18th Resurrection - Fallout

[sanctus_dei]

[Theo wakes up the next day from his fight against Ken with a start. That's three times he's died since he's gotten to Mayfield, fourth overall. He laid in bed staring off into space for awhile. He didn't just die - he was viciously murdered by the last person he expected to do so. But it was to be expected, wasn't it? People weren't to be trusted, especially here. Ken was no exception.

With that, Theo gets up, and immediately goes to his study, locking himself in. He doesn't come out either, unless absolutely necessary. He avoids talking to anyone. It's just him and his books. Magic was the only thing that doesn't let him down, so in his study he stays to distract himself with his research.

But he couldn't stop thinking about what happeneed. His brain wouldn't shut it off.

Then there's that problem in Mayfield when you lose track of time and skip your job. After a few days, Theo wakes up again, all cheerful and droned, going about your average drone morning and heads into work.]

[Theo will be droned this morning! He's pleasant and cheery despite looking like utter hell. He had locked himself away for a few days with nothing but his books and a few bottles of wine to keep him company. No food, no sleep, no sun. After he gets to the library and the droning wears off, he goes about his job and the rest of his day, trying to avoid even so much as looking at another person, let alone talk to them.

After work he'll be found on a bench at the park, looking miserable as ever, sitting with his two zombie crows, reading, and chain smoking like a fiend. He may or may not also be slightly drunk. He's reading another one of his old magical tomes. The creepy crows will suspiciously eye anyone who walks by. Feel free to pester him while droned or not, at any point~]

Comments

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

[He tilts his head in interest at Theo's crows as he passes him in the park.]

An interesting choice of companions.

[sanctusdei.livejournal.com]

[Theo doesn't move at first, he just looks up to see who's there. One of the undead crows caws at you, and the other takes a few cautious steps closer to its master.]

They serve me well enough.

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

And what purpose do they serve? Messengers? Familiars?

[If he had his powers back, he wouldn't even need to ask. Yet there's something fascinating about actually conversing in order to get information for once.]

[sanctusdei.livejournal.com]

Eyes. Alarms. So familiars, I guess.

[He reaches up and pets the head of the one close to him. A rare and almost bizarre sign of affection from a guy like Theo. The bird seems to welcome it, too.]

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

One would think the dead would be quite boring companions when they're merely flesh.

[sanctusdei.livejournal.com]

[He's still patting the bird, but sort of staring off past it into space listlessly.]

They're the only ones who'll listen to me. You can trust them.

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

Are they the only one who will listen, or simply the only ones who won't argue?

[sanctusdei.livejournal.com]

[slight shrug] I suppose both are true. And good.

[Meanwhile, the other crow has hopped forward a bit to inspect Wilhelm with its milky eyes. Theo lit up another cigarette, and frowns when he realizes its the last in his pack.]

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

Better selective company then none, I suppose.

[He runs a hand over the creatures feathered body. There's absolutely no fear there, just curiosity as to how it might feel or what it might do.]

[sanctusdei.livejournal.com]

[This bird is pretty brave, and holds still. Theo does keep an eye on you - he's obviously not the trusting type. The feathers are a bit dry and a little matted, but it's in good shape for being dead.]

They require daily spells to keep the together. Otherwise they'd eventually just rot away.

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

[He stops after a moment, satisfied.]

They're finely preserved. Such work to assure the constant existence of something so small.

[sanctusdei.livejournal.com]

It's what I do. Have to keep my skills sharp.

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

Admirable.

Why necromancy?

[sanctusdei.livejournal.com]

Because I'm good at it. And because you're not supposed to learn it.

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

That which is forbidden is always the sweetest fruit.

It makes you wonder why man forbids itself of such things.

[sanctusdei.livejournal.com]

People don't like you messing with the dead. They find it terrifying, and disrespectful. I say, once you're dead what does it matter?

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

Flesh is merely flesh, an no more.

It has always seemed odd to me that people seem so determined to cut themselves off from avenues of power, even as they desperately try and find them.

[sanctusdei.livejournal.com]

It's because they're scared, mostly. But you won't get very far in spellcasting if you're afraid of what you can do.

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

One cannot get far in anything, if you allow fear to rule you. It has its purposes, but man has seemed to extend what those purposes are.

[sanctusdei.livejournal.com]

I don't know how anyone could fear magic. It's way too fascinating.

I started off in alchemy, but my mentor was an idiot and it got dull. Served to be a good basis for necromancy.

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

People fear power as much as they desire to obtain it.

One often becomes bored with that which becomes commonplace to them. If they don't move on, that person becomes mundane. And I can think of few things worse.

[sanctusdei.livejournal.com]

That's the problem with this place. It's boring to the point of madness sometimes. And when you try to have fun... well, forget it.

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

Truly odd, that such a cleverly-designed cage could have been made for such a boring purpose at most times.

[sanctusdei.livejournal.com]

I suppose some people here could entertain themselves here, but I'm not one of them. I hate the suburbs.

[repeatsalvation.livejournal.com]

It is evidence of a boring mind if one cannot find ways to make play for themselves.