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[open] channeling angels in a new age, now.
Who: Prior Walter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
priorly) & you??
What: Catch all logs for October!
When: October!
Where: various
Warning(s): language, likely mention of terminal illness (AIDS). Adult themes?
Notes: Please PM me if you'd like a starter, or feel free to wildcard me anytime.
priorly) & you?? What: Catch all logs for October!
When: October!
Where: various
Warning(s): language, likely mention of terminal illness (AIDS). Adult themes?
Notes: Please PM me if you'd like a starter, or feel free to wildcard me anytime.
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[Merlin's turn at haughtiness makes Prior laugh. He's too scrawny for it somehow, although that has to be hypocrisy coming from someone whose body weight is barely more than his own bones. And if he picks up on any excess care Merlin's taking well, he doesn't need it but won't mention it this time. In the list of small daily indignities he lives with, someone who can barely walk down the street unscathed keeping an eye on where Prior puts his feet is among the least of them.]
Oh but knife throwing is at least glamorous. Quivering beauties pinioned to a spinning wheel, dashing gentlemen risking their life and limb - and all fake, obviously. Magnets, right?
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Magnets? [so,] They're quite real every time I've seen them. Once a performer threw a knife into an apple my friend held in his mouth—nearly wet himself.
[It was Stressful, but after no one got hurt, it was also hilarious. But still.]
And the wheel creaked. Perhaps it would be more dashing with your... magnets.
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It's all very well the whole magic translation thing they do here, but has anybody thought to hand out dictionaries yet? Magnets, they're-
[He's just not a science guy.]
Some metal attracts other metal, don't ask me why. In my time we use it to make cute plastic letters to stick on the refrigerator, but you could use it to influence a metal-tipped knife to strike the right part of a frame. Magnetic attraction.
[He quickens his pace enough to trade Merlin's arm for the space ahead of him, turning to look back.]
in human terms, it's like when you meet someone's eyes across a dancefloor and you know you both want the same thing. No possible reason for it except something in your makeup recognising something in theirs that makes it shiver in all the right places.
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Oh— [But the rest of the explanation, without science or knives or metals—yes, he can get behind that. Something in that resonates with him the way knives sticking to certain pieces of a frame... doesn't.] Like destiny. I know what you mean, then.
...Well, minus the dance floor.
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[Science seems like magic to Prior all the time, not being particularly of that kind of mind. Except that enough people claim to know how it works, and make their explanations so dull that no one can really listen long enough to prove them wrong. Or, that's his theory.]
And not like destiny, at least not for more than one great night. Like chemistry.
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[Does he look like he can dance, because he's pretty sure he barely looks like he should be able to stay upright. Chemistry, destiny... he shrugs.]
Destiny's the best I can do.
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[Merlin, he's quite sure you can dance, given the right partner. One day, with enough painkillers, it's possible he'll put this to the test. As generally the shorter of a pair, he's quite used to dancing backwards - and in heels.]
Though you have yours, I suppose? The whole magic, beard, bermuda shorts thing? [A little wince in case that's not the most grandiose of descriptions. Sorry.]
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Something like that. I've heard I might even spend some time as a tree. [mmmmmhmm] Until then, I suppose my destiny is... still asleep.
[This, with a little gesture up, towards the moon - and notably, its stasis pods. God, that's dramatic. He didn't mean to be dramatic.]
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But, not important. Prior fans out his hands: hold everything.]
Male or female?
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Or: he rubs the back of his neck a little, waving his other hand in a sort of ehhhh motion. Sort of? A little?]
You've heard of King Arthur, haven't you, if you've heard of me? So...
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Well, there I was getting romantic. I suppose it should have been obvious. But you. But he...
[Prior's face moves through a multitude of ways of phrasing this, before settling on]
But isn't he a tiny wart child?
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At heart, certainly! He's older than me by a year or two. Very much the personality of a wart, though, that's not wrong.
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Now, this is testing my loyalty to anything Disney but lacking princesses, but in my version of events, Arthur was a child everyone called Wart. He doesn't become King until he pulls a sword out of a stone. And there's a whole thing where he's an ant, and a fish, and something with a mad witch I can hardly recall.
[He shrugs.]
Chinese whispers, I guess. Your story's had a long season of being passed around. My ex boyfriend happened to be a carbuncle, though, so I can sympathise.
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He was most of a donkey once. Braying and everything, very regal. And the sword— [mmm, okay. Okay, in the interest of not poisoning the well of times too much, maybe he won't go around telling people he made that all up, where the sword was involved. Someone out there would get offended.]
Well, the sword wasn't the reason he became king, but it certainly helped later on. Sorry about your carbuncle.
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[Stings like a bitch, fuck you Louis Ironson, but never mind that now.]
Most of a donkey. I imagine there might be some parts a man would trade but - was that you? Your... magic?
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Just what kind of treason are you accusing me of? [Were it such that he could take full credit—] No, not the whole time. Goblins, actually.
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[Like oh, sliced bread. Prior's learning the way not to go entirely crazy here is to grin and pretend things are normal.]
That explains everything. [Though he could be over sugaring the pill at this point.] You can do magic, though? I'm impressed by someone stealing my nose, it doesn't take much.
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Oh—sure, of course. That part of the story's actually true. Here- [Here, he can do magic tricks on command, sure. He's done this for other people here before, so - he holds up a hand and closes it into a loose fist. His eyes flash gold for a second, and he opens his hand again to reveal a tiny blue butterfly.
There it goes, fluttering away like he didn't just make a butterfly out of nothing. Tada.]
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Where did that come from? Can you do more of those? You could make a killing at uptown weddings.
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Anyway it's pretty, which is the point.]
I could make as many as I want, I suppose. Enough for a wedding would take... well, I've never tried. Hours?
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[Forgive him, there is party planning in his past]
Anyway, they're pretty, which is the point. What else can you do?
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I could do—well. Not to sound smug, but whatever I want, I suppose. Certain things are harder than others...
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[He looks away - they're leaving the residential area for the fringes of the entertainment district, and the scenery's starting to change. No tumblers yet, though.]
...But I mean - forgive me if I'm asking too many questions, it's probably mundane as hell to you - where does it come from? Are there spellbooks or is it just... in you?
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Magic is all around everything, more or less. I was born with it, but spellbooks have been a help here and there. Some people haven't got any magic at all.
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