nysalogs | ( mostly closed )

Yes. Though that is not a job in and of itself for most people. I used to work for the Foreign Office, before the war, and became a police officer after.

[ "the war" of course meaning wwii. it's easy enough to talk about it when he doesn't let himself linger on the mention. ]

[ a nod from John. there's a lot about this that ought to take him out of his depth, and if he thinks about it all at once for too long perhaps it will. but if he's careful, takes things as they are when they're brought up and focuses on unpacking them with himself a piece at time, it ought to be fine.

Thomas has lived through a lot. not running away at the mere mention of it is the least he can do. ]

Magical police. [ a catch at the edge of his mouth, expression wry but not mocking. ] We could've done with you on a case or two.

Edited 2018-01-28 12:41 (UTC)

[ the reaction earns john another smile from thomas, not unamused. ]

Someone has to investigate magical breaches of the peace. [ but - ] What sort of cases?

One time Sherlock came home with a matchbox he said they found in the apartment of a French decathlete. Found him half-crazy, surrounded by a thousand or so other matchboxes, all empty except the one Sherlock brought back with him. When you opened it, there was just—

[ John flounders here, looking for a word... can't find one. inexplicable, Sherlock had called it, and he hadn't been wrong. ]

Light, I suppose. Anyway, they took it off our hands within a day. Whisked it away to some secret facility, no doubt. That or it's sitting in Mycroft's junk room. [ ah. ] —Was.

That doesn't sound familiar.

[ thomas spreads his hands a little, as though to say "wasn't me". it's the truth, too, but it makes him wonder how different his world and john's really were.

he thinks on it for a moment. ] Though I think I could manage making an object do that.

[ it's half a relief, half a deflation. on the one hand, John's alright not having to adjust his entire worldview to acknowledge that his own world might have been one of magic. on the other hand, that fucking matchbox.

except, hello. ]

Yeah? [ magic. right, Thomas can do magic. ] Is there a spell for that, or do you just...?

[ is there a spell for that. John coughs out another short laugh. ]

Sorry. Pop culture's all I've got to go on.

There are spells for most things.

[ but - ] Which isn't to say I know them all. Wizards used to specialise, for the most part. [ here, his gaze slides away from john again, back into the past.

some knowledge, he fears, may be lost forever now because of that. that which isn't written down, at least. that which cannot be learned by studying a written text. if thomas doesn't know it, there isn't anyone else. ]

[ used to. there's something very final about that. it might be that their worlds are all gone now, so the past is the past - but it also may not be.

a slight downward turn of his mouth. John sets his hand down on the table - doesn't reach all the way across, that's a bit too forward, not necessarily physically but in other ways. but he's there, closer than he was before, fingers laid palm-down at the midline where their halves would join if the table were in pieces. ]

Right. [ an acceptance of fact, even if he doesn't fully understand it.

he wants to know the right thing to say here. wants to know somehow, instinctively, when's the alright time to touch on something as gargantuan as the size of the loss sitting in each and every one of them.

he doesn't. so, instead, after a held breath waiting for words can't wait any longer, ] How did you specialise?

[ they each carry the loss of their worlds with them. thomas has been carrying the loss of most of his with him for a long time now, since the war, not just since the world actually ended. but that is not something he knows how to say, how to communicate.

for a moment, he stays silent, head tipped forward, then he straightens his shoulders and his spine again. ]

Not in only one thing, admittedly. I learned how to make staves - [ he lifts the walking stick he carries around with him everywhere he goes on this planet. it isn't a walking stick at all. ] and I am quite adept at combat magic.

[ that's an understatement. once, he was considered the strongest wizard in all of europe. then, he became one of the only ones. ]

[ it takes Thomas a second to come back, and John doesn't push him. waits quietly, without expectation, and sure enough in a moment or two his head lifts again and he continues on. John's careful this time not to let the softness of concern sit on his features— God knows he never needs reminding when he's vulnerable. instead, firm interest. the tight focus of someone keen to learn.

gaze darts to the walking stick when it's singled out, and remain there as Thomas continues. he hears the rest, but he's still picking apart the word staves, connecting it to the stick he's been shown, and— ]

That's your staff?

[ if some measure of his careful attempt to not seem like magic being real doesn't still regularly catch him for six falls suddenly and dramatically away at this latest discovery, it's only because Thomas caught him off guard. ]

[ john's lack of obvious concern is appreciated. he's right: thomas doesn't much like being reminded of the vulnerability, the pain that causes it. even if he's the one bringing up the topic now, the memories. he doesn't mind telling john, though. at least not this much. ]

Yes.

[ after a moment, he elaborates: ] Magic in my world comes with certain risks. Stroke, mainly, and various medical terms that I've failed to memorise. If one does too much magic at a time, one dies quite suddenly. Staves help alleviate the issue. They store magical energy, if you will.

[ now that's fascinating, something John can more easily latch onto. medical repercussions to magic usage? oh. ]

So magic's something— that exists outside of you? And channelling too much of it's the problem? Or is it in you as a - dormant energy or something, I don't know - and utilising it's what has the effect on the body?

[ whoops, sorry Thomas. suddenly a small glimmer of this is slightly comprehensible to him, and that's exciting in and of itself. ]

I'm afraid you're asking the wrong person. I know that it works and how to make it work, not why it works or the mechanisms behind it.

[ but despite the words, there's something softly pleased in his expression. thomas has always had a soft spot for those more scientifically-minded than he himself is. david, most notably — but also abdul and peter. ]

[ ah. John nods, expression briefly stumped and then smoothing out again.

understood or not, it does make him feel less separate from it all - takes the mystique out of it. that magic had physical repercussions to its users in Thomas' world isn't a good thing, exactly, but it does neutralise it. takes it out of the realm of fantasy, somehow. humanises it. ]

That's alright. This is the first time I've heard of it having consequences to the user. Medical consequences. It's— well, not good, obviously, just— real.

[ dragging himself to a halt, John shakes his head. casts Thomas a look, checking to make sure he hasn't offended. ]

[ thomas isn't offended. if anything, he is fondly amused. mostly, it shows in the warmth his expression carries. ]

You would like my apprentice. [ "if he wakes up" goes unspoken. ]

Apprentice. [ bland humour in the repeat. God. wonder if that's on the government's apprenticeship database? John sincerely doubts it. ] Your apprentice into the science of it, then?

There used to be a school for it, and apprenticeship would come only later, but yes.

[ there is that expression again. "used to". it's all a moot point now, anyway. ]

[ ah. oh, God, he really does keep managing to follow the sorts of lines that send Thomas off somewhere he'd rather not be.

John sits with it a second. then: ]

Thomas, look, I really -

[ saying any of the things that come to mind out loud would once again cross the lines of highlighting vulnerability, and defeat the object of speaking at all. jesus christ, he's no good at this. ]

... It's fine. If you want to talk about this. I'm happy to. But if it's a difficult topic, we can try it again another time.

[ he isn't here to upset him, but every new turn in the conversation seems to be fraught with potential mines and avoiding them is proving impossible. he is more than happy to talk, to listen, but if Thomas came here expecting a pleasant evening and what he's getting instead is the slow drag of retrospection— ]

[ the words bring thomas up short and for a moment, he seems a little lost for words. when he shakes his head, it is rueful more than anything, not a rejection of john's words at all. ]

I apologise. [ his lips quirk a little. ] Magic in England has had the easiest time of it in the last few decades. [ he has not had the easiest time. magic and the nightingale are not synonymous, not even in england, but close enough. ] I don't mind the questions.

[ he doesn't. he lives with the knowledge of what happened every day. it isn't something he's likely to forget, but he's far better these days than he once was.

he reaches for his glass, taking a sip of wine. ] But perhaps it isn't the lightest of topics. [ an out, if john wants it, because john did not sign up for this, did he? the loss that still eats at thomas. ]

[ it's not that he wants an out. it's that they came here to eat and drink and flirt a little, and what they're doing instead is - well. it's something that requires more trust than that. or at least to not be sat across a table from each other, plates of food in front of them. ]

It doesn't bother me. I'd like to talk about it. It's - I don't know, it just feels a bit impersonal.

[ John gestures helplessly to the table in front of them, expression apologetic, like the setup distances them and he's sorry he misjudged. like he can't give enough of himself to conversation with dinner in the way.

and here John's own experience comes into play. there's a date and there's friendship, and he very rarely finds them bleeding together: to be sitting across the table from Thomas now, knives and forks and wine between them, is a whole different beast to sitting comfortably in armchairs or closer around the table, whisky or beer or tea at the ready, listening intently and talking in return. ]

Edited 2018-01-28 16:00 (UTC)

[ it hasn't felt impersonal to thomas, not until now — there's intimacy in proximity, yes, but also in words, in shared experiences. but he can see john's point, the physical divide between them. he takes another sip of his wine first before he inclines his head in acknowledgement, almost in agreement. ]

We can talk about it later, should it come up again.

[ it is not a topic he enjoys so much that he will fight to continue talking about it. later — over a drink, perhaps, or in some other setting. likely over a drink, he thinks. ]

[ and now he feels like he's turned something that was progressing just fine on its own into something significant and, now, interrupted. John's brow crumples, frown almost immediate‐ and he reaches out to take a large mouthful of wine.

after it's swallowed, face pinched against the taste of the too-large gulp of something that's supposed to be savoured: ] Sorry. Jesus. I'm— Usually better at this.

[ it's just that this particular set of circumstances have never aligned before: a conversation between friends on a date, the date being with a man, the conversation between friends being about magic, being about loss, being held on another world after their own have been consumed... take your pick. he's about as out of his depth as you can get. ]

[ that gets — well, not a laugh from thomas, not really, but at least a huff of air that isn't entirely unlike the not-quite-laughter coming from john earlier.

for nightingale, the line between friendship and dating is not a strict one. he has been friends with many men he could have seen himself bedding or dating or all of the above. friendship and love are on the same spectrum, aren't they? and sexual interest is not the same as either of them, but it goes well with them, thomas has found. ]

I don't think I'm particularly skilled in this regard, either, so it's quite all right.

[ the huffed breath catches John's attention, brings it back up to Thomas, and it only takes a catch of his eye to have John smiling back. okay. okay. if he says so, alright. ]

I don't know. You're doing well today.

[ navigating the various misadventures John's been on in the last ten minutes with grace and charm, bravo. ]

[ thomas isn't so sure. who brought up war and indicated past trauma most recently in the last ten minutes? him and him again. is it truly so strange that john is feeling a little at odds? ]

A well-crafted illusion. [ he says after a moment, not without humour. it's mostly meant as a joke. ]

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