|Atticus → (steles) wrote in repose,|
@ 2020-03-16 22:40:00
|Entry tags:||*narrative, atticus mcvickers|
Where: His place in the Capital
When: Nowish → The next handful of days
|Had considered doing the spell back in Repose, but had changed his mind after a little consideration. Too many potential interruptions there: Lear wasn't a savior type, but if something went wrong at the lakeside house then he would surely get involved. Janus liked popping in and out whenever he felt like it, so the island wasn't an option. The B&B was filled with people who could become collateral damage. Billy, if he found out, would probably attempt to magic it better. Were probably more risks involved with doing spellwork in a small town, so opted for his newly acquired place in the Capital.|
Was in the Art District, near the new bookstore he was working on getting open. Spent a few nights a week out in the Capital, so wasn't something anyone would consider odd. A clearing the woods would've been better, but wasn't about to go find one. This would have to do. Was, admittedly, being a little sloppy about it all. Not enough research. Not enough certainty about possible bad outcomes. Too trusting of the information and materials received, but had also reached the point where something needed to be done. The incident at the diner had pushed him here. Hated feeling weak. Hated feeling vulnerable. Was an itch. Was a shiver along his spine. Was something that replayed over and over in his head. Not to mention the potential danger to others from the haunts he quickened.
The haunts weren't independent. Needed him to remain 'corporeal,' but they had no energy of their own. Without him, they didn't exist in any visible, tangible form. Meant that if word got out about the haunts, if people came after them in the way Hazel had, then he would be the one who ended up dead. The ghosts, in their corporeal form, were just an extension of his own energy. Was the entire reason he believed this spell would work. If they were powered by him, then it was reasonable to believe he could control them. Reasonable, but unproven. Would never pass muster as a scientific test. Was a hunch. But was willing to go with that hunch. In Atticus' mind, it was better than the alternative. Lazy research. Knew this involved Christianity, demons and angels, but hadn't looked beyond that. Had encountered deities from old and new religions now, and was of the opinion that they were all fundamentally the same. Didn't care where the power came from, so long as it worked. Had a feeling the older version of himself wouldn't approve of this particular logic, but that bitch had become a werewolf. As far as Atticus was concerned, that guy had no room to talk.
Spent the day getting ready. Had drawn the marks on his skin with Sharpie more times than he could count. Wouldn't be drawing them himself today, but knew what they needed to be, and knew where they needed to be. Wasn't going to let someone change the marks. Was being stupid, but wasn't stupid enough to let someone burn his skin without making sure they were using the right marks. Would be like one of those idiots who got kanji tattoos that declared them to be dumb white men they were.
Had acquired the stele from someone at Second City. Was buzzed. Was buzzed and sitting in a chair in the center of the room. Was looking at the man who had sold him the stele. Some of the marks he could draw himself, but others he couldn't. Had paid generously for the assistance. The man had his own stele. Didn't completely understand why he needed his own stele. Wasn't intending to go practicing magic after this. Just wanted the haunts to stay away. Again, probably short-sighted on his part.
Should have asked questions. How? Why? But didn't. Didn't ask on purpose. For once, it wasn't out of laziness or a lack of proactive thinking. Didn't want to know, because he wasn't going to turn back. No point in learning something that might make him reconsider. Was the best option he'd found. Had done enough research to find the man in Second City. The man had told him, at first, that it wouldn't work. But the stele had felt right in Atticus' hand, and the man's opinion changed. Fine. Was all Atticus needed. Had the bank account to pay the exorbitant fee the man asked, and here they were.
With any fucking luck, he would walk out of here able to control the haunts that were currently clustered throughout the space. The haunts avoided the man from Second City in the same way they avoided Lear. Was promising.
The man asked if he was ready.
Atticus turned on some music. Blared it, really. Nodded. "Let's get this shit over with."
And so it began.