Caius D'Onofrio (poweroftheeye) wrote in shadows_rpg, @ 2018-09-19 19:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | #november 2017, anthony, anthony x caius, caius |
Who: Anthony and Caius
When: Sunday, Nov 12, evening
Where: Caius’s house
Status: Complete
It was a little difficult to prepare for a ritual that he didn’t know anything about, but Caius had done his best. He’d cleared the floor space in his work room, rolling the rug back to expose the circle etched into the hardwood of the floor. It was something he would have to have replaced whenever he sold the place, but that was in the nebulous future. Caius had tried to think of supplies his father might need -- candles, an array of herbs, a small brazier for a fire. He also had some towels and a tarp ready in case this was going to turn very bloody. Anthony had said it would be painful, but there were so many different kinds of pain.
Caius had spent the first part of the day meditating, trying to find a peaceful spot in himself to prepare for whatever was coming. The Obscurities seemed to sense that big magic was on the horizon, and they were restless. Caius tried to assure them -- in that silent way he wasn’t even sure they understood -- that everything was planned, he wouldn’t be in any danger they needed to do anything about. Anthony could hold his own, but ... just in case. He’d abstained from drinking anything but water, and hadn’t eaten much just to keep his stomach empty. Caius could bleed all day long, but he loathed vomiting. Especially in front of his father. He’d put on comfortable, dark clothes, and then just ... waited. Her was nervous about all of this, but if it had to be done to reclaim all of himself, then it had to be done.
Anthony hadn't informed Miriam as to what he and Caius had planned that evening, but he left the house letting her know that he was going to drop in on their son and see how he was feeling. Parental stuff. Anthony was sure she saw right through it, but they had been married long enough that his wife knew better than to push about certain things.
He had what he needed in a satchel in his trunk, and while he could have walked, Anthony drove the short distance to Caius's house. The sun had set and there was a chill in the air that Anthony welcomed. The colder weather never bothered him. If anything, he liked it when winter moved in to blanket Point Pleasant. People always got so... restless. It presented so many opportunities.
After parking in Caius's driveway, Anthony grabbed the satchel from the back and carried it up the walkway to his son's front door. Anthony let himself in without knocking and headed for Caius's work room, unsure as to whether or not Caius was waiting there for him. "Caius?" he called out, figuring his son was nearby, at least.
Caius was lingering downstairs, and he heard his front door open as his father came in. He came out from the kitchen to meet Anthony on the way to his work room door. “Evening,” he greeted, his eyes ticking down to Anthony’s bag, then back up to his face. Caius led the way to his work room and opened the door for them, gesturing his father to go in ahead of him. He’d been in there before, but not often, and Caius suddenly felt a little fidgety about the setup, like it wasn’t Enough to please his old man. “I wasn’t sure what to prepare for, so ... let me know if I need to get anything else out.” It was probably a waste of breath, it seemed like Anthony had brought whatever was needed, but Caius wasn’t sure what else to say. He just felt focused and ready to get through this, however it played out.
Anthony took a cursory glance around the room as he set his own satchel down and began to open it. "It looks fine," he told Caius. Every witch's work room was different. Some didn't even have full rooms, they just created alters in a corner of their home. But Caius benefited from having money and the room itself housed only the best. Anthony expected nothing less. He set a small, black bottle on the table, along with a bag of crushed up herbs and ingredients, and a consecrated athame that had been locked away in Anthony's own room for years. It was still held within narrow wooden box now, marked with various symbols of protection. He had used the knife to draw blood from himself, and others, over the years. It had dipped in the blood of an innocent as soon as Anthony had acquired it, and that power pulsed through it even now.
Lastly, a dark, leather bound journal came out of the bag, much smaller than the D'Onofrio family tome. It held Anthony's darker spells. Ones that would have terrified his wife, had she known about them. He kept it hidden quite well, and had never spoken of it to anyone, not even Caius. But... with the right training and loyalty, his son would be the beneficiary of the journal, and maybe someday, his children. The rest of the items needed would be from Caius's own supply, as this was his spell, not Anthony's.
"Seven black candles dipped in your blood need to be lit and arranged around your circle." Anthony told him. "The proper symbol will be drawn onto your palms. Once you've invoked the elements, you'll drink this." He turned to face Caius, gesturing casually at the dark bottle set next to the box. "It will start to take effect if you manage to keep it down. I've already told you this will become rather painful. The majority of witches who attempt this are never able to complete it. The only way I can adequately describe it is a severe migraine on steroids, and that's probably an understatement in of itself. Keep pushing through it. It generally starts to turn at the point where you feel like you can't take it anymore and the pain will start to subside, at least enough for you to start casting." Anthony held up the journal briefly. "There's no telling how long this will take, Caius. All I can say is this is your last chance to step back and opt out. Once the magic begins, there's no stopping it unless you want to face permanent consequences. Understood?"
Caius paid close attention to the things Anthony brought out, his eyes drawn especially to the little black book. It wasn’t familiar, not the grimoire that his father usually used, and something prickled at the back of his neck. He refocused when Anthony started talking, nodding along at the rundown and the warnings. He was as prepared as he could be for pain, and the cockiest part of him didn’t doubt that he would make it through just fine. He would at least make it through. A lot of witches were weak, and he had no doubt that this sort of ritual had been attempted by those who weren’t accustomed to suffering.
“Understood,” he said simply, giving his father another nod. He wasn’t backing out, that was for damn sure. He needed his full mind back. Caius opened a drawer in the desk in the room to pull out seven black candles from his stock of different colors. They weren’t too fat, but able to stand on their own once they were placed. He got a consecrated bowl for the blood-dipping and one of his own athames, since he didn’t know what was in the wooden box Anthony had brought. “Is there an incantation?” he asked once he’d returned to the work table and started laying things out. “For after the pain?”
"It's in here," Anthony said, tapping a finger against the journal. He had the proper page marked already, aware that it might be tempting for Caius to flip through the rest. Not that Anthony would stop him, but he wasn't quite ready to hand it over to his son just yet. But soon, if he could get through this evening without disappointment. "And you won't need that." He pointed to the athame that Caius had taken out. He set the journal down and opened the wooden box. Rather than take the athame out himself, he turned and approached Caius, offering it to his son to pick up himself. The knife would absorb some of Caius's magic, which was necessary for this particular ritual. "Use this."
Caius glanced at the book again as Anthony tapped on it, feeling another one of those itches to touch it, feel the power he was sure was in there. If it was something his father had kept hidden from him all these years, it had to be important. And so was what was in the wooden box, obviously. Caius set his own athame to the side, gazing at the one Anthony was offering him. His eyes ticked briefly up to his father’s face, then down again as he reached to gingerly pick up the athame. It was weighty and felt good in his hand as he adjusted his grip and looked at it, letting the light run over the shiny blade. Nice and sharp. And imbued with magic he could feel like a buzzing up his arm. “Okay,” he said softly, looking at Anthony again. “So dip the candles, set up the circle, symbols on the hands, drink the potion, suffer ... and if I make it, read the incantation and ... that’s it?” Not that it didn’t sound like a lot, he just wanted to make sure he wasn’t missing any steps.
"That's it." Anthony's lips twitched. It really didn't sound that difficult. And it wasn't... not the set up, anyway. Or even the incantation. It was struggling through it when it felt like one's brain was being sawed in half. Anthony could still remember how he had vomited for most of the night after finishing. How he hadn't been able to get out of bed for a full day after. It was weakness on some level, but he had been willing to cope with it to achieve his goals. He walked over to set the box down now that Caius had the athame. Anthony tapped one finger on the journal. "I can't help you," he added. "All of this is on you right now. The proper page is marked. Memorizing it would make this easier, but that could take awhile. It's up to you, but you can read it from the journal if you can hang onto it during the process."
Caius knew that his father knew how high his pain tolerance was, how much discomfort or downright agony he put up with to accomplish his magical goals, so when Anthony said this was going to hurt, Caius was aware that he meant it. He was as prepared as he could be, and nothing in him said this wouldn’t be worth it. It was a step in the process of getting his full mind back, and that would ultimately be worth whatever pain he was about to face. “Are you staying ‘til the end?” he asked his father, glancing over as he picked up the book. It did make his fingers tingle. Still holding the athame in his other hand, Caius flipped to the correct page to look over the incantation. It was a bit long and in Latin, and while he did have a good memory, he doubted he could memorize it well enough to know it when the time came.
"I'll stay until it's over," Anthony said, motioning to the corner of the room. "But I won't interfere. If you'd feel more comfortable, I can wait outside." Something he and Caius had in common was the aversion to showing weakness in front of people, especially one another. It wasn't always avoidable, given the magic they practiced. But he would stay if Caius wanted him to, and frankly, he was a bit curious to see how Caius handled all of this, and how he would come out of it.
He considered for a moment, eyes on the journal’s page but not moving for that beat, then glanced at Anthony. “You can stay,” he murmured. Caius wasn’t fond of the idea of going through extreme pain with his father present, aware that he was likely about to embarrass himself, but he trusted Anthony to put a halt to the proceedings if all of this ended up putting Caius in mortal danger. He understood there would be consequences for an aborted ritual, but Caius didn’t want to be dead, either. Plus ... well, part of him thought maybe Anthony deserved to have to watch it happen, since Caius was essentially suffering because Anthony wouldn’t help him. It was magic he wanted, yes, and would come in handy later, yes, but still. He didn’t know if his father had any empathy for him or not, but if he did, maybe he deserved to hurt along with his son for a while.
“I’ll get started, then,” he said. Caius arranged the bowl and the candles for easy reach. He took a moment to just close his eyes and breathe and center himself, then found a good spot on his left forearm to cut with the athame to begin this whole process.
Anthony knew it was difficult to express discomfort or pain, with or without magic involved. But he remembered quite clearly his own reaction to the magic Caius was going to attempt to perform, and so he would hold no judgment against his son for experiencing his own. Judgment would only come if Caius couldn't finish what he started. Judgment and disappointment. He knew what Caius and Reagan probably thought of him, given his refusal to help them remedy what they had done. But it was for Caius's own good, for his benefit. Anthony felt as though he would deserve to be thanked for it later, although Caius was probably far too stubborn to go that far.
As Caius got started, Anthony moved to the corner of the room, arms folded casually against his chest. It didn't take long for Anthony to feel the magic begin to thrum around him. It would only grow more intense, but Anthony was prepared for it. Fascinated by it, really.
Caius focused in on what he was doing as he made the cut and bled out some into the bowl. He felt the power start to rise, as it always did when he bled, and it was a simple enough thing for him to close up the wound when he had enough blood. It was enough that it probably would have made any other person lightheaded, but Caius was no ordinary person. He set each of the candles into the bowl, making sure that each of them got some blood on them, then picked up the bowl, the potion, and the book and took them to the circle etched into the floor. He set the candles up around the edges, the blood dripping down them to pool like wax around their bases. Caius lit them all with one snap of his fingers -- the only real fire magic he could wield -- then knelt in the center of the circle.
He rubbed his hands against his thighs to get some of the blood off of them, then looked closely at the symbol drawn into the journal. Caius dipped first one index finger and then the other into the blood bowl to recreate the symbol on his palms. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and invoked the elements. That, at least, was routine. Caius wasn’t sure if it was his imagination working overtime with anticipation, but the blood on his palms was starting to sting a little. Once his circle felt truly surrounded and protected, he picked up the little black bottle and took the top off. He just looked at it for a beat, resisting the urge to glance around at his father, then put it to his lips and tipped it up.
The concoction burned all the way down as Caius swallowed, and his body immediately wanted to heave it back up. He pressed his lips tightly together and pressed the back of his hand against them, trying to take deep breaths through his nose to combat the nausea. It already hurt, a bright pain radiating down his esophagus and into his stomach, and it only took a few seconds for Caius to feel the headache start behind his eyes.
Anthony watched Caius, silently grading every movement his son made. Not that he was being overly judgmental. Caius was a capable witch. More than capable, really. He hadn't had anyone there for him when he had done this ritual years and years ago, for which he was glad. He wouldn't have wanted anyone to see him in that physical and mental state. Anthony didn't think Caius was terribly worried about it. He would be in too much pain to be worried about it. Anthony had said he wouldn't step in, but... under certain circumstances, he might. He didn't want his only son to be rendered incompetent or disabled. He had no other heir to fall back on, given Sera was not a witch. So he watched Caius carefully, though his stance was casual as he stood in the corner of the room.
Caius very rapidly lost his capacity to care that his dad was in the room ... or anything at all, really. The pain became searing, ramping up rapidly and flooding his skull. Bile rose up in his throat again and Caius gagged on it, but he stubbornly swallowed it all down again. He needed to see this through. He had to do this. It wasn’t even for Reagan, or their marriage, it was for him. He had to have his entire mind back, had to be a full person again. He tried to keep that in mind, as much as he could keep anything in mind. It was getting harder to think, harder to feel anything but that pain, like someone was rooting around in his brain with a screwdriver. Caius swallowed hard again, his eyes clenched closed, a low moan coming out of him. He leaned forward, bracing his hands against the floor and bowing his head as hot tears forced their way out of his eyes and his breathing picked up speed.
He was a stoic person by nature, calm and collected by practice, hardened by experience, but Caius had never felt a pain like this. Before too long -- or maybe it had been hours, he couldn’t tell -- he was moaning in agony, slumping forward so he could clutch at his head. Caius rolled over on his side and curled up in a fetal position, tears and snot streaming out of his face. It was white-hot pain, pushing against the confines of his skull badly enough that he was starting to think the bone would shatter. He couldn’t think in full words, but part of him was regretting this, panicking and sure he was going to die, while the whole rest of his being could only focus on how badly it hurt. It blotted out everything else and drew highly undignified whimpers and cries out of him.
Anthony remained still, watching as the spell worked its way through Caius's mind. Unlocking one's potential, quite literally, was a nasty business. He had never seen Caius in this much pain before, but that was likely because Caius had never been in this much pain. Miriam would be beside herself if she were here right now. But Anthony kept his expression stoic as Caius curled up on the floor, sobbing. It would start to pass, and hopefully soon, though one could never tell with this kind of magic. The room felt imbued with power and Anthony could feel it thrumming through his own body. Perhaps there was a very small, subtle itch to step forward and help, to try and ease some of the agony his son was experiencing, but the empathy didn't come close to matching the desire to see his son succeed, so he ignored it. It was easy enough for him to do, given the emotional distance he had kept between he and his family.
As Anthony had told him, it did reach the point where Caius was pretty sure he couldn’t take anymore. If he’d been able to move, he would’ve been looking for something sharp to jam into his own eye just to make it stop. It was impossible to remember it was temporary when he was paralyzed with pain, when it was the only thing in his world. Time had ceased to mean anything, stretching out impossibly long and drowning him in all the agony. He writhed and his moans rose into a scream as the pain started to peak. In the midst of it all, Caius did feel something shift in his mind, like something snapped into place -- or out of it, maybe he was really dying now. But a moment later the pain started to subside. It didn’t drain immediately, but it did rapidly decline until Caius was left with just a dull, throbbing headache. He just laid there for a moment getting his breath back, then slowly made himself uncurl and push himself back up onto his knees.
He felt shaky and still nauseated, but he knew he had to finish this. There was an incantation still to do. Caius picked up the black journal and flipped to the right page again with dumb-feeling fingers. He stared at the words for a beat, his vision swimming, trying to make sense of the letters. Then Caius read the incantation in a rusty, unsteady voice. It wasn’t until he was done reciting that he really felt the magic. It flowed into his skull like a breath of fresh air. It didn’t completely alleviate the lingering pain, but it definitely made it feel worth it. He could feel the change. The expansion of power. He closed his eyes and enjoyed it for a moment, and the knowledge that he’d made it through a ritual not many witches could do. Then he slowly went through his usual process of thanking the elements and opening the circle back up. Caius snuffed out the candles with a gesture of his fingers, then flopped onto his back on the floor again, book on his chest, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Fuck,” he muttered.
Despite the obvious pain that Caius was in, Anthony never had the thought that he wouldn't be able to pull through and finish the ritual. His son had fierce ambition, not to mention a stubborn streak, and Anthony knew doing this, and doing it well, was a source of pride for Caius. As soon as the candles snuffed out and Caius fell into his back, Anthony smiled, though it was lacking in real warmth. With the circle open now, he moved from his spot and crossed the room to Caius. Without giving it much thought, he reached down to pluck his journal from Caius's chest, slipping it into his pocket. "You're going to feel out of sorts for a day or so," Anthony explained. "A headache may come and go. But it won't linger. Do you need anything?"
Caius felt the journal go, and while his fingers twitched with the instinctive temptation to grab for it, he didn’t. If the rest of the secrets in there were as painful as the ritual he’d just performed, he didn’t want it yet anyway. His body felt heavy and exhausted, like he’d just spent a long time working out. Caius let his hands drop loosely to his chest and looked up at his father. His head still hurt, so he wasn’t surprised to hear that warning. “No,” he croaked. Caius already wanted to be in bed with the lights off, but he knew he would have to be the one to drag himself there. Part of him wanted to explore the new power he assumably gained, to test it out and see what it could do, but most of him found the idea of any social interaction repulsive at the moment. He had to rest and recover, then explore. “Thanks, Dad,” he added in a murmur.
"I'm proud of you," he told Caius. "There aren't many witches who could withstand that." It was a power that would probably come easily to Caius, though Anthony knew his son wouldn't abuse it. But it was certainly a handy ability to have, especially in this town. Remembering what it was like for him after he successfully completed the ritual, he studied Caius and wondered how long it would take him to recover. Probably not as long as it had taken Anthony. He offered his hand to Caius to help him up, if he felt ready to move yet. ”You need sleep.”
He’d kind of expected Anthony to just take his book and go, leaving Caius to struggle his own way from his workroom to the bedroom. The offered hand was a bit of a surprise. Almost as much of a surprise as the praise. Anthony didn’t say he was proud of Caius often. After a beat of hesitation, Caius accepted the hand and let Anthony help him to his feet. “Sleep ... yeah, sounds good,” he mumbled as his head swam with the change in position. Caius swayed a bit before he got his balance back. The throbbing in his head got a little worse, then subsided again. He was sure the backlash headaches would pop up again, but at the moment he felt like he could just take a palmful of aspirin and have a long nap and he would feel fine.
He was well aware of how ungenerous he was with praise when it came to his children, particularly Caius. But Anthony knew it only pushed his son to work harder, and succeed. Anthony had never been one to coddle them, having always left that up to their mother. But he was glad Miriam wasn't here tonight. He doubted she would have 'allowed' this to occur. "Are you going to be okay getting to your room?" Anthony asked. He could help his son make it there, if need be. After going through what he had gone through, it would have been a shame if Caius hurt himself falling down the stairs because he was too dizzy or ill. The room could get cleaned up tomorrow.
Caius nodded, even though it made his head hurt a little worse for a few heartbeats. “Yeah, I got it,” he murmured. He patted his father’s arm, more of a dismissal than a show of affection. Or permission for him to go, or whatever. Caius would crawl his way to his bedroom before he let Anthony tuck him in, and if he couldn’t make it up the stairs, he would just go to the couch and pass out for a while. He could deal with whatever backlash illness was on its way on his own. “Thanks, Dad,” Caius added again, his voice still sounding crackly and rusty. He would properly thank his father for sharing this knowledge with him later on, when he could actually form complex sentences. For now he just needed to sleep.
Anthony nodded, as he wasn't really expecting Caius to accept his help. And Anthony knew well enough from his own experience that Caius probably just wanted him to go so he could collapse in private. "Call me if you need help, or have questions," Anthony told him. "I'll check in tomorrow and see how you're feeling." He clasped Caius's shoulder for one, tight moment, and then released him to start for the exit.
“Okay.” The shoulder squeeze was more his father’s brand of affection, and it felt even more meaningful to Caius at the moment. He’d done something difficult, he’d suffered greatly for it -- and might suffer again -- and he’d succeeded. As far as he knew, anyway. He’d completed the ritual, at least. And Anthony was proud of him. It was enough to keep him on his feet as he shuffled with his father to the doorway at least. Caius leaned a shoulder against the frame for a brief rest. “Talk to you later,” Caius murmured before he got out of earshot.