o4 . february catchall

[necrolord]

Who: necrolord and you!
What: Local necromancer is networking. Archives research, healing for lockjoint and self-mutilation, and more.
When: February.
Where: Archives, Lumenwood, streets of Trench.

Content Warnings: Skeletons and mentions of the self-mutilation curse. Note all the usual warnings of this character.

(1) research.

You've probably seen him around, by now. The man is something of a fixture in the Archives: he settles at an unremarkable table and proceeds to drown it in open books, scattered pages, notes, journals. He seems intent on skimming his way through half the library. Sometimes there's a girl, scrawny and dour with her face painted up like a skull, hovering at his elbow. Today, he's on his own.

He doesn't look like much. Simple clothes; bare hands, which suggests he's either confident or reckless, in a town that will titter at anyone who doesn't wear gloves; he looks fortyish and plain. Only one thing about him is remarkable: his eyes, black as oil from edge to unpleasant edge.

Today, he's amassed an odd collection of vials, bloodstones, and shards of bone. You might catch the sudden reek of Beast blood, which is alarmingly toxic to handle even with gloves; you might catch him weighing a huge, inhuman bone in the palm of his hand, looking thoughtful. If he notices your attention, he'll speak without looking up.

"Six months, and I'm still trying to puzzle out the basics."

(2) the skeleton plow.

[ On the 9th, a blizzard blows in. It leaves the town blanketed in a heavy weight of snow, and Trenchies come out with shovels and resigned expressions to scrape the streets clear.

God, who has places to be, finds this a touch inconvenient. He's meant to be in Lumenwood just now, playing Jesus on everyone's frostbite and having a generally pleasant morning. So he claps his hands, watches a dozen skeletons claw their way free of the frozen earth and pop out of the snow ("like daisies," he says to whoever is nearest) and then sets off across town with his helpful new posse.

Each skeleton moves as smoothly and politely as a human servant, with a speck of red light in each empty eye. God makes a little gesture, like a conductor with an orchestra; his servants' fingerbones fuse and spread. Their arms distort and lengthen. They each now wield a broad bone scoop, which looks somewhere between silly and horrifying.

The skeleton army sets to work shoveling snow, heedless of appalled bystanders. ]

(3) healing.

[ Maybe you're still suffering from Lockjoint, Sleeper. Maybe you've begun scraping your own skin away under this month's curse, trying to resist temptation, trying to resist the urge to confess.

It doesn't matter whether all the damage is hidden by your clothing, or whether you think you're doing a good job of masking your pain. Today you're near the gates of Lumenwood - maybe to get help for your own issues, maybe not - and there is a man here, who has just waved away a grateful Trenchie making conversation. He turns, tips his head in hello, and considers you. ]

Want a hand with that?

(4) wildcard.

[ Happy to match formatting! ]

Comments

[necrolord]

[ In response, he turns and sweeps an arm to indicate the amount of nothing in his vicinity. With the Trenchie heading off, they stand apart from the usual trickle of people in and out of this district. Nobody looks at them with anything but cursory interest. ]

I am having a deeply boring afternoon. Will you humor me?

[shiro2hero]

[Okay maybe that was not his best... dodge. At all. He's got to think of better ones than that. Still, he doesn't reply immediately, shifting his weight where he stands, debating.]

[And ducking his head whenever someone glances their way.]

Fine. I... all right.

[necrolord]

I mean, I hate to put you to any inconvenience. [ He's just being an asshole, here, to see if it'll coax his friend away from the crowd and into committing. ] I can just wait here for another local with a weird rash to show up, it won't kill me.

[ But he gestures to the shade of his little lumenflower grove just off the road, which is almost like privacy. ]

[shiro2hero]

[The look Shiro shoots him is almost annoyed. But not quite. At this point in time, he doesn't really have it in him to be annoyed. Just... tired.]

I definitely don't have a rash... [That's it, though, that's the extent of the protest before he sighs, and nods.] All right.

[necrolord]

Great. [ God waves him along into the stand of creepy flowers. It's deeply atmospheric. From here, with the glow of tall flowers around their heads, the fringes of the district start to fade into the haze of red mist. ]

The nice thing about necromancy is you can do more than just move bones around. Meaning no disrespect to bones, obviously. [ Harrow would despair. ] Anything I should take a look at?

[ The arm clearly isn't doing so hot. And, sure, necromancy won't make him an engineer; he can't actually tell what's going on in there. The tech is way beyond him. But he can smooth crystals from blood as easily as scratching an itch; he can soothe aches as easy as anything.

Can't actually cure sleep deprivation, though, that one's a bitch. ]

[shiro2hero]

[And Shiro follows, slowly. More warily. He hasn't been here all that often. Mostly because the idea of strange people with magic healing is all kinds of uncomfortable. Especially since they apparently call themselves Blood Ministers.]

[Talk about sinister.]

It's... just the arm.

[The one shoved so deep in his pocket, he may as well be trying to reach through his coat to put it in his jeans pocket instead.]

Probably strained it, that's all.

[necrolord]

Well, that's an easy fix.

[ There's a tent here just beyond the flowers, a little pop-up clinic that isn't officially his but might as well be. He commandeered the space early on and, upon seeing what he could do with it, the locals seemed content to let him be. Harrow works from here, too, so the decorating has a bit of a... skeletal theme: there are bits of bone strung up in the pale glow, clinking when the breeze shifts them together. The forest stands dark and eerie just beyond.

Definitely a normal place to get a sore arm patched up. ]

Let's have a look.

[shiro2hero]

[He arches an eyebrow slightly. An easy fix? Doubtful, considering how long it's lingered.]

[Only to balk again, with all the bone decor. It doesn't look natural, or normal. It looks like Halloween in here. Not exactly helpful to someone who already has a distrust, dislike, of doctor visits in general.]

... You. Have interesting taste.

[Totally not taking his coat off yet. Nope.]

[necrolord]

The zombie pirates weren't a hint?

[ He accepts this with good grace and open amusement. The God of Necromancy waves Shiro to a chair beneath the canopy of glowing flowers. It is, thankfully, just a normal chair. ]

Of course, 'zombie' is a little harsh. None of my guys are eating brains or losing bits everywhere. This is modern necromancy, right, we can keep things tidy.

Also, it makes for some very handy healing magic.

[shiro2hero]

I kind of hoped they just came with the boat.

[You know, when he'd been waterlogged, freezing and confused. He shifts a bit where he stands, not sure if he really wants to sit, or bolt. Doctors, healers - none of it sits all that well with him.]

[At length, he sits on the edge of the chair.]

Guess I have a hard time seeing how something called necromancy can heal.

[necrolord]

They did.

[ This he says vaguely, and continues before they can unpack that: ]

It's not all skeletons and spooky ghosts. There's life-energy and death-energy tied up in everything that breathes, and plenty of things that don't. The end result is that a necromancer can be a body-magician in the broadest sense.

[ He wiggles his fingers, nonthreateningly. ]

If you let me take a look, I can promise to explain before I try anything.

[shiro2hero]

[The look Shiro shoots him is flatter than a piece of printer paper.]

I'm not looking for magic...

[Wow, Shiro, could you be more on edge? Probably not. But he's still seeming like he's desperate for a way out. Somewhere to duck if need be.]

Fine. All right. Just... It's not that big of a deal. [He starts to pull his coat off, anyway, using his left hand for most of the motion. Then he has to roll up his right sleeve. As far as it'll go, anyway. Which isn't very, all things considered.]

[necrolord]

I've got bad news about this town, then. [ He says it with good humor, tone mild. ] I'm not sure you can go two steps without running into some kind of blood mage, which, I'll admit, does remind me of home.

[ He drops into the seat across from Shiro and sits forward, elbows across his knees. ]

If it's minor, even better: we should be done in no time. Can I touch?

[ He leaves his hand hanging in the air, palm up. ]

[shiro2hero]

I'm glad it reminds one of us.

[He says it so dryly, it could be the Sahara desert. Shiro's A+ coping mechanism apparently.]

[Still more hesitation. His weight shifting in his seat. His arm extends, slowly, but, this time, it's less out of reluctance. More because his arm doesn't want to cooperate.]

[But he manages, with the stiffened metal splayed across his lap.]

That's fine. Can't feel it, anyway.

[necrolord]

[ He quirks a smile at the comment, and awaits permission. When Shiro extends that metal arm, he reaches forward to take the wrist in hand. Interesting bit of tech, but he can tell dwelling on that topic might not break this conversation's bulletproof sheet of ice; so he just uses the contact as his excuse.

God has never needed anything as mundane as physical contact to reach into someone. But it makes people nervous when you start fiddling with their bodily processes at range, turns out. Also, this way is more polite. ]

I'm not much of a tech guy, but we'll see what I can do.

[ And, okay, sure. He's no engineer. The inorganics are more or less a black box to him, necromantically, he can barely even read the thumbprints of thanergy signatures and what he can read tends to make no sense.

But he has enough handle on blood magic to see where the energy's catching and tangling and crystallizing, way deep down. He'd qualify it as weird as hell but within his purview.

God reaches in and smooths out the damage. It will look like nothing more than him tapping his fingertips on Shiro's wrist, and will feel a bit like getting slapped in the arm with a high-voltage live wire— a sudden deep jolt, there and then gone. ]

[shiro2hero]

[All Shiro can muster is a wary hum of acknowledgement. He's still not comfortable with people seeing this arm. Deerington absolutely did a number on that kind of confidence. Sure, this is another Sleeper, this is a man who'd offered to help. But, outside the core group of family, of close friends, the uneasiness surfaces.]

[Shiro's own 'tech guy' hadn't been able to find a problem. Not that he would ever hold that against Hunk - it likely wasn't even a tech issue in the first place. That wouldn't surprise him.]

[What does surprise him is pain.]

[The shock - hah hah - of it has him jerk where he's sitting, startled, shouting. It doesn't last, of course, but when you're not expecting that - you can't not react. For a split second, he looks down at the hand, as if it's suddenly sparked to life of its own accord. But nothing.]

What -

What did you do?

[necrolord]

[ Cagey guy, sudden shock: yeah, the yelp is reasonable. He has the grace to look genuinely contrite, hands splayed in a little ceasefire gesture, posture leaned back. ]

Right— sorry, should have said. I get ahead of myself.

[ He points, not touching: finger hovering a polite distance away, tracing the flow he'd seen from sheared-off organic humerus to mechanical joint, radius, ulna. ]

It's a common problem this season. Blood magic catches in the joints, gums everything up— pretty nasty if you leave it untreated, but it's not a tough fix. Check the mobility, see if I've got it all.

[shiro2hero]

[Shiro does sit back down again, thankfully. There's no move to attack or flee, not that there would be much of the former, considering who this is. He just sits back down. Flexes his fingers.]

[And frowning.]

I... How? I don't have blood magic. [At least not like the others. Not like Lance or Will. Not like he's seen.] Warmblood. We don't have any abilities.

[The useless blood type, argues something ugly in the back of his head.]

[necrolord]

[ He offers a slight smile, here. ]

You're a Sleeper. Saying you don't have magic is like saying you don't have a soul; just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there.

I'm working on a theory, about how this all works. It's not finished yet, but that much seems solid. We're all magic, whether we have flashy ways to show it or not.

[shiro2hero]

[It sounds fake. It sounds extremely fake. If he has 'magic' like everyone else, why the hell is he the one blocked from using it? He's supposed to be the strong one, the capable one. How is he meant to do that if he can't do anything?]

It's a nice thought.

[Is what he says, finally. His eyes dropped down to his hands. The arm does feel better, if nothing else.]

You do sound a little like an after-school special, right now, though.

[necrolord]

[ It's fine, he knows a spot of self-loathing when he sees it. To that, John cracks a smile. ]

I'm only saying: existentially, when you get down to it, the real magic is the friends we make along the way.

[ He claps his hands together and leans in over his knees. ]

Also, say no to bullying and don't do drugs. Or at least know where to find a healer if the trip goes weird, who knows what kinds of mushrooms they're serving us here.

[shiro2hero]

... I really hope you're joking, and that's not the advice you're leaving me with.

[He's only half joking. Because - ]

I'm pretty sure no one in their right mind would say I'm prone to substance use.

[So there!!! Or something.]

[necrolord]

[ He takes pity. ]

The advice I'm leaving you with is more to the tune of: it's just a form of energy.

[ He gestures to the flowers around them, which glow a gentle silver like moonlight. ]

Most tech here runs off Lunar Orbs, right? Moonlight as energy, because the moon is some kind of eldritch god. Very normal stuff. Sleepers are like that: blood magic is the power that makes us tick. Some of us can externalize it as fireballs, but everyone's running on it. Being a less flashy demigod still makes you a demigod.

[ His smile is wry and, now, a little tired. ]

Not just anyone can die and come back.

[shiro2hero]

She's not -

[Or was she? Was Cynthia technically an "eldritch" god? She was some kind of god, certainly. All the Pthurmerians were. But 'eldritch' meant something like Cthulhu, something that wanted destruction and devastation, didn't it? That didn't describe the woman-turned-Moon-Presence. Not to him.]

She's not a threat, if that's what you mean by 'eldritch'.

[But back to the topic at hand. Har har.]

No. They can't. I know that. [Boy does he know that. And pushes a hand through his hair.] It's not a bad theory.

[necrolord]

[ His eyebrows jump in surprise. He says, slowly: ]

She could be if she wanted to.

[ He holds up a hand to preempt argument, tone gentle. ]

Not an accusation. I'm just establishing who has power here. They have a lot; we have a little. [ He has more than he's letting on. Takes one to know one, et cetera. ] But the folks who live here, the ones without tentacles? They've got none. Even the least of us is still a legend to them.

If you want an afterschool special takeaway, maybe have that one. We're worth more than we think.

[ He quirks that tired little smile. ]

So come on by if something locks up again. It gives me something to do.