ʙᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴇᴇᴘ, ʀɪᴄʜɪᴇ (trashing) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-04-24 16:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: elain archeron, ₴ inactive: richie tozier (2) |
WHO: Richie & Elain
WHAT: Vision Quest, learning something new! And seeing something coming up?
WHERE: One of the Prigany coven caravans
WHEN: Today
WARNINGS: Nah, bro
STATUS: Complete
Richie had talked to some of the Prigany coven before and they were always friendly - both warm and friendly, and they were willing to help when it came to giving his psychic visions a much-needed assist (and boost). He was trying, he really was - but after he had that vision about Catra and the chip and it fell under not useful at all he felt like he hit a wall. So he needed to find a workaround, in order to get even better and take things another step further. That was where a fresh perspective and maybe some new spells from Prigany came in. Not like he claimed to know anything about spells, but he was assured it was more like a new technique - psychography was practiced by the coven, and could be taught to those with some sort of psychic ability. Was he nervous about going, however? Oh, fuck yeah. Definitely. Though he was glad he wasn’t going alone. Inside the caravan, it was warmer than the outside, which wasn’t too difficult considering that the last vestiges of winter were rolling through the forest, as a spring parade began to bloom. Besides, there was also a small heater that purred loudly from the wooden floor area of the caravan’s kitchenette. This particular caravan was rose and wine-colored on the inside, carpets on the floor and velvet all on the upholstery; it reminded Richie of one of those dark chocolate candies with all the fruit and cream when you bit into it, looking shabby and bitter on the outside but more cloying within. There was doily lace draping on the table like a cloth, where they sat at the kitchen, and heavy brocade curtains concealing the far corner where he assumed a bed was. Overall, it was cozy - and the coven members here had welcomed both him and Elain. The kettle was warm and mugs of hot water and jasmine sachets had been poured for them - the smell tickled Richie’s nose, but not in a bad way. “I’m not sure if I can do this,” he confessed, because while some of the coven members had gone through the steps with them - there were various scrying tools on the table as well, along with a pad of paper and pencils - they’d also emphasized that meditation and relaxation was essential for getting into that zone. He’d fallen into it while scrying before, using water, but this was - different. It felt different. Elain’s visions were born from trauma. They were forced upon her, a ‘gift’ she never asked for, by the Cauldron that had changed her from human to Fae. Not with her consent, this permanent change, these visions she had no control over but that had so controlled her life. Being Made had thrown everything Elain had planned for and wanted: love, marriage, a family, security, off entirely. Her fiance had rejected her, she lived with the future haunting her and rendering her mute, they were thrown into a war, her father had been murdered, she had helped kill a King. It had been a lot. But Elain wasn’t only a victim, she was someone who refused to let hardship harden her. She saw beautiful spaces where there was only dirt and weeds, she created the world she wanted to see. And her visions weren’t caught in her throat like tiny pebbles choking her, she knew what they were and what to do with them...sort of. Or at the very least, that was why they were here! To learn. So she came to the caravan armed with some of the medicinal plants she’d grown at Skyhold (minus the rashvine, that was quite the unpleasant surprise!) and three pots of golden orchids that she asked Richie to carry, carefully. “You can,” Elain promised. The tea was fragrant and added to the warmth of the place, even she’d have to pass. She, Nesta, and Cassian had found plenty of places to eat and drink, and she never expected anyone to carry Fae refreshments if they themselves weren’t Fae. “And if this way doesn’t work, that’s alright. Not every method works for everyone, I don’t think. That’s why there are different ones. If it doesn’t work, it’s not a reflection on you, it’s a reflection on the method simply not being right for you.” Which was a very nice pep talk from someone who was also...not sure she could do it. That was definitely a good pep talk. It made Richie smile a little (and so had the golden orchids - he’d been careful with them, carrying them in long arms and ensuring he didn’t flail with those muppet limbs to drop them) as he nervously tapped the eraser of the pencil against the table. He heard the old wooden floor of the caravan creak, one of the Prigany witches heading toward the door - they’d consider themselves terrible hosts if they didn’t have the correct tea for someone of the Fae persuasion, so it was a flurry of words (just give me a moment, dear!) and the door shutting snugly behind them. There was another coven member knitting in a chair close by, so he and Elain weren’t alone - but it was clearly an opportunity, their hosts also granting them space to try this new technique without hovering. “Okay, uh - “ Richie blinked bluebird eyes, pushing his glasses up on his nose. There was something of a quiet strength to Elain, silk and steel, whereas he was a complete hot fucking mess most days, so. If he was going to try this, he was glad she was here - that they were attempting together. “I’ll try it. Like, go into the zone - if I get stuck though, you’ll pull me out?” That was always one of his biggest fears - that he’d end up the way he would have been in the Deadlights, burning holes in his brain, if Eddie hadn’t sent a fence post sailing straight at IT. Falling and falling forever, black and cold. Seeing all possibilities and outcomes but not being able to scream or move or do a damn thing. “Just stab me with a pencil. Or something.” “I won’t stab you with a pencil!” Elain gasped, seeming both stunned and offended by the very idea. But she considered the idea for a minute, and then settled on, “Well, I would try other things first, at least.” Better to stab Richie than to leave his consciousness outside of his body, of course. Still, she would start with shaking his shoulder, and move on to something more aggressive. She slid the pad of paper over to Richie and nodded at him to pick up the pencil. “Now remember, you’re not supposed to think about it, you’re supposed to simply...allow the message to come across.” Which seemed terribly nondescript, Elain thought, but she understood the principle: concentrating too hard on what was or wasn’t happening meant that the message was obscured. It was easy to say, but consciously not thinking of anything was hard. Even now, Elain thought of the warmth of the tea, the pattern of the table. “And again, if nothing happens, that’s alright. This is a new situation in a new environment and a way but not the way.” That seemed important to point out again, just in case. Not thinking was hard as hell - especially for Richie, whose brain tended to go at a million miles an hour no matter what he was doing. Sometimes even sleeping was difficult - it helped when he had Max with him, but if he was alone it was a lot of tossing and turning before he felt settled enough to drift off into a meeting with the Sandman. But he understood the concept of allowing the message to come across, mostly - it meant he had to just sit still for a minute. “Not the way,” he agreed, and he’d just try to remember that. So he picked up the pencil and took a breath, squaring broad shoulders. Exhale. Another breath, air drawn into his lungs. It took him - well, not awhile. But there were a few false starts - him closing his eyes, squeezing them shut, and then opening them once more to find that nothing happened. More deep breaths. He thought of Max, all that sappy shit, sleepy cuddles and how much Richie loved him - like space and time became the finest point imaginable, time itself collapsing into one tiny speck and exploding at light speed. Then he fell into it. Way into it. His eyes flipped from discernible pupil and iris to all white, a vacant creepy sort of look that came over him as he was pulled elsewhere - Fates weaving their tapestries, it was always wild to be able to ‘see’ something before it happened. It all flowed through him and he was writing, writing, scribbling on the paper as pencil lead moved across the page, words listed in a row. clay and fire, honey pudding wheat and barley, bread dipped in wine go back in time if you want to move forward clay and fire, honey pudding It was all a flurry of images but he saw it - all around people were moving, they were gesturing, talking. And it didn’t look like the city or anyplace he’d seen in Vallo, it looked like some ancient Mediterranean palace that had been injected into a storybook, with all its bold colors and intricate designs, shimmering gold. Everything was so damn noisy, and when he thought he smelled something burning that was when he snapped out of it. “Wow.” He looked down at the paper, feeling a little shaken because that was intense. “Bread? Now I’m fucking hungry.” Elain kept her gaze trained on Richie’s face, watching. For what, she didn’t know exactly, and nor did she know the difference between ‘getting stuck’ and allowing for enough time for a message to get through. It seemed like a fine balance that she intended to err more on the side of caution, the skill itself meant nothing when there wasn’t a Seer. Elain was especially sensitive to that, given that her beginnings as a seer had been so rocky--she didn’t blame anyone, really, there hadn’t been a Seer in a very long time. But there had been no one to tell her about the dangers of being between worlds, no one who knew how to help. Out of her periphery vision she caught Richie scribbling, which was a positive sign that he was seeing something, but she wouldn’t be distracted. Not until he broke out of the vision, alert, speaking, did she push the cup of tea at him with a smile and a click of her tongue in reproach for the curse. “It reads a bit like a poem?” She asked, her head cocked. “Or...some sort of song? Does it match with what you actually saw? Or perhaps,” Elain covered her mouth with her hand, barely suppressing a chuckle. “That’s your subconscious speaking and you’re hoping for dinner.” The tsk from Elain about Richie dropping the f bomb actually made Trashmouth blush a little - it was a little bit like admonishment from the sister he never had. To sort of center himself a little, he drank some of the tea - the hot liquid rolled down his throat, and the jasmine was soothing. Oddly calming, but maybe that was the effect of jasmine itself. His heart rate slowed to normal, anyway. “It...” He paused, brow furrowed as he studied what he’d written while in the zone. “It...does? Match, I mean. There was like, this ancient palace vibe. And a city but not a city - just like, someplace lively with lots of people. Maybe a marketplace, I don’t know. And I smelled something burning - something cooking, I guess.” Though he wasn’t going to turn down dinner either, especially if it consisted of some carbs, any carbs. Oh, fuck that sounded good. Anyway. He turned the paper to a fresh page and nudged that plus the pencil toward Elain. “Now you wanna try?” “It seems as if there’s so much room in the woods, I think a fair or market would be nice,” Elain mused. She was partial to the market at the Barns, having helped plant in the greenhouse (and the babydoll sheep certainly didn’t hurt) but there but perhaps this was a sign of an expansion or someone new. Her ruminations were to delay answering Richie’s question. Yes, she wanted to try. But in spite of what she told Richie--which she absolutely believed, by the way! It was harder for Elain to believe it for herself Hesitantly, she took the pencil, looking at it as if it would grow fangs and bite her hand clean through. “I don’t--it might not work,” she started. As the words came out of her mouth, they sounded as if in an echo chamber to her, all she heard were the vibrations, words ricocheting off of something and bounced back to her. She stared at nothing, reacted to nothing. Her chest rose and fell with her breath. Seconds ticked into minutes. Her fingers twitched. She drew sketches of a cottage or a small house with a thatched roof, low to the ground and made of wood but otherwise seemingly well enough constructed. One had what looked to be the start of a wagon outside, another a stone well nearby. Her hand moved quickly, never lingering on the details for very long. Because there was something else trying to get her attention, something just on the edge of her mind’s eye, something important, something, something. Elain gasped sharply, like she had just emerged from the briny ocean depths. “I think I’m tired,” she said, slowly, mumbled. But she blinked, swallowed, and shuddered off the fatigue. ‘No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine.” The whole theme of this seemed to be ancient (go back in time if you want to move forward? Like what the actual fuck, it was as if his own psychic abilities were trolling him with riddles - but since he’d gotten them after an encounter with a sloppy bitch demon clown who also liked to troll people before eating them, well). And Richie wasn’t sure if he was into it or not - he sat quietly, sipping tea while he watched Elain sketch. The design of the cottage wasn’t anything modern - and a wagon? Could be from the forest, since they tended to stick with ‘old-fashioned’ there but maybe not. At this point he was sure it could be anything - but no, there was definitely something. He had all these tingly feelings, combining powers which meant they were on the verge of putting the pieces together and - “You’ve got this,” he assured. “Allow the rest of the message to come across? But if you can’t - that’s cool too.” He didn’t want to push her too hard, or himself - that’s not what this was about. “There’s something else,” Elain sighed, her fingertips pressing on her temples like that would force the vision to come back, or reveal the answer. “Something that’s more important than this, or--I don’t know. I can see it, but I can’t.” And the longer she stayed out of her trance, the further and further away the vague something went, too slippery to keep or beyond Elain’s abilities. Potentially whatever was going to happen was still in flux, which made the entire vision unreliable. There were some fixed points, it seemed, but the future was squirrely, at best. She wrapped her hands around the cup of tea for warmth and to ground herself in the here and now. “Shall we thank our hosts? And perhaps find you some pie? I can vouch for you with Max as well, you were quite the lovely representative.” Aye, and herein was the rub - or the difficulty, when it came to psychic visions. Being precognitive or whatever sucked and this was why - because the future was so fluid, constantly changing, and it would either lead to a specific outcome or it would fall through your fingers like a slippery bar of soap, unable to be held. Richie was stubborn enough to keep trying to get a better handle on things, however, which was why he was here - and he felt it was worth the effort. “I dunno about lovely, but they really liked you,” he said with a small grin, taking the pages from the pad of paper. He ripped them out, so they could study them later - maybe something else would come to them. “And hey, I’d say we nailed it? It like, actually worked.” They weren’t just sitting here with their thumbs up their asses so he’d consider that a success. He’d keep practicing - it gave him new goals to shoot for, and that was pretty awesome. “But yeah, let’s - “ The door opened and closed then, one of their hosts having returned with a small bag of loose leaf tea. The old woman was so cute, with a happy wrinkly face - and happy to make a proper cup of tea for Elain, so Richie supposed they could stay a little while longer. It was cozy here anyway and he liked the vibe. He’d also keep turning over potential meanings of what they put on paper - go back in time and shit. Did this mean they’d be denied pizza rolls again? Guess they’d find out. |