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

[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.