(Untitled)

[artesprohibitae]

John has been away from home for far too long, and his patience with the situation has frayed to the ends. PINpoints and technology he doesn't understand has brought him nothing; doorways to every world imaginable but his own. He has worked little spells and had little conversations, and he has watched ghosts of cultures not born of the Earth, and

Comments

[errantknights]

When the day's past and the silence after his fitful sleep drives him out of the tower, Martel's not much more inclined to company than he was twenty-four hours ago. He melts into the nexus and to hell with it a while longer. So he walks.

...and comes across an unpleasantly familiar scene. He doesn't interrupt, actually, but stands quietly at the edge of the firelight, watching. His hair catches the glow, even if the rest of him blends almost seamlessly into shadows.

[artesprohibitae]

John hears someone approach, but there's not a lot he can do about it until he's finished this stage of the ritual. When it's complete, he's facing away from his visitor, still inside the circles he's drawn, on the other side of the fire. He's wearing the priest's cassock, but it's not buttoned up, revealing jeans and a brown and blue plaid shirt. It's just a bit chilly out.

"Can I help you?" his voice is rough but still soft-spoken; it's not hostility, just a bit of gravel from the smoke and the spell. He turns looks at Martel through the fire, recognizing him.

[errantknights]

After his day and night in solitude, Martel looks acutely wrecked, gauntly hollowed where the fire marks him out. Thematically appropriate, he'd think with bleak humour, if it occurred to him.

"I see you've not had much luck getting home." He's calm if not casual, careful not to reach out with his mind and even so becoming aware of the differences in nature. It's a strange thing sometimes, the nexus. What you can find in it, and often the timing.

[artesprohibitae]

"Not really, no."

The fire crackles, and a perfect spiral springs up from it, as if alive. John watches it with a reflective look; if Martel were to try to touch his mind now, he might get something of a headache.

"...This ain't much of a show, if you've got a weak stomach."