. The wards these witches have set up to block any kind of passage are worse than the shattered lands in the north of his own homeworld.

He's too stubborn to stop, though. Not until he's wound his way too far into a sharpened corridor to turn back and try to return from where he came. Finally he flicks two fingers and shears an opening back into the natural realm.

Normally, if he were to notice someone else standing there on the other side of reality he would wait until they departed, even if it might take hours. He is the Kahlil. He has spent the past ten years half living in this space, observing unseen. He would never not notice another person playing with flames only ten feet away from where he decides to exit the Gray Space.

Well, except for today, where that's exactly what happens.

What Wilhelm sees is: a thin line torn through reality, the whoosh of cold, sterile air that pours out along with a tall stranger who steps right out of nowhere.

Kahlil stops, staring in confusion at the young man.

"Hello."

Well, what else is there to say?

[ordinar]

Between a little elemental magic and an entire person stepping out of a rip in the air, the latter wins the prize for most bewildering. Which is to say that Wilhelm stares up at the man with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open a bit. The flame he'd been passing back and forth slips from his hand, finding purchase in the grass beside him. What follows is a flurry of cursing and frantic movement as he tries to scoop it back up, so Kahlil will just have to wait for an actual response to his disproportionately nonchalant greeting.

Once he's got his flame collected, Wilhelm blows his hair out of his eyes — or tries to, but it doesn't really work. Carefully ensuring that the flame stays put in his other hand, he pushes his hair back. Then his attention returns to the man who appeared out of nowhere.

"Hi," is his brilliant response. Having never seen this man before, he's not sure if he's one of the castle mages or another Summoned. He'd seen some new faces around the North Wing, so it seems Ambrose must have brought in another batch of recruits. Rhy was brewing up a welcome party for them.

"If I'm not supposed to be doing this over here, I can go somewhere else."

[ushiri]

He watches as Wilhelm scrambles for his flame, instinctively taking a step forward to help stamp it out— and then thinking better of it when he realizes the boy's trying to pick it back up. It gives him a moment to recover from his own surprise at nearly stumbling into someone else.

"No, it's alright—" he offers with a slight, almost distracted shrug, eyeing the flame in his hand, "— I can pretend I didn't see anything, if that's any help."

After a moment he drags his gaze up from the flame to his face. He looks young, can't be any older than eighteen. His demeanor softens a bit, eyebrows raising.

"Should you be working with that alone?" His gaze shifts over Wilhelm's shoulder, then back, thoughtfully. "I'm not up to date on the rules yet, but you should probably at least have a fire extinguisher handy..."

His tone implies that he's gently teasing. The sight of the boy holding a flame in his hand disturbs Kahlil more than he'll admit or show, something he pushes back like so many other truths about himself that he has no time or will for.

[ordinar]

Based on the man's response, he's leaning toward newly Summoned. Wilhelm isn't sure what he feels for the realization that he's now been here long enough that he isn't the greenest one anymore. Surprise, for the slipperiness of time. Homesickness, but also relief for the uncrossable distance between him and all the things he was tired of dealing with. He still thinks of his life back home as his real life, while this one is a detour, a diversion.

And additional relief for the minor accomplishment of lasting this long without messing up too badly. Yet.

But the fire dancing in his palm prevents him from digging too deeply into that pocket of emotions. Wobbling toward the grass again, it calls his attention back. He lifts his hand to hold the flame away from the ground and, for good measure, stands up. It's good manners anyway.

"I can put it out myself. No extinguisher or water or anything."

A little proud, a little defensive. He won't mention that before he figured that part out, these little practice sessions were, well, like playing with fire in the metaphorical sense as much as the literal sense. Nor will he mention that it often takes him a few tries to put it out.

"Watch—"

To prove it, Wilhelm steadies his focus with a slow breath and curls his hand shut. In answer — defiantly delayed — the flame puffs out. His expression relaxes into a grin, and his shoulders sink in relief. Thank God, this was one of the times he gets it in one try.

I.

[funbreaker]

Thancred's finished up with yet another round of exercises in the training yard and is on his way back into the castle when he catches sight of the young man practicing magick. He's tucked away almost entirely around a corner; it's possible Thancred might have missed him entirely if it weren't for the flame and how it casts unnatural, flickering light across the ground.

There are plenty of people practicing magick in the castle on a daily basis, but there's a few things that stand out about this particular stranger. He seems to be ashamed of his abilities, given that he isn't doing this in one of the study halls or other designated areas for classes and demonstrations. The fact that it's fire specifically that he's practicing also tugs at Thancred's mind, reminding him of a conversation he'd had some weeks ago.

He pauses, waiting until the precarious of shifting the flame from one hand to the other has been completed before he speaks up.

"Wilhelm, is it?" This is still a guess, but an educated one. They may have discussed bards and games rather than the boy's struggles with magick, but the fact remains that he'd included those troubles in his missive. Thancred's mind is trained to latch onto such information, even if he didn't engage with it at the time.

[ordinar]

Waiting to speak up was a prudent choice. The flame is safely cradled in Wilhelm's palm when his shoulders tighten in surprise and his eyes fly up to find Thancred standing there. It does jump a bit, as if it's an extension of Wilhelm's body, but he steadies it with a slowly drawn breath. Releasing a sigh, he returns his attention to the man.

There are only so many of them living in the one wing of the castle designated for the Summoned. The faces are all familiar by now, although most of them he's only met in passing. Names, though, have always been slippery in his memory. At least he's had time to cover up his blank stare.

"Yeah. That's me."

The fingers of his empty hand, lacking any other occupation, idly drum his leg.

"Um, can I help you?"

[funbreaker]

Thancred watches as the flame jumps and starts, yet then calms and sits idly in Wilhelm's hand as if awaiting orders. Reflexively, he gives a small nod of approval. He may not be any good when it comes to this sort of training, but it still puts him in the mind of when he'd been teaching Ryne how to wield knives.

The boy does look rather young, after all, and while Thancred may not have picked up on that during their mental conversation, he isn't at all surprised by it in retrospect.

At the question, he gives a quick shake of his head. "Not exactly. I simply happened to be passing by and noticed you were practicing. We spoke before, by means of..." He pauses, not quite having the correct vocabulary to explain it. Instead, he nods toward the nearest wall and then makes writing motions with his right hand. Hopefully that will make his point.

"I'm Thancred, if you recall our discussion of bards and the like."

horizon;

[shadowthief]

Inej has largely kept to very specific pieces of the Horizon belonging to herself or those close to her. Exploring it as a whole isn't something she generally feels the need to do much. It's all so... personal. These intricate pieces of people woven into the fabric of this place, so it feels...intrusive to simply wander into people's spaces without prior invitation.

However... the smoke in the distance is alarming, to say the least. She can't help let her feet wander in the direction of it, until she finds the blaze that the smoke had come from, and the boy that seemed to be at the center of it all.

"All Saints," she mutters, watching in awe. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were an Inferni." But she's too far into her time in this world to think every magic thing she lays witness to is at the hand of a Grisha, even if some of the acts people can accomplish ring so true to the power of them.

[ordinar]

Wilhelm doesn't notice her approach, her footfall silent on the stone steps that lead down to the beach and his attention taken by the fire he's steadily growing. By now, the blaze is eating through several shocks of grass at once. When Inej speaks up, his shoulders jump and the flames sway as if breathed on by a rogue breeze. His gaze jerks her way.

"Jesus, where'd you come from?" he mutters, half to himself. Then louder but softened by uncertainty: "Is...that a good thing?"

The term is unfamiliar, but it sounds a lot like infernal. Which...on the whole is not associated with good things.

[shadowthief]

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” which is sort of like an apology with the expression she wears and tone in her words, despite the distinct lack of the two most common apologetic words most people might interject at the start. “If it helps, you’re not the only person I’ve unintentionally startled before.” Is that a consolation or is it just creepier than she meant it to be? This boy’s personal interpretation will well, perhaps.

She muses at the question, head tipped to the side, hands folded and tucked behind her back— no threat found here, she looks nearly innocent like that— and lets a soft hum pass her lips. “I wouldn’t say it’s a bad thing. There are people in my world who can control different elements— collectively, they’re called Grisha— the Inferni control fire.”