revivalproject | Open | My Oh My That Moon's A Fright

WHO: Lark and You
WHERE: Temba Whale Comb Sent Her, Temba in general
WHAT: Storm affecting a mage by manifesting ghost-devils, and driving her magic wild
WHEN: During the storm
WARNINGS: First starter involves possible crushing/choking risks from magic gone wrong, or possible nudity (listen she's a thread mage), Second starter involves ghost-demons that will attempt to hunt people down.

I. Thread Magic Gone Wrong | CW: Magic might strangle/restrain/choke those approaching her wearing fabric, or may fall off a person completely

No amount of hiding from the storm could guarantee one would come out of it well. This was something Lark realized quite early on the first day. The fog was thick, almost magically so, not that she could sense it. Not that she could sense anything. All of her power had shuddered away from her when the fog had come, leaving Lark horribly nauseous and anxious. She had rarely felt so drained in her life, and she longed for the teas Rosethorn created that might soothe her.

Weak and tired as she was, Lark resolved she had to find something to soothe her belly. Mint collected from the greenhouse she thought as she looked out from the Whale Comb Sent Her and save the evening clear. The fog had retreated, and not thinking to look up, Lark resolved that she must seek supplies now if she was ever to find any. Tea leaves first, then perhaps she would try and set out for the ships.

So she slipped out into the night, not aware of the danger she was putting herself into as she strode out into the open night.

She didn't make it too far from the doors before it happened. A scream tearing through the air, the moon's call shaking through her and through the city. With it came Lark's magic in a rush, swelling within her in a tide she could not center and control, before it started screaming free of her, seeking threads and fibers and cloth around her to grab, to pull at.

Any fibers around her might easily be caught in this burst of raw magic, and oh but the horrid ways the pulling could go. Seams might give and clothes fall off from around the one wearing them, before the cloth and strings and fibers might try crawling toward Lark. Worse, though, might well be the threads that could not so easily pull themselves free, for those could quite easily contract, squeezing and constricting painfully around wherever they hang, as Lark's own habit did now. The green clad mage was soon screaming in pain as her own clothes started to constrict around her, crushing at her limbs and causing her to collapse.

II. The Ghost-Demons Are Real | CW: Chance of being hunted/attacked by a demon

There is quite a bit to be said for how unprepared Lark was for all of this. She'd heard talk of the storms of course, but the last two that had come she had found herself in Sh'Ka during. All she knew of them she had heard from others, and so it did not prepare her for what was coming now. A figure in the fog, a flash of green robe and crimson hair.

"Rosie?" Lark gasped, then gave chase after her. "Rosie, it's not safe outside!"

She followed the figure, and froze only when a flash of crimson light cut the air above her, lightning almost seeming to shriek. As the light faded the mist around her grew dark, swirling and shifting until it became quite like the form of a floating beast, eyes crimson, claws razor sharp, and oh but it reached for her.

"Yerui," she whispered, eyes wide as she started to back away. "Oh Mila, it can't be."

And with that she turned and ran blindly into the fog, intent on flight.

III. Tired But Sheltered

Hiding. She was hiding. Lark was very aware of this fact. Dealing with the Yerui, dealing with her magic gone wrong, it was all far too terrible. Lark, strong and experienced mage, Dedicate Initiate of the winding circle and thus in many ways priestess of a goddess, woman who had seen so many horrible things in her past, was hiding.

Cowering.

The very idea of it left a bad taste in her mouth, and Lark had to push it from her mind as she laid there in the Whale Comb Sent Her, trying to rest. Rest was not nearly so simple as it might have been, though.

"How long until this horror might pass," she asked of the room around her. "Oh Mila, let it not be long.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He hates this. York feels vulnerable without the security of being able to hide away in his hoodie. He hands over the pieces to Lark. Thankfully, only the sewn seams had come undone, leaving them all in their separate pieces like they had just been cut from the pattern.

"Well, right now your magic is fucking stupid." York might apologize later for the way he spits out the words, but anger is the default emotion to fall back onto. And when he speaks again, it's gentler. "...But you can fix it?"

Ah, those will be rather easy to fix, she thinks.

"My magic is still perfectly fine when it is under control. And once I have the tools, I will repair this all. Without magic. It will be very simple."

He watches her handle the fabric with rapt attention. Out of everything here in the city, this was his most prized possession. If she could fix it... York reels his anger and annoyance in, looking away for a moment.

"What would I owe you to fix it? I... I need it. I know it's just a hoodie, but I need it." He needed it as a source of comfort in this place. "Do you know how long it would take?"

"Nothing," she said, voice soft. "If my magic had not gone wrong, this never would have happened. This I owe you. And, once I have control of my magic again, no more than half an hour. Without magic and with my tools, two hours."

Nothing? Even though York... might've been a bit of a jerk about the situation? Though, in a sliver of defense, he hadn't expected his beloved hoodie to just...come apart. No one probably expects that. "Can I help at all? I've never sewn before but I can learn and adapt it into my programming."

His eyes are trained on the pattern pieces in her hands. "...My brother gave me the hoodie. It's just an emulation but when I feel my system stressed, it gives me comfort."

"If you wish to learn, I can teach you," she agreed, sounding so very tired. She would care for his need before her own, of course.

"The gifts given to us by those we love are precious. I won't let this be lost."

It takes a moment. A moment longer than his programming should allow, but it clicks. He finally looks at her - really looks at her - and sees how tired she was. After all, he had found her being strangled by her clothes and such out on the street.

"Hey," he says for her attention. "I know I just like... was crass as fuck and insulting and all that shit. But I don't actually... Need it. That fast. You were just being strangled by threads. Clothes? Whatever. You were being attacked because your magic went goofy." He huffs a little, scowling but it doesn't quite reach. "So... what kind of magic is it? Is it something common where you're from or no? Like how androids are common in mine."

"Thread magic, it's a craft magic and they are less common than academic magics back home," she explained, and yes, it's time to just sit and rest. "Once I'm rested, I promise I'll fix this. You didn't deserve the damages."

Thread magic. Now that he's... calmer, it makes sense. Well, not logical, but this wasn't his world and logic didn't apply here like it did in Detroit. So yeah. Magic. He takes on a more relaxed pose to listen.

"There's no rush. I don't actually need it right this minute. As long as I'm not threatened by anything that'll put me red, I'll be fine. So if yours isn't common like... I don't know, number magic or something, does it make it more... sought after?" He wasn't entirely certain if that was the correct phrasing of the question he was trying to ask.

Put him red? She doesn't even understand that.

"I don't know that I've ever heard of magic specifically over numbers, though academic magic is very carefully designed and calculated, so it's closer to that. But often other mages see craft mages as... more limited, and sometimes not worth note."

Of course Lark knew very well that craft mages can be, quite easily, more dangerous than any academic mage depending on their gift. And she knows she's also respected, because she was on the council responsible for disciplining those who abused magic.

"Math, numbers, I don't know anything about your world and magic...like what you have isn't a thing in my world. So I didn't know what other shit could be fucking magical." He frowns slightly, glancing away and then back after recomposing his programming.

"Everyone is worth note, no matter their talents." He looked from his hoodie pieces, then to her once more. "Everyone has their part, big and small. Sounds like something my mom would say anyways."

"It is the belief of my order," she said. "We believe in balance, that things have a place and time, and life flows in cycles. Circles. Elements and balance are what is needed."

It was something she was happy for actually. To know the world was a changing thing and that was okay.

Open | My Oh My That Moon's A Fright

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