Well, there's a reason shamans use mind altering substances to contact spirits.
Okay so... you ever seen one of those pictures which just looks like colours and swirls until you let your eyes go weird and suddenly there's a picture? For spirits you have to kind of... unfocus, disconnect a little from the mundane world. Because spirits aren't real in a physical sense. The unfocus is letting you step into their world a little, makes it easier for them to contact you.
And then you just . . . wait for something to contact you?
[Jack is getting the sense that something isn't quite connecting, though at least that's an expected feeling when he's had this much to drink.]
Isn't there some sort of invitation? I mean, I gather there aren't any fancy words, but . . . all right, putting this in radio terms, are you really just leaving your receiver on and sitting next to it?
Well, that's your choice, now isn't it? [With an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows, Jack heads back inside, gently bumping along the wall all the way back to Max's door.] Care to put your bodily integrity in the hands of an untrained muggle using supplication magic?
[Max rolls his eyes at that and they manage to make it back into his flat with a minimum of embarrassment. Max heads over to the sofa and flops back down, pouring them both a shot of vodka.]
Sure, why not?
[He grabs for the box he keeps his threads in, laying out a few that he's been working on as well as a pair of scissors.]
Give me a couple of moments and then you can play all you want.
[He downs the shot and grabs the scissors, cutting neatly into the side of his palm, deep enough to draw blood.]
[Jack follows him back, sprawling on the couch again and only leaning forward when there's another shot to be had. He watches Max with a vague, smiling interest as he works, not really understanding what he's getting at, but filling the time by finishing the shot neatly.]
Ohoho, so we've gone from magic to arts and . . .
[Crafts. The last word is crafts. But it never comes to his tongue, because his brain is short-circuited into dumb staring by watching the businesslike efficiency with which Max puts a sharp piece of metal into his hand. It's a trick, it's some sort of- of stupid party trick, he thinks, until the cut begins to well with blood and the bottom of his stomach plummets.]
Jesus Christ, Max, what-! [He loses the rest of the question in incoherent noise as he pushes himself up, reaching for the hand to pull it in front of himself for a look at how deep the wound goes.] Are you insane?
[He says it absently, already pressing a finger of his other hand into the blood, and carefully dabbing it onto the ends of several of the threads, feeding power into them, because he might as well use it now it's done. It takes a little more out of him, the energy leaving him quickly, leaving him a slightly light headed. He seals the other ends with more blood and then his hand is wrenched away.
He blinks at Jack in surprise when the other man takes his hand.]
Uh... you said you wanted to practice. Pour me another shot?
[Magic. Made of strings and blood. Jack is just drunk enough for this, but it still leaves him bewildered and a little sick-feeling. Mostly the means of getting the wound to practise on, even if it is a relatively small cut.
Numbly, he nods, reaching out and shakily pouring Max another shot. A little vodka gets on the table, which he ignores in favor of leaning back on the couch, swallowing dryly as he looks at Max's hand in his. There's a bizarre performance anxiety about doing this in front of someone who can easily subvert basic physics, even if he is a friend.]
. . . right. I did. So I just . . . sort of get my mind, like. Like we talked about, yeah?
[He gives Jack a bewildered sort of look at the shock he's displaying, because he had said that he wanted to try healing and it wasn't like it was a big cut. He wasn't going to be doing enough magic that he'd risk bleeding out.
He takes the vodka shot and downs that one too, giving a contented sigh and sitting back to let Jack do what he wants.]
Yeah, unfocus a little and just... listen. Don't dismiss anything you hear or feel.
[Eyelids falling to half-mast, Jack watches the cut without really seeing it, taking a slow breath in and out as he tries to settle himself. Like sitting by a receiver and waiting for a transmission, a transmission that might or might not . . . no. It's one that's going to come in, no matter how close you have to listen to pick out the signal from the noise-
His hand twitches around Max's and he catches an unintentional, soft breath as something warm feathers along him, across something that feels indescribably like a surface despite being buried deep and low in his chest. It feels sort of nice, honestly, like fingers snagging and twisting lightly into a clasp of hands, and he grins thoughtlessly as the signal steadies and the noise fades.]
[Max stays very quiet and very still while Jack tries to unfocus enough to commune with the spirit. The wound is starting to sting a little, but it's a dull thing, nothing that he can't ignore.
He feels the presence of something, although he doesn't reach out to find out more, not wanting to break Jack's concentration or distract the spirit.
He sees Jack's grin and smiles a little. He murmurs his next words, keeps them soft and gentle.]
[That's right, hell, Max is there. Max is bleeding and he's just grinning like a loon and letting him-
That's where he almost loses it, and wobbles back into the altered focus barely in time, closing his eyes to block out at least some of the distraction. Eventually the balance equilibrates, and whatever's there just feels . . . patient. Encouraging, even, though he doesn't know how he can tell, with no sight or sound to judge intent from. Then again, he doesn't know how he's supposed to let this spirit know his own intention, his . . . introduction, whatever that's supposed to be. Hello, sorry to bother you at this hour, but my fool of a friend is sort of bleeding on me and I really would like to make that stop-
The thought takes a fraction of a second, and the next moment there's a sense of understanding. And then he feels something else, a bizarre, cryptic seed of a truth, heavy in some dark corner of his pre-verbal mind. Gradually, he nods, raising his voice to Max quietly and slowly.]
I think she - well. Something. Do you mind if I try?
[He's content to let Jack take as long as he wants. Hell, he knows magic. He knows it well and is quite familiar with how long it can take, especially when dealing with creatures that don't quite follow time in the same way as humans do.
[A slight nod, and Jack looks down at Max's hand again, pressing the edges of the cut together with his thumbs. And it's then that all of the failures to communicate this make sense, because he can't explain what he does any better than he could explain how he exhales. He simply lets something move the way it feels like it should, and an invisible force carries it through the rest of the way, inching forward with wobbly but steady momentum. And it feels right, like patching a wire or tuning a dial feels right, like putting together a flawless piece of reasoning feels right, letting that warm thread of intention and order and his own energy pull and re-bind those edges.
He knows by feel more than by sight when he's done, and only then does he smooth a rough crust of blood off the uninterrupted skin, grinning through the rush of lightheadedness and directing a dim gratitude toward the lingering other curled around him.]
[He manages to hold back a sort hiss when Jack presses against the cut, and then he feels it. It's familiar to him, after being healed when he'd first arrived, a warm feeling, something benign and kind. The pain fades slowly but surely until even the sting of it is gone.
He can feel when it's done, and Jack's thumb smooths over where the cut had been. Max pulls his hand away, flexing it to show off the unmarred skin.]
[Jack rubs the bit of remaining blood off his own skin, a distinctly dazed kind of thrilled as he flops back on the couch and raises a fist in victory. Suddenly it's like the last five drinks caught up with him, in the span of about thirty seconds.]
[It was awfully nice of Max to say that, even though it probably was the magician's equivalent of tying your shoes. Still, that was pretty fantastic the first time you managed it, too . . .]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Okay so... you ever seen one of those pictures which just looks like colours and swirls until you let your eyes go weird and suddenly there's a picture? For spirits you have to kind of... unfocus, disconnect a little from the mundane world. Because spirits aren't real in a physical sense. The unfocus is letting you step into their world a little, makes it easier for them to contact you.
no subject
[Jack is getting the sense that something isn't quite connecting, though at least that's an expected feeling when he's had this much to drink.]
Isn't there some sort of invitation? I mean, I gather there aren't any fancy words, but . . . all right, putting this in radio terms, are you really just leaving your receiver on and sitting next to it?
no subject
Calling something takes power, otherwise it's luck and hope.
no subject
[Chuffing a sardonic - if aggrieved - noise, Jack turned to reach for the front door.]
All right, I feel misleadingly sober now. So I suppose it's more liquor, unless you have anything I can try to heal.
no subject
Nothing I need healing 'less you want me to try chopping vegetables while drunk.
no subject
no subject
Sure, why not?
[He grabs for the box he keeps his threads in, laying out a few that he's been working on as well as a pair of scissors.]
Give me a couple of moments and then you can play all you want.
[He downs the shot and grabs the scissors, cutting neatly into the side of his palm, deep enough to draw blood.]
no subject
Ohoho, so we've gone from magic to arts and . . .
[Crafts. The last word is crafts. But it never comes to his tongue, because his brain is short-circuited into dumb staring by watching the businesslike efficiency with which Max puts a sharp piece of metal into his hand. It's a trick, it's some sort of- of stupid party trick, he thinks, until the cut begins to well with blood and the bottom of his stomach plummets.]
Jesus Christ, Max, what-! [He loses the rest of the question in incoherent noise as he pushes himself up, reaching for the hand to pull it in front of himself for a look at how deep the wound goes.] Are you insane?
no subject
[He says it absently, already pressing a finger of his other hand into the blood, and carefully dabbing it onto the ends of several of the threads, feeding power into them, because he might as well use it now it's done. It takes a little more out of him, the energy leaving him quickly, leaving him a slightly light headed. He seals the other ends with more blood and then his hand is wrenched away.
He blinks at Jack in surprise when the other man takes his hand.]
Uh... you said you wanted to practice. Pour me another shot?
no subject
Numbly, he nods, reaching out and shakily pouring Max another shot. A little vodka gets on the table, which he ignores in favor of leaning back on the couch, swallowing dryly as he looks at Max's hand in his. There's a bizarre performance anxiety about doing this in front of someone who can easily subvert basic physics, even if he is a friend.]
. . . right. I did. So I just . . . sort of get my mind, like. Like we talked about, yeah?
no subject
He takes the vodka shot and downs that one too, giving a contented sigh and sitting back to let Jack do what he wants.]
Yeah, unfocus a little and just... listen. Don't dismiss anything you hear or feel.
no subject
[Eyelids falling to half-mast, Jack watches the cut without really seeing it, taking a slow breath in and out as he tries to settle himself. Like sitting by a receiver and waiting for a transmission, a transmission that might or might not . . . no. It's one that's going to come in, no matter how close you have to listen to pick out the signal from the noise-
His hand twitches around Max's and he catches an unintentional, soft breath as something warm feathers along him, across something that feels indescribably like a surface despite being buried deep and low in his chest. It feels sort of nice, honestly, like fingers snagging and twisting lightly into a clasp of hands, and he grins thoughtlessly as the signal steadies and the noise fades.]
no subject
He feels the presence of something, although he doesn't reach out to find out more, not wanting to break Jack's concentration or distract the spirit.
He sees Jack's grin and smiles a little. He murmurs his next words, keeps them soft and gentle.]
Introduce yourself, be polite. Take it slowly.
no subject
That's where he almost loses it, and wobbles back into the altered focus barely in time, closing his eyes to block out at least some of the distraction. Eventually the balance equilibrates, and whatever's there just feels . . . patient. Encouraging, even, though he doesn't know how he can tell, with no sight or sound to judge intent from. Then again, he doesn't know how he's supposed to let this spirit know his own intention, his . . . introduction, whatever that's supposed to be. Hello, sorry to bother you at this hour, but my fool of a friend is sort of bleeding on me and I really would like to make that stop-
The thought takes a fraction of a second, and the next moment there's a sense of understanding. And then he feels something else, a bizarre, cryptic seed of a truth, heavy in some dark corner of his pre-verbal mind. Gradually, he nods, raising his voice to Max quietly and slowly.]
I think she - well. Something. Do you mind if I try?
no subject
He nods when Jack speaks.]
Sure. Go ahead.
no subject
He knows by feel more than by sight when he's done, and only then does he smooth a rough crust of blood off the uninterrupted skin, grinning through the rush of lightheadedness and directing a dim gratitude toward the lingering other curled around him.]
. . . wow.
no subject
He can feel when it's done, and Jack's thumb smooths over where the cut had been. Max pulls his hand away, flexing it to show off the unmarred skin.]
Congrats. You just did your first bit of magic.
no subject
Hooray~
no subject
You'll need to keep contacting the spirit. Keep communing with it. They can get picky if they're ignored. And it'll help you get better.
no subject
[Jack toasts with the shot before tossing it back, tapping the bottom of the little glass idly against his belt buckle once he's lowered it.]
Mm, that doesn't sound so bad. She seems rather nice, all things considered.
no subject
[He knocks back his own vodka too, setting it down onto the table. He's a little fuzzy headed by now, but it's a pleasant sort of feeling.]
I've heard she's fairly friendly, yeah.
no subject
Mm. Do you deal with a lot of spirits?
no subject
Like this one? Sometimes. Mainly I deal with human spirits, ghosts. Ones that have got stuck.
no subject
[Grinning agreeably, Jack sinks down further on the couch, toeing off his shoes.]
What sort of work is that?
no subject
[A rotting soul is easy prey.]
I'm an exorcist. England has a lot of ghosts. Sometimes they're benign, often, they aren't. They can cause problems. They can get dangerous.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)