|Peter Vincent thinks people see what they want to (smokingmagician) wrote in wariscoming,|
@ 2014-03-31 02:37:00
|Entry tags:||olivia vincent, peter vincent|
Who: Peter Vincent, Olivia Vincent
What: Peter’s first moments of magic. From now on, he would no longer be afraid or broken. He was strong, powerful.
Where: Phoenix House, Practice Studio
When: Sunday afternoon, March 30, 2014
Warnings: Peter’s foul mouth
Status: Closed, Ongoing!
(cut text lyrics from “Man Up” by The Blue Van )
Looking in the mirrored wall at himself, nothing was visibly different on the outside. Only he could see it... or feel it rather, a new sixth sense that he had no name for aside, simply, from magic. It was like an impression of warm water and static flowing together through his very skin, like getting caught in the perfect song, like the sweetest food he’d never tasted. It was beauty and euphoria. This was feeling in its purest and most powerful form, creativity made tangible, brought to the surface straight from his own soul. Peter spread his arms out, closing his eyes and bathing in the entheastic sensations, exciting and new and so, so empowering.
He always had loved magic, from every angle. Everything from the esoteric whisperings of long dead occultists to the smoke and mirrors of his and his peers’ performances had always fascinated him. He’d mastered all that he was able to, discovered all the secrets he could, but in the end he was limited. He’d dreamed of something like this but never been able to have it, until now. It was like he’d been paralyzed all his life and suddenly he could move and feel again.
He clapped his hands together in front of him, feeling the magic thrumming through his veins in time with his heartbeat. Soft velvety petals tickled against his palms, and he cupped them, making room. Slowly, his hands opened, revealing a perfect snow white lily. Peter smiled and laughed, utterly exhilarated. He drew his hands further apart, watching the flower expand out and separate into its parts - stamen, pistil, petals, sepals.
Another flicker of power and they dissolved into glowing points of vibrant colours he didn’t even have names for. The little lights filled the room like snowfall, drifting in the air and dancing on his skin. To outside eyes, it would simply be a pretty light show, but to Peter… he breathed and he could smell it filling his lungs, listened and felt the air vibrating with its music, wind chimes and flutes and deepest drums. Peter’s smile was euphoric, tears tracing down his cheeks, caught up in that moment of pure ethereal beauty.
This magic wasn’t just for aesthetics though - it was power. He’d wanted magic suited to his knowledge and needs, to be able to protect himself, to protect his family. And for the first time in his life… Peter felt powerful. He felt strong. He felt like his chest might burst with the new indescribable sensations of his own magic shooting through him, imagination waiting to be given shape. This wasn’t the cocky mask of desperation and last ditch hopes. It wasn’t borrowed courage from his friends. This was his own. Maybe the wish bauble had tapped into it for him, but the magic came from himself. He wanted it, was ready for it. This could be his fresh start, not because Charley goaded him out of his hiding place, not because Andrew made him dream about a possible future, but because he, Peter, was now strong and capable, because he could.