come and spend some time with mr. wrong

[theworstmagician]

Who: Marty, Will and OPEN
What: Mr. Hair tries to loot shops and fight monsters.
Where: Various places.
When: Any time over the course of the plot
Notes: This is a generic opening for Marty; you can assume he's doing this to several shops, so if you want to tag in, feel free to pick and choose what kind of shop you find him in.
Warnings: Violence, probably.

Some people never learn. Marty Williams is one of those people. In the past few days, he's used more magic than he had in weeks. This meant that it was bound to come crashing down on him somehow-- the fun was in finding out how and when. Hell, for all Marty knew, his magic didn't work the same in Baedal. Maybe it was easier to manage. Really, he wouldn't know unless he tried.

So, when he touches a doorknob and focuses his mind on disorder and disintegration, concentrates on shifting the smallest particles that made up the metal, tampering with the doorknob at its basest levels, he's really just testing the limits of his magic.

All things fall apart. He's just speeding up the process in three... two...

He jiggles the knob, smirking to himself when the door easily comes open. Sucks for the shopkeeper, whoever he is-- his lock's thoroughly broken now. 'Course, he probably has bigger things to worry about right now, like the bone dragon Marty saw flying around earlier.

Keeping a firm grip on his bloodied lead pipe, Marty enters the shop and begins looking around for valuables to loot.

He'd make a joke about being from New Orleans right now-- hey, this is how we roll in a post-Katrina world-- but the truth is: Marty's never looted anything before showing up in... what's this place called again? Beedle or something.

(Way to pay attention, Marty.)

Whatever, it's Monsterville now. And even though he's new to the whole "pillaging and plundering" business, Marty's finding that it comes surprisingly naturally to him. Maybe because this kind of thing's easy to do when the world's going to hell.

Comments

mog hill pharmacy?? also yell at me if the telepathy's not ok

[gramarye]

Wolfgang pauses just outside the threshold of the shop, having almost missed the fact that the door's lock is busted. Something is in there and he's not about to waltz blindly into a potentially dangerous enclosed area armed with a weapon that's not very familiar to him.

So he probes it first, like flexing a muscle he hasn't used in years. His psychic presence rolls through the building, the barest mental brush against whatever minds are contained therein. Surface thoughts are all he's listening for, which, well, that's all he can listen for. It's not a surefire recon method because many of the monsters infesting the city are psychic blind spots, but it's better than nothing. Whatever is in there is human and neither insane nor dying, so he walks in with only a moderate amount of caution instead of being at red alert.

There's blood in his hair and he's carrying a baseball bat with nails hammered into one end, but considering he's built like an eleven-year-old girl and about as strong as one, he is probably the least threatening person in the city right now. He is alone. He sees a man with a pipe who he doesn't recognise, and that's all; he relaxes.

"Find anything good?" he asks, dryly. It's not a condemnation -- he has no way of telling whether anyone is taking anything because they need it or just because they want it. He did see someone grabbing a bunch of antiques the other day, but whatever, he's not the police, he's not going to do anything about it.

God knows if the Militia are; he's staying out of their way as much as possible.

okay this tag's a real boy now. ALSO TELEPATHY IS FINE

[theworstmagician]

Marty doesn't know what half of this shit does, but he's taking it anyway. Some out of necessity-- painkillers are pretty useful when there are creepy crawlies out to eat the town-- and some are just for fun. Anything that isn't necessary or fun is getting tossed into the "profit???" pile on the now-cluttered countertop. He can sell... sinus pills to somebody when this is over, he's sure. Okay, then. Tossing that in the pile now.

Marty Williams: prescription drug dealer. He's found his new calling.

He's counting his stash when the door creaks open. Marty swings his pipe up and rests it on his shoulder, preparing for battle all casual-like.

Ignore the blood he's just gotten on his shirt. (He should really clean this pipe.)

Once he gets a look at the interloper, Marty relaxes a smidgen... not that it's obvious with the lackadaisical way he's carrying himself. He's pretty sure Wolfgang's just some skinny chick looking to score some free shit. Or... skinny dude. Okay, the latter's more or less confirmed when the new guy speaks. In any case, there are enough pills to go around, so what does Marty care.

"I think I found some medieval Ritalin," he remarks lazily, tossing a bottle up and down in one hand.

[gramarye]

"You think?" He sounds extremely doubtful. "I hope you're not planning on taking it, then."

Wolfgang drops the backpack he's carrying -- it's empty -- on the floor as he surveys the pharmacy. The locked door must have discouraged anyone else from coming in here because it's still pretty full; Marty might be the first person to have come in here since it closed. That suits him, he can get all this done in one trip instead of having to find a grocery.

He takes food off the shelves, the canned stuff that ought to last for a while, arranging it on the counter before he pulls out some string. He does some kind of cat's cradle thing over it and when he's done, pulling a loop through a hole in the string, the entire collection shrinks down to Barbie-sized. He could carry all that in his pocket; how handy.

He doesn't think twice about using magic in front of other people, in spite of the instinctive understanding he had as a child that nobody could know. Baedal is a city run by magic and it's as common as electricity, there's no reason to hide here. No Bad Suits.

[theworstmagician]

"Why not?" he says in a voice that suggests he's totally going to take it, although he really has no plans for the drugs. Maybe he'll try them after this is all over. "Maybe it'll give me this..." He points his pipe out like he's aiming a gun. "...laser-like focus when I'm killing zombies or whatever." That's how Ritalin works, right?

He drops the pills on the counter and props his elbows up, leaning forward to watch Wolfgang pick out his goods. Okay, so going after the canned stuff makes sense. A lot more sense than breaking into a bakery and taking stale bagels and fruit that was thiiis close to going off, which was what Marty spent his morning doing.

He arches a brow when that string's pulled out, but to his credit, he doesn't say anything. Yet. For now, he watches Wolfgang's movements, wondering why the hell the guy's playing cat's cradle while there are monsters outside.

And then the cans shrink before his eyes. Marty's scrambling over the counter to get a better look, awestruck because that's either one damn fine illusion (in which case, he needs to learn it if he ever picks up the "magician" gig again) or because the two of them have more in common than he thought.

"What's next, can you make the building disappear?"

Well, it's a better conversation starter than "I can do magic, too!"

[gramarye]

"Or it could... give you seizures or something." This is coming from the guy who's been using prescription psychiatric medication without the supervision of a doctor for three years, under the assumption that just because they've stopped his hallucinations, that must mean they're helpful. He is king of the hypocrites, everyone bow down.

Wolfgang tosses the shrunken food in his bag and starts the whole process over again, startling visibly when Marty comes closer to examine the process; he's jumpy, this guy.

Can he make the building disappear?

He blinks, a little bewildered, as he takes the time to actually seriously consider that. He doesn't know even half of what he can do, only has a sort of instinctual understanding of it where he should have spent the past twenty years being taught focus and discipline -- shrinking and growing objects is one of the most complex things he can remember how to do.

"You mean without blowing it up?" ... honey.

[theworstmagician]

Marty shrugs off the possibility of a seizure, because while he's sure that can happen to somebody, he's pretty sure it won't happen to him. It's one of those Somebody Else problems, like so many things in the world. Such as "consequences for one's actions," for example.

He raises his brow. Blowing it up? Fun as that would be, it's not quite what he has in mind. He leans in closer all chummy-like-- because what is personal space?-- and says, "Pretty sure that would be cheating. I'm talking David Copperfield shit. Like. 'Put a sheet over the Statue of Liberty and make it disappear.'" And now, a tangent. "I could never do it with the big things. You know, when it's like. Something little, like a kid?" He snaps his fingers. "Easy. It's all in the mirrors."

He cranes his neck and looks around. "But I'm not seeing any, so...?"

Still not accustomed to a world where one can practice magic openly, he's waiting for Wolfgang to make the first mention of magic magic.

[gramarye]

Wolfgang leans away to keep approximately the same distance between them -- because oh god personal space -- and is seriously alarmed for a moment at the idea of disappearing a child until he figures... no, he doesn't mean literally.

"You're new, yes?" Educated guess, since most Baedalites would assume actual magic. Which means this guy is in his Cohort. He should keep better track of the Network, he makes a note to do that as soon as he finds his CiD again. He gnaws on his lip for a moment because still in Baedal he has to fight against his natural inclination to keep this secret, which is ridiculous. Nobody here cares. There are bigger and badder mages who do more casual magic than him daily. He shrugs, finally. "I don't do illusion. I think I could make a building disappear but I don't know where I would put it instead."

Just drop a house on someone in the spirit world, they love that shit.

[theworstmagician]

"Hey." Oh, wait, 'You're new' isn't an insult so much as a statement of fact. He props his elbow on the counter again and leans his face against it. "Yeahhh. Kinda." A thoughtful pause. "They should give people medals for making it a week here."

He wraps his fingers over his chin and taps at his upper lip, thinking deeply on Wolfgang's words. Really, he's thinking about the whole "dropping a house on someone" thing, too-- mainly thinking about how totally amazing that would be. It would be like the ultimate display of magical prowess.

Marty doesn't think all that big.

"What else could you do?" Marty's own magic being as limited as it is-- and usually nothing anybody can see-- he feels like he's just stumbled upon Merlin or something.

[gramarye]

Wolfgang works as he talks, clearing out a lot of the food; he leaves some behind for other people, but he's got a long list of stuff they need. After food, he goes for medicine, picking out stuff that isn't valuable in terms of recreational use -- anti-inflammatory drugs, prepackaged herbal mixes, blood restoration potions. How boring. He's going to have to go behind the counter to look for stronger stuff, which he's reluctant to do with another person around.

He doesn't want anyone knowing that he takes clozapine.

"It's usually not this bad..." A pause, then he pulls a face. "I mean, not -- it's usually not bad. Period." Just in case Marty gets the idea that Baedal is generally only slightly less monster-infested; Wolfgang is going to be fair, even if the city's taken a big shit on him so far. Millions of people managed to live perfectly safe, comfortable lives here up until now.

"I don't know, exactly. The... magic thing --" There's the m-word for you, Marty, and he does sound extremely reluctant to actually give voice to it for various reasons, among them being that it's super weird, "-- is sort of new."

[theworstmagician]

Marty shrugs, conceding that maybe it isn't always bad. After all, he did get like, five hours of seeming normalcy before the terrorist threats started and the sky ripped open. It's possible Baedal isn't a total shit-hole 24-7. Right now, he doesn't care about that so much as he's fixating on the magic.

"Not bad for someone new. You, uh." He's uncharacteristically hesitant, trying to choose his words carefully for once. This is the first time he's talked about magic with somebody who wasn't his sister, and it's kind of... weird. "Anyone teach you, or what? I mean, because the most impressive thing I can do is make a coin land on heads like, a hundred times in a row."

[gramarye]

His hands pause midway through what he's doing before he goes on with it. "No." His smile is hesitant and unsure because he has no idea if that's normal or not. (He suspects it isn't.) "Well, that's not easy -- producing the same effect consistently, I mean."

... at least it's not for him, but Wolfgang's magic likes to do whatever the hell it wants and drag him along after it; he feels a sense of relief when he actually gets it to do exactly what he wants it to do, like now; later, when he has to un-shrink these things? God knows. They could very well end up with a can full of peas the size of golf balls. He can never seem to get them the right size again. "It's, um, very common here -- magic in general. There's a whole college for it at TMU, but I don't know how... effective they are."

When he worked there, he avoided it. It really freaked him out and also is possibly full of crazy people.

[theworstmagician]

That much, Marty can relate to. His magic has been known to be unreliable, inconsistent at best. Dealing with luck may have its perks from time to time (otherwise he wouldn't do it), but fate's fickle. The whole "be careful what you wish for" thing has hit him in the face more than enough times.

"There's a wizard school here?" He sounds a little too excited at the prospect-- Marty may have the completely wrong impression of the TMU. He's picturing something whimsical with flying books and magic number 2 pencils. "Aw man, you don't think--"

He pauses, glancing at the door. Right, there are still... monsters outside. Which means it's probably not the best time to think about Wizard U. Or, rather, he should shift gears a little and...

"How... y'know, secure d'you think that place is? If somebody were to," he shrugs. "Go there for... protection."

Loot it.

Hey, magical trinkets could sell for a lot. Maybe.

[gramarye]

"Um," he says.

Wolfgang glances at the pile of miscellaneous crap Marty has acquired, the pile of valuables and the discarded worthless ones. Someone else might encourage Marty to do exactly that, because a) it would be hilarious, and b) it's really better for someone to learn not to... ask for protection on their own -- and Wolfgang's hesitation is clear on his face because he sort of gets the sense that maybe that's the case, here.

But he can't just let him run off to the MAF and get turned into a toad (or worse) without at least trying. The college is aligned with Shada; he's seen what he was assured were realistic drawn renditions of what her children look like.

"If you're looking for protection, you'd have better luck at one of the safe houses," he says instead, carefully. "They've probably shut down because of the crisis, um... and I've heard things." He gives him what he hopes is a significant look. "About that school."

That it isn't Pigfarts.