deercountry | o5 . bone house mingle!

[Should she already know who he is? Willow has no idea. Maybe? If he's staying here, they at least have some mutual friends, but that doesn't mean much in a place like this. Her focus is still on the mushrooms for the moment, though, so she doesn't immediately question it.]

Yeah, I guess some kind of magic seems likely? Especially around here, from what I've heard so far, anyway? Maybe they're magic mushrooms -

[She makes a face suddenly - that's not exactly how she meant that to come out.]

Okay, not magic mushrooms, but you know. They feed off the magic that animates the skeletons.

[Whatever she means by the differentiation between magic and 'magic' mushrooms is lost on Paul, a faint confusion passing across his face before he shakes his head like he's clearing something from it.]

It's called thanergy.

[Paul reaches out and touches the collarbone of the skeleton, a note of wistfulness slipping into his words.]

Death energy. That would make sense, given the role of mushrooms in ecosystems...it has a symbolic resonance, which-

[There's nothing under his exploratory hand but clean, firm bone. He has to be imagining a look of mild reproach on the skeleton's fleshless skull, but he retracts his hand anyway, rubbing his finger together curiously. He sees the smut on them, but it flakes...wrong, somehow.]

...have you tried touching any of the fungi?

We don't make that distinction in my world - magic is just, magic. There's different branches, of course and some are more... difficult than others -

[Magic is a topic near and dear to her heart, and Willow's quite happy to compare notes with others from different worlds. She stops suddenly, though, as he asks if she's touched the mushrooms, and nods.]

Yeah, they -

[She trails off. Hold on. Since when do mushrooms explode into a rainbow of smaller ones when you touch them? That doesn't make sense, and realization is beginning to dawn that perhaps something isn't quite right about them.

She glances to Paul, and reaches out to flick one away from the skeleton's upper arm. It sends a shower of smaller ones into the air, and she reaches out to touch them, but it hits her that she doesn't actually feel them.]

They don't act like any mushrooms I've ever run into before.

Or that I have.

[Paul stares at his fingertips, his lips thinned. It's not the look of someone who is unnerved by the strangeness of the situation, or intrigued by its meaning. It is a look that says, very clearly, and this, too? So much for a respite into mycology.]

They must be magic, of one kind or another.

[His eyes twitch in their sockets, a suggestion of an upward roll that doesn't fully manifest itself. If his eyes had whites, they would have dominated their sockets in pale unseeing thought.]

We can both see them.. They don't impede the skeletons in their work. They don't behave according to physical or biological patterns we recognize. They aren't fully tangible. Shared phenomenon, unknown mechanism.

Are you a magic user yourself?

I used to be. Not so much here - my magic doesn't work here, I guess. Are you?

[Or at least that's what she's been told. She hasn't tested it out herself yet to see, but she hasn't uncovered any reason yet why it would be a lie, and it certainly makes a lot of sense for how Maul was able to kill her.

She catches the look that suggests very much that in Paul, she's found someone else who is used to a life that is never exactly mundane, and she can feel the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.]

Effects of the month, maybe?

Only since I came here. I've been learning.

[Whoever this is, there's something a little soothing about her calm equilibrium. It doesn't quite make Paul less unnerved by the concept that he's seeing mushrooms that may or may not exist, conventionally (and worse, that he didn't notice what he didn't notice, an unacceptable gap in self-awareness), but at least it reminds him to behave as if he is.]

That sounds about right. I suppose there's nothing we can do about it.

[He tries not to sound bitter. He tries not to sound angry. He tries, as much as he is able to try, to remember the point of this.]

So we shouldn't worry too much.

Oh yeah? How are you finding it?

[The question is asked with genuine interest. With the loss of her own magic, she's already considering whether or not to try the sort that is native to this world.]

I guess you're right. The guy who brought me here - the Captain?

[Again, she finds herself wondering about his variety of titles as opposed to simply using a name.]

He said that the Pthumerians tend to like to mess with us sometimes. I guess this could be their doing. I'd bet on there being something more to it than just 'hey, here's weird mushrooms everywhere' but at least if we both see them, it's probably not just us?

It's useful. I'm getting better at it.

[There was a time he would have said I like it, smiling with the warm, tentative optimism of an eager novice. He pulls together quiet pragmatism in its stead, as tight as the blanket wrapped around him.]

He's right about them, and you're right about there being more to it than that. There's always some theme. [Pronounced like a foul taste in the mouth.] Or a lesson, or a punishment.

[He reaches out for another mushroom, brushing his fingers through the here and not-here of it. Black breaks and sifts away under his touch once more.]

I used to think it was to control us. I don't think it's so purposeful as that. Or if it is, it's less...

[He curls his hand into a fist, staring past the skeleton at something else unseen. His jaw works silently.]

It's not anything you need to worry about.

At home, it was one of those things where the more you practiced, the better you got. I'm sure it's the same here, too. But yeah, useful's one word for it, sure.

[It's not exactly how she would describe magic, and truthfully, she did expect a little more excitement from him, but she's sure he has his reasons.

Her expression echoes his tone. Willow is also not thrilled with the idea of Sleepers being subject to the whim of more powerful beings like this. There doesn't seem to be much they can do to stop it, though, at this point. She can't help but wonder if losing her memories of Trench is just another game.]

It doesn't seem like there's much we can do about it for now, I guess. Whatever their motivations are. At least in Deerington, I don't think Julia was really in control of what was happening to us.

[Paul should feel something about his own discourtesy. He should remember himself and be a better host, a better guest. Even at his worst, he's been able to find the presence of mind to conduct himself appropriately.

He takes a breath. He makes an effort.]

One shouldn't presume to know the mind of God, or gods. They're beyond our apprehension.

[It's a truism across religious systems, although Paul's understanding of it used to be much more abstract. (He watches her, when he says it. Just to see if there's a flicker that goes past the generalities of theology in response.)]

Or so I'm learning, which goes more hand in hand with magic than I realize.

My name is Paul. I don't think I asked yours, did I?

I guess that depends a little on the god. Some of them really aren't as complicated as they'd like you to think. At least, not where I'm from.

[Willow is unaware of their host's status in his world, so the Pthumerians aside, there's only one god she's ever encountered, and it was hardly difficult to understand Glory's motives when she had made it perfectly clear what she was after.

She gives him a smile and a little nod as he introduces himself.]

I'm Willow. It's nice to meet you, Paul.

It's nice to meet you, too.

[It's not the way that people greet each other on first meetings back home. Paul turns the words over in his mouth for their soft novelty. It is nice to meet her, he decides.]

We don't have any gods like these ones where I come from. You do?

[Paul knows who their host is. It's been a point of contention between them. He's not sure what it is now. He is sure he's curious about what she might have to say, this other stranger in God's house.]

[Willow considers for a moment whether or not she wants to acknowledge the Pthumerians as gods, or more like an extremely powerful type of demon. If Paul wants to call them gods, she decides, that's fine. He probably knows more about Trench that she can remember at this point anyway.]

It's, uh, mostly demons and vampires and stuff where I'm from. We had a hell god once, but she was pretty clear about her motivations pretty quick. We managed to stop her, though.

You stopped a god?

[Paul straightens up under his blanket, and the quiet intensity that floods his oscillating voices isn't disbelief that the slight, gentle-seeming woman in front of him had that capacity.

It's respect. It's interest. It is, for some reason, like he's just had a question answered.]

That must have taken some doing.

Yeah, it wasn't easy.

[It had been a costly fight, and a very near miss. Glory had been defeated, but Buffy had sacrificed herself to save the world, leaving the rest of them behind to grieve. Grieve, and find a way to bring her back.]

She would have destroyed the whole world though if we didn't. So it's not like we had a whole lot of choice. We had to stop her.

Of course. I wouldn't question your motivations.

[Paul raises his hand palm out, a gesture of reassurance whose meaning he hopes will hold in her culture as well. He drops it shortly after, in case it doesn't, and goes on.]

It must have taken courage and skill. [His voices are softly admiring.] And, it sounds like, a collection of heroes.

[Willow smiles and shakes her head. The gesture holds the same meaning for her, but it's not needed.]

We did what we had to. A friend of mine back home is destined to fight evil - demons, vampires, and so on. The rest of us just did what we could to help her. Or, do what we can to help her would be more accurate, I guess. It's not like that world's stopped just because I'm here.

[It feels odd to consider - she knew going into the ocean that her world at home would carry on as though nothing had changed even though she chose to come to this one, but it was also part of her decision not to go back. Moving on felt like the best way to be as helpful as possible.]

[Destined to fight evil draws a troubled veil across Paul's expression, paints a thin crease between his brows. He knows enough of monsters to be able to imagine what that might be like as a burden.]

She's lucky to have people by her side. I wouldn't say that's 'just' anything.

[There's too much feeling in the words. He swallows visibly, throat working around a snag.]

Do you know it hasn't stopped? I know that's what people say, about how it's meant to work.

She's my best friend. I figured out in high school what I really wanted to do with my life was help her.

[It's said fondly. Willow doesn't regret her choice at all in helping Buffy, in spite of the times it's been dangerous, or terrifying.

To his question, she nods. She's not sure which answer he would prefer - is it better to think of time just stopped at home, or would it be kinder to believe that it carries on like he never left? ]

I heard it from Cynthia - uh, the Moon Presence - in the dream. I don't think she'd lie about something like that. She liked us too much for that, and I think she'd want us to be able to make our own choice on that based on the truth, you know?

[There's the question of faith, again. Does Paul have it in the affection-rooted honesty of a woman he never knew, who ascended to an alien godhood he does not trust, relayed by a stranger? He knows what the world wants his answer to be. He knows the answer changes nothing.

Maybe he's too young to imagine the world going on in his absence, no matter what the evidence suggests.]

Moon Presence does seem to have our interests at heart like few of the others. [He can allow that.] I suppose it's not that important, under our current circumstances.

Like a few things - I've kept you a while, haven't I?

[Kept her a while, and probed her with a series of unimportant questions. It's not exactly polite.]

[The Moon Presence is the only one of Pthumerians she is willing to trust, only because of their interactions in Deerington. Is she still Cynthia here? Willow would like to believe so. She certainly still seemed to be herself on the beach between worlds in spite of the change in her form.]

I think she does, yeah.

[Worrying about what's happening at home might not make much difference here, but it's understandable. It's difficult not to think of the people, and the home, left behind. She takes comfort, though, in the knowledge that things are carrying on as they ought to in her absence. None of her old friends even realize she's here.

That part feels a little less comforting.]

It's fine - we can talk whenever you want. This isn't exactly an easy place to live from what I've heard. But maybe we can all make it a little easier for each other.

[There are moments of fleeting possibility for Paul where the idea of putting his faith in something seems less impossible. Willow has caught him during one of them. He may not trust the Moon Presence or its fellow Pthumerians, but maybe he can let himself, however briefly and confined, trust Willow's offer.

It's a nice thought. It coaxes a faint smile from him again, along with a nod.]

The same to you, for what it's worth. My room is the one on the left upstairs, if you need anything.

Thanks. I, uh, don't actually live here. I'm just staying in the guest room for a couple days.

[Or until she figures out where exactly she really lives, at least. She's hoping it won't take too long.

Maul aside, it's not too hard for her to trust other Sleepers. She's quite used to them all having to band together against the horrors Deerington exposed them to, and from what she's heard so far, Trench isn't so different.]

After that, you can always drop me a message through the network too.

I'm a guest, too.

[The way Paul smiles when he says it doesn't make it all the way to his eyes, but perhaps that has to do with their glow obscuring the subtleties of expression otherwise possible. They're guests alike, pulled from the water to dry off and find their feet, and there's an obligation Paul sees in that.

And she seems kind. He has a soft spot for kindness, and for trust, even if he so often lacks either quality - or because of it.]

Of course. I'd like that. [He pulls his blanket closer around himself.] I think I'm going to lie down for a while. Let me know if anything changes about the mushrooms. It was good to meet you, Willow.

[If she has nothing else to add to that, he'll ascend the stairs to curl up on his side and rest his throat, eyes half-lidded as he drifts between the present and the future. He wonders if he'll see her in the latter, and what he might see if he does.]

o5 . bone house mingle!

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