sanctus_dei | 42nd Resurrection

Once upon a time, someone suggested to Theo that he use his gravity magic to fly. Ridiculous! Doing things like flying about on broomsticks is a stereotype, something to mock real spellcasters with, like they were the witches and wizards of old. Theo is a modern spellcaster, thank you, and he wouldn't be caught dead doing such a thing.

Except that it sounds like a whole lot of fun, doesn't it? Especially after half a bottle of wine.

Tonight, well after midnight, Theo Crawford is out in his yard with some spellbooks and mason jars of components. This isn't unusual in itself. He's drawing circles, making incantations and casting spells and small inanimate objects first, and quite successfully. His two crows sit nearby, waiting for him to try it on himself. Humans don't fly, they don't have wings! So they can't wait to see this and get a good laugh.

Trying this on himself is a much different story. It takes more skill in control, some understanding of physics, more spell components and more energy - which he lacks pretty much all over. Theo is too impatient, and tries these spells too early. Are you ready for some failure, Mayfield?

You may find Theo:
- Zipping several yards in the air, before attempting to land. Sometimes he crash lands, sometimes he doesn't. Still, Theo is a frail guy. That looks like it hurt.
- Stuck in a tree. Shut up he can totally climb down, okay
- Crash landing through your roof, or upstairs windows. Now THAT has to hurt.
- Hovering in the air a few yards up, not going anywhere. He's sort of worked himself into a corner.

Or any other manner of craziness you can think of. It's a bird! It's a plane! It's fail!mage!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

At least when cats laugh at you, not everyone can hear them.

[ Ilsa helps him up, and attempts to get him into the house. ]

I've got a med kit inside, let's get you patched up.

Since when do cats laugh. [Sense. What is that.]

No, I'm fine. I won't get better at this if I keep stopping to bandage up.

Better at what, being pitched around the neighborhood, or bleeding?

Spells. They take a.... lot of... work. [Oh hey there dizziness]

What spells were throwing you about?

[ Still dragging him into the house, and making him sit at the kitchen table. ]

Gravity. Been learning that instead. Working well, but these... I'm making these spells so they... take more work.

[He plops down in the chair, then looks around the room, squinting a bit. Hey, this isn't his house.]

Hrmph, gravity is such a downer.

[ Ilsa's got the largest tackle box the sporting good store sells on the table, but she doesn't need to dig for the trauma kit. ]

Are you allergic to iodine tinctures or any other medicines? I don't think I've got anything in here that would interfere with mageworks.

Allergic to what? No. Why would I be? [Sense, he is making it.]

You'd be surprised at the allergies that develop.

[ Ilsa is cleaning the scrapes and gouges, talking to distract him while she bandages him up, ]

I mean, it's standard practice in some hospitals to apply silver nitrate to newborn's eyes, but if either of the parents is lycan, you need to take alternative steps.

[Theo is so childish. He tries to pull away from Ilsa, not like being touched by anyone.]

H-Hey! I can take care of this. I d--

Lycans? Werewolves? They got those where you're from?

[ Ilsa keeps chattering on, thankful for that quarter in pediatric ER techniques. ]

Oh, not so many that the mundanes notice, but there's a fair number of them about. They have to hide, just like any other uncanny folk in my world. Most of the ones I know are in the park service, fish and game enforcement.

You get some who actually are used to the cities, and it's even odds that they're on the police force or in bail-bondsman services.

I've heard about rogue hunters, but only in unsubstantiated rumors. The elders of their tribes tend to take care of the troublemakers quietly, without outside help.

[ She pours a glass of water for him, and hands him some aspirin. ]

There, that wasn't so bad, now was it?

Huh. They're extinct in my world.

[He's honestly interested when it comes to supernatural stuff from other people's worlds. He listens, and he's too full of wine and knocks to the head to notice the stinging wounds. Oh, it's over.]

Huh? Oh. [He stares at the aspirin. Focus, Theo, focus!]

They nearly went that way during the Industrial Revolution in my world. A lot of the fae disappeared from our plane for a century or so. Luckily, the Age of Enlightenment managed to create a niche for oddity scholars, and the Guardians came out of that. So the refugees are coming back, one hill at a time.

Fae... far as I know we don't have those. Who knows. "Age of Enlightenment" would be nice. People from my world hate casters...

[Theo looks exhausted. He props up his head with his elbow in the table, and searches for his flask with the other hand. Crap, where did it go?]

In our world, we went underground after the Burning Times.

[ Ilsa places a glass of iced tea in front of Theo. ]

Even with the renewed interest in ecological balance, we stayed hidden. Too many of the mundanes don't realize that magic has costs.

And too many people don't realize that their actions have repercussions beyond what they can see.

So the Guardians protect them, while hiding behind outrageous stories nobody believes.

[Normally he'd be actually interested in hearing about this stuff. But right now, he feels like his head's going to explode. Obviously he needs more booze.]

"Mundanes" don't understand a damn thing about magic, but they sure think they do. Anyway. I gotta go.

[He gets up to leave, but not without a smidgen of wobblyness.]

Walk, at least until you're steady. If you can't walk a straight line, how do you expect to fly in a controlled manner.

[ She helps him up, not letting go until he's steady on his feet. ]

You know why so many use brooms? It's easier to control an inanimate object. Brooms were handy, since they were also usually made by the crafter, and already had the crafter's mark on them. Something to think about, maybe?

[He looks at her like she suddenly grown ten heads.]

Another one going on about brooms! Why do you people think I'd demean myself like that!

Pfft. Make a portable circle, then. Learn the control with an inanimate object, first.

at least it wouldn't be a garbage can....

I can practice more on other things first, but I'll be damned if I'll ride around on something like a damned witch.

[ She frowns a bit at that tone, but lets it go for now. ]

Suit yourself, but be careful.

[Theo's not pleasant to begin with. Being drunk, injured, and possibly mildly concussed isn't helping.]

Right. I'll try not to try and crash into your yard anymore.

[That's as close as he gets to "thanks".]

42nd Resurrection

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