multiversallogs | your highness your ways are very strange

A wind slams sharp down the street, catching Xenophilius off-guard.

Loose leaf publications come flooding from his hands, whispering down the sidewalk, drawing a wince from the wizard as he starts off after them, crushing what he'd managed to hold onto beneath an arm. A few are snatched up off the damp concrete, moving as if to leap frog from page to page, before he remembers he is, you know. Magical. Struggling his wand from the pockets of his coat, he flicks it impatiently in the direction of scattered news pages. "Accio journalism!" It mostly half-succeeds -- some of them stop and drift on back in fragmented fluttering, while others languish where they've landed.

"At least that cuts the wheat from the chaff," he mutters, as he goes about collecting up the strewn pages.

It's practically instinct - when he sees the papers go flying, McCoy pivots in place and gathers up the ones that have fluttered down by his shoes, though some of them have gotten wet. He doesn't miss the display of magic, and he's caught off-guard, wide-eyed, still holding the papers out to the blond man.

Xenophilius doesn't notice, at first -- he moves from page to page of the scattered publications he'd summoned in zigzags, snatching them up and out of order, disregarding the messiness of the stack being collated beneath his arm. His wand is still held, somewhat absently -- it's a strange thing even by wand standards, made of a pale, ashy grey wood and carved almost like a unicorn spiral, coming to a tip.

He pauses, then, seeing McCoy and almost confused when his ever so slightly cross-eyed stare lands on the pages clutched in the strangers hands. Then, he brightens, bustling on over.

"I've a charm that'll put them in the right order, if I can remember it," he adds, holding out his hands to accept the papers in fistfuls. "Might get a bit awkward with their wetness, but now -- thank you kindly."

He sees the wand, puts two and two together - this must be what Sebastian meant by other magic users. The ones who use wands to cast those Patrony-whatsits, instead of their own blood. Though it's hardly the first time he's seen magic used since arriving in the city, it still makes his mind rebel.

"Yeah," he replies, handing over the papers to the other man to take, still a little baffled by what he'd seen. "You're a wizard?"

The pages are taken with another muttered phrase of gratitude, the movement loud with rustling as Xeno tries to manage them and his wand and ignoring the on and off breeze funneled down this street. That question, though, has him remembering the other man's immediate presence, head up and off-gaze a little guarded before he allows an uncertain smile to form.

He's still getting used to that kind of question.

"I am, sir, indeed. You aren't one, then?"

"No. I'm a doctor." Because, clearly, being a doctor and being a wizard are mutually exclusive existences. "What was that thing you did? That - ack-ee-o thing?"

"The summoning charm."

This won't be a first, for Xeno, but it is still new -- being able to share details, or even broad strokes, of his wizarding heritage with those who have none. It is a thing that evokes shyness but also a little bit of thrill and anxious keenness with the novelty, his wand brought up a little to show while his other arm pins down the messy bulk of pages to his chest. (And never mind that he's the one who used magic in full view of the world -- he's used to the enclave of wizard-only communities.)

"Simple little spell, really, but very useful. I've been told about doctors -- that's a sort've Muggle healer, isn't it? The ones that cut people open and things." He sounds more interested than judgmental, as he extends the arm that holds his wand. "Accio sports page." The errant page whispers up off the ground, snatched from the air mostly by being impaled by the wand that brought it.

McCoy notes the wand, the way it's carved and curls like a narwhal horn, and it's sort of pretty, in a weird way. He keeps an eye on it, not sure what it can do, but not wanting to get on the wrong side of it.

"We don't cut people open anymore." Beat. "Not in my time, anyway. Got to, here, with the damned level of technology availab - " And then the sports page zooms right onto his wand, with more accuracy than can just be blamed on the wind. "It just zoomed to you!"

Well, he wasn't going to read that section anyway. Or, he was, but.

Xeno glances at McCoy, almost surprised by the wonder been given his way, as opposed to the other way around, and his smile is unassuming and bright. "That is what it was meant to do," he clarifies gently, before shaking the page off his wand with a rustle. "I don't have much of that, generally. The technology. But a wand is a good thing to have.

"But you knew of wizards before, did you?"

"Not before coming here." He's still gawking, unable to believe his eyes. Seeing the magic LeMat had done was one thing, but this is another entirely. It's all completely fucking incredible (in the sense of the word that he cannot believe it) but it keeps happening. "We don't have magic in my world. We have science."

"Oh, sir, I wouldn't be too sure of that. Conversely, perhaps my world has science too, and I just didn't notice."

Xenophilius has his 'reasonable' voice on, which sounds just as meandering and wandering as the tone previous, his ever so slightly unfocused gaze settling on McCoy's as he waves his wand in emphasis. "I haven't met many wizards, here, just people who seem to know about them a little. And you're my first doctor."

If there's a difference in tone, McCoy hasn't been able to pick up on it; the man sounds just as la-de-da as he did before, but now he's waving that wand around and he can't help but flinch away. Thus far it hasn't done anything like explode, but God knows it might at any second.

"What do you go to?" he asks, horrified and intrigued. "If you don't have doctors?"

"Healers." Which, apparently, is a significant difference to doctors. Xeno's smile is small and polite, rocking his weight up onto his toes, then back down onto his heels. "No slicing and dicing of anyone involved -- they use magic, potions, charms, et cetera! We have whole hospitals full of them, but you know--"

Because he can't be a reliable ambassador the whole time. "I prefer to use my own remedies. Even our healers are a little closed minded about what can be beneficial for the human body and brain. I've done quite a bit of research in my magazine, but I don't think they subscribe to it." There's the tiniest of self-aware smirks at the corner of his mouth, but it's a buried piece of punctuation in the la-de-da story of Xeno's expression.

"But I don't know if that would interest Muggle healers much, even ones that don't cut people up."

...magic, potions, and charms. Maybe it's just because he hasn't seen it in action (because honestly, the magic he has seen ... is kind of impressive), but it sounds like using faith, trust, and pixie dust to McCoy. His raised eyebrow makes it clear how he feels about it.

"Dare I even ask what kind of home remedies you use."

Xeno is oblivious to this cynicism, an arm going out to urge McCoy further towards the building fronts so that they can best stand and converse in the shade as well as out of the way of the wind. "Oh, nothing outrageously outlandish. But the saliva of the common garden gnome is enormously beneficial, and people should not be so quick to treat common bites. Gurdyroot tea infusions are, I'm quite convinced, excellent for victims of poisonings and toxin-related sickness.

"And Dirigible Plums greatly enhance one's ability to accept ideas and free up the ability to think. I grow my own, back home. I haven't really discovered what sort of magical plantlife Baedal has to offer."

He moves closer to the building with the other man, and the words crazy fucking hippie wizard are ricocheting off the inside of his skull like so many tiny, doubting bullets.

What the fuck are dirigible plums?

"Sorry - what?" He stares at the light-haired man with a look that is a combination of confusion, distress, and - yes - horror. "I have never - did you say - garden gnome saliva? The little plastic thingers in my grandma's yard?"

"No, real ones."

His hands kind of position themselves to show the approximate height of the average garden gnome, the crossy-eyed nature of his gaze wandering back to McCoy's and a little hesitation and doubt creeping in that this is making the impact that Xenophilius would hope it to make. His hands fold together, smile fixed but uncertain.

"Which, I am sure, sounds impossibly ludicrous to Muggles such as yourself-- that's non-magic people. But I assure you, there is much in the world just ready to be believed."

"Real ones." That's definitely flat doubt in his voice. "Real versions of the little plastic thingers that my grandma had in her yard. And their saliva is useful."

Saliva as a useful thing is not foreign to him. Garden gnome saliva is.

"Yeah, it kinda does sound ludicrous. Do they still have the little hats?"

"Well, one would assume that wee statues are made to model after something else," Xeno offers, mildly, hands still locked together but head tilting in some gesture. "In the same way stories hold a little truth to them, rumours beginning somewhere. You must look past what is initially apparent, doctor."

A beat. What were they talking about? Oh right-- "I suppose they'd like hats, wouldn't they? I don't think it would tamper with the effects of the saliva much."

"No," McCoy agrees, still clearly in over his head but flailing for the surface anyway, his confusion apparent in his eyes and in the rapidly deepening furrow of his brow. He has, he realizes, lost complete control over the conversation, because now they're apparently discussing the effect that hats have on saliva and what has his life become. "No, I don't think hats do, normally."

He checks his CiD for the time. "Uh, listen, I gotta get back to Hellsing. It's been... " A hesitation. "A conversation with you, Mr. Lovegood."

"Hellsing!"

Oh no, that sounds dangerously close to a renewed conversation. "You as well, then? The Guild of Battling Preternatural Horrors." This is recited with an almost schoolboy-like interest, hands pressed together despite the crush of his journalistic literature to his chest. "I dare say you'll encounter a bit more magic than a simple Summoning Charm, but if you have any questions, I've already informed Hellboy he is free to contact me."

At least, actually, Xeno feels prepared to let McCoy extricate himself.

"Yeah, I've come across some of it," McCoy agrees cautiously, not sure if he should get more into this just in case it leads to talking to Lovegood longer. He's still confused as hell over Patronawhatevers, but he suspects that if he asked him, he would be even more confused, and probably angry, too. "I'll be sure to let Hellboy know if anything crops up that I can't understand."

This is a lie.

your highness your ways are very strange

a noon // streets of mog hill

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god, my lateness everywhere.

it's okay, i'm really slow too.

ok that made me gigglefit.

happy to help