snowblindrpg | [log] Noisy Black, Part One [closed]

Natural skills. Stephen picks right up on that pause, same as he picked up on Rhsys's reference to losing sense when he first arrived. Now's really not the time to be grilling him about it, but all the same Stephen casually asks, "The empath stuff?"

Dealing with other people who actually know magic stuff is going to become a headache very quickly, when it comes to keeping his secrets. He's going to have to tread carefully.

Rhys foresees a lot of stress in his future, even if he's not really a risk right at the moment.

"Yeah. The empath stuff. Pretty much everything we know about magic is passed down through stories and folklore. There really isn't a true collection anywhere, except for what families and a few very small organizations keep." He smiles wanly.

"And some of those aren't very trustworthy. Some of them are, to put it in advanced technical terms, 'batshit insane'."

Fortunately for Rhys, there are already enough apparent differences that Stephen's going to have a hard time sussing out the truth without more clues. It's not like he knows what makes someone in another world an empath.

"Magic does seem to attract that type," he agrees. "Can't imagine why that would be."

Rhys wobbles his hand.

"We've got a couple of theories on that. I mean, besides the fact that seeing things no one else can see will drive you nuts in pretty short order." He grins, just a little bit garish around the edges with his experience.

"But face it, the only thing better than power, is a power that you can use to fuck with people without those people ever knowing they're being fucked with. Politics, church, money, control...there's so many ways to use magic to pull strings from behind the curtain, and never show your hand. And when you've got that kind of sweet deal going, the last thing you want is someone who knows what you're doing showing up to mess with it, right?"

Stephen makes a disgusted noise. "Right," he agrees, obviously displeased with the notion. "Remind me that when I get back to New York I've got a couple things to add to my to-do list as far as checking for other sorcerers around town."

"Probably not a bad idea, especially if you move in those kind of circles," Rhys agrees. "I mostly kept my head down, but some of the things people tried to hire me to do? Bad shit."

There's probably some funny stories in there somewhere, but Rhys isn't quite feeling it. He sighs, and glances back over at Stephen. "So, New York, huh? I just moved to Boston."

"I just moved to Greenwich Village," Stephen echoes, but he won't elaborate much further than that. He basically told Dorian everything about his position in the order a day or two ago, but that was while he had no control over what was coming out of his mouth. No need to share the details of his life with the entire cell block. "I've lived in Manhattan a long time, though."

The Village. That's a world away from Rhys's existence, a tiny, mostly concrete loft in the industrial side of the city.

He sighs, shaking his head with a mournful look. "Sounds nice. I was thinking about moving north if work didn't get better. Then, well, this." He shrugs, then looks down at the carpet, suddenly fascinated with the stray threads.

He hadn't really been planning anything, but it sucked to realize that.

"In my world, Central Park's supposed to have one of the highest concentrations of supernatural creatures in the Northeast, y'know."

There. That's a more comfortable topic.

Stephen makes a noncommittal noise, recognizing the change in topic for what it is. "Dunno if we actually...have those," he admits. "New York's a hotbed for problems with the Chitauri stuff that was left behind after the invasion, though. That's, uh, aliens. Possibly aliens from another dimension, I wasn't clear on that part."

"...ah. Uh. Okay." That's different, and Rhys has to add that to his forming image of Stephen's world.

It's kind of a lot to fit together, and it makes Stephen's world very...crowded is the only way Rhys can think of to frame it.

"It does make sense that if aliens were gonna attack, it was going to be New York, at least. But. Man. You actually make my world sound pretty simple by comparison. And that's impressive."

"Yeah, well, we were all pretty surprised by it at the time," says Stephen dryly. "Trust me, I'm aware it's weird. I could have very happily gone my whole life not knowing there was anything like that out there."

Edited 2017-08-14 18:48 (UTC)

He chuckles quietly.

"Yeah. But once you do, there really isn't any going back, is there?" He shakes his head. "I don't remember a world without it, really, so maybe that makes it a little easier, but I don't know. I guess I'm the wrong person to ask."

"I made a pretty good effort for a few years," chuckles Stephen. "Funny how things moved on, got normal. The world still needed surgeons."

"Yeah. I get that. There's always a job for a bartender, it seems." Rhys doesn't have an expensive degree to throw around, but the story is the same.

And the principle is the same for back-room medics who do clean stitches and don't ask questions.

"Maybe that was the good part about getting it early, it sort of became part of the scenery," he muses. "But part of it too, was always knowing that everyone else didn't see it. That was the part that made me self-conscious. It was better when I hung out with other weirdos. When I was around normal people, I was always sort of thinking about it. What I could see, and what they didn't."

"I haven't been home much since...my career change," admits Stephen, troubled by the thought. He'd scared Christine nearly out of her mind -- no, best not think about Christine; those thoughts lead to the nightmare version of her he's seen in this godforsaken town. "Probably not going back to most of my old circles anytime soon."

"I get that. I kinda feel like here, I'm about as far from home as I was before. Maybe that's why I'm taking it so well?" He plucks at the hem of his hospital gown, gives a wry smile before he glances up again.

"I'm mostly trying to be optimistic. New things. Might mean I come off as dumb as a sack of doorknobs, but thinking about the past doesn't change anything, you know?" He huffs a sigh, rubbing his fingers together. He wishes he had a smoke, but he's probably never going to find his particular choice of habit here. Oh well. "Just gotta keep moving, because otherwise you're just gonna...stop, and not go anywhere, and that's not going to do you any good, either."

"Normally I'd agree, but I can see a bit of a challenge when it comes to keeping moving at the moment."

This talk has helped keep Stephen calm, but there's only so calm a person can be while locked in a tiny cell awaiting...something.

Rhys sighs quietly, gazing around at the bars.

"Yeah. It's not even like prison, where there's an ecology of its own. Here, you just...wait." He realizes that sounds ominous, so he adds, "Keep our strength up, and, as fucked up as it is, it has been good to see people face to face. Makes me feel a little less out-there, less like I'm hanging in the middle of nothing, at least."

"I forget," shrugs Stephen. "I've met up with people now and then but mostly...mostly it's just been me the last couple of months. I hate to say you get used to it, because you don't really, but...."

"Yeah. They say you can get used to anything, and you kind of do, in a way, but...never completely. There's always a part of you that holds out." Waiting to wake up one day and find everything gone back to normal. To find everything sane again.

He smiles weakly, rubbing at his tattooed wrist with his other hand. "You either cope with it, or you don't, though. That's kind of a simple choice at the end of the day."

Stephen lets out a hollow laugh. "Haven't always been so good at that," he admits. He rubs his sore hands as he pushes himself upright and starts pacing his cell again. "Tell you what, though, I'd take the solitude over this."

He's back to inspecting his cage for god knows what iteration, distracted by the effort.

Edited 2017-08-30 05:32 (UTC)

Rhys feels that hollow laugh down to his bones, and he can only echo it, with nothing else to add to it. Because Stephen is right, and while the forced companionship is strangely comforting, absolutely nothing else about the situation is.

"Yeah. Can't argue with you, there."

He falls silent, too, plucking at the slowly shredding hem of his gown and waiting for something to break the awkward stretch of silence that follows.

[log] Noisy Black, Part One [closed]

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