Miss Errona (ladyszczyk) wrote in halcyon_houses, @ 2008-08-26 22:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | leecee |
Week Sixteen: Tuesday(narrative)
Who: Miss Errona and Caibre...by presence
When: Early Monday morning
Where: House of Fire. Boys dormitory. Caibre's room
What: Never send a man to do a woman's job.
A Witch of Leecee's path was the most classic and misunderstood of Witches, in her own estimation. The essence of her magic called into question the very value of goods, the very value of one's own emotions. She did not reach into someone's mind to change something, she changed it so thoroughly it often seemed natural to the person for whom it was changed. In her saucepan she could boil affection, she knew the exact recipe for different kinds of love.
She, someday, with a quilt storing her power, might even be able to create brand new life of great power from the very universe itself. What was this God or the Bible but rumors of a great and powerful Witch? Let them spew great tentacles of fire or call forth waves. You could paddle a boat, you could dig a hole, and humans had figured out how to spew fire. But they barely understood the basic applications of her practices.
It, of course, had its downsides. Unlike many of the other races and magic-users, a person did not often fear a Witch face-to-face, especially if that Witch were empty-handed, unless you were a special case like her grandmother. But if you learned your craft, you found ways around this through a developed business acumen. Amongst the guards, Leecee had developed a few useful relationships. Sometime, like today, she might want to move around unseen --something that was beyond her own gifts. Yet, with just a simple request, she stepped aside to let a young man stride past her, his shorts slung unattractively low. She looked back again...on the other hand, this new style did have its benefits.
It was interesting the things she did when no one was looking. She stood in front of Caibre's door, unseen in these early hours by eye or physical sense. The house of Fire was not known for its spiritual sense, she knew. Not that she needed to explain herself to anyone, she figured, as she poured the mercurial and glowing contents of a tiny vial in front of Caibre's door as she twirled the tube clockwise and chanted soundlessly.
Just before contact with the stone floor it turned to smoke and, goaded by Leecee's voice and its own inherent purpose mixed into it, floated slowly into his room. She could not see inside, but she could imagine it creeping across the floor before forcing its heavy mist to rise in response to his breath. Three minutes of patient waiting and she turned her skeleton key in the doorknob. In her bag was one strong piece of double-knitted navy blue sheepswool, brown yarn, yellow embroidery thread made from a maiden's hair (it was rather unattractive, but useful), and a delicate pair of gleaming steel thread scissors that, when unscrewed, became two very precise and discreet scalpels.
Take those supplies, over a century of arcane learning, and one free hour, and you had a Working worth speaking of. She would suck his strength, his senses, that feral edge that kept him on top of the world. Leaving him with the anger, the peaked emotions, and all the frustration of not being able to act out on them. Then she would see what this child had been made from. But a few days at most and he would find that inexhaustible energy exhausted. His arms made of gold and not steel. What a sad thing for him to be made just flesh again.
"Stravnazkwvyya Aahjuaghrakvro..." Her hands vibrated with a strange, unknown energy as Leecee pulled the universe apart around him to rebuild it in the image she desired as she traced his symbols of destruction across his chest then went back to erase them.