multiversallogs | A toast to that invincible bunch [OPEN]

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A toast to that invincible bunch [OPEN]

Who: Mina and YOU
What: A "thank God we're not dead" party
Where: Common Room, Valhalla Inn
When: Wednesday evening
Notes: Party log; please specify if you're tagging someone in particular, or if it's open season on your character
Warnings: Angering Mina probably results in unhappiness

There were two things Mina rarely did; over-indulge and wear dresses. Tonight, she decided, was a night to throw both inhibitions to the wind. And so, as she made her way up to the common room, she made her way in style, wearing a slinky crimson gown with no back and a plunging neckline. She looked good. Classy, as any society woman of her day. Well, the 1930s, anyway, since she would always consider her day to be the 1720s, really. The only drawback of the dress was that it left both her pirate brand and her Valkyrien Amazon tattoo uncovered, but at this point, Mina was fairly certain that no one would recognize or care about either marking.

The room had been arranged to her satisfaction. She enjoyed ostentation immensely, but opted for a more low-key take on the celebrations. The lights were pleasantly dimmed and there was jazz music playing out of some marvelous contraption that Mina had borrowed. Around the room, she had a few trays of food arranged. Since Mina had no sense of taste to speak of, she hired someone to take care of the food and drinks. The only culinary arrangement she had made for herself was a special mixed drink; store-bought blood (dreadful though it was) laced with ample amounts of rum. That was being kept under a table for now.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, adjusting the angle of her fedora slightly. There was no telling what to expect tonight. And frankly, given her experiences in Chicago, she probably should have known better to arrange for any kind of public affair. But Mina was in a bad mood and when she was in a bad mood, she tended to revert into her flippant, false persona to spare herself of too much thought. Besides, she was in the mood to dance with someone handsome.

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Jones runs a hand through her hair. "It's a shame, really, because the sort of people who tend to be good at convincing aren't usually interested in this sort of cause..." She sighs. "And, I mean, I've got friends who are a bit better at that sort of thing, but they're a bit too much into Communism as an end in itself that they want to achieve by any means necessary, rather than a means to an end."

She stretches, swinging her arms a bit—she isn't the sort of person used to standing still. Almost out of habit, her hands start to move into the familiar pattern for casting the Supernal Vision. She still hasn't forgotten that he correctly identified her as a magic-user when they first spoke, and she's more than a little interested in what sort of person he is.

"Once upon a time, I was very good at swaying the opinions of others," he says with a gentle, almost wistful smile, "But that time is past and in another country."

Should she get a look at his aura, or whatever it is mages look into, Jones might be able to see a whole host of nasty old injuries: it's clear that he was once (and might still be) very powerful, but layered over and through that is the remains of a horcrux, multiple hexes and curses that were never fully unwound or treated immediately, and, in general, damage that made a Verbena raise an eyebrow and whistle. (Thanks, Sol.) Starting at a young age, Sebastian was involved in a vicious, long-term magical war and it shows.

If she notices nothing else, there's a bright and unsubtle ~~magical tramp stamp~~ working on him that, roughly, translates to 'MINE. If found, please return to Princess Nuala'.

Jones does a bit of a double-take, getting a glimpse of his aura—dear God in heaven, what has been done to him—and a number are clearly magical injuries. Well, it's clear why he knew she was magical; he's had more than his share of encounters with the magical. Why he's not running screaming from her now is the real question, given what he's been through.

She studies him closely. "Say, here's one thing I've been wondering for a while," she says. Her tone is level. Maybe a little too level. "How did you know I was a magical sort when we first spoke? I realize magic is more common here than it is most places, but...?"

With the sudden turn in conversation, Sebastian's quiet, gentle sort of contentment at discussing politics fades, his expression cooling to something less personable and more non-committal, "You said your home had been relocated to Arcadia. It seemed a pretty logical leap and when I asked, you agreed."

In Sebastian's experience, muggles and other 'vanilla' humans don't last long when dealing with the fae.

"I suppose that's a fair assumption," says Jones, mildly. She's really just curious. "Especially from someone who's no stranger to magic himself. I'm right, aren't I?" She takes a sip of punch, and looks down at her feet. "Er, sorry if you're trying to keep it quiet, I guess; it's just I've been kind of hoping for more people like me here and I just..."

She laughs nervously. "Wow, um. I've singlehandedly made this conversation really uncomfortable for everyone, haven't I."

"No, you haven't." Sebastian is quiet again, taking his time to through what he wants to say and what he ought to say.

"I'm not trying to hide what I am or was. When I was younger, I was heavily involved in a wizarding war and now I don't do magic anymore."

"Oh. Oh. I... I don't know what to say. I'm sorry." She bites her lip. "War is a terrible thing. I can only imagine an all-out war fought by sorcerers would be exponentially worse. I... I can see how that would put someone off magic altogether."

"I'm not put off it, not at all." Sebastian looks away from Jones, out and over the room. He's not really used to talking about this sort of thing with strangers, but he recognizes that it's healthy for him to actually speak about it. "Would you mind stepping outside for a moment? I could use a smoke."

It's a nervous habit more than anything else.

"Sure, that's fine." Jones shifts a little, unsure of herself. "I could use a bit of fresh air myself."

"Thanks." Sebastian really doesn't do well at parties and visibly relaxes once they're outside. He offers her one of the last two cigarettes in a crumpled and rather worn packet labelled in French. "They're stale and taste awful, but you're welcome to one."

"How'd you know that I'd done magic? What do you see?"

Jones politely declines the cigarette—"I don't smoke, but thanks," she says. There's no judgment in it.

She runs a hand through her hair. "I'm surprised you can't see it," she says. "I thought you had, when we first spoke. Mages have sort of a sense for other creatures above and beyond those who Sleep, I guess. Well, and the magic sort of lingers, I suppose; as I see it you glow with a sort of inner, sparkling light. Though someone's tried to put it out. Unsuccessfully, I'd note."

A small smile. "It was something that, when I first Awakened—it was like I'd been blind and deaf my whole life and not known it, practically." She stops and thinks for a moment. "If you can't see it—would you like to?"

Sebastian manages not to snort at 'inner sparkling light', but it's a near thing. He hasn't felt particularly glitter-filled for a very long time.

"I would, but I ... you're using terms I don't know that could be why I can't see what you're talking about," he says, pausing to take a drag on the cigarette. It mainly acts as a prop and a distraction, but he does occasionally actually smoke. "Different worlds, maybe? Who're those who sleep? My people don't use the term mage, either."

It's less like glitter, more like stars, really.

"'Sleeper' is how we refer to ordinary folk, who haven't yet Awakened to magic. Haven't had their eyes opened yet to the larger universe, to extend the metaphor a bit." She sighs. "It seems magic works differently for different people here. Which I guess is to be expected of magic, in that it doesn't tend to follow rules all the time." She looks wistfully up at the night sky, with its unfamiliar constellations. Then again, it wasn't like Arcadia had real constellations, but it felt more like home.

My god, he's full of stars?

"I can't really remember a time when I didn't, well, that I couldn't is more correct." He didn't know what was wrong with himself (and that there was nothing wrong) until he was much older. "Tell me how it works for you? If you'd like?"

He may be slow to speak and quiet when he does talk, but his curiosity is sincere. It takes effort for him to listen well, but Sebastian knows that and is willing to take the time to really pay attention to Jones.

"Hm, well..." She stretches a little, clasping her arms behind her back. "I didn't know magic existed until I was sixteen, you know. I suppose I wouldn't have noticed if the thought had even crossed my mind to look, even; my life was... well, there wasn't a whole lot of time left for imagination, in my household."

Her expression turns distant. "I don't know how mages are in other worlds. Perhaps there are other ways of awakening to the mysteries? There are a number of Paths. I've heard there's more than five, but there are five most common ones; different ways your awakening attunes you to magic. My Path, the Moros Path, tends to be, well, most colored by death. Nearly every mage of my sort Awakened after either coming near to death or seeing someone else die." She bites her lip. "I hope you don't mind if I gloss over the e-exact circumstances," she says, her voice catching a little bit. "It's... it's not really pleasant to remember. I think you can imagine well enough."

"I can. I remember seeing thestrals for the first time -- do you know them? They're a sort of skeletal dragon-horse that only those who've accepted death can see. Up to that point, I'd thought it was all horseless carriages." Sebastian shakes his head, not to rid himself of the memory, but to move past the uncomfortable emotions associated with that year. Fifteen was not a good time.

"For us, there's no awakening, no paths, you either are or you aren't, they take you at eleven and you go to a school to learn the 'proper' ways," he says, keeping his voice relatively neutral, but if she's very good at reading people, Jones might recognize that he's conflicted about this method.

"Thestrals... I can't say I've heard of them, but I don't think a lot of magical creatures naturally live in the city, I guess. Perhaps they're not native?" She sounds mildly interested in them, in a sort of academic way. "That does sound frightful, though, suddenly seeing that."

She considers the idea of a magical school. "A magic school? Do they teach you just magic, or is it like a school school, but just with extra sorcery lessons?" Jones hears the bit of uncertainty in his voice, but doesn't know what he'd be so unsure about; a magic school sounds kind of lovely to her. Maybe it's her romantic view of education, never having properly had much of one, though.

"It's just magic; all very 'hands-on', if not always practical. I've yet to find an application for turning a badger into a teakettle and back again." Sebastian's opinions on education are complex and he's still working through them. He can't quite look back at Hogwarts and see his time there without taking in the broader context of the war and wondering if there had once been a time that encouraged a little more critical thinking and less memorization by rote.

"A badger into a tea kettle?" That is indeed perplexing in terms of what it would be useful for. "I suppose if you needed a tea kettle in an emergency—though wouldn't it be easier to just, you know..." She waves her hand, mutters something, and lo, a tea kettle drops into it. "The transition from life to matter would just make it harder..."

She's actually thinking about this pretty hard. Surely they must've had a reason, but she can't come up with one.

"My mentors were always more theoretical sorts, I suppose. I had to learn more philosophy my first week in than I knew existed."

"I had nothing of the sort, except the kind you can bodge together during war," he says, referring to philosophy. "I've recently had the opportunity to learn more about it and I'm...it's slow going, but I like what I've read. I like that there's options."

It might be an odd thing to say, but Sebastian is both astounded and angry by the variety of knowledge available. As enthusiastic as he is now about all the books that are available to him, he can't help but wonder why wasn't this his before? Why was he denied the opportunity to know?

"Isn't it great? I didn't have much in the way of a real education until I started learning magic," she says, wistfully. Those days had been magical in more than the literal sense of the word. "Suddenly there's all these things that I never knew that even existed where I could have found them before—I just hadn't known where to look, you know? It's a shame they didn't teach it at your school. I mean, a certain amount of philosophy on the use of power and ethics is a must, in my opinion."

She lets out a low chuckle. "There's really far too many people who get handed mundane power that could use a bit more of that, really."

"A little bit of ethics might've gone a long way," he says, wryly. While he supports learning transfiguration, the cavalier attitude to the suffering of those badgers, toucans, and tortoises bothers him in a vague, nebulous sort of way. There are times when he wonders if that sort of indifference to the discomfort of animals translated and affected how easy it was for wizards to turn on each other.

"Then again, for a whole host of reasons, a little philosophy is a very dangerous thing."

"The really worthwhile things always are, a little bit," says Jones, smiling. "I like to hope, though, that if you teach people to think, they'll come to the just conclusion in the end." She brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear and her mouth twists slightly. "I hope, anyway."

"It's a good thought." And something that he believes in as well.

"So," he says carefully, looking down to his cigarette more than up at her face, "You said you might be able to help me see? How would that work? Exactly?"

"Well, I mean, I can't see like that all the time; it'd be really hard to see where I was going, really, because it all looks so different." She waves her hands vaguely. "Basically, it's just the same thing I do for myself, to see, erm, beyond, I guess? It's perfectly safe, no chance of blindness, etcetera."

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