ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ (arcane) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-09-29 20:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, petshop of horrors: leon orcot, ₴ inactive: james barlow |
WHO: Leon & James
WHAT: Attending a fall bonfire hosted by Asetenarra - and James puts a trigger!shield in Leon's mind, just in case he decides to test various assumptions at his convenience
WHERE: Mountaintop, near the coven's hidey hole
WHEN: Backdated to Saturday
WARNINGS: I do not think so?
STATUS: Complete
For a bunch of awkward and antisocial blood magic users, James had to admit that Asetenarra threw a really good party. Not that he was well-versed on parties or anything. He didn’t often attend them - usually only when Mei dragged him out with her and her brother, and when they were younger it had been all about beer made in someone’s basement, fruity cocktails, and strawberry vape juice or something, graduating to more sophisticated adult concoctions. However, he could appreciate a good mountain bonfire. Asetenarra’s cave home had been built right into the slopes of this mountain, and it was a delight to be inside - with the the white walls that accented the natural colors of the rocks, the marble and cement mosaic floors, couches that fit snugly under cave ceilings, standing lamps meant to illuminate dinners that happened after sunset. Their library was one that James had to pull himself out of, because it was so cozy - easily, he could sink into one of the slip-covered sofas and yoink a book from one of the overstuffed shelves. But some other time he could indulge (Asetenarra were very big on making new friends) - tonight, he remained outside where the bonfire was. A pit party, really, with fluffy blankets and quilts tucked into baskets and ready for guests since it was a little chilly on top of the mountain. Various poufs and floor pillows were available for anyone to sit all criss-cross-applesauce on, and there was plenty of alcohol floating around - hollowed out apples turned into tea light candle holders flickered, and the bonfire glowed like a star fallen to the earth. There were hot dogs (vegan and non-vegan) roasting over the flames too. And s’mores. James was about to put one together, in fact. “So,” he started, settling next to Leon and beginning the s’more construction-on-a-stick. “Make any headway on your waypoint conversations?” Leon had a way with people. Sometimes, he could be friendly and might almost pass for easy going. But most of the time, especially if he was looking for information, he could, he admitted, come across as pushy and aggressive. It worked okay when he was a cop trying to get information out of people: people couldn't just walk away when they were being questioned by the police. But at a party, filled with a bunch of socially awkward witches, that approach didn't work so well. And so his conversations had all followed a basic pattern. Someone would approach Leon and compliment him on his shirt, which he wore over a black long-sleeve shirt and under a warm hoodie (he'd have liked to wear a nice flannel jacket, but given Cullen's partiality to plaid, Leon had decided that he could go without for the remainder of his time here), or they'd come just to introduce themselves to the stranger, and Leon would make small-talk for a couple minutes before he'd ask about the waypoints, and they'd either tell him something he already knew or something useless, and then he'd push harder, and they'd start looking uncomfortable (did they just not know, or were they hiding something?), and at some point, they either made up a bad excuse to disengage, or, if they weren't that assertive, they'd shoot a panicked look to a friend over Leon's shoulder who'd come and rescue them. It hadn't taken Leon very long before he gave up and decided to spend the rest of the evening drinking next to the fire, which really wasn't a bad way to spend the evening, all things considered. He liked the outdoors, and the crisp mountain air, and booze. It really was the perfect night for warm apple cider. By the time James found him, Leon was roasting a hot dog over the fire and enjoying a cigarette. He shifted over in his seat to give James space to sit down next to him, and made some annoyed, noncommittal noise. "Not really," he muttered. "I wound up giving up." He wondered if he should apologize in advance for the complaints James might end up getting for inviting him, and then decided it might not come up at all, so why invite trouble? "How 'bout you? Been having a good time?" James pursed his lips, as if attempting to hide a smile. His own attire for tonight’s excursion wasn’t quite so festive - though he did enjoy Leon’s shirt quite a bit. No, it was a simple outfit - jeans, black long-sleeved shirt with a (surprise) black leather jacket thrown over that; he may have distanced himself from Vorerra, even if he was still bound by certain secrecy laws, but he hadn’t given up a penchant for wearing black like many of his family members did. He placed marshmallows on the skewer carefully, holding it to roast over the fire as it crackled and popped. There were some witches from Saferra present as well, which meant that they did something elemental to let the flames change colors without the use of salt or anything else besides good old-fashioned magic - it was interesting to see, and really gave their surroundings a nice glow. The alcohol was still flowing easily and even though there was a keg it was cold enough outside to not render the ice packed around it to ‘party-winding-down slush.’ If you were one of those people who liked cold drinks on chilly nights, anyway. James definitely went for the hot, spiked apple cider. “You’ve ceased your fucking around and finding out?” he teased gently, with a grin that crinkled his eyes at the corners. “But yes, it’s been fun. I’m glad I decided to come and that you came with me. Does this mean you’ve been settling in a little more?” he asked, expecting a firm hell no as the answer, or something similar. "For one night only," Leon assured him. His hot dog looked good and roasted, and so he brought it back and pulled it off its skewer with the bun - already coated in ketchup and mustard and relish - that had been resting in his lap. He tossed the rest of his cigarette in the flames, and leaned back, sinking deeper into the floor cushions. He was reminded, a little, of the camping trips he used to take with his dad and Harry growing up. Sure, it usually didn't involve comfy floor cushions (they had either old tree stumps or foldout chairs, who the hell out floor cushions soft enough to get lost in outside on the ground, in front of fires? Hippies, that's who), or tealights in apples, or a the happy, ambient noise of a bunch of people having a good time around them, but it had involved a lot of roasting things on sticks over fire, and even if Leon's dad had had about as much interest in science as Leon himself did, he'd always bought Leon and Harry packs of fire salt to change the colour of the flames, and had shown them if they threw a copper pipe in the fire, it would turn green, or if they tossed Borax in, it would turn a different shade of green. And his dad would tell them stories so scary that they wouldn't be able to sleep at night without clutching one another's hands. "But I wouldn't hold your breath on the settling in thing," he said after a moment, and then glanced at the cushion he was most definitely settled into. "Other than literally. For tonight. I'm pretty sure this fucking thing is trying to eat me. Whose bright idea was floor cushions, anyway? I'm surprised I don't see any yurts." “And here I thought I could charm you into feeling somewhat settled,” James sighed with faux-dramatics. He had a mug he’d ladled boozy hot cider into and so he sipped from it briefly before setting it back down to take care of his marshmallows - to squish them between chocolate and graham crackers and make a mess, really. The mention of yurts made him laugh. “Not this coven, but others may have those,” he noted, sucking a bit of melted chocolate off the edge of his thumb. “You look very cozy though. I’m impressed.” He wondered if Leon would get what he wanted - if he’d be sent away from this world due to a malfunctioning waypoint; the magic was unable to be predicted, or pinned down, and no one knew when their time would be up. Some had been here years, others stayed for only weeks - it wasn’t anything personal either. You couldn’t slip a waypoint a twenty and tell it to do you a solid or anything. Still, while James hoped that he did get what he wanted there was no harm in enjoying the company while he could. "I'm not so easily charmed. It'll definitely take more than good booze and some grub." He took a bit of his hot dog. It was probably a good thing that he wasn't trying to charm anyone, because he was pretty sure the glob of condiment that spilled out onto the leg of his jeans would have the opposite effect. He frowned down at it. He was very cozy, even if he'd scowled when James dared to suggest it, and the idea of getting up for napkins wasn't one he wanted to entertain, so he just rubbed at it with his hand. He'd try to deal with the stain when he got home later. "Of course there's covens with yurts," Leon snorted. "Let me guess." He frowned, glancing up as he tried to recall what all he knew. It wasn't a whole lot, just enough to make some basic assumptions. "Geliara and Silniara for sure. Maybe Saferra." Then again, he could be wrong entirely. This definitely would not have been what he was expecting from the Asetenarra coven. The drip-drop of fallen condiment caused James to lift an eyebrow - a nearly comical lift because he was downright amused. But luckily he was always prepared for most situations so he reached into his jacket pocket for a convenient packet of wet naps, offering those to Leon without mentioning the fact that the clothes stain charm was sort of working. “I’ll keep that in mind - I like a bit of a challenge anyway,” he said, returning to the graham cracker s’more he had going on here. This kind of sweet treat was sticky and messy, however, he managed to keep himself from making too big of a mess (and he had more wet naps in his pocket). Bonfire food was kind of messy in general so no judgment. “Geliara not so much with the yurts - they’re mainly in the forest, in cozy little cottages and whatnot. Saferra is less centralized and they’re everywhere so it’s possible they have yurts - Silniara too, with their acres of farmland. So all in all, good guesses.” He tilted his head a bit, curious. “And you don’t have any magic at all?” "Thanks," Leon said, a little sheepishly, as he took the wet naps. He probably shouldn't have been surprised this guy just carried wet naps around on him. All Leon typically carried with him, aside from his wallet and now his phone, was a small, pocket first aid kit, which was small enough to fit in his palm, and a utility knife. As James talked about the covens, Leon ripped open the wet naps container with his teeth any took to cleaning his jeans, and then his hand, and then he stuck it inside his hoodie pocket; it was likely he'd probably need it again before his hot dog was through. "Me? Nah, I'm pretty normal," Leon said, taking a bite of his hot dog. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, I can talk to animals, I guess. But that's not really magic. It's just...I don't know, seeing the world for what it really is." “Oh? That still sounds a little magical - at any rate, they...” James made a broad gesture, indicating their surroundings. Indicating Asetenarra themselves - the coven who happened to be hosting this autumnal event, “...can also talk to animals, I believe.” They tended to ask an animal's permission before taking blood for spells or rituals, anyway. “Seems like it’d be a useful skill,” he noted. His own magic, his telepathy, didn’t extend to the animal kingdom - no, he was mostly burdened with hearing the thoughts of your average mundane human, though naturally Vorerra trained its witches to be able to hear thoughts at will. Being taught to keep out noise, which sounded like a frenzy of gibberish and static if you opened those floodgates, was incredibly important. “Perhaps you should have opened with that while talking to them, however, instead of the waypoint questioning,” he quipped, flashing one of those smiles that could tear down trees. "They do?" Leon asked, more than a little surprised. He'd had certain preconceptions about what 'blood magic' and 'blood magic users' were like - he'd watched a lot of horror movies when he was younger, despite the fact that they scared the hell out of him - and Asetnerra just knocked those preconceptions out of the water. It wasn't that he thought that everyone who spoke to animals was some kindly Dr. Dolittle type - the opposite, in fact, given the fact that D and his family lived for the sole purpose of wiping out humanity - but he never really thought of blood magicians as the type to 'ask permission,' especially not asking the permission of their sacrificial goat or whatever. "But yeah, it comes in handy when I'm looking for D. They've usually got a better sense of if he's in a town than humans do." And frankly, he liked animals a lot more than he did humans. Animals, for the most part, were pretty straightforward, and less prone to the general awfulness that a lot of humans seemed to thrive in. He could feel himself redden at James' smile and he turned away quickly, taking a too-big bite of his hot dog. He must have had more to drink than he thought he'd had, he decided. It took him a long moment of chewing before he could talk again. "You think chatting about conversations with Fido would get them to open up more about the Waypoints?" he asked. Oh, the red face was (dare he think it) adorable - James used a wet nap of his own, making sure to get any remnants of s’mores, and may have scooted closer on this pillow that secretly doubled as quicksand, meant to suck them in. Best they protect each other, in that case. “It’s possible,” he allowed. “Though I should caution that they may not know everything about the waypoints? Or they won’t know much more than what’s in history books and whatnot - that the waypoints were created by a coven that no longer exists.” There was also a lot of ‘timey wimey’ bullshit involved - something about a magical rock that belonged to one of the Outlanders, and how it ended up in the past and thus influencing what came about today. Really, it was enough to make one’s head spin. “And if you’re going to seek out Vorerra at some point, which I still don’t recommend - at least let me put up shields in your mind.” James already knew how it was going to go, should Leon try - he might be able to get a word or two more out of Avelina, who wasn’t much better than the other council members. But she was his aunt and there were occasions he could get through to her. A rare moment, like spotting a blue moon. Still, Vorerra wasn’t going to offer up anything useful for an Outlander. They’d just toy with him at best - and at worst, they’d arrange for him to take a swim while wearing cement shoes. Leon wondered, briefly, if James had just moved over intentionally, and then decided it had to just be that he was also falling victim to this way-too-comfortable chair. "Yeah, I know," he admitted, with an almost resigned sigh. "That's the impression I got too. That they just didn't know." After all, if everyone knew all the secrets to the waypoints, Leon could just grill James until he got what he needed. He crammed the rest of his hot dog in his mouth and wiped his fingers with the wet nap in his pocket. "So this shield is something you have to build?" Leon asked, frowning a little. Seemed to him like if someone was going to build something in his head, they'd have to first actually get inside his head. Leon didn't necessarily have any secrets - he was pretty open, all things considered: the kind of guy who wore his heart on his sleeve - but that didn't mean he wanted someone in his head. "I can't just, I don't know, do mental push-ups or something?" James glanced toward a couple of the Asetenarra witches - they were cloaked in the nighttime and in the illuminated echoes of that golden bonfire shade; he didn’t think they had all the answers, really. If anyone, it would be Geliara or Beketh or Silniara - those covens had been around since ancient times, since the waypoints were actually created. Vorerra’s history was largely concealed from the public but James knew it all anyway - and he knew that they went a lot further back than whatever was on paper. Still not as far as those other covens, however. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed when any search comes up somewhat empty,” he said. “I can sit here and tell you that there are some things we’re just not meant to know, or understand - but I realize that it won’t matter.” Until Leon hit a brick wall, anyway. James just hoped that the brick wall wasn’t his own family. But right, yes. He turned his attention entirely to the idea of mental shields. “You can do mental push-ups to keep it intact but the creation of a mental shield, if you’re not used to such things, requires some coaching,” he pointed out. “Or supervision, I should say. If you trust me, I can put a trigger in your mind - something that will let a shield go up automatically, whenever anyone tries to breach the gates.” It required some spellwork and finesse, but for someone who had been studying as long as James had - well, ultimately no big deal. Leon snorted. "Disappointment's practically my middle name at this point," he said with a rueful grin. Ten years of looking for D. Ten years of finding the petshop with D long gone, or with the incense still burning, or, like in Tokyo, when D had been with a customer when Leon showed up and had slipped out the back before Leon could see him. "Just because it's the likely option doesn't mean you just give up." It wasn't that Leon trusted people - he'd met way too many of them for that particularly bad idea - but he trusted his gut. It wasn't 100%, not all the time, but it was pretty good most of the time, especially once he'd accepted the idea that there were things in this world that Leon didn't know and that humans, and science, couldn't explain. There'd been a while there, with D, when he couldn't trust his gut, but he saw now that it was because he'd been trying to cram everything into a box of what he thought was possible, and that was, well, not possible. And right now, his gut said that James probably didn't mean him any harm. So he shot another image of a pinup girl in James' direction, nearly glaring at him as he watched for a reaction, and then shrugged. "Yeah, sure," he said. "If you think it'll help." “In that case, I admire your dedication,” James said, lips curving up into another smile. He usually didn’t read people’s minds on a whim, or for fun - though for some in his family, it was second nature to them. They did it with everyone they met, cultivating that finely-tuned sense of paranoia - they probably would have had something to say about random pin-up girls but James really didn’t. At least not from a standpoint that wasn’t psychological in nature. If we were going down that road, it was probably overcompensating for something - but he wouldn’t indulge himself in that regard right now. He simply flipped his hand over, palm up. “Give me your hand.” Did he need physical contact for spellwork? No, not so much. But sometimes it helped the other person feel less awkward, like they were just being stared at. Leon stared at the hand for a moment before he laid his own hand - warm, rough and calloused - on it. "So what, exactly, should I be expecting here?" he asked. In retrospect, he probably should have asked that before he gave James his hand, but he'd always been the type to act first and ask questions later. James curled his fingers in a little, going palm-to-palm. “You might feel a little tickle,” he advised. “Nothing bad though.” First he had to flex magic to open a connection between them, to sink into Leon’s mind - as easy as clouds into greenery, it was gentle as he murmured the words; Latin, in this case. He found the very center of him - it didn’t take James long - and it was that place in someone’s mind where all the thoughts flowed in, and flowed out. That was where James built the shield - a dome, somewhat, circling the epicenter. Brick by brick by brick, strength and length and height. The spell wove like a tapestry would, different pieces of fabric all pulled and twisted together - he didn’t need a wand or any sort of charm, he just needed a bit of concentration. Placement of the defense mechanism, the triggering of the mental shield when anyone tried to poke around in there, was the last thing - magic shimmered, the heat of a mirage on a blacktop, and then James pulled back slightly. “There we go,” he said. “Still alive, yes? Your brain’s not leaking out of your ears.” It definitely had the Vorerra stamp on it, their signature because he’d been trained by them and had been learning magic since he could talk - and James was certain they’d know it was him who did it if they tried to get past the mental block. He didn’t really care, however. It was one of the few ways to keep them out. Leon had seen enough sci-fi and horror movies to know that when someone routed around in your head, it was supposed to bring up all sorts of bad memories - or maybe good memories, but given that Leon had about twenty bad memories for every good one, he expected the former. So he was a little surprised when, instead of any of that, he just got treated to holding James’ hand while James stared at him, muttering Latin. It was, overall, a little uncomfortable, not because of anything James was doing (though, seriously, having someone muttering Latin at you was unnerving as all hell), but because Leon was suddenly aware that this was the longest he’d been in prolonged, intentional contact with another human being in ten years (even if D might take issue with being referred to as a human, given how much he hated the species, there had been Chris back then too). Sure, animals seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in roosting in his hair, or sitting on his shoulders, or curling up in his lap, no matter how much he tried to shoo them away, but it wasn’t really the same thing. He resisted the urge to break contact - the last thing he needed was whatever it was James was doing in there to only be half-done because who knew what that would mean, but once he was done, Leon turned away quickly, reached for his cider, and took a long swig. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” Leon muttered, gruffly. His hand felt strangely cold now. “You didn’t accidentally summon any demons or melt my brain, so I’ll take that as a win. You didn’t like, peek at anything, did you?” Leon didn’t really know how any of this worked. For all he knew, James had just been treated to his entire life story. “No, definitely no peeking,” James assured. He didn’t even need to say the words out loud either but sometimes the occasion called for it - perhaps Latin was a little creepy but there may have been a small part of him that found the reaction, asking him if he summoned a demon, to be amusing. A more macabre part, possibly? Maybe he also appreciated physical contact too. It had been awhile since he’d really bothered with that himself - the right kind of touch released all those feel-good neurochemicals though, a pleasant cocktail. It was possible he was touch-starved but let’s not go over his own problems and issues, shall we. “I won’t peek unless you tell me to for some reason. Even then I’d have to disarm the trigger I just put in, and that’s a bit of work too - so we’ll just leave it where it is for now, hm?” he winked, picking up his mug to sip from it while the crackling fire changed to a blue shade, like sapphires. “And I’ll just wish you luck on the rest of your...not giving up on finding answers thing.” Leon relaxed a little, sinking back into the seat. “Well, good,” he muttered, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks for helping me out. You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it. If you ever, you know, need to chat with Fido or need some handy work done or something, I’m your man.” It seemed like a pretty weak offer in comparison, but it wasn’t like Leon had much in the way of magic to work with. The chatting with Fido idea brought a bit of an entertained twitch to James’s lips. “I very well might,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to know what my cat is thinking but it’s not like I can ask him, right?” The inner workings of a feline - seemed like a dangerous game to play but it would only help them grow closer, or something. He liked to think he was giving Cheeto a good life too. The orange grumpy cat had always seemed content enough, lounging around in the sunshine on a windowsill or curled up someplace he shouldn’t fit and yet seemed to anyway. But some insight would help. “You ought to meet him sometime. I just moved to a new house and he might be feeling...discontent? The way cats do when there’s change?” Cheeto hadn’t done anything like piss in the clean laundry yet, but mostly James wanted to make sure he was fine. And actually have someone over to his Fortress of Solitude, maybe that as well. “Hell, you could ask him what he’s thinking and you still wouldn’t know,” Leon snorted. He was really more of a dog person himself. Dogs were straight-forward, they didn’t do that annoying thing where they pretended to dislike you and then hung around in your space all the time, complaining and trying to leach the heat from your lap. “But yeah, I could meet him if you wanted. I take it you had to pack up shop when you left Vorerra?” It wasn’t any of his business, really, but he was a little curious. Cats really were kind of standoffish, and indifferent to a person’s existence unless they were being fed, but there was still something about Cheeto that James really vibed with - he was affectionate when it counted, anyway, and appeared to know when a good time for that was. Plus James seemed to function best when he was taking care of someone or something else - if his house was empty, no doubt he’d live in the office and never take any breaks at all. Which wouldn’t necessarily be a good thing. “Something like that, yes,” he said, shifting on the cloud-pillow, elbows balanced on his knees as he watched the crackle of the rainbow-changing fire for a moment. “They allowed me to retire, so to speak, but - it was clear I wasn’t exactly welcome around them anymore. I lost whatever status I may have had. My aunt’s one of the three heads and I know I’ve disappointed her,” he shrugged. The thing was, you were never truly out either - despite distancing himself from that lifestyle, he was always going to be watched to some degree. And if he slipped up, they’d take care of it. But he just couldn’t be entrenched in that anymore. A home that was more like a fortress, with shit like an iron ladder beneath the bathtub that led to an escape tunnel - his parents were both rooted in Vorerra and they were in deep; they had never wanted a better life for James. What they wanted was for him to make a choice, but it wasn't much of one because they wanted him to choose their life - and he didn’t. No, he believed that evil could be rejected - that it wasn’t too late to walk a different path, one with suffering and mistakes but also one that allowed him to enjoy freedom and all the other beautiful parts of life too. Leon’s lips pulled back, grim-faced and frowning, and he shifted as well, moving from his lounged back position and leaning forward so he wasn’t going to be stuck talking to James’ back. The stuffing in the pillow seat shifted as well, pushing him closer to James, not quite touching but near enough - Leon briefly thought about trying to shift further away, and then decided he didn’t want to spend the next thirty seconds flailing away on this sorry excuse for a chair. “Some people are worth disappointing,” Leon said, frowning. “I used to be a detective back home. A long time ago, I mean. I hadn’t been one for years when I showed up here. But, you know, I saw a lot of people who went to prison, or got themselves killed, or just… you know, did stuff they just couldn’t live with because they didn’t want to let someone that they thought was worth it down. But those people that let them do those things, they were never worth it. It’s… I mean, it’s a helluva thing, walking away. That takes guts.” Those people that let them do those things, they were never worth it. It was all too true. James had been inside their heads - and not just in the way that meant he was using his magic. But in the way that meant he treated them, he saw them in his office, he knew what haunted them - it wasn’t always memories of people they’d dumped into a wood chipper (allegedly) either. Vorerra didn’t really have much of a conscience crisis - most involved with organized crime didn’t, because they equated deviance with normalcy and murder was philanthropic because it was supposed to help the family. It was the younger generation though. The sons and daughters who cried to him that they didn’t want to end up like their parents. That was what had helped him make the decision to leave. “That’s - quite a compliment,” he smiled a bit, nudging Leon with his shoulder. “And an astute observation. So thanks for that.” “I’m not an idiot all the time,” Leon grinned. “Any time you need an astute observation, feel free to come to me.” It was, mostly, a joke. He was aware that there weren’t a lot of people who’d consider him especially astute, but he’d take what he could get. “I will,” James chuckled, and he meant that - maybe Leon’s observations weren’t conventionally astute (no one carve his quotes onto a stone tablet or anything) but there was still something to take to heart there. Probably. “You provide the astute observations, I’ll provide the emergency wet naps.” Seemed like a decent deal to him. |