epidemiology | [closed] the sieglinde sullivan center for kids who can't magic good

Entry tags:

[closed] the sieglinde sullivan center for kids who can't magic good

Characters: Sieglinde Sullivan and Connor Walsh
Date: First few days in Hanabira
Warnings: No tears, only dreams now
Summary: The Green Witch coaches a law student in the ways of magic

[Connor shows up at the place that Sieglinde had designated, at the time she had stated, more or less ready to learn. He has his doubts - how could he not? He is a pessimist by habit, and he does not like to be bad at something, one of those golden boys who had picked up new lessons and skills with ease, who had rarely had to struggle.

But he is willing to try. He greets his pint-sized teacher with a grin.]

So where do we begin, Miss Sullivan?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[How long has it been since she’s had a disciple? Since Olivia, since Merlin, since Graham, and Julius? It seems a lifetime ago, in some respects, despite how her tracking of the snow moon had her pretty sure that she was nearly at her fourteenth birthday. Er- only at.

She’s asked Connor to meet her at the room she’s been renting in the mountain capital, a small one in a long line of similar row homes in the vague area between slums and merchants district, near the apothecary she was investigating. Already she has turned the place into a temporary home, with her notes, half finished experiments, and books strewn about, one manual open and a native herb half illustrated, the actual plant lying on the other page, abandoned when her new student arrives. (It certainly looks like the room of a witch or a scientist... something in the middle?)]

Do have a seat, Master Connor.

[The people of this land didn’t really use chairs, which is something of a bother for her, unused to putting so much weight or pressure on her legs, so she sits awkwardly on three stacked cushions, just high enough to keep her legs extended, each toe carefully bandaged individually to allow for native sandal wear. For Connor, she has prepared the far more normal single cushion.]

It is best to be comfortable for such endeavors.

[His eyes wander over the many curiosities that clutter the space and give it the appearance of occupancy stretching beyond the short time their team has been in these lands. Although it bears resemblance to a laboratory, a certain otherness drapes the spread of experiments and equipment. He remembers a bit of advice Loki had given him, that magic does not quite fit into the confines of science, but it follows a methodology nevertheless.

When Sieglinde offers the cushion to sit on, Connor kicks off his sandals and settles in somewhat awkwardly. He is graceless in the dress of the natives - the trailing sleeves that mark him as an unmarried man are cumbersome, the folds of cloth limiting. Managing to tuck his legs underneath him, he curls his hands over his knees.]

Shouldn't you be the "master"? You know, like--

[He puts his hands together and bows his head, a gesture he associates vaguely with martial arts movies. It's then that he truly notices her bandaged feet, the way she gingerly sits, and concern grips his expression.]

...Hey, are you okay?

[Funny... Loki gave her that advice, too. In reverse.]

The women of my village called me Lord Sullivan, if you wished to conform to such things.

[She answers quite promptly, even though she finds his little gesture a bit silly, (and a bit Asher-like, if she's being frank, but they are of the same institution)... but his next question actually throws her for a loop for a moment, before she follows his gaze.

Only then does she remember to be slightly self-conscious of her feet. She'd fixed them best she could without using magic, but there was still a bit of strange curve to the arch, stiff sections of damaged tendons, the peculiar half-numbness of dead nerves. But... it was more the missing nails and crooked toes that kept her bandaging them away from sight.]

Oh- yes.

[She sends the signal to curl her toes as if that would demonstrate that she was completely "okay", and they do move, even though she can't quite feel it. She hasn't had to actually explain it much recently, used to the ALASTAIR members she was used to... but this was Hathaway now.]

This is... largely cosmetic these days. One does not become a witch by sacrificing nothing.

[He sees her self-consciousness spread over her like a shawl, and he immediately realizes it is something he should not have asked about.]

Oh...

[The lightness of her words belie something much heavier. Sacrifice, which smells of blood and tears. He considers what he is willing to sacrifice, and he thinks that the answer is not much at all.]

Sorry.

[A word that might not mean a whole lot, but he doesn't know what else to say.]

Glad they're okay now, though.

[Making him feel guilty for a rather normal question had not been her intent, so she is quite quick to dismiss it, smiling instead, a mature response that doesn't quite match the yet young look that clings to her frame despite the years she's spent in ALASTAIR.]

It is alright. And there is nothing you need worry about- you are not walking down the path of a witch, just a... how to say... a casual spell user?

[She holds out her hand, palm up.]

Let us see that scroll and start there.

[He presses together a smile in response. Where she exudes a maturity beyond her years, he feels in some ways like a child sitting before her. It's the uncertainty that comes with turning off the beaten path, the fear of failure, of falling if he reaches for something beyond his grasp. It's the desire to reject his own helplessness.

So he tells himself that it's just a dumb little magic trick, and if he can't master it, then he won't have lost anything.

At Seiglinde's prompting, Connor reaches into the bag he has brought with him and produces the scroll in question. (Strange, how his arm seems to sink farther into the bag than what should be physically possible...)]

There you go.

[One scroll, neatly rolled.]

[Not so terribly strange, when she possessed a bag of similar properties. One of ALASTAIR's more terribly useful gifts, she thinks. After the attack on Oska, the sudden removal from Leramzen... she didn't like leaving her things behind.]

What a familiar sight this is. I once received a scroll much like this one- though it seems a lifetime ago now.

[She reaches out to take the scroll, unrolling it and scanning the contents just to confirm that it was indeed as he had told her before, nodding to herself before she hands it back.]

Did you ever imagine using magic before? As a child, or some such thing?

[She promises this is leading somewhere.]

[Did he ever imagine that he would be capable of such a thing? Not at all. Although he had built himself up to believe he was a cut above the rest, here he was thoroughly ordinary. He has spent the past year learning helplessness, first from Annalise and now from the whole of the universe.]

When I was a kid, yeah, I guess. Harry Potter fever spared nobody, okay?

[He doesn't see how the ephemeral fantasies of childhood could possibly help him now, but he listens for what she will say next.]

[Harry Potter... fever? Was that some hallucinatory sickness common to children in his world? She makes a note to ask about that later.]

And in these imaginings, how did you cast said magic? With some sort of catalyst, a wizard's staff, a word of power... ?

[His shoulders roll in a shrug, sharpened by an upturned hand.]

I don't know...you would just wave your hand and say random stuff. It was a dumb game.

Well it is not a game any longer, Master Connor.

[Though it does reek a little of showing off... she can't say she's not totally opposed to such, and so just to drive the point home Sieglinde holds out her own upturned hand, whispers a barely heard word into it as if coaxing something into existence...

Before a small flame sparks into life there, dancing and curling in the air above her unburnt skin. Much like how it seems he may be able to do with enough work.]

Now that you have received the scroll, it is all a matter of will to activate the spell. I have found it quite useful to assign them words, or gestures- something to focus on to more easily channel the magic.

[He knows very well that none of this is a game. It has never been a game. A hundred times he has felt himself on the verge of catastrophe, every mission a minefield in which any step could be the wrong one, or the last one.

Up until the moment he sees Sieglinde produce the flame at her fingertips, he had still doubted the legitimacy of the scroll in his possession. The flickering flame highlights the astonishment that now shapes his expression as he watches.]

Holy crap.

[And then, realizing that she has given instructions and therefore expects a response, he adds:]

So all I have to do is come up with a word that will help me focus on what I want to do? Kind of like a shortcut?

A mental shortcut is a good way to think about it, if that suits you.

[Pleased with the reaction, she leans forward slightly, bandaged heels sliding across the reed mat floor as she proffers her hands, and the dancing flame within, almost as if she was inviting him to take it from her.]

I tend to use Latin when a spell does not have a prescribed trip phrase... what sort of words would you associate with such a magic as this... ?

Well, the only Latin I know is stuff like "veni, vidi, vici" and "questio quid juris," which doesn't really fit. Maybe a command would work. Something like "blaze" or "burn"...

[His eyes follow the flickering flame that hovers at her fingertips, and that now comes closer as she leans forward in his seat. His hand rises from his lap as if by habit when something is offered, but then it hesitates midair.]

You're sure I'm not just gonna burn myself?

[What oddly specific Latin phrases to know...]

English should be just fine, if it seems fitting to you. "Blaze" has a more dramatic ring to it.

[She proffers the flame again, flickering gently in the low light of her makeshift laboratory.]

It is my creation- it will not burn you.

[With her reassurance, he reaches out now to take the small flame that dances at her fingertips. He braces himself for the sting of a match burning down to the end, but relaxes when the flame passes to his hand with only a gentle warmth licking his skin. A long moment passes in astonished silence as he inspects what Sieglinde had crafted: the fire seems to float in the air freely, but it spreads nowhere as if contained.

Finally, he looks to Sieglinde again.]

You have any candles I can light?

[Sieglinde flattens her palms to allow him to take the flame from her, watching him handle what she had summoned.

She'd missed this. Teaching others. Had it truly been so long, since she'd had a new disciple? After Olivia, in the chaos of the end of ALASTAIR's mission, the loss of so many in the transfer over to Hathaway... it had become longer than she'd thought.]

Of course.

[She scoots back and does a sort of... controlled roll off her cushions to begin rummaging around in her things, looking back at him with a smile.]

Ready to learn? That is exactly what I expect of a disciple of the Green Witch!

[Candle lighting practice... here they came.]

[Connor is more subdued as he pours his energy into concentration, so that the flame does not suddenly vanish or go awry. When Sieglinde places the stump of the candle on the table, he carefully transfers the flame to its wick, and pulling his hand away fast he finds that he has lit it.]

Better call 911, 'cause I am on fire.

[And despite the doubts that had weighed him down earlier, he appears pretty pleased with himself now.]

I should be able to put it out too... Let's try just "out". You know, like Macbeth - "out, out, brief candle," and so on.

Surely the last thing we need is a gaggle of firefighters breaking your concentration.

[Thankfully, her time in Woodhurst had taught Sieglinde what "9-1-1" was... but, it had also shown her that more modern humans enjoyed things such as "Hunks in Uniform" calendars. She can certainly appreciate that.

She's also thankfully learned some Shakespeare.

Pulling her cushions closer to the desk, she re-situates herself, pulling her own magic from the flame to leave it to him to support it's existence... or death.]

"Out" will serve well. Give it a try.

[She settles

[With his hand hovering above the candle, he tries to deliver the command in an imposing voice:]

Out.

[As if his rekindled confidence serves as fuel for him, he strikes success again and the candle's flame slowly dwindles as if being smothered. His hand falls back to the table as smoke curls from the wick.]

I can't believe this actually works.

[Looks like it was imposing enough.

Sieglinde smiles, familiar with this process of learning ALASTAIR's spells despite how long ago it sometimes seemed.]

Now is the time to start believing, Master Connor. That spell is not even just limited to fire.

[She rifles through her things, pulling a rather stained leather glove out to display with a raise of eyebrows. "Clean or soil an object".]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[closed] the sieglinde sullivan center for kids who can't magic good

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