Thread: Confidence (redo) WHO: Gilderoi and John WHEN: Sunday afternoon WHERE: John's room, Hydra dormitory
John's carefully gathered supplies were organized in his room and cataloged by use. Drying herbs hung from strings on the ceiling. He made regular trips into the woods and along the ocean to collect useful wild plants, never taking more than he needed, and always ensuring there would be more for another day. He was trained by the best herbalists in the tribe and knew the uses of local flora as well as fauna. Though John didn't often hunt animals, when he did, he used every part of them. Nothing went to waste. It was a practice his mother's people lived by. The Cherokee and other tribes still kept to many of the old ways, though with time, they lost more and more due to the inattentiveness of youth. That was the trouble with a mostly oral custom for passing on knowledge.
John kept to those ways as best he could. He had a natural gift for healing without needing the plants, but he used it only as a last resort. In addition to plants used to make medicine, John used them to make paint. It played an integral part in the traditions he learned as a part of the Paint Clan.
Currently he had white paint in a pail with a handmade brush and a bundle of feathers tied with a strip of leather. He was using the feathers to fan the thin line of smoke that was rising up from the sage he was burning. John's room smelled pleasantly of herbs at all times, but now the scent of sage was strongest. He hoped it would help rid his mind of the bad energy that was constantly gnawing at him. Particularly since Ms. Hallowfen made him go full stop on his drug use.
Carefully, John set the feathers down and picked up the brush. He was chanting in a low soft voice in the Cherokee language. With the brush, he painted on his own arm, drawing circles. When one arm was done, he switched to the other arm. As he worked, John tried not to think about the elf sitting across from him on the floor.
Dipping the brush for more of the chalk paint, his mixed hazel eyes glanced up at Gil.
Gilderoi was sitting opposite of the witch, his legs crossed and his hands on the floor, palm-side up. He was being patient. He was dressed immaculately, in tight jeans and a soft, green sweater that hugged his chest just so. When John looked at him, Gil smiled at him encouragingly.
But he was behaving. No comments that John looked sexy as he worked. No stripping down to his underwear, because that was what magic needed, no?
Instead, Gil asked: "Is there anything I can do? Do I need that?" He nodded at the pail.
When Gil smiled, John quickly looked away, but lost his train of thought in the rhythm of his chanting. He closed his eyes and tried to reclaim the ribbon of power he’d been building, but Gil spoke and he lost it again. John sighed and thought of how much easier this would be if he had just one hit of the coke. He’d be done by now.
“What? No. I don’t need help.” John said it with a snap of impatience. The crow, which had made itself comfortable in the window, cawed at him and John shot it a look. The crow spirit was not visible to Gilderoi at the moment, but he was John’s almost constant companion.
He shut his eyes again and let out a slow breath. On the upbeat of the pulse he tapped into, John began the chant again. This time with more determined that he could do it. With the painting done, John picked up a small and smooth black stone and held it in his cupped hand. The chanting intensified. John picked up a bowl and poured fresh water from the stream that fed the lake over the stone before closing his fingers around it.
There was a warm glow from the painted circles, then from the stone, shining through his fingers. John hesitated for half a beat and it went out. John stopped chanting and looked at it, slowly uncurling his fingers. Water dripped from his knuckles as the healer studied the dark rock. With a frustrated growl that turned into a weary groan, John dropped it to the floor and sat back. He rubbed his arms, smearing the paint.
“See what I mean? I can’t even make a charm. A simple stupid heating stone.”
Gil raised eyebrows at John's tone, but he kept his mouth shut. Briefly, he looked amused, but that expression turned to a more serious one as soon as he saw John looking at him. He observed carefully, watching John work. He knew the shaman was even more unsettled by his presence, but still, it was a joy to see John work.
He was so into it.
Gil's mind briefly wandered to sex - as it was wont to do - but he made no comment. He was here to help little John. And he had a plan how.
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Gil purred, reaching out to touch John's face. "Now, stay put."
Gil dipped his left hand into the pail while he retrieved an ornate switch pocket from his right pocket. And then, with a quick slash, he cut open the palm of his hand. The white paint mixed with Gil's amethyst-coloured blood and he drew a strange, arcane symbol on it with his fingers.
He grinned and winked at John. "Elves also know a little magic." The symbol on his hand was one of the few runes he knew, one that would induce euphoria. John was always so bogged down by his own thoughts and insecurities, let's see what would happen if he weren't. Let's see what he could do if he were actually happy while he worked. Not self-conscious. Not doubting.
Gil looked John in the eyes as he grabbed his hand and then, he closed his eyes and sent a pulse John's way. "Try again."
John was still having a hard time getting used to Gilderoi's tactile ways, but he managed not to pull back from the touch. Watching with growing fascination, the healer saw the elf mix his blood with the paint. He stopped himself from protesting, letting Gil continue. He had to know what he was doing, or he wouldn't have done that, right?
Pressing his lips into a thin white line when Gil took his hand, John braced himself. He could already feel the touch of magic, but then it came on in full force.
The crow cawed.
He gasped, eyes widening and showing an array of colors and lights in the iris. The initial burst subsided and John blinked and looked down. He tried again, hands moving with greater purpose than before. The chanting began anew: the circles, the stone, the water.
It worked that time. John could already feel the heat coming off the rock. John's face lit up in a triumphant smile and he laughed. "It worked that time!"