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 Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 12:04 pm
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Others shelve their suspicions and unease to power the sigil, and this is where America nearly wavers as the depth of trust necessary seeps into her awareness. It's not any sort of friendly trust either. She'd gotten caught up in magic as her own will, and that was easy to trust, there was nobody else in the world she would rather rely on than herself and anything beyond that well...
That was a thing to avoid.
Even her family, and Taym, and for god's sake Bitterberry who was as close to a piece of her as anyone could get. Love them, care about them, trust them as a part of your life, but don't rely on them. Nobody will ever look out for America Jones as well as America Jones, and America Jones is only good at taking care of America Jones. It is a selfish, safe existence full of easy friendships and few disappointments.
She nearly wavers because she should afraid, she wants to be afraid of relying on all these people to put just as much into the working as her, to have the same sort of motives even if they don't really know Sunny, or fir whatever reason, dislike her. Trusting in the support of Renard is just an extension of the rest and it'd be smart to distrust him, to try and study him and figure a way to bolster herself because that's America Jones. She can do it herself, just show her the way and leave her to get it done.
And she should be terrified because they're trusting in her right back, aren't they? Even Sunny, maybe especially Sunny who told them to jump, dared them to fix it and maybe her and god, they were ******** around with the way she existed in this world, weren't they? And she knew it, she was letting them try.
But what was frightening, was how easy it was right now. America trusted them and herself and Sunny, and she was relying on them in spite of all the smart reasons to be cautious and hold up her piece of will alone, by herself and for herself.
America redoubles her focus because maybe it's just the moment or maybe she's found something she didnt think existed in herself, but she'd take it. She'd take it and use it until the thing was done.
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 1:28 pm
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 2:10 pm
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Preacher Maria - up for principal
She bared her teeth at Renard. "Deadbeat dad, huh." But there really was no time for witty (or non-witty) banter. They had to, for lack of a better expression, 'git 'er done'. When magic and time weren't a-wasting that was the time to ask questions. While Preacher was often inclined to distrust everyone on sight, she also wondered why everyone called him 'the enemy'. Enemy of what - how, what the ******** did he do? No one had answers and that irritated her, made her skin itch.
The sigil called to her so she mentally flipped everyone the bird and knelt down. Preacher had refused Temperance's knife, knowing she had blood of her own to offer. It was kind of gross and thick, but it would work. Should work. Any blood was good, any blood was real and held intent and the essence of self needed. She closed her eyes and thought back, feeling it squish between her fingers.
"Blood makes things take hold," he told Preacher, "whether it is your own or someone else's. If you want to make sure it works? You use blood. It's a very potent conductor."
The tree was a connector, magic, all encompassing from root to tip. It sheltered, motherhood. Preacher supposed it could count as a shield, even. She smeared her hand across its trunk. There was irony in this. The knot at the base - while it could be viewed as a tangle, as things looping in on themselves instead of gaining outward nourishment... it was supposed to be the power, the root both literally and metaphorically. She'd made her peace with its place. The keys seemed to sparkle. They were the branches, etched out in black with wet smears on them. Choices. Open doors, or something. Preacher just wanted things fixed, and Sunny safe, and everything changed so they couldn't end up like this again.
Sunny deserved a home. She'd become convinced of this. The way Sunny had mentioned homes seemed strange to Preacher and she was sure Sunny needed one in the way Preacher did not. She reached with her mind (this was how rainy bullshit magic worked, right?) and focused on the rock. It looked almost alive and powerful and she didn't want Sunny to be the core of this. Preacher wasn't sure how to do this, so she simply sat and bled and thought and pushed.
shibrogane The Fourth: magic rock thing Mission statement: Repair the damage done and allow Sunny to live as she should.
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 2:27 pm
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Juniper Wilcox
Shun's comment was ignored. There just wasn't a point to arguing with the man as they very clearly just could not see eye-to-eye on anything.
Blue eyes glanced to Renard as he turned his attention to the sigil and quite cleanly, shut down those who were against his participation in this whole thing. He was here to do what he wanted and she couldn't blame him that. He had been a part of this for a very, very long time, and had as much right to contributing his strength and will to the sigil as much as the rest of them. Plus, the power he was contributing was almost intoxicating.
Turning her attention to the sigil herself, she returned her entire focus on it again. Continuesly thinking about the balance that they would all need. Like nature there always had to be something to counteract something else. Everything had something else that could keep it in check, even predators at the top of the food chain were at the mercy of mother nature's whims. Or, there was always the age old balancing factors of good and evil. You couldn't have one without the other.
This all needed to come together in as a cohesive unite, and the sigil they had created could do that! It could achieve all of their wants if everything was done right.
And she hoped that everything they were doing was right and in the correct path for what they needed to help Sunny, and hopefully prevent any more tragedy in the future.
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 2:30 pm
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"I know, Leila," Shun muttered as he kept his eyes closed this time.
That said, there was the question of how Renard managed to get down here in the first place. Did he need to go through those four first? Or had he found 'back door' of some sorts? If he did need to go past the four outside, he just hoped that nothing had happened to them.
It was difficult for him to lower his guard any further with the guy right there, also casting into the sigil. But he supposed there was one thing he could try doing. Which was basically to redouble his efforts as to what he put into this. Maybe, just maybe, it would make things slightly more difficult for Renard to twist things in his favor, should he be wanting to do so.
Slowly, he began to control his breathing while he cleared his mind. While he meditated, his focus centered in on the sigil and what it represented.
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 3:04 pm
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"Perhaps humor is worth having at the end of the world." Marcus shot back, leaning on his arm, still seated, still pondering the sight of Renard before him, adding blood to the sigil and everyone rather passively accepting it. Well, everyone save for Shun.
"Renard is, in the end, here for his own purposes; What I know of him is little, but what I have heard is seen leads me to think that for each action he takes, it is with one central stabilizing notion. He is a man who can and will ruthlessly use any means necessary to further his own goals, as enigmatic as they might be. Renard is here not for Sunny, Sunny is his daughter. Renard is here for Renard. That being said-"
He looked back at the sigil, newly made and growing ever more morbid given the blood now gathered for it.
"We all have our raison d'être. That much, I can believe in. However Renard I disagree in that you owe us nothing, Shun is fair to criticize you for your actions. You have demanded our trust and our obedience at your wishes. As we must earn your trust and goodwill in good faith, so you must earn ours. Pawns do not always remain pawns." Marcus's own politeness and wariness had run it's course and now what remained was the cold coil of fear and paranoia that of oft plagued him.
Standing, Marcus walked over to Temperance,
"Would you mind? The tip of the thumb would suffice for flesh and blood I think." He offered his left hand to the woman patiently waiting to see if she's accent what was essentially, an amnesiac and local 'madman's blood to such an important task.
"I don't trust myself not to do more harm than needed." His hand was shaking as he held it out.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 3:41 pm
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Temperance Clark
Wordlessly, she took his hand. With a cleaned knife, she nicked the tip of his thumb, sending the blade deeper than just a p***k. His finger would be sore for days, but if it was where he wanted.
"If you need more blood for the letting, please consider the side of your arm as an alternative. After this, make sure to wash your wound thoroughly and see me for a bandage." She smiled wanly at him, looking a little drawn and tired. Any blood was needed. Then, she turned and cleaned the knife off again. Chlorhexidine, then another disinfectant wipe.
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 3:55 pm
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Jamie Delacroix
The answer Jamie got was something, at least, considering part of him had almost expected nothing at all. Even so, he didn't really understand what it meant to be told a stone, glowing and magical or not, was someone's life's work. He'd take Renard's response at face value. That's all he could do. He held the stone tighter and promised, "I-I'll watch over it..."
Huffing, he turned to the twins. Oliver looked worse for wear, but this was his first experience with this level of magic. How could Jamie blame him? This whole situation had been traumatizing enough for everyone.
"Shiloh, Oliver... Do you guys... think we should, um, try to cast with the others?" Peeling one hand cautiously away from the stone, he gave his palm a weary look.
shibroganeeee small late response to Renard
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 4:06 pm
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Shiloh's eyed widened when Renard entered the fray, but he didn't comment on the matter, not like how some of the others were (with anger, with fear, with aggression). Instead, he stayed quiet while he reached for the stone and then backed off, eyes gleaming when Jamie asked his question. He wanted to step between the two. He wanted to play guardian. He let Jamie stand on his own.
But the answers were too vague and time was running too short. He shook his head wearily, brought a hand to his temple, sighed. He wanted to smile—do something reassuring—but he couldn't, not really. He was tired.
"I have to." his voice was solemn as he answered Jamie, "I can't... not. I dunno." he looked to all the others casting. He looked to Zac and watched as Renard stood up and he watched Shun and America and the two older women he'd seen with Jamie earlier. They were all fighting for their world. Some of them were fighting for Sunny too. His memories of her were foggy, but he remembered the fight, remembered their agreement to do that again sometime. Hell, she was pretty legit. He'd fight for her too.
"I guess it's just like— like, I didn't come this far to just sit back. I'm tired of sitting around in the dark while everyone does something." Even though he was still in the dark, but most of them were. Shiloh didn't seem to care about the detail; his mind was always act, act, act, act...
In his explanation, he had forgotten about Oliver beside him. "You're..." something in his voice sounded off, frail, uncharacteristic, "You're both so stupid." and his voice cracked at the end, hands hugging his sides as he focused his gaze on his feet. "H-How can you just... take this in stride? How can you just..."
Shiloh offered his brother a weary pat on the shoulder, letting his hand linger there. "I guess you get used to it after the first time..." it was a terrible attempt at consoling him.
"It's bullshit..." Oliver replied weakly, shaking his head over and over and over and over. "Bullshit.".
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 4:13 pm
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Jamie Delacroix
Heart heavy and growing only heavier, Jamie watched and listened and felt all over again what it was like to be thrown into the fray with no explanation. Even with him and Shiloh to guide Oliver, that didn't mean their presence alone could act as sole comfort. He frowned. He frowned and he set his free hand on Oliver's arm just like Shiloh.
"You're not alone," he told him. It was the best he could manage under the circumstances. "We're making it home. All of us." If nothing else, Jamie could put his faith in those words and their ability to make it happen. It was just like magic, wasn't it? Believe hard enough and you can do anything.
Turning to Shiloh, he drew his lips into a thin line before eventually speaking, "Me too. I'm not ready to give up, so... We'll do it together, okay?"
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 4:16 pm
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It weighed on his mind more than he liked. When he sat, making jokes and worrying over the meaning of their existences while the world literally was falling apart around them. Disassociation, avoidance, fear, selfish desire for something stable, something familiar and comforting and whole. His mind was running a marathon and as it did his body was fixed at that moment in time; the human construct dedicated to measure change that was inevitable as was it would seem, the unweaving of even that notion.
Marcus had listened and he watched behind his own eyes and contemplated what he could do, could offer something as so powerful, so vastly important to everyone that they would openly throw their lives away at a moment's notice. Blood was blood. Cells that transported nutrients through the body. They carried water, antibodies, DNA, the building blocks of life in each microscopic bundle. Each drop held so much potential and so they cast it to the sigil, to magic, hoping, focusing, willing it to work, to hold.
If wishes were coins, they'd have made Marcus a rich man.
But the value of a single coin was not worth much in a pile. Not unless it was made of something important. If is had been cast and forged in a manner which made it unique. Marcus thought about his qualities, his uniqueness, his differences, so jarring and blatant and decisive.
He was in many ways a self made amnesiac. He knew this. His was ill mentally and while he might one day recover, it was unlikely. The damage had been done and what could heal would heal. But all wounds leave scars. But he was also content in knowing some days. He knew what he was, that he had his limitations. That he would on some days, be better than others. He could go out, enjoy company, he was not despised for it, pity was not given so much as understanding. Ashdown was kind and welcoming and-
He liked it. He liked the home he'd built for himself, what friends he had made.
Perhaps that is what he could give them then. He was not particularly strong of body nor sound of mind, but he understood that flaws would pervade. That perfection, peace and stability were fragile. Topics and tangents- he was open to speculations and alternative courses. He liked complexities and simplistic things interchangeably. As much as he feared Other Ashdown, magic-
He wanted to understand it, let it be as it should be.
He understood what it felt like to be trapped, stuck at a point, fixed unable to get past something. He understood helplessness, he understood fear and the want to go and not be afraid. The others gave the strength. They wanted to see a world where there would be chance and choice and he wanted that to. He wanted stability and freedom and hope.
He wanted to go home. That cold realization was like ice water. He offered and wanted something selfishly. But was that not the nature of being human? To place survival at the top of their subconscious? Time would run out, and he'd be forced to act or take no action.
He wanted a great number of things in his life, and he knew in the past that his actions, however hopeless, helpless had cost him a possibility. Yet now others lay before him. He could change and offer something of himself for the sake of a change.
So he would.
He looked at Renard and those around again before he spoke, before he stood and asked Temperance for her help in cutting his hand. The left hand- Not dominant, the hand you used without thinking, subconscious, the hand that could be lost but not be damning. Ironically, the same hand favored by the Illuminati.
He'd made a promise. To help save Sunny, to let her be her own person. That was what he would stand by, could stand by. She was as much a part of Ashdown as the rest of them. Zac had wanted to save her- so Marcus would try because it was in the end, a promise worth keeping.
The cut made, he winced and drew it back momentarily before nodding at her, doing his best to smile, even as he knew he'd probably regret this whole thing in the future. It was also a pity- his coat and shirt would be ruined as he pressed the new wound to the cloth in an attempt to stem the flow before he gave his part to the sigil. It would be a while for the blood to begin clotting properly.
"Everything is to have a meaning apparently. " And he'd chosen the hand of those he so feared. Did this mean he would be suspect by the magic now? Was the magic a part of them?
"Thank you though. Can't imagine you particularly enjoyed that anymore than I do."
Marcus figured the Illuminati had a much different joining ritual than this.
It did lack a significant number of triangles and all.
shibrogane does a kickflip into the sun Fourth: Ashdown Mission statement: Allow all of Ashdown's residents independence and freedom from the controlling influences of others, to let the magic be as it should be and grant them the opportunities for change and progress
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 4:26 pm
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"Yeah, of course." Shiloh's eyes lit up at Jamie's resolve. Something about watching someone who used to be so weak be so strong was kind of inspiring. Of course, Jamie had never been weak to Shiloh... people like him, people who were knocked down and taught nothing but fear; they always ended up the strongest. Jamie was even stronger because he didn't shatter underneath the pressure. It was beautiful. It made him a believer.
And to Oliver, he added, "You don't have to—" but he caught himself. Could he really tell Oliver to stand to the sidelines if he felt it necessary? Perhaps he could, but... "I... I can't sugar coat it, <********> he sighed again.
"The real bullshit thing about this place—about magic—at least in our world, is it chooses us." he bit his lip, "I never chose this, and Jamie never chose this, and you sure as ******** didn't either. It sucks and it's shitty but—"
"I'll do it..." Oliver's voice was quiet and tired and his head was still bowed. He didn't look to his brother or to his friend. "I-I know. I get it. I can't just not—" his voice broke again, his shoulders shook. His hands left his sides and grappled against his own face.
Something about watching someone so strong break into a million pieces... was kind of heartbreaking, Shiloh thought. People who were knocked down and taught nothing but fear, and then taught fear again and again and again until it finally eats away at everything you keep locked up. He loved magic and what it did—he loves his plants, and he loved the exhilaration that it brought him. But at times like this it felt like nothing more than a flesh eating disease. It felt like a wound that would never fully heal. He stopped taking the antibiotics and now it festered and grew into something he couldn't handle.
The voice in his head echoed, You didn't choose this, and Jamie didn't choose this, and neither did Oliver.
"It's bullshit..." Shiloh muttered, his hand dropping away as Oliver choked into his palms. He pulled his twin into a hug, feeling nostalgic, feeling sad, remembering what it felt like to have nothing else in the world except for each other. "It's such bullshit."
When Oliver spoke again, he sounded utterly miserable. "L-Let's just... get it over with..." but he still didn't move or act. He just cried and hated himself for it. He was angry he couldn't be as strong as them, couldn't act like they could, couldn't do this magic bullshit like they could. He felt completely useless.
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2016 4:40 pm
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Jamie Delacroix
It had chosen them, they hadn't asked for it. Jamie felt the weight of that reminder in his chest. It made him feel solemn. There wasn't anything else he could do for Oliver, so he drew his hand away and returned it to the stone, cradling it. His eyes were a mix of resolve and sadness, because banishing their sorrow entirely was impossible and he wouldn't even try.
They hadn't chosen this, but what they did with what they were given... that was their choice. It wasn't an easy choice at all.
"It's bullshit," Jamie echoed, feeling his heart twist and tear in his chest as he watched the brothers in their embrace. Oliver didn't move to respond, but Jamie felt as if it were an important moment for them even so. As much as he might have wanted to wrap his arms around the two of them, he let them be. He let them have this. Like Oliver, tears welled in his eyes, unstoppable, and fell in silence.
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