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The Big Applesauce Moderators ([personal profile] applesaucemod) wrote in [community profile] applesaucedream2016-01-29 08:14 pm

It's a Waste of Time, Chasing in the Dark

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Tonight, the dreamers will find themselves in a forest. Or an office. Or a suburban living room. Or a castle tower. Or a grocery store. The dream is a patchwork of assorted settings, each one blurring inelegantly into the next, most of them only claiming half an acre or so. The hodgepodge makes for quite a sight.

Or it would, if the dreamers could see anything. Natural light is in short supply. In fact, there isn't any light at all, not even a faint twinkle of starlight; you might as well be deep inside a cave. No matter how good their eyes might be, the dreamers won't be able to see their own hands in front of their faces - not unless they can fashion some sort of light source out of whatever they might manage to find. The dream isn't inclined to make things easy; any appliances or electrical light sources the dreamers stumble over won't be plugged in, and any walls, however solid they might seem, won't contain any wiring. A small fire might be the best bet - presuming you can find any means of lighting one.

But there's good news. Each of the dreamers will find themselves with a second set of dubiously useful eyes, because they'll be joined - again, or for the first time - by their dæmons. Granted, said dæmons won't have much more luck seeing in the total darkness than anyone else, but at least no one will have to feel alone.

Just… move carefully. You wouldn't want to trip over someone else's dæmon by mistake. Imagine how awkward that would be.

[ooc: y'all know the drill. Characters don't have to be apped or in the game to show up, and dreamers can remember or forget the events of the dream at the player's discretion. This particular dream isn't a power nerf - a character with the ability to create light could still do so - but the range will be extremely localized, as if the darkness is a solid thing that doesn't want to be pushed back.]
boneshaker: (oh shi)

ellis here with a shiny new piece of garbage

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-02-25 05:25 pm (UTC)(link)
Well this is certainly some shit. No amount of channeling effort nets him light, which is worrisome in and of itself - usually even with limited supply he can make some kind of light burst. In the end his only recourse is to dig his lighter out of his pocket and flick it open. The light it casts is sickly and weak, barely showing anything apart from his own fingers. He gropes around, attempting to illuminate his surroundings. The dim glow tells him precious little, right up until it glints threateningly off two beady little eyes low to the ground.

"Shit-!" He jerks back, disproportionately startled by what must be a very small creature. He hesitates, then leans forward again, expecting it to have scurried off, but it's still there, just staring at him.

Wary but not entirely scared, Castor leans forward to get a better look. He sees tufty brown-gray fur, little needle-claw hands, a somehow judgmental face.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," she snaps, and he shrieks, actually shrieks.

"The fuck!" He drops the lighter and it goes out. He reaches around for it and instead the rodent clambers onto his hand. "Agh!"

"It's me, dumbass," says the squirrel.

"Y-" He stares at the blackness where he can feel her tiny paws gripping his hand. "You're a squirrel."

"Ooh, get the boy a medal so he can rust it on up," she chitters. "Get with the program, Cas. I'm you. You're me. We're us."

It's absurd, but he does have the overwhelming sensation of arguing with himself.

"Yooouuu are," he says slowly, with no prepared end to the thought She jumps down off his hand and, a moment later, nudges at his leg. His fingers find her and find his lighter clutched in her paws. He takes it almost begrudgingly and lights it again. "You're an extension of my what, my inner self?"

"Sure," she says. "Whatever. I don't get it either, all right? I'm not usually out here, all talky. But you don't see me throwing a fit. Name's Persis."

"Okay," he says, desperately trying to impress a small talking rodent. "If you're so damn smart, where are we?"

"The fuck should I know?!" She leaps onto him and settles up on his shoulder. "But we're together, that's all that counts."

Well. He'll give her that. There is something weirdly comforting about her being close to his ear. This is all very bizarre. He stands up and shines his sad little light around, then lets out a shrill whistle. "Hello?" he announces into the dark.

"Way to advertise our fuckin position," Persis grits out.
Edited 2016-02-25 17:26 (UTC)
rae_of_sun: (yiiiiiikes)

[personal profile] rae_of_sun 2016-02-25 06:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Okay, so she's left the library, after all. She's not even entirely sure how, because there was no traditional exit. It's more like traveling through Nowheresville, except instead of reality coalescing around her feet, it melts into being in what little light her knife manages to cast. And instead of being otherwise surrounded by a bewildering, ominous whirl of ill-defined things, it's just garden-variety, boring blackness. So, all in all, more pleasant than Nowheresville.

All she's missing is a destination. 'Find Spike' is a pretty vague goal, after all. Her internal compass doesn't seem to be much use in dreams, so it's more likely that he'll spot her than anything else, what with her being so damn spot-able and all.

Not that her light seems to be going all that far. Maybe she's less conspicuous than she feels.

... Or maybe not. Sound has no problem traveling its usual distance, and she freezes when someone from not-too-far-away shouts out a greeting. Definitely not Spike.

"Just keep walking," Modomnoc mutters from her collar.

Sunshine frowns. That's certainly an option, but it's also undeniably a dick move. Whether Shouty McStranger has actually seen her or not, it's one thing to politely avoid a fellow dreamer and another to just outright abandon them - especially when she is has a light source. Sure, it's only a dream, and falling down a surprise staircase would only result in a rude awakening, but that doesn't make not-really-dying pleasant. Gods, what would even happen to their animal-thing, in that scenario? Yeesh.

She's just... not gonna think about it. Or take her bee's mean-spirited advice.

"... Yeah?" she calls back, her wince pretty much audible. This is awkward, and not just because Dom is huffing at her in disapproval. What is she even trying to do, here, really? Rescue some random dreamer from a clumsy accident? She peers into the interminable darkness. "You okay?" she asks, uncertainly, like she's reading off a cue card written in exceptionally shitty handwriting.
boneshaker: (did somebody say something)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-02-25 06:13 pm (UTC)(link)
And... there's a person! That's swell. She sounds just as wary and confused as he feels, so that's comforting. He can feel Persis repress a sigh.

"I think so!" he says brightly, and takes a few steps toward her voice. He realizes suddenly that he can see something - a little bit of light, soft and about as unhelpful as his lighter. But it's something to move toward. "Is that you?" He waves his lighter. "I'm here. My name's Castor."

"You have decided this person is trustworthy based on four fucking syllables," Persis whispers, low and edged. He dismisses her cynicism with a little directionless swat. Man, he likes having his voice of reason on the inside, thank you very much.
Edited 2016-02-25 18:14 (UTC)
rae_of_sun: (exploring)

[personal profile] rae_of_sun 2016-02-25 07:38 pm (UTC)(link)
Sunshine squints as a tiny, bobbing flame comes into view. It's too faint to illuminate much of whoever's carrying it, but her vampire vision picks up enough slack for her to make out the weird-edged shadows of a guy and his... squirrel? Yeah, that's a squirrel. It looks a lot less docile than the overfed specimens that used to frequent the area around Charlie's, but that's probably to be expected.

"Um. Yes." She shifts her grip on her knife, allowing more light to spill from between her fingers. It would probably be more efficient to just open the thing, but she's pretty sure brandishing a glowing weapon would make for a poor first impression. Light: good; naked blade (even a paltry little one): bad. "Sorry, it's not much. Light doesn't... go very far, here."

Still, it's brighter than the inconstant flickering of his lighter. Once he reaches the outer limits of her knife's range, she's able to get a better look at him and his squirrel (who looks about as enthusiastic about this whole arrangement as Dom feels). His shadows (of which there are plenty) say 'human' and 'Rifty,' but there's something else there, too. She can't quite parse it, which should be off-putting, but isn't. Maybe she's just getting used to not knowing what the hell is going on when it comes to the marks other universes leave on people.

"Sunshine," she says, giving her knife a little lift as if to add, go figure. "And this is Dom." Dom waggles his antennae in the new arrivals' direction, then begrudgingly lifts one foreleg in a half-assed wave.
boneshaker: (think I'm gonna enjoy this)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-02-25 08:01 pm (UTC)(link)
"Sunshine," Castor repeats with the edge of a smile. "You don't say. Could stand it to be a bit more literal right about now." He shifts his weight, eyeing first her glowing object - is that a pen knife? - and second her... enormous bee. "Uh, hi, Dom," he says. "This is Persis."

"Yo," says Persis, coiled over his shoulder like she can't decide if she's hiding or getting ready to pounce.

"So I have no idea what the hell is going on," he says. "I just met this asshole-" he nods at Persis "-a minute ago. Light, as you say, does not work."

"What are you, prepping her for a pop quiz?" Persis demands. "She don't need no bullet points, man. Like - this is you right now: 'Hi, my name is Castor. I am homeless. I am gay. I am a street rat magician. I'm new in town.' Quit wasting time."

"Yeah, so, I hate this squirrel," says Castor pleasantly, eyes on Sunshine, or what little he can see of her. "Are you - sorry if this is a weird question, but are you a conjurer or something? Just, that light isn't exactly normal."
Edited 2016-02-25 20:04 (UTC)
rae_of_sun: (interested - glow)

[personal profile] rae_of_sun 2016-02-25 08:42 pm (UTC)(link)
So he is new. What a fun introduction to Rift-related fuckery this must be. Dom snorts faintly, though it sounds amused instead of disapproving. He must be able to relate to the squirrel's general lack of enthusiasm. "Sheer," he says, crawling away from Sunshine's neck and out onto her shoulder. "It's just a dream. That's why we're, y'know," he flexes his wings in a bee-shrug, "out."

"It happens," Sunshine deadpans, echoing the shrug.

Her eyebrows lift a little at Castor's question. Anyone with eyes would clock that her glowing isn't normal, but his tone suggests a certain familiarity with this particular brand of weird. Is that what that edge to his shadows is about? Is his universe more along the lines of hers than Manhattan's?

"I don't conjure," she says with a wry smile. Even if she did, she probably wouldn't want to admit it; it's one of the more frowned-upon skillsets back home. "But I'm a magic-handler. Small stuff-changing, mostly." No point in talking up a skill that isn't going to be of much use here, anyway. The likelihood of tripping over the necessary components to transmute herself a flashlight from scratch (if she even could, in this godsawful darkness) seems about equal to the odds of just tripping over a functioning flashlight in the first place. She looks down at her knife and suppresses a sigh. "This is--was--sort of an accident."

Lifting her gaze back to Castor, she adds, "What about you?" If he's a magic-handler who's fallen into Rift York, she's gonna have to track him down and invite him to brunch or something. They could start a club.
boneshaker: (look at this terrible puppy)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-02-25 08:51 pm (UTC)(link)
"Oh no way!" He grins in actual delight. "Me too! So it's-" Huh, that's a little different. "Transmutation? Man, I don't know a lot of people who can do that." She says it like it's no big deal, but where he comes from, that's pretty huge. Even if she only does small things. Channeling matter is one thing - reconverting it? That's huge.

He rubs the back of his neck. "Magic-handler," he confirms. "Self-taught. Uh, matter manipulation, mostly." That's the quick answer that doesn't get into all the awkward questions. At a glance, Sunshine doesn't seem the judgmental sort - well, at least not about this, no more than his own squirrel self could be - but it's still not something he wants to just dive into yet. He always feels like he's writing a dissertation he's never gonna get credit for.

"So - wait." His thoughts catch up eventually. "Wait. You said this is... a dream?" He looks back at Sunshine's shoulder, in the general direction of the bee. Yeah, he's gonna need some elaboration on that point, cause this feels pretty fuckin real.

"Finally gonna follow up on that, huh," says Persis dryly.
rae_of_sun: (lemme splain you a thing)

[personal profile] rae_of_sun 2016-02-27 12:24 am (UTC)(link)
Look at that, he knows the polite word for it, too - though it doesn't escape her notice that he has to kind of grapple for it, which probably rules out him being from her universe. 'Matter manipulation' pretty much confirms it; that isn't the sort of terminology anyone would throw around back home. It seems close, though - closer to her universe than whatever metaphysical distance exists between home and Manhattan.

Self-taught, though. Does that carry the same implications? Said implications being things like 'might accidentally light everything on fire' or 'might be a bad cross' (because you can't help someone's demonic heritage but you can sure help stirring the pot by encouraging a partblood's magic-handling endeavors by teaching them).

Or 'might be capable of just about anything, because no one's taught him what he can't do.'

Well, who is she to judge? How much of a leg up did some haphazard childhood lessons really give her, when all was said and done? And she turned out okay.

Dom snorts. He doesn't even have to speak for Sunshine to get the message: keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.

Whatever, bee. She ignores him in favor of focusing on Castor's question. "Yeah. It's a... group thing. Happens every week or so. You get used to them." Raising an eyebrow, she adds, "I take it this is your first time."
boneshaker: (try again motherfucker)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-02-27 01:04 am (UTC)(link)
"Whaaat," he says slowly. The way she's talking about it - there's obviously information he's missing. What defines the group? What causes it to happen? Who are the people who have to get used to it?

All good questions he's not actually asking. He's still stuck on the thing itself. "So we're dreaming, right now," he says. "You and me are both dreaming... the same dream."

"Keep reiterating that, I'm sure it'll help," sighs Persis.

"I'm just trying to-" Castor cuts himself off with an exasperated exhale. "This feels incredibly real."

"It's also incredibly illogical," says Persis. "There is absolutely no ambient light, what light we have isn't working normal, and you have an animal self talking to you. Did you not suspect maybe something was off?"

"I..." Well, those are all good points. Stymied, he refocuses on the dim outline of Sunshine. "Is there... a way to wake up?" he asks cautiously.
Edited 2016-02-27 01:04 (UTC)
rae_of_sun: (maybe not)

[personal profile] rae_of_sun 2016-02-27 01:31 am (UTC)(link)
"Um. Yes. To... all of those things," Sunshine replies. Gods, it's been a while since she did the whole 'welcome to your weird new life' lecture series. It would probably be easier in the waking world, where there isn't this additional layer of 'and p.s. this is all in your head.'

And of course he'd go straight for the idea of waking up. She can't really blame the guy. The only real thing this dream has going for it is the whole animal-self thing, and given his squirrel's attitude, she's not sure that qualifies as a selling point.

Still, she doesn't really want to explain the finer points of how to wake up, and it's Dom who offers, dry as dust, "If you don't mind dying, then sure, waking up is pretty frigging straightforward."

Sunshine winces. "Or there's just... waiting. Waiting works, too." Eventually.
boneshaker: (what did I just put in my mouth)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-02-27 01:48 am (UTC)(link)
Castor blinks at the bee. "Oh!" he says with aggressively fake cheeriness. "Well that is just so super awesome!"

"That's fucked up," says Persis bluntly. Funny how as soon as he picks up the sarcasm she shifts to being more straightforward. He supposes that makes sense.

"I guess it could be worse." He sighs and shrugs. "Death could mean real death. That would be the real kick in the ass. Wait, so, transmutation - that doesn't account for the light, does it? How are you doing that?" And can she do more, is really where he's hoping to go with this. For his first adventure in this group dream whatever, it's kind of a bummer that he can't even see it.
rae_of_sun: (interested)

[personal profile] rae_of_sun 2016-02-27 03:09 am (UTC)(link)
Dom runs a foreleg over one of his antennae, and Sunshine resists the urge to roll her eyes. Is Persis setting him off? Is that what this is? She has enough weird shit to explain without getting into 'I think your animal-self is a bad influence' territory, like his his squirrel goaded her bee into pushing another animal-person on the playground.

Talking shop seems comparatively safe. Sunshine uncurls her fingers and lets her knife rest on her open palm, the glow radiating upwards like a tiny, perpetual dawn. They could use all the light they could get, and she's pretty sure Castor isn't going to snatch it and go sprinting off. "It... sort of does. Indirectly. I don't know how magic-handling works in your universe, but do you have affinities? Things you're good with, like water or wood or whatever?"
boneshaker: (just give me a second)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-02-27 04:08 am (UTC)(link)
"...Yeah, we do," he says slowly. "Sorry... not to derail, but... what do you mean in my universe?"

Persis keeps quiet this time, so apparently she is finally in agreement with his line of questioning. She crawls from one shoulder to the other. She feels nervous, he thinks. Probably because that's a big fucking implication right there, and he only just got used to 'we're dreaming'.

Instinctively he reaches up and cups his hand around her, stroking her head with the pad of his forefinger. She doesn't resist the gesture, which is weirdly comforting.
rae_of_sun: (wince - dubious)

[personal profile] rae_of_sun 2016-02-27 04:41 pm (UTC)(link)
It occurs to Sunshine, belatedly, that this guy might be a lot newer than she'd originally thought. Like, brand new baby new. Like, hasn't even shown up in Manhattan yet new (because even if no one had given him the welcome lecture series in the waking world, it wouldn't have taken long for any given magic-handler to realize they weren't in Kansas anymore, making 'wrong universe' a eureka moment and not a sticking point). And here she is, making ludicrously casual references to other universes like an asshole. Ooookay. Time to rethink her approach, apparently.

"... Um. So you're, uh, newer than I thought."

"Excuses," Dom mutters helpfully. Sunshine gives him a poke, and he buzzes his wings indignantly.

"Sorry," she adds to Castor. "The Rift does this, sometimes - bringing people into the dreams before it brings them into Manhattan. But... yes. There's a Rift that's weaseling its way into other universes and sucking people into some arbitrary iteration of New York City, so..." she sighs, shoulders slumping. She's really not good at this. "... I guess you might have that to look forward to, if it hasn't happened to you already."
boneshaker: (try again motherfucker)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-02-27 06:18 pm (UTC)(link)
And there it is, the clarification he really should have asked for earlier. Newer to - the group, the place. Manhattan? Manhattan New York? Yes, she confirms in the next few words, New York fucking City. That's not a place he ever thought he'd be.

"A Rift," echoes Persis, picking up on the more pertinent information as usual. "That's some next level shit right there."

"No kidding." Castor shifts his lighter to his other hand and reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "So, you're saying I might, what, wake up there? Or..." How is this even happening, this dream thing, when last he remembers he was in his own shithole flat back in Northfuck Minneapolis?

"Okay. I'm just gonna. Deal with that when it happens," he says abruptly.

"Yes, that always works out so well," sighs Persis, even though she knows full well it kind of does.

"The answer is yes, we have, um, affinities," says Castor, barreling onward and away from the too-dizzying concept of a new universe. "We don't call them that. And... we choose them, kind of. Is that what it's like in your... universe?" What what what.
rae_of_sun: (considering)

[personal profile] rae_of_sun 2016-02-28 12:50 am (UTC)(link)
Wake up, show up, land on a bench halfway through a cup of tea. There's really no reassuring answer she can offer him in the affirmative, and she doesn't want to give him false hope by suggesting it won't happen.

Hey, maybe he'll get lucky. Maybe the Rift will decide not to mess with him, after all. Hell if she's going to float that theory, though.

Back to talking shop, then. That's probably wise. "We don't choose them," she says, intrigued by the thought. Wouldn't that be convenient. "It's a born-with-it kind of thing. Anyway, mine is sunlight, which... basically just means I do my best work when I can sit in the sunshine." We'll leave counter-affinities for another time. He doesn't need to know about all the vampire stuff; it's not like any of it pertains to him. "It, uh... it also means that if I do stuff after dark, it can get a bit... weird. Which is why my knife glows, now: transmuted it after dark."
boneshaker: (thousand yards)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-02-28 10:01 pm (UTC)(link)
Born with it? He wrinkles his nose at that. The implications of that are - well, fuck, if he thought there were class issues where he's from. If it's just a piece of a person's randomly selected genetic makeup, that's a whole new thing to segregate by, and he wouldn't be surprised. Not the sort of thing you just casually ask about, though.

Fortunately the rest of what she's saying is totally fascinating, so his wariness is short-lived. Sounds about the same, practically speaking, as what he does - but equally as limiting and finicky as what the more elitist handlers do.

"Man, that's something," he says, examining the knife curiously. "I've never heard of a sunlight focus." Then again, no one's ever heard of a trash focus either. And the way she's describing it, it sounds like she doesn't work with sunlight directly, rather it fuels her transmutation.

"I take energy from my f- affinity," he says, "and I can do, like, simple spells. But it's a lot more about the thing I work with. Like if you could use sunlight to fight."
rae_of_sun: (ashamed)

[personal profile] rae_of_sun 2016-02-28 11:33 pm (UTC)(link)
Right. If. Sunshine presses her lips together and stares down at the knife, remembering what she did with it, remembering what she did with her hands. The surrounding darkness suddenly feels less like a benign annoyance and more like a looming threat. Anything could be out there.

He could be out there.

"Hey," Dom says sharply, and she feels the prickle of his feet moving across her neck until he can tap his foreleg against her faintly glowing necklace-scar. "Sheer." Her knife, too, is brighter than it had been a moment ago, warming her palm like a hot cup of tea.

Gods. Get it together, Sunshine. It's just a damn dream, and the more of a show she puts on, the more of an explanation she'll owe.

She inhales, and her scar fades. The knife stays brighter, but she doesn't have it in her to tell it to cool it. It can stay that way, if it wants.

Right. Let's just pretend that didn't happen. "What do you work with?" she asks, risking a brief glance up at Castor.
boneshaker: (think I'm gonna enjoy this)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-02-28 11:49 pm (UTC)(link)
What - He steps back a little as he spots a little spiderweb of light shining out on her skin. Her bee seems to scold her for it, but that's actually fantastic, like if she could do that more, she'd be a little beacon.

But it's not his place to suggest. It settles back down and she obviously doesn't want to talk about it. And he knows well enough what that's like.

Case in point. It's not that he's ashamed of what he does, far from it, it just usually involves a little more explanation than he'd like, especially with fellow users, especially since this one follows different rules entirely. But if it'll help push away whatever she's pushing, then he can deal.

"Well," he says, sucking air through his teeth. "It's kind of a long story, but the short answer is... trash."
rae_of_sun: (intrigued)

[personal profile] rae_of_sun 2016-02-29 12:41 am (UTC)(link)
Well, he's not pressing her for details on the light show, for which she's absurdly grateful. She wouldn't consider her counter-affinity a state secret, and if he does end up in Manhattan, he'll probably find out about it sooner or later. But now is definitely not the time. Or place. It's especially not the place.

Instead, he shares his affinity, and she immediately understands his initial reluctance. Her first response is an incredulous snort, because sunlight might be rare but refuse is frigging unheard-of. (What would that even mean on a counter-affinity scale? A resistance to cleanliness? No allergies or autoimmune disorders?) But, okay, no need to be rude. It's not like he was born with it. He chose garbage. And actually...

"... That's totally thor," she says. "Talk about constant access." Trash is everywhere, all the time.
boneshaker: (interesting)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-02-29 01:09 am (UTC)(link)
He grins, both at her comprehension and her slang, peppered with adjectives he's never heard but whose meaning he can easily ascertain. "Yeah, that was my thought exactly," he says. He's a little relieved at the darkness, hiding his growing enthusiasm. "Like, where I come from, anyone can learn to do magic but like... it kind of depends on what resources you have. So rich folks get to play around with fancy shit like fire and lightning, but people like me... metalwork and stonework is pretty common, but I went in a kind of... different direction."

"You just wanted to scandalize all the rich kids," says Persis.

Castor can't help but grin. "Yeah," he says. "I'll admit that's part of it."
rae_of_sun: (interested)

[personal profile] rae_of_sun 2016-02-29 03:37 am (UTC)(link)
This isn't her first brush with the whole 'anyone can learn magic' concept - that's how it works where Spike's from - but it still throws her a bit. She can never decide if such an egalitarian approach would make things better or worse, practically speaking. In Spike's universe, the fact that anyone could do magic seems to be tempered by the fact that a significant percentage of the population doesn't even believe it exists.

What would the Wars have been like, if magic was as accessible as algebra?

Maybe her dubiousness is just a side effect of growing up in a universe where magic makes weird demands and goes rogue and isn't always biddable. It's hard to get all starry-eyed over the thought of some magical utopia when you can't even buy a charm without knowing, in the back of your mind, that it's probably going to go a bit nuts one day and have to be taken out back behind the proverbial woodshed.

Castor's universe isn't sounding that spartan on the egalitarian front, anyway. Setting aside the question of why something as basic as fire would only be available to the elite - he's carrying a lighter, after all - she gets the gist.

"So it's just about money, not the physical properties of the material?" she asks. Gods, this is the nerdiest conversation she's had in a while. "Like, when I transmute things - when anyone back home transmutes things - some materials are easier to work with than others. If it's denser, or if it's been heavily worked by people already, it's more stubborn. So, like, cloth is easier than stone, and a stone carving is harder than an unaltered rock."

"Strap in," Dom mutters to Persis. Then, to the group at large, "Should we sit down or something?"

Sunshine gives him an unimpressed look. "Like it makes any difference to you."
boneshaker: (you precious piece of shit)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-02-29 08:49 pm (UTC)(link)
"Not all about money," says Castor. He smirks at Dom's dry remarks. He thinks Persis, for all her proverbial eye-rolling, is just as into this conversation as he is. Sunshine's brief explanation of properties is already fascinating, both similar and different to how things work in his experience. "We could sit," he concedes. "It's not like we have anywhere to go."

He does so without hesitation, and Persis settles down into his lap.

"It's a little of both," he says, moving his hands around expressively and without much purpose. "The problem with the fancy shit - like fire, for instance - it burns out quick and it's really hard to control. Lightning they sell in fuckin' bottles, some weird jacked shit that self-sustains. That's way expensive, and super impractical. It's like breeding in. The more you draw from the same source, the weaker it gets - it's a racket, really. The rich people keep buying more of it cause it keeps burning out. Fire - I mean, people can make that themselves, but you have to do it with paper and matches like anyone else, and then you just have that one source, and it's not gonna last. Entropy always gets to it eventually. You can spread it out a bit, but try that without burning your whole condo down. It looks impressive but its utility is like... basically just showing off. Light shows. I work with entropy. Garbage is eternal. It's everywhere, it's malleable, and it's subjective as shit. No need to buy anything specifically designed for me. And it has more uses than you might think."

"He really likes talking about this," says Persis. "He pretends it's such a hardship but look at him go."

"Not every day you meet a user from another planet," says Castor with a wry grin.
rae_of_sun: (thinky thoughts)

[personal profile] rae_of_sun 2016-02-29 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)
Well, why not. Sunshine sits. The ground here isn't the most comfortable, but standing indefinitely wouldn't be comfortable, either. She looks down at her knife and gives it a little mental nudge - maybe just a bit more? - and when it obliges her, she sets it on the ground between herself and Castor, like a tiny campfire. Its glow might be weaker than a real fire, but at least it's constant.

It's weird, listening to Castor describe his universe's version of magic-handling. Utility seems to be the big difference. The big magic-handling families tend to be rich back home, too, but the correlation is reversed: they've earned more because they can do more - and because they go back umpteen generations in a relatively straight line. Money tends to flow through the same carefully controlled channels as genetic predispositions. The end result of that more literal inbreeding tends to be diminished skill (go figure), but the point is rarely - if ever - something as straightforward as pyrotechnics. And even if the general competence level takes a dive, it's arguably worth it if it means avoiding a bad cross. A third-cousin who can barely twist a charm is less embarrassing than a third-cousin who went on a homicidal spree.

"So, hang on," she says as Dom trundles down her arm and into her palms, "what is it you're doing with magic? Aside from light shows. Ward-cutting? Charms?" Transmutation is comparatively unmarketable, but at least it has practical applications.
boneshaker: (try again motherfucker)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-03-01 06:01 am (UTC)(link)
"Uhh." Well, there's something he's never been asked before. People ask him what he personally does, but not... everyone across the board. Does she have an answer to such a broad question where her world is concerned?

"I mean... whatever they want?" He shrugs. "It's just a thing people use. You have to get documentation to use it, but that's not hard. That's just like a note on your ID. Mine just says 'handler' cause I don't use it for anything specific. There's like... academics, they're all theory and alchemy and shit. There's pop magicians, they're like entertainers, or they just use it to show off at parties. There's a ton of people who use it in their work, like... cops, doctors, architects... And then there's regular people who just kind of... know how to do it but don't get paid to. That's me. Undocumented users are either criminals or hedge witches."

"Successful criminals," says Persis pointedly.

"I am a thief, not a criminal," says Castor, sounding wholly affronted, which he knows is almost entirely for Sunshine's benefit. "If you're my inner spirit, you should know the damn difference between organized heists and stealing a damn watch or whatever."

"What part of you do you think I am?" says Persis. "The part that's like 'this is fine' or the part that's like 'if you weren't such a piece of shit you'd have a real job'?"

Castor stares at what little he can see of her for a moment before looking up at Sunshine's dimly illuminated face. "Sooo," he says. "Does that answer your question?"

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