tɦɛ iɳquiรitѳʀ (freemarched) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-09-10 17:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !partner thread, maxwell trevelyan (the inquisitor), presto |
Who: Max & Presto
What: Meeting by chance
When: Recently, like last week!
Where: A magic shop, where Max's dropping off herbs to sell
Rating/Warnings: Cleeean
Status: Complete
Presto wasn’t sure what he expected, but he had been dreaming for about a week and some change now, and the dreams had not gotten worse, but definitely crazier. Orcs, goblins, monsters, dragons, warlocks, and more. An entire realm seemed to be after him and his friends. With only a few pockets of not!crazy around, it was a wonder they were all still alive. Presto felt exhausted, even with getting a lot of sleep, because the dreams seemed to sap him of will and energy. His counterpart was constantly running for his life, and every morning, it seemed like, Presto woke up with more memories of that insane life. Why? BUt this morning, he had been determined to take advantage of having a few days off, and he had looked into magic, then been startled to find a magic shop nearby. Something drew him to it, like a moth to a flame, which really, that was just depressing. As he stepped into the magic shop, he glanced around, unsure what he was looking for, but hopeful anyway, and he yawned, first thing. *** Max grew up in a place like this, sort of. A small apartment above the shop in Pike Place, next door to a Russian bakery, just a few yards from the original Starbucks and with the scent of fresh lilies and sunflowers wafting in the air. His aunt Lucille’s shop (or she was more like a very distant cousin, but still - easier to just call her aunt) was more incense and candles, crystals, gargoyles and actual skulls, whereas this latest one Max visited was a lot more quirky. Old-fashioned posters (some autographed) of great magicians were tacked onto the walls. There was a large selection of magic books and antique props - there was even one of those gimmicky Zoltar fortune teller machines in the front of the store. Slip a few quarters in, see what your future held. It was amusing, he’d give it that much. His own reason for being here was to drop off the box of small canisters containing herbs he’d grown in the garden at Skyhold, and collect payment. A section of the shop was indeed dedicated to necessary herbs and potion-making necessities; after chatting with the owner, Max busied himself with arranging everything on shelves. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard the yawn, though. “Long day?” Trevelyan chuckled. “I’m not sure I’d recommend falling asleep in here.” *** “Long day, long night. Some days are worse than others, when dreams chase you from sleep and cards chase you from your home.” Presto looked around, eyes wide. Then fired off a smile, albeit a tired one, to the man. “Say, you don’t happen to know if this place has bags, like magic bags?” His hands were suddenly filled with cards, and he glanced down at them resignedly. “I need a bag for my cards.” He had gone to a card dealer and had them tested, then, armed with what they were made of, got cleaner and hand-cleaned each one. And now, well, now he was taking the man’s other advice. A bag or holder. *** Huh, alright then. Max wasn’t expecting an answer like that, but then again, he should know to expect the unexpected in Orange County. “I know a thing or two about dreams chasing you from sleep,” he nodded, and that was an understatement. He’d been maimed because of his dreams, the price paid for choosing to be the Inquisitor in another life far off from this one - he didn’t regret it, don’t get him wrong. But there were some days he wished that the journey of remembering had been a little kinder to himself and his loved ones. “Let’s just say you’re in good company.” Setting the last glass canister on the shelf (this one was prophet’s laurel, meant for cleansing and purification - he’d also brought some foxmint for upset stomachs, spindleweed for coughs, and embrium which was more for aromatherapy), he turned at the question. “I don’t actually work here, but - “ Trevelyan considered, then motioned with the artificial fingers for the other guy to follow. “I think I’ve seen what you’re talking about.” A few aisles over, there was a collection of bags - cotton and silk - also tarot cloths and boxes made of wood or metal for tarot cards. “You could use these for any kind of cards, I assume. What kind are they?” *** Presto smiled. So he had found another Dreamer. He seemed to be good at that. Zatanna, Pete, Matt, and now this man, too? This was cool. He smiled as he glanced at the man. He would hope, again, for good results. He was caught for a moment staring at the fingers, then he followed. He was curious, but it seemed rude, really, to ask someone you had just met about that sort of thing. At the sight of the bags, he smiled wider. “Thank you!” Presto raised the cards again, they pack having managed to escape his pockets… again. “Playing cards from another world, with a mind of their own. I need a bag to keep them safe and make them feel at home.” he held the cards up as he approached the bags, waiting to see how they would react. He had no idea what would happen. *** Max’s prosthetic arm, controlled by myoelectric impulses and appearing very robotic (there was a reason he called it the Terminator arm) was something he was pretty much used to by now; he’d managed to learn how to grip most anything with it, even if the flex and uncurling of fingers was slower than with his other hand. People stared, strangers asked questions - he didn’t really mind. Humans were generally curious by nature. “You’re welcome. I hope you - they?” Because cards having a mind of their own, that was a new one. “Find something they like.” Indeed, they seemed to have gravitated toward one of the cloths, decorated with the moon and stars. From what he could tell, anyway. “It’s been awhile since I’ve used cards - I grew up helping my aunt with her magic shop, in Seattle - but I think the idea is that you lay the spread out on the cloth when you use the cards, and then wrap them in silk and store them in one of the bags when you’re done.” Or boxes, either way - the shop had a few nice ones, that were handcarved. “That’s the tarot way but it’s likely the same for playing cards - because you don’t want to deal on a shoddy surface or someplace that will get your cards dirty.” *** “Seems like they do.” Presto felt the draw, and the cards practically were frothing at the mouth for the cloth and a nearby matching bag. He carefully wrapped the cards, which almost seemed to quiver as he did so. He then slid them into the bag and shut it firmly, and for the first time in a long time, the cards went silent. “Holy crap. Silence.” He turned to the man, and smiled, sticking out his hand to the man. “Thank you! Ever since the first night I started dreaming, they’ve been driving me crazy.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I expected when I started dreaming, but this was not it.” *** The Inquisitor smiled a little, clasping the offered hand in his - flesh and blood, not metal. “Glad to help - and glad that they seemed to have settled down a little.” Max heard stories about ‘respecting’ cards, and the energy given off, but never did he think that was actually true - but apparently so, in some way. “If you’ve just started dreaming, you’re definitely in for an interesting time,” he said, and that was an understatement - but no need to overwhelm this one with too much, too soon. Who knew, maybe sentient cards would end up being the least of his concerns. “I’m Max, by the way. Max Trevelyan. I’m a therapist, my office is in Anaheim.” No fancy tricks, just him reaching into his wallet and handing over his card. Trevelyan had a few clients in that ‘dreaming’ situation, and he knew that it was a lot to deal with on top of the general heaviness of life; he simply liked those who did dream to know that he was willing to offer his services. “I’m also a mage. Never used playing cards though.” Magic was different from world to world It was always fascinating to see how, exactly. *** Presto had gotten the idea of taking care of them from a strange man named Pete. So far, it had helped a lot! “Yeah? It does seem so. My dreams started at one, repeated, then spiralled into about seven so far. And they are only getting odder by the day. Orcs, dragons, magic users, doppelgangers, trolls, and kobolds, and even freaking necromancers. I had to look that up when i woke up, the word necromancer, because it seemed like such a made up thing. That people actually write books about it makes me feel a little less sane, sometimes.” Welcome to Presto’s reaction to stress; babbling! Presto took the card, and immediately spoke. “Are you taking new clients? Because at the rate this is going, I might just need a therapist before too long.” And he was only half-kidding. Or a third. Maybe a fourth. No less than a fifth, really. “You are? What sort of magic do you do?” His eyebrows rose, eyes wide. Magic in the real world was new to him. His own rhyming magic and the cards were making him feel odd, and Zatanna’s odd tales had already made him feel less sane, but also less alone. *** “I’m always taking new clients, no worries there. If you ever want to sit down and talk, for an initial session, my number’s on the card.” There was no shame in it either - honestly, the stuff people dreamed of? Maker. It was enough to send even the most stubborn of types into a bout of therapy - and Trevelyan had even gone through it, as part of his training, when he was in graduate school anyway. Overall, it didn’t fix everything (sometimes a combination of medication and therapy was best) but it was one option that could do some good. He had to laugh a little at Presto’s odd dreams - how ironic that he thought speaking to the dead was also odd, though granted, in Thedas it was a bit of a contrast from what culture and folklore may suggest. “I’m a Necromancer, actually,” he admitted. “Some elemental magic too, and I also craft potions. These herbs - “ Max motioned to where they’d come from, “They’re native to Thedas, technically, and I cultivated what crossed over to here. I sell them to various shops in the county. But Necromancy’s my specialty.” One that was difficult to actually practice, without being in battle, but alas. “I’ve got a few books on it too. Books from my dreamworld. The practice is a little different than zombies and ghosts.” *** Presto nodded as he read the card, then slid it away with a twisting of his fingers. “Thank you.” He spoke the words quietly but very surely. Even the offer made him feel better, less alone, less crazy. Surely for such a man to be so calm, others must use his services as well, right? Right. Presto listened, curious, eyes going wide. “Wow. You’re a lot nicer, less smelly, and less crazy, than the necromancers in my dreams. They’re usually trying to kill me or others.” It was a drag, sometimes, being the heroes. *** Less smelly? That was a compliment unto its own. “Thank you?” Max lifted an eyebrow, obviously amused. “I promise I’m not going to try to kill you.” He didn’t feed off of souls either, or...whatever it was people thought that Necromancers did. Always happy to clear up the misconceptions, this one. “I can tell you more about Thedas’ version of Necromancy if you’d like, at some point, but now - “ He briefly checked his watch, worn on his right wrist, “I’ve got to get going. Oh, and - try the embrium,” Trevelyan recommended. “If you have trouble sleeping.” It was a beautiful flower from the garden at Skyhold, native to Thedas - but the fragrance was lovely, and he’d stocked the shop up with a few jars of dried petals. “I’d recommend a tea infuser, but just leaving the petals in your pillowcase will help you breathe easier.” Literally. *** “I’d be glad to hear about it. I imagine it’s got it’s own stories.” Presto nodded. “Thanks for the advice, and the tips, and the help. It’s appreciated.” He waved a hand. “Go. You’ve given me much to do and much to think on.” And he would just do that, too, think and act, both. *** Did he now? Well, Max was glad to help - occasionally you ran into people, in the most random situations, and something good came from that. Like it was fate, or whatever concept was most applicable. “Sure thing - nice meeting you,” he offered a parting smile before adjusting his messenger bag over his shoulders (a lot emptier now that he’d delivered the scheduled herbs to this shop) and headed for the aisle over. Maybe he’d see what else this place had to offer, briefly, before taking off for his office to meet with his afternoon clients. You never know when you might need silk scarves, or a secret lock box or two. |