Magic if you squint

Romi

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School was not what Havoc had in mind for his life. If anything, school was about as far from his list of priorities as it was possible to get. He'd graduated, he'd moved on, and he'd had no intention of ever going back.

And yet he was. He'd gone back because he'd had no other choice, gone back because the alternative was trying to find some minimum wage job to fill the time while he went to classes to get his powers under control to a suitable level.

It had simply been more convenient to go back to school, even if he didn't care about his education at all.

The overwhelming majority of his classes were focused on powers, but the schedule that he'd been given was dubious at best. Some of the classes were logical enough--there was one tailored specifically on the use and applications of fire, but there were also ones that seemed far less applicable to his case.

Introduction to Runic Magic was one of those. As far as he could tell, he didn't have magic. He wasn't even entirely clear what a rune was.

But Havoc had spent the last six years of his life in the military, and that meant the schedule saying go to introduction to runic magic class meant he was going to go even if he was pretty sure it wasn't going to help him at all.

Twenty minutes before class, almost on the dot, James Havoc let himself into the class, his bag slung under his shoulder. He quickly scanned the classroom, mentally ticking people off as he did, and then found a seat a polite distance from other people in the class, settling in and flipping his notebook open patiently.

 

Muramura

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Oct 29, 2016
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Graeme had never expected that he would be teaching magic to a bunch of youngsters, but then, there was no way he could have anticipated anything about his current living situation. Europa this was not. Somewhere, distant and untouchable, was his true home, and there were times when he woke in the morning — hungover and dazed — that he stared blearily at the sky and wondered where all the dirigibles were.

He soon remembered, of course.

And the remembering was almost enough to send him back to bed with his good friend Jack Daniels.

This particular morning had been going reasonably well, however. He had managed to avoid a hangover, and thus was feeling a lot less miserable than he often did when he rolled out of bed and made his way to campus. The classroom was empty when he arrived and he enjoyed the quiet while it lasted. Settling at his desk, he idly started going through paperwork and syllabi to help focus his mind for the day ahead.

Soon enough, footsteps heralded the arrival of students, and a contemplative hum rumbled from his throat. These kids were well-disciplined, and he could respect that. One gloved hand raised to smooth over his salt-and-paprika hair, he glanced up to survey the current turnout.
Good, good. All seemed well--

Shit.

As soon as his grey-green gaze landed upon a youth seated distant from all the rest, it hit him like a bag of bricks. Graeme immediately did a subtle double-take. It was uncanny. He was lucky he hadn't brought coffee with him, certainly he would have choked on it...And it was unfortunate that he had the kind of work ethic that ensured he wouldn't drink on the job; he certainly had a craving right about now.

Breathe in, breathe out. His posture immediately straightened and tensed just slightly. He had long ago developed the habit of throwing around an air of confidence or battle-readiness whenever he was feeling the opposite, and it certainly held true. Slowly, he stood, back pin-straight and stance strong.

He refused to lose it in front of a bunch of kids half his age or younger, and so he bit back the emotion, jaw set.

"Good morning," Graeme managed smoothly as he removed his gloves to take up some chalk. As he turned his back to the class, he started drawing ᚻ (halgaz; hail) on the chalkboard, he continued to speak: "We will begin shortly."

Yeah, if he focused on drawing examples, he wouldn't have to turn around and look at that ghost again.

@Thoth
 

Romi

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Havoc was, in general terms, very good at reading people. He spotted little cues like people averting their eyes, or even smaller things like someone swallowing too much. All those sorts of things were obvious to him, but what was less obvious was what it meant. Just as much as he was good at reading people, he was just as bad at interpreting the signals he was getting. He might know that someone was refusing to look at him, but the odds of him figuring out what it meant--that someone was nervous, that someone was upset with him--were close to zero.

In the grand scheme of things it averaged out almost perfectly.

So he knew that there was something going on--the teacher had looked at him and gone stiff, and then spent a good deal of time in a stance that Havoc equated with someone seeing a superior when they are doing something wrong before finally turning away.

Something was going on, but he had absolutely no idea what.

He had assessed the teacher when he came in, but it was only the utter basics that he'd really registered. An inch or so smaller than him. Average, slightly athletic build. Casual dress shirt and slacks. Gloves. Really, only the gloves had stood out at all, and Havoc had simply dismissed those as a personal quirk, potentially related to whatever sort of power that the man was carrying around.

Everyone on the island had some kind of power, as far as Havoc was concerned, even if some of them wouldn't consider their powers so.

Havoc flicked his eyes down to the top of his notebook, where he'd neatly written Professor Creighton, Introduction to Runic Magic, November 10th.

Creighton, then.

He kept his eyes firmly fixed to the man's back, his expression as blank and emotionless as ever. Even if he was fairly sure the class was going to be useless, that wasn't going to stop him from listening, making good notes, and generally having enough on hand to be able to present himself as a dutiful student.

The man lifting his hand to write on the chalkboard gave him an excellent view of the back of his hands, marked with... something. It was hard to tell from Havoc's position in the classroom, and he made a mental note to sit closer. Scars? White-ink tattoos? He suspected the latter, if only because the patterns seemed mostly uniform on each hand.

Gloves to cover the tattoos, then.

 

Muramura

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Once he finished writing out the lesson plan's phrase of power on the board — a safe, benign example of what it would take to manifest about a tumbler glass' worth of ice — Graeme nodded to himself and pivoted back to the room. A quick glance to the clock told him it was about time to begin, and so he scanned over the gathered students again...Only to hesitate. He was still there, and that didn't make any sense at all. Sure, spectres of the past came rather regularly to visit the vet, but they all tended to dissipate if he ignored them long enough.

Not today, apparently.

After a beat or so of awkward silence, Graeme cleared his throat gently and began, "Today we'll be covering the construction and use of phrases of power..."

He knew he started the lecture, but it was like he was a spectator in his own body. Yes, he was there, he was going through the motions — but his heart wasn't in it. No, the majority of him was hiding behind the act of teaching to stare at and process this doppelganger of his fallen comrade, his dead lover. It seemed to matter little whether he was looking at the youth or directing his attention elsewhere; the ghost continued existing and even appeared to be taking notes.

This was truly taking Graeme off guard, so much so he had to restrain a self-deprecating chuckle.

He had been able to handle the trenches, the bombings, the magic — but now? Now every little thing made his heart race.

Pathetic.

Absently, he rubbed the sun wheels scarred into the backs of his hands — the contact caused them to tingle and burn. Sometimes the discomfort allowed him to focus better. He was, after all, resigned to getting through his class today. This was not the time to get caught up in his own mind; once certain thought processes began they would be impossible to stop, so he had to nip them in the bud.

"Right," he breathed out, managing to keep his voice steady. "Are there any questions on what we've covered so far?"
 

Romi

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The teacher was absolutely acting unusually, although the exact meaning behind it was still lost. Something about the situation had thrown him off. Something was effecting him.

Havoc really just didn't have even the faintest clue what that something was. Really, he wasn't getting any farther then it's something and it seems to involve me.

It wasn't a lot to go on, and really he'd have preferred if sitting in class came with a multi-page report on all those details he didn't know about.

Havoc squinted down at his notes briefly, his eyes flicking across them. He was less interested in what was there, and more interested in what wasn't there. He was going effectively from zero, and even if he was pretty sure that none of it was going to help him--he likely had zero magical talent--there were still plenty of practical applications for the information.

What if he had to fight a rune mage?

The teacher asked for questions, and Havoc decided it would be an excellent time to ask some. He was always good at asking questions, a fact that tended to get him on the good side of any teacher.

He didn't raise his hand--just asked in the awkward silence that usually followed a teacher asking if there were any questions.

"Does the line order of the rune matter? Do you have to start in the same place, or could you write in any order at all?" He asked to start. The teacher always seemed to write in the same order, but he wasn't sure if that was intentional, or if it was simply habit. "And what happens if the rune itself is damaged, like a line crossed out while the magic is in effect?" Or starting to be in effect, he supposed.

He flicked his eyes up to watch the teacher's reaction.

 

Muramura

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That...

That was unprecedented.

He was speaking. Now, that in itself would not have been so remarkable, but the fact that other students glanced towards the Carter-look-alike meant that they could see and hear him as well. Thus any notion of the youth being a figment of his imagination melted away, leaving him with...well, with more anxiety, honestly. Somehow, the reality of the male made everything more intense.

Idly, Graeme rubbed at his beard and focused on his breathing.

Despite this cruel twist of fate, he was still alive, he was still safe — though that was hard to truly believe with the growing anxiety and jolt of fight or flight instincts. There were no bullets overhead; it was not a cold, winter day in the trenches. Carter had died long ago. There was nothing he could do now to change that.

Nothing, he tried to tell himself, even if a mirror image of his comrade was staring back at him. If his vision unfocused enough, he could almost see the bullet hole in the youth's temple.

Focus.

"The order is very important. Think about constructing a phrase of power like you would a sentence in english. You could switch up the order of words, but the resulting meaning would change entirely and worst case it would produce a sentence that meant nothing at all."

It was a small miracle he got that out without stumbling, and Graeme was thankful for it.

Turning towards the chalkboard, he continued, "The runes themselves are extremely important as well. Take this phrase here. If we cross out this rune here," He struck out the rune for 'hail', "That effectively nullifies this phrase of power since it defines what we are trying to do, namely summon some ice. The spell would become inoperable. Now," He erased the hail rune and re-wrote it, then struck out another rune in the phrase, "If we destroy this rune, the results could be unpredictable since it helps define the size and scope of what we are trying to do. So the ice summoned could be smaller or larger than desired."

Inhaling slowly, he glanced back to the student/ghost, "Does that answer your question?"
 

Romi

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A part of Havoc was expecting that, whatever the teacher said, it would suddenly clarify things for him. Not magic, because the answers to his questions would be easily found elsewhere if he tried, but socially. He wanted some kind of explanation for the tension in the air, some kind of an explanation for why the teacher kept alternating between staring at him too hard and not staring at all.

He wondered for a brief moment if anyone even noticed, or if he was just paying too much attention. Sometimes he did that, making mountains out of molehills because he was paying more attention to people's reactions then they were themselves.

He nodded dutifully at the response, making tiny notes as he did. Useful information, because if he understood runes enough, he could make them backfire.

"Yes, it does. Writing a rune in a way that would be permanent would prevent that?" He asked, his eyes flicking down briefly to the teacher's hands. Were those runes, then? It would make sense--like having body armor on all the time, if you knew the right spell. Magic like that was certainly useful, and could have plenty of realistic applications.

It was more than just thought work, he decided.

 

Muramura

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The seconds that were ticking by did nothing to lessen the bile clawing its way up his throat. Every time he glanced at the youth, flashes of his past surged to the front of his mind.

It was a cold winter's day in the trenches, they had just had a conversation moments earlier — the last words said to him were, It'll be okay, Graeme. It clearly had not been okay then, seconds later, when his lover's form crumpled to the earth abruptly. And it wasn't okay now, confronted with this impossibility before him.

The problem with being stuck in a different reality is logic like "maybe he's part of Carter's family" didn't really work. He had no explanation, and for some reason, that made him angry. It was a dangerous thing to combine with his anxiety and fear, and it was all he could do to shove the emotions down behind his practiced facade and hope it'd hold together until he got home.

"Yes. So writing something quick to shoot off, say, a fireball, is fine. But if you're trying to maintain something for a long duration, say a barrier or ward, then you're going to want something sturdier for your foundation. Stone's a popular choice."
 

Romi

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Havoc did not like puzzles. Havoc liked solutions, and any puzzle that was too abstract was simply not for him. He liked figuring things out, but he liked doing so in a clear, easy to follow manner. He didn't want to sit around trying to puzzle out a truly abstract solution unless there was a point.

Magic was probably not going to be his strong suit, all things considered, even if he could use it.

Stone. Stone or metal, Havoc decided, because he preferred to think of things in the modern sense. So much of magic seemed like it was stuck permanently in the past. People used staves made of wood like it was still ancient history, rather than using a proper staff that had been formed from metal. Maybe there was a reason, but Havoc didn't particularly care if there was.

That sort of thing was for others to decide, and those others were not him.

He considered the answers before nodding briefly, his eyes falling back to his notes for a moment. Even without thinking, he'd noted it down anyway. Damaging runes can interrupt spell depending on component part damaged. Important to make runes on more permanent surfaces for more permanent spells.

"Thank you Professor Creighton," he said politely, his question obviously done. Really, it was a force of will just to say Professor Creighton and not Sir, because sir was regular for him and professor was about as far as it could possibly be from regular.

 

Muramura

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Professor Creighton.

It was so strange to hear it in a voice so similar to Carter's, and a wry sort of rue crept over him. What if they had survived the war, what if they had been able to retire together, what if, what if, what if. The questions were scalding and the fact that any chance to figure them out was gone forever only made him more frustrated. This living, breathing, walking figment constantly threw what ifs in his face.

Graeme didn't like being the kind of person to judge someone for how they looked, but it was a struggle not to in this case. A stranger with his beloved's face, voice and physicality? How could he not judge that?

It hurt.

Again he absently rubbed at the sun wheels on the backs of his hands.

"You're welcome. Now, if there are no further questions, we'll wrap it up there. Consult your runic dictionary and practice some simple phrases before we meet for next lecture."

Today's lecture was quick and dirty, yes, but...He really wanted to clear the room. It felt much too crowded despite the fact that it was only himself and a small number of students —

It was difficult to breathe.

ooc: feel free to have havoc stick around for, idk, one on one tutoring or something!!
 
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