deercountry | 🐝 bee (2) compendium 🐝

[ He notices the amber wards from the street, just in the corner of his vision as he pauses to light a hand-rolled cigarette at the corner. He smokes the cigarette and contemplates the door, finally turning and approaching. He stands there assessing the wards even longer, wonders how difficult an exercise it would be to break them. Warding is of particular interest to him, it's the class he taught at the academy. Students had loathed his class, his expectations were for perfection and he did not nurture.

Certainly, what's here is functional, but he is certain he could do better. He pushes inside the shop. His omen shows briefly at his side, illuminated by the amber ward light. The black dog is made of smoke and cinder, keen-eyed but immaterial. Then gone again as Creeping Dust strides in. His own dark, keen eyes scan the displays.

But oh hey, shop boy: ]

What is it you do here?

( Truthfully, this place scares the hell out of Peter. The items it sells are... strange. Candles and herbs and things that come with warning labels. Crystals that have an energy to them, inky substances in jars. All of it is spooky, but that's not the real reason it gives Peter the creeps so much.

It's because he can... feel this place, in a very particular way. Something inside of himself is so incredibly sensitive to the types of items here, even the wards that hold guard outside; sometimes Peter finds himself feeling rippling waves of nausea, light-headed. Other times the sparks behind his eyes burn brighter and wider. Often, he's just standing frozen in place, eyes wide, in some fugue-like daze. Tongue brushing the roof of his mouth with a soft cluck-sound.

He's haunted as all-fuck, and this place brings it out.

But his girlfriend (who is a witch) happens to run this place now, alongside another witch, and Peter is often helping out around the little occult shop. His tasks are mostly stock and shelving related, which is what he's doing when he hears the door open — turning to look over his shoulder at the person who enters.

Peter does get a flicker of the entity alongside the man before it vanishes, enough that it startles him and he fumbles with the box of candles in his hands. Thankfully not dropping anything, but there's a clink of glass as they rattle against each other. )

Oh— um, hi. ( Peter's six feet tall and yet carries himself like he wishes he were a lot smaller, wide eyes looking nervous. ) This place? Sells... I guess you could say occulty-type stuff. ( He winces a little as he says it, like he's afraid of it... )

Protective stuff, potion ingredients... stuff like that. Kind of spooky, right?

[ He is not impressed with this answer and it shows on his face, a faint sneer on his lips. His first assumption about this haunted as all-fuck boy is that he must be another one of the curios here. He wonders what must be inside him that is too stubborn or dangerous to remove. ]

Fear is not a wise choice. It undermines your intent, weakens your magic.

( Peter blinks, visibly startled by the response, and the expression of the man it belongs to — but underneath everything is a weird discomfort that immediately blossoms. That........ sounds almost exactly like something that Paimon would say. Has said, actually. )

Oh— I don't— I don't have magic.

( The young man's shaking his head, almost seeming frightened of the very idea of having magic, insisting against it. ...It's technically true, he can't really do magic, can't work it himself. But he absolutely has something magical inside of him, and he's terrified of that thing's powers. )

I'm just working here to help out my girlfriend, ( he adds, words an anxious rush. )

[ I don't have magic. Creeping Dust looks amused by this assertion and its accompanying fear. Creeping Dust is the kind of man who replaces fear with anger and certainty; slow murmuring coals suddenly flaring to life. Defiance. ]

A fascinating choice, to employ someone so under-qualified.

[ What a charmer. ]

( Peter startles again at the remark — giving an awkward kind of laugh after. Is this guy teasing him or genuinely judging him.... Either way, Peter's not about to get defiant. He's already intimidated by the stranger, his overall vibe, the way he's not certain how to take him.

One thing that's clear is that he knows about magic, though. And that in itself has an unpleasant tightening in the young man's gut, like a snake coiling slowly. )

I uh, make sure to stay away from the dangerous stuff. So I don't fuck anything up. ( He almost smiles, but it's mostly a wince; he's dragging himself..... )

Hm.

[ What an unfortunate boy. He has all the tell-tale signs of a Crying Spider. The members of that zodiac are prone to such lots in life. Powerful enough to attract supernatural attention, but not disciplined enough to fend them off.

But then again. Creeping Dust's own little brother is a Crying Spider. A promising one, but can they really all be diamonds in the rough? ]

You strike me as a boy that danger finds, regardless.

( Peter is no stranger to the feeling of being Seen in a particular way, and yet no matter how many times it happens, it's not something he can ever really get used to. The man unnerves him, the way he's looking at him, the things he's said.

That remark gets a soft exhale, the younger's eyelids fluttering in a quiet surprise. He glances to the side for a moment, almost like he's looking for someone. (Luna or Willow, please.... come save him....) )

I uh... you wouldn't be wrong. ( He has to admit, with another little wince. ) My world was pretty different from this one, so.... still kind of learning the ropes about all this. Magic stuff. Sometimes learn the hard way just how dangerous it can be.

( A beat, and a question nervously asked. )

You must be pretty used to it, though?

[ Creeping Dust has this impact on most people. The people in this world would describe him as a man with "eyes open". Someone who has looked past the comfortable veils of mortal existence in great depth. ]

I've studied for a long time, yes.

[ And just for kicks, ]

I was around your age when I began.

[ Creeping Dust himself is of a rather indeterminable age. The way he wears his messy curls almost always obscuring some part of his face does not help in the determining. ]

( The thing inside of Peter, an ancient being of Truths and Knowledge, may be looking back. Almost certainly, Paimon would be — but for now, the demon stays quiet. Watching. Waiting. And Peter shifts ever-nervously under this odd scrutiny, although part of him is aware that talking to people who do have experience in this sort of thing...? It's been on his radar, creeping up more and more. He's terrified of it as much as he knows he's destined to get closer.

So the man's reply makes him... curious. He hesitates again, before slowly starting to place slender candles up on a display shelf. )

What... made you start?

[ He looks down, adjusting the sleeve of his jacket. Such a personal question, hm? He's not going to share the indeterminable depths of his angst with this boy. So, he says something else, ]

Death was the only thing I cared about, at that point in time. How it worked, where it led. I needed to know more about my world's suffering.

[ He lifts his eyes again coolly, and looks at Peter directly. ]

You see, the human spirit is only stable inside the sacred circle of the body. Once it leaves us, and migrates to the Spectral Realm... it goes through a terrible mutation and loses all of its human graces. They're tortured things, spirits. They exist in pain and chaos. Many of them slip back into the Mortal Realm, where their only hunger is for energy and they have so many methods for hunting.

[ A grim smile, a lazy gesture. ]

This world has different troubles, however.

( Peter of all people certainly understands how to form an answer to be vague, to leave out the personal details. There isn't an ounce of him that would try to push into someone's comfort zone, and if there were any sign that someone were uncomfortable, he'd flinch back.

He's just... curious. There are so many reasons why people have magic in their lives; he's learned that too well. Some were born in worlds where it was the norm, even born with magic. Some acquired it later in life. For himself.... it was certainly nothing chosen. So for someone who did choose to pursue it, study it...? He has to wonder what might be involved there, even if just on the surface level.

However.... what the man says takes Peter by surprise, in a way that has his heart giving an odd flip. It feels like ice in his gut, something deep-rooted and cold. He's not paying any attention to the candles anymore. )

You're talking about.... ghosts?

( That's too familiar, too. Familiar and yet something he still barely understands. Questions about certain events from back home that went unanswered when he was brought here. And he's still cautious as he asks, voice soft. )

In your world, are they... vengeful? Do they... purposefully target certain people, or is it just... anything they can hunt?

It's rare that they retain enough of their former selves to enact vengeance... but hate is a powerful thing. Of course, if you let them into your mind, they would happily let you think it was personal. It stokes your unease.

Any humanity you glimpse in a specter is purely intended to manipulate you.

[ It's a miserable premise: that everything about you as a person is simply gone when you die. Everything you built throughout your lifetime, broken down and recycled into a ravenous hunger that stalks the living. ]

( Peter's quiet for a few long moments, processing the words. It doesn't come easily, feels like trying to swallow sharp knives down, each breath drawing a pang of pain somewhere in the depths of him.

He doesn't want to think that the spirit of his dead little sister could be like that, but.... it's something he's thought before, time and time again, and it's why the man's words ache so much. )

Is there any way to... stop them? If one's hunting you.

( A beat, before he adds, awkwardly— )

—Sorry if that seems random. I uh. Back in my world, I never knew stuff like that exists. Ghosts and... things. Then I found out they did. Figure it's worth asking how it worked in other people's worlds, too.

[ It does not seem very random to him, at all. ]

And what did you do to earn this vengeance?

[ He does not need this piece of information to answer. He only asks to be unpleasant. ]

( Ironically, Peter thinks the question has some sort of purpose, relevant to the subject at hand. Like maybe it matters. Which is why he answers honestly, where usually he would do anything he could to avoid saying the words aloud.

But even if he's speaking to a stranger, one who certainly intimidates him, Peter's.... desperate to understand. And so it comes. Soft and quiet, and he's staring down at the floor for a few moments. )

I'm the reason they're dead.

[ Hm. It's a relatable position to be in. Shown the precipice of death as someone close dies from your negligence. Creeping Dust had needed to understand, but his haunting was purely his own twisting guilt. Nothing more. Even finding his brother alive again years later has not alleviated that knife in his heart. ]

Something could, perhaps, be done about it. It would need studying.

[ The specifics of the haunt, and how each of their blood types interacts with such a ritual. There are variables that must be narrowed down. ]

( This whole situation is.... complicated, to say the very least. Peter's still not even sure if the haunting he's alluding to was ever real or not — if the thing that seemingly tormented him was his little sister's spirit, or actually the demon playing tricks....

Even now, he's not entirely sure. Only that sometimes, some sort of phantom of his sister seems to creep up from within him, and maybe that's just the demon too, or maybe.....

He doesn't know. He doesn't know what to do with any of this. He only knows it's getting worse. )

Yeah— you're probably right. I uh... would like to learn more about all this kind of stuff. ( Even if he sounds extremely nervous..... maybe it's less that he would like to, and more that he.... has to. )

One of my friends has been teaching me about ghosts and stuff, and I know some witches, but— it still all feels so vast.

It is all so vast. True command requires you pit your will against eternity.

[ The nature of his own relationship with magic is liminal; an eternal twilight of smoldering embers and dark, curious eyes. Creeping Dust is staring now with dark, curious eyes. ]

Your doubt will betray you.

( Once again, it sounds very similar to something that Paimon could say, and it draws an odd, uneasy shudder from Peter, one that slips down his spine.

The way the man is looking at him is freshly intimidating all over again — to Peter, anyway. To the other thing within him, there's only a pressing, hungry curiosity: its own eyes widening further, taking this strange, powerful person in.

Peter can't help feeling like his back is pressed against some wall. That he's some cornered animal — but he finds himself asking, even if the question trembles against his tongue. )

How can someone... not doubt? It seems almost... not human.

There is what you do as man. And there is what you do as mage.

[ He gestures with each hand in turn; these are two different pieces. ]

Doubt your relationships and your character at your leisure. But do not perform magic with questions in your heart.

[ This is about as close as he's going to get to stating that he still has some doubts somewhere inside himself. It's not a position he likes to take, actually, thanks. ]

You must know your intentions and be certain that you will achieve them.

Oh. ( The young man breathes out the word soft and hushed, watching the man's gestures with his hands. He certainly seems confident, and no matter how intimidating he may be... there's something to him that Peter can't help but be drawn to. Maybe it is that confidence, that... stability. Someone who knows what they're doing.

It makes him think of John Constantine, suddenly — the man who originally owned this shop. An occultist, a demonologist.... someone who had helped Peter immensely. There's a twist in his chest of loss, but Peter swallows it down quietly. )

It sounds like it must be... difficult. Being a mage.

( Peter may be the vessel for something impossibly ancient and otherworldly, something whose spirit itself is rooted in magic, but Peter... can't do any of that. Still, though, he has... a connection to such things, as a sort of medium for them.

Maybe that's actually why he's drawn to this man, at the core. )

Since you can do magic.... as a mage, what do you think of this place? Trench?

[ The Trench? Creeping Dust's piercing attention drifts away. The Kingdom of Five Beasts is a cold, rainy, grey place... a flat disc caught between the wild, electrifying magic of the Celestial Beasts and the screaming discordance of the Spectral Realm. ]

The Trench... its magic has a certain harmony.

[ He flexes a gloved hand, as if feeling that statement. Which he is, luring something to him and feeling its harmonize with the Coldblood in his veins. Frost and snaps of electricity dust his fingertips. ]

But it is dangerous to infect your blood with it this way. It makes us all vulnerable. I believe everyone in this town whispers about the threat of corruption.

🎶 Sun o))) - Black One

[ The Coldblood disrupts the way that he feels the world around him. But it's not fair to blame only that, the world that is around him is new. He is so used to the howling ghosts of his Kingdom. Instead, this place, it thrums like a heartbeat, sings like a faraway star. Without the Coldblood, he thinks it might be more dangerous to him. It is an intoxicating lullaby. The ice in his blood keeps him sharp, alert. To resist it on his own merits he would need... Connection. Eyes to stare into. Hearts to steady.

He exhales slowly, purposefully, and centers himself in the pinpricks of frost and lightning.

He knows the curse he wants to cast well. Terror. He is not, however, certain of how the spell will react in this realm. That is why he is going to find out. He inhales, tastes ozone through his lungs and blood in his mouth. The symbol he draws in the air is wreathed with electricity. Crackling. He speaks the word and thunder crashes: ]

Terror.

[ And it washes over him. He closes his eyes and lets it. The world around him and his curse warps. Where there was once quiet evening sounds, there instead the low droning of something from deep beneath the earth. Its ominous voice breaks at times into high-pitched ringing. Other hateful voices join the chorus, some whispering and some screaming. The pressure of their many eyes is crushing.

They love you, they hate you, they are hungry.

Creeping Dust exhales, slowly, and tilts his head to listen to their chaos and madness. The spell is stable, but as with so much else in this realm... connected to him in a way that he is not used to. This is his, isn't it. This is the caverns beneath the mountains. ]

Whispers in the neighborhood today: an abandoned building on the edges of Clawthorpe Avenue has begun to emanate a terrifying aura. A ghastly omen is sometimes seen on the crooked stoop, tongue lolling and embers spitting.

Edited 2023-04-16 20:25 (UTC)

🐝 bee (2) compendium 🐝

CREEPING DUST

🔮 PETER

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IT'S MAGIC (cw: no it's horror)