ʀѳรɛ (tophats) wrote in evaluation, @ 2020-01-06 09:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | !rooms: 4: day 3, hansel & gretel: gretel, the shining/doctor sleep: rose o'hara |
Who: Rose & Gretel
What: When the teacher is ready, the student will appear
When: Day 3
Where: Out by the red pool at first, then Room 7 (and ~in Gretel's head~)
Warnings: Nothing of note that is particularly traumatizing
Status: Complete
At first glance, the red pool looked like you’d be diving into a lagoon of blood, with the vibrant crimson appearance the tiles gave the water, but it wasn’t blood at all. The addition of orange and yellow created something of a glittering sunset vibe. Gale thought it’d be interesting to learn to swim here - the next step would be putting his skills to use at the bar where you ordered drinks after dog-paddling up to the counter. So far he was doing pretty good - well, he hadn’t sank like a stone yet, and Gretel was patient with her teachings. That day, he’d done a few laps with her and then climbed out of the pool, toweling off. That was when Rose made her appearance - she’d been watching from one of the lounge chairs, while simultaneously reading a book - something she’d picked up from the resort gift shop. Boring, really - it was one of those ‘novels’ with a pastel cover, featuring a young woman based in a Big City, possessing both a kooky best friend and an angry boss, someone looking for The One. She was glad that she had an excuse to get up now. So, adjusting the flow of her emerald green sundress as she rose from the chair, she approached. “You’re Gretel, aren’t you?” she asked, though it was a rhetorical question - those with something extra about them lit up like stars splashed against a black velvet sky when Rose flipped her tracking vision on. Plus, you know. Mindreading. It was a thing. But she held no ill intent, nothing malicious about her. The air she exuded was friendly. “I was hoping we might talk, if you had a minute.” And she smiled at the tall fellow beside this apparent witch - how sweet. Gale glanced at Gretel, to make sure it was okay. “Yeah, I can just - find another pineapple to drink out of.” Swimming wasn’t something Gretel had a lot of opportunity to do at home, but she knew how. There were little ponds and rivers that ran through the forest, swamps and low places that filled with water and let marsh witches set up shop, and not drowning was always a good incentive to learn a skill. She and Hansel spent a frustrating few days shoving and splashing until they figured out a way to coordinate all their limbs and not sink, which was really the hard part anyway. Sort of like flying. If you fell and didn’t hit the ground, it was basically the same thing. Not that Gretel had given it much thought yet. She was fine firmly connected to the earth. Pools were a fascinating sort of thing, though. The water remained perfectly calm, undisturbed by waves or any animals taking a swim beneath the surface, and the smooth tiles underfoot were a hell of a lot more pleasant than pointy stones or submerged tree limbs. She could get used to this sort of thing, so it was no hardship to spend time in the sun-warmed water with Gale. It had taken slightly more to convince her of the things called swim suits, but given that everyone else here seemed to think they were right and proper, Gretel conceded the point. Honestly, what good was a scrap of slinky fabric, anyway? And why have clothes that were meant to go in water? You got naked to get wet. That was just common sense. Apparently common sense was as old-fashioned as some of the rest of her ideas, though, so she was wearing a swimsuit that made her feel more bare than if she’d skipped it altogether. The minute someone else stepped close, she whipped one of the large beach towels around herself and blinked, wide-eyed and surprised to find some stranger knew her name. Probably it wasn’t so odd. The little phones knew too much and spread secrets, from what she could discern. “All right,” she allowed, wary. A nod at Gale to let him know she didn’t feel threatened- only startled, but even that was fading- and she tilted her head at the woman. “Who are you?” Gale (shirtless, also in his swim trunks - the first pair he’d ever owned, if temporarily, since it didn’t seem like they got to keep the clothes from one room to the next) kissed the top of Gretel’s head before slinking off toward the bar. Any bar. There were a ton around here, and while he wasn’t much of a drinker, he didn’t mind the way fruit juice tasted with something like rum. It beat the taste of white liquor, that was for sure - which was like drinking lighter fluid (felt that way going down too). “I’m Rose,” she introduced herself, extending a hand. “Constantine told me about you. You healed his splinted fingers?” Her voice was soft, soft as the breeze at twilight - no sense in shouting, in broadcasting exactly what the girl could do and making her uncomfortable. “I don’t really type much on the phone thing. In-person introductions are preferred.” She also didn’t feel the need to share her life story with strangers, or posting for the sake of it - and she was selective about who she befriended and integrated herself with, recognizing that she needed some connections or else Danny would throw her to the superheroes of this group, wanting her locked up in a cage or something. It was more difficult to do that if she was making herself useful. “But I wanted to meet you. We have some things in common.” Wary or not, Gretel still reached to take the offered hand for the sake of courtesy. She didn’t know most of the people here still, in spite of having been around since the beginning of this adventure, and she saw value in not alienating people if it could be helped. Allies were useful to have, even if making friends still seemed awkward and out-of-reach most of the time. Of course, because she had Rose’s hand, the way she flinched at the mention of healing anything was painfully obvious. Gretel pulled back, twisting her fingers in damp terrycloth and narrowing her eyes. All she’d asked of the few she’d helped was secrecy, and apparently that had been too much. Annoying, but not really unexpected. People could always be counted on to gossip. “You don’t look like a witch,” she observed, flatly. Mina hadn’t either, Gretel supposed, but the point remained. Her understanding of magic was limited to personal experience, which in turn was mostly limited to home. There were powers involved here, but she’d yet to see a lot of them in any kind of action. “Thank you,” Rose winked, since she supposed that was a compliment. “I know a bit about witchcraft. But ultimately I’m something else entirely.” Something understanding, of what it was like to have a proclivity for magic, for power - it didn’t matter the classification, necessarily, they’d in theory be up on the stake together and the last ones standing, smoke billowing from the gallows of their throats. Whatever she was, she had been the last one standing. And she didn’t go down without a fight either. She knew her own abilities better than anyone, and she was going to teach someone else to revel in that familiarity, to embrace it until their very last breath and go out knowing that you conquered it. She tucked her book into her beach bag, looking up hopefully, electric blue and violet sparking in her irises, adding a bat of sooty lashes. “I thought perhaps I could help - it can be daunting at first, to try to understand the power within you.” If you did it alone you just gave up, dulling it with various vices - and speaking of that... Get out, she oh-so-nicely asked of her roommate, through telepathic channels. I’m bringing a friend by for girl time. “Someplace more private, if you wish, to begin with? I’d like to learn more about you. No one else should be in my room.” Don’t eat her, Dan reminded, grudgingly giving up his spot on the bed. He hadn’t been doing anything useful, anyway, only trying to relax. Whatever girl time entailed, he’d rather not witness it. Just in case. Not a witch, not… human, apparently. Gretel didn’t have a problem with that, necessarily. She liked Edward just fine, and he was a troll. Still, she weighed the offer against the potential risks of the unknown, brow furrowed just slightly. Nothing here so far had proven threatening and it was so easy to assume the peace might remain unbroken, but… Gretel wasn’t immediately sold. At least she knew if magic came into play, none of it could harm her directly. That did help, at least a little. “Let me tell Gale. Which room and I’ll meet you,” she said, finally. Of all things. Of course she wasn’t going to eat the girl, Jesus. If anything, she’d take a bit of steam from Danny before going to check out that walled monstrosity in their neighbor’s head. “Room 8,” Rose shared. “I’ll leave the door unlocked, just come on in.” She headed back up into the resort, into the room, taking her shoes off immediately (she hated wearing shoes - right up there with socks, and Rose hardly ever wore socks) and pulling at her hair until it was twisted into something resembling a haphazard updo. She missed the jangle of her bracelets and her vintage rings and other antique pieces, not to mention her hat. It was infuriating, really. But, well, distractions - she just wouldn’t think about it. As promised, she left the door unlocked, sitting at the table in the room since it seemed to be the best spot for conducting some psychic business. Towel wrapped around her shoulders, Gretel took a deep breath as she watched the woman go. Not a witch, but possessing knowledge that might be helpful. On the surface, it seemed like a good deal, but. Better she at least run it past someone else, so she padded off in search of Gale and his pineapple. It wasn’t hard to find him. He was tall, the shape of his broad shoulders familiar enough by now Gretel thought she could probably find him in a crowd if need be. Hopefully not a thing she’d be testing, and there was no crowd here and now. “Hey,” she murmured, leaning against his back. “She knows what I am and she’s offering to help. It… doesn’t feel like a trap or a trick, but do you think I’m missing something?” By nature, Gale was not very trusting of people - after all, it took him years to open up to Katniss. But that was different - those circumstances? Completely unlike this one - wherein Gale was sitting at one of the resort beach bars, testing out ice cream and juice (some kind of float concoction) out of an actual pineapple. The fresh fruit was a novelty all on its own - these tropical types weren’t a thing in the Seam. Strawberries, blackberries, other types of berries, sure, but citrus? Not so much. They were available for purchase, and occasionally he’d be able to afford an orange, but for the most part you could file it under ‘rarity.’ “Hm?” He turned, sliding an arm around Gretel’s waist. Setting the pineapple down, his other arm followed suit. “Your instincts are good,” he reminded her. “I think it’s actually going to be okay, if you feel it’s going to be okay? There are all types of people here. It’s not so crazy to think one might be able to help. If it goes south, well - “ He smirked a bit. “There are plenty of things in the room to use as weapons.” “Good thing, since nothing’s fitting in this suit,” Gretel pretended to grumble. She’d come through still holding that kitchen knife, but it was safely tucked away into their shared room for now. She was almost getting used to being unarmed all the time, though she had moments of misgiving now and then. At least there was plenty to do here to keep them both occupied, so neither dwelled too much on… well, there were various things to worry about, weren’t there? But for now, Gretel’s most pressing concern was seeing about her magic, so she might as well give Rose time enough to speak her piece. If it went nowhere, she’d lost nothing in the attempt. Pressing a kiss to a sun-pinked cheek, Gretel smiled. “All right. I’ll be in Room 8, then. Try not to drown without me.” She hadn’t learned how to fix that, yet, or even if she could. She considered stealing Gale’s drink, but honestly it smelled a little too sweet even with the citrus cutting it, so instead she took one of those flimsy bottles of water that seemed to be everywhere and readily available and headed onward. She’d been given permission to let herself in, so Gretel did, though she paused briefly at the door to sweep the room with a hunter’s eye- nothing hidden, no threats she could spot. It looked like every other room she’d seen so far, and she nodded before going to join Rose at the table. “Welcome,” Rose smiled, capping her iced coffee bottle - out of all the drinks in the minibar, these were by far the best. She liked coffee, she liked normal things - prior to this clusterfuck, she’d lived a rootless life, traversing the dusty freeways of the good ol’ US of A, visiting flea markets and setting up lawn chairs to take in the sunsets. Her and her family, who were all dead now. “Alright, so let’s see - “ Best to get this show on the road, hm? She sort of agreed with Constantine - a healer who was confident and knew what they were doing would be a good thing for those populating the resort, soon to move on to other messes. “I have practiced magic before, but ultimately I am...I suppose the closest comparison would be the term vampire? However, I don’t feed off of blood, I feed off of essence. Those with specific abilities, powers of the mind mainly - they release what’s called steam. It’s what keeps me alive.” If in a pinch, she could feed off of just about anyone, because everyone had at least a little bit of steam - but she preferred heartier meals. And contrary to what Danny thought, she hadn’t just fed off of the veal variety of humans. Large-scale disasters were, in fact, quite helpful for providing meals to last - when the humans destroyed each other, that had been a boon for her and her compatriots. “And I have mind-reading abilities. As you can imagine, learning to control that is...quite difficult. But we all go through it. We go through this period in danger of our sanity crumbling, thoughts all the time - mostly not our own and the realization that it never turns off. Ever,” she said. “In theory - “ Strange, annoying side effects of rooms notwithstanding, “...your magic doesn’t turn off either. As long as you live, you will keep building and creating. There’s not going to be a finished product.” Vampire was not a wholly unfamiliar word, though Gretel had never encountered one before. She wasn’t even sure that they even existed- plenty of things from stories didn’t, and some did, and the trick was figuring out which was which before something ate you. Literally. But for now, there was no immediate flash of fear in her at Rose’s explanation, only the slightest tic of her brows as she listened. Gretel was very good at appearing impassive when necessary. “I didn’t know I had magic until... “ She paused, if only to grope for the best time reference, but ultimately came up with, “Right before arriving here.” Not here as in this resort, but here as in the whole strange experience, which so far had been ongoing for about a month by Gretel’s reckoning. It seemed longer. Fingers curled, uncapping the water bottle she’d brought along for a drink. “I don’t even feel it, most of the time.” When she needed it, she could sort of discern a… spark of something, but it was easy to pretend the rest of the time that she was the same as she had ever been, wholly unremarkable except for the job she and her brother had chosen. “So it’s been suppressed for quite some time?” Rose guessed. If Gretel didn’t even know she had magic, well. It clearly wasn’t being used. “You’ve got a finger in the dam,” her lips twitched up, curling in a half-smile. “But soon you won’t need to. Magic is a force in the universe, it’s the air you breathe and in your blood and the marrow of your bones and like my shine, it’s always there.” She drummed her fingers on the wood of the table, thoughtfully. “Do you mind if I take a look?” she asked, then tapped her temple for emphasis. “In here. The second anything hurts or you’re uncomfortable, you can stab me. Here - “ The coffee bottle was drained, so Rose smashed it on the table, offering Gretel one of the larger pieces. Trust exercise - hey, Dan had his teaching methods and Rose had hers. That… seemed plausible, actually. Gretel spent so long hating witches and distrusting magic, how could she be expected to turn it all around and willingly embrace it. She was barely allowing herself to use it when the need felt pressing, and even sitting here talking about it made her feel restless. Hansel would be pissed. But she’d been thinking that for a while now, so it was nothing new for the thought to cross her mind again. She didn’t quite startle at the bottle breaking, but it was a near thing. She also didn’t hesitate to take a piece of glass, fingers curling deftly around the edges for her best shot at using it without shredding her own skin. Weapons, Gretel knew. “All right,” she allowed, ducking her chin. “You can look.” Rose hummed thoughtfully, a vibration in her throat, fingers wiggling gently as her palms faced outward and she attempted to get her bearings. It didn’t take much - Gretel exuded an aura of calm, or at least, not one prone to hysterics. Besides, Rose was practiced at it - lashes fanning closed, she slipped into Gretel’s mind easily, sinking further and further; sounds, thoughts, feeling, memories - they reverberated in Rose’s skull and she extended an invisible line. Something tethering them. They were connected now, her mind lassoed with Gretel’s, and Rose treaded carefully - mental fingers gently shuffled memories, until she pulled up the forest; in Gretel’s mindscape, their surroundings breathed in every way it was possible to expand - lungs, brain, soul. Rose breathed with it, trees humming with life and their roots hugging the earth, moving water and birdsong in the distance. You know this forest, she observed. Show me where your grimoire is. Of course Rose was aware there was one. She needed Gretel to connect with it, if there was any hope of connecting with the magic inside of her. The beach was a novelty, the ocean overwhelming in its scale and beauty, but the forest was where Gretel’s heart lived. It always had and always would, and she missed it almost the way she missed her twin. This was where they belonged, among trees dappled in sunlight and the familiar stretch of limbs that looked like reaching, bony fingers in the shadows. Seeing it now in her mind’s eye, it was soothing. Gretel’s grip on the makeshift glass blade eased, and she exhaled slowly as she set it aside. There, she directed, unsurprised that Rose knew it existed. If she was surprised about anything, it was that the grimoire existed here, in this place. This was her, the soul of her, and did that mean her magic was sunk so deep? There was no cottage, no representation of a home the way most people thought about them. Gretel never wanted for walls or a roof, after all. The path wound, curling into darker, deeper places until it terminated in front of a small grotto- all jutting stone shelves and mossy, overgrown places, the faint trickle of rainwater unhurriedly cutting new shapes. On one of the shelves, the grimoire rested; untouched, unopened, gathering cobwebs. Indeed, the answer to the unspoken question was yes, the grimoire, a symbol of magic and all it represented, lived within Gretel herself - it was the form that meant something to her, that much Rose could glean from her memories (which was why it wasn’t something like a candle or a magic wand). She shuffled closer to the grotto, to the grimoire - she took in the details of the book itself, a brush of telepathic fingers over the cover. Two separate blocks with a single and shared spine, and the skeleton bodies of two reptiles had been anchored to the front covers. Rose opened it at the center, seeing that the pages were tied together loosely, bound to the book itself - it was very old, that much was apparent, but no doubt contained a wealth of knowledge. Opening the grimoire gave off a distinct aroma - heated and spiced, it was enough to make the head reel, being in the presence of old magic, ancient and intelligent. Witches had a steep history, after all. Magic itself was nothing new. It’s all here, Rose said. Touch it, give it a look over. Perhaps you may find inspiration. Gretel had started with healing, being pushed into it due to circumstances, but there were other paths to try. Potions. Talismans. Blessing or enchanting objects. Spellcasting. If she chose how she wanted to develop her own magic, that in turn would help her connect with it - it would cement control where it was sorely needed. Touch it. Stealing it in the first place had been the whim of a moment, promptly regretted. Gretel hadn’t opened the book. She’d wrapped it up in spare leathers, tucked it away so it couldn’t present temptation or upset Hansel. When Mina used it, she’d brewed… something. It had proven useful, so if Gretel could learn to do that, maybe it would be worth the risk. But this wasn’t the real book. It was only a representation, wasn’t it? She didn’t understand any of this, but she still reached, wanting to feel that book under her hands, the texture and scent of it, the half-remembered loops and whorls of her mother’s hand. As soon as Gretel touched that book, something changed, the air around them shimmering and coating them in power - but it wasn’t Rose’s power, it was Gretel’s. Magic flowed in, it flowed out, a surge of it fuel and energy in both their veins. It was in perfect symbiosis with reality, happening both here and in real time. If Gretel looked hard enough, she might even be able to make out the words - the grimoire wasn’t tangible, but that didn’t matter. The instinct was there, the instructions already a part of her. Anything tangible would just be backup and confirmation. Do you feel it? Rose asked, a warm brush of words. It’s all you. Gretel knew that feeling. It was the same heat and rush that swept through her chest when she reset a bone, when she smoothed out the misplaced joint of Gale’s shoulder. She only felt it then, so the flash and glitter of it now? It made her gasp, jolted her out of the peace of the forest and left her staring at Rose instead. Something had shifted, cracked wide open in her chest, and Gretel didn’t know how to breathe around it for a minute. Was this how Mina felt all the time? Or Muriel? “Is it going to always be like that?” Almost a whisper, anxious and strained, because she couldn’t ignore it like this. There was no pretending, no hiding. She almost wanted to go check her face in the mirror, just to be sure that she still looked the same way she always had, no cracks and veins crawling across her skin like spilled ink. Rose’s eyes opened and like a rubber band, snap, she pulled back from Gretel’s mindscape. “Yes, it will be,” she admitted, because there was no point in lying about it. “But you will learn to work with that feeling, not against it.” With magic, with most any power, that was all you could do. Otherwise what other option was there? Another rhetorical question. She was well aware of what other options there were, but none were desirable. “It also may be beyond your understanding for the moment, but that doesn’t mean you can’t harness it for good. As long as you remain true to that, you’ll be fine.” Imagine it, Rose telling someone to use their power for good - not for hunting, not for survival, but for altruistic means. Oh, well, first time for everything. Even if she felt like she was going to vomit because of it, bleh. Gretel shivered, pulling her towel in closer, like it could double as a blanket. “How do I do that?” That was the big question, wasn’t it? The reason she was here, the purpose in letting Rose take a peek into her… into her. So now the magic she’d been ignoring was right here, fizzing through her veins, and she had no idea what to do with it. “I’ve only seen one good witch. The rest were… I don’t want to be that.” She’d spent her life killing those witches, hunting them down and sticking their heads on spikes when possible, the better to send a message to the rest. We aren’t afraid of you. You should be afraid of us. She twisted the damp end of her braid, still visibly uneasy, but she was trying to settle. This was her. She could do this. She just needed a little direction. “There was that place within you - the place we were,” Rose said, tucking one knee over the other, leaning forward a bit. “The purity and calm of the forest. Your soul?” It was home for Gretel, the serenity that flowed there as cool as river water; the whole place was melody without rhythm, music without sound. “That’s the place where you pull your magic from - it’s the place where you love the ones you love, it’s what makes you a good witch. Magic pulled from that place is light. There’s no darkness to be found.” Stay the course and all that. But Gretel was inherently good, her magic would be too - there was only one monster in this room, and it wasn’t the witch. Okay. Okay, Gretel could work with that. Better yet, she could live with it, and some of the stress lines around her eyes smoothed out again on a sigh. If her magic was only light, if there would never be creeping rot and the temptation to do some of the hideous, horrible things she’d seen evil witches inflict on the unsuspecting, that was… Relief. Sweet, simple relief. “What I’ve done so far is all instinct,” Gretel murmured, after a pause long enough to allow her to relish that newfound knowledge. “Only picturing how things are meant to be and then fixing them. Is that… Is that good enough?” Was there some trick she could learn, some finesse or skill, or was it all pushing that power out and willing it to reshape a bone or knit skin or stop a bleed? If that was all Gretel ever did, she’d be satisfied. But until she knew, she would keep feeling guilty for not doing enough. A husky chuckle escaped Rose. “I wouldn’t think of it in terms of good enough - the fact that you’re trying is good enough,” she pointed out. “Instinct is sometimes the main thing we can rely on. Practice too, of course - it’s all you can do, really, without other tools to help. Like spellbooks.” They didn’t exactly have access to a library, chock full to the brim with dusty tomes, weathered and weary. No, they were at the mercy of the doors and wherever they were dumped off - a resort out in tropical paradise didn’t have any sort of training sanctuary for their purpose. “Perhaps - getting more of a feel for the actual practice of it will help you. How about we work on something besides healing? Something simple that won’t put you under pressure. Potions?” she suggested. They could find something to work with. You didn’t need rattlesnake scales or mice skeletons to make a potion - most of it was including simple ingredients, and then the concoction being blessed or ‘charged’ by the witch’s energies. “I can’t not try,” Gretel dismissed with a shrug. She had power, now that she'd acknowledged it, the only direction to move was forward. Like she’d told Gale, all she ever wanted to do was help people- to make sure no child experienced what she did, to stop families from being destroyed by evil. “But I don’t want people looking to me for help if I’m not going to be able to provide it.” Obviously, powers came and went in these places. Gretel wouldn’t always be able to put her fingers on an injury and smooth it away. But if she could? Then she needed to try. Tilting her head, she considered the offer. “I’ve seen that done once.” And she’d almost been made into a potion once, or at least her heart had been under serious discussion as something to toss into a cauldron. “It seems… manageable.” “It’s not too difficult from what I can recall.” It had been awhile, but Rose remembered measuring and boiling and the correct order of ingredients; for centuries, common folk believed in witchcraft, she’d been privy to it. To the buying and selling of magical services like love potions and spells to help find stolen belongings, or even give a burst of energy. Though coffee with six pumps of espresso or whatever did that just as well, these days. “If you’ve seen it done then you at least have a starting point. And I presume you’ll want to be well-rounded,” she added. “If you can’t physically heal, you’ll know how to make a potion that can accomplish the same thing, at the very least.” And it was something to do, which was never a bad thing. Idle hands, something about the devil... “Let me see what I can gather from the kitchens and on the beach. Then I can come by tomorrow if you’d like.” Having watched Mina, it didn’t seem so strange as to be beyond Gretel’s understanding. Mostly what she recalled was the look on Hansel’s face as he watched her, and the way every weapon Mina blessed with that potion she’d crafted cut down witches like a hot knife through butter. If Gretel could do that? Yeah. Sold. “We’re in sixteen,” she informed, which was as good as agreement. Gretel didn’t invite people into spaces she considered her own without cause. Rose had helped her this far, and if she was willing to keep teaching, Gretel had decided to give learning her all. Standing, she pulled her towel in more tightly, and after securing it with one hand, offered the other to Rose. “Thank you.” Rose stood too, taking the offered hand with an enigmatic sort of grin. No one ever thanked her for anything - probably because she wasn’t the sort to go around doing favors for people, or helping. Now just look at her - in a few hours she may even suffer an exploded brain because someone had a little nasty something in their head. “You’re welcome,” she said and, actually, it didn’t make her feel as prickly as she thought it would, to do something decent by societal standards. Her whole schtick was freedom and not giving a shit, but ever since she appeared in snowy USSR-land she’d been giving more shits than she believed she had in her. How annoying. “See you tomorrow,” she added, then also slipped a note to her roommate, who probably wasn’t doing anything useful but at least he didn’t have to be outside if he didn’t want to. You can come back now, sweetie. Girl time over. |