[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 . . .]
[Fair enough. Max takes another long swig and sets it back down.]
Mmmmmm, blood is... it's life, it's energy. Spilling my own blood gives a hell of a boost to my magic. I wouldn't use it normally but... [He shrugs like it's no big deal to have cut open his own hand for the sake of magic practice.]
Thread is just what I use as a focus. It's how I See magic.
Mmmm, it can be. It's complex and there's a lot of different kinds, different ways of using it.
Mmmm, usually, yeah. I... I See spells as threads, as weaving, like nets or webs. I've heard of people hearing it as music, or words slotting together. For me, it's thread.
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[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?
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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?
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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.
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[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.]
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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.
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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?
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He nods when Jack speaks.]
Sure. Go ahead.
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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.
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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.
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Hooray~
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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.
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[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.
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[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.
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Mm. Do you deal with a lot of spirits?
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Like this one? Sometimes. Mainly I deal with human spirits, ghosts. Ones that have got stuck.
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[Grinning agreeably, Jack sinks down further on the couch, toeing off his shoes.]
What sort of work is that?
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[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.
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[He doesn't sound like he's taking the whole thing seriously, but that's just the drunken singsong. He believes Max without question.]
How exactly does one exorcise a spirit?
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[He reaches over to grab one of the bottles, dispensing with glasses altogether as he sips from it.]
Circle to contain them is pretty standard. For me, it's fairly easy to lure them in. Thread to trap them. Then fire to burn the thread.
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And burning your trap doesn't just . . . let them back out?
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It's... difficult to explain. I use a spell to send them on. Burning the thread just completes it. It dispels the energy.
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Ah - no thanks - and I suppose the blood and the fancy weaving all have important roles too?
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Mmmmmm, blood is... it's life, it's energy. Spilling my own blood gives a hell of a boost to my magic. I wouldn't use it normally but... [He shrugs like it's no big deal to have cut open his own hand for the sake of magic practice.]
Thread is just what I use as a focus. It's how I See magic.
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[No wonder you can spend years at Oxford just studying the history of this stuff. Jack scratches at his jaw, looking at the string curiously.]
Does everyone see it differently?
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Mmmm, usually, yeah. I... I See spells as threads, as weaving, like nets or webs. I've heard of people hearing it as music, or words slotting together. For me, it's thread.
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