Lord El-Melloi II [AU] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fionnuisce) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-04-19 05:48 pm
fionnuisce) wrote in towerofanimus2013-04-19 05:48 pm
[open; dated 4/20] // dream fades before dawn
Characters: Waver and open!
Setting: Floor 25
Format: Action, but I will try to match.
Summary: Someone doesn't cope well with screwing up.
Warnings: None yet.
[Since his revival, Waver hadn't slept. He certainly hadn't eaten, considering the miserable state of the cafeteria's choices. Not that he thought it mattered; there were more important things to do.]
[Twice, twice now he'd failed and gotten himself killed. This time it wasn't the death itself that bothered him (though painful, it had at least been quick) so much as it was the circumstances surrounding it. If he hadn't hesitated, if he hadn't faltered, if he hadn't been terrible with one of the most basic forms of magecraft...a thousand 'if' possibilities had run through his head countless times over by now.]
[Waver could be found sitting in the meadow on the twenty-fifth floor, and in time he'd surrounded himself with scattered and discarded notebook pages--upon which were drawn sigils both magical and alchemical in nature. It was clear he'd spent hours there (if not a day or two) doing...what was he doing? There was a small knife in his left hand, which Waver seemed to be using to cut various parts off flowers; sometimes focusing on only one, and occasionally several at a time.]
[However many he'd damaged, the green-suited magus would then hold out his hand and appear to be in deep concentration. If he was lucky, a pale green light would flicker and crackle around his hand, and the flowers would appear to slowly repair themselves.]
[...But he usually wasn't lucky. Waver estimated that even after endless hours' practice, his healing magecraft would only work approximately five times out of ten, and would only heal effectively three out of those five. No matter; he had absolutely no intention of leaving this floor until he got it right. What had begun as a harsh realization of the need for practice had rapidly spiraled downward into an obsessive task of repeated motions and stubborn fixation.]
[For him, healing was a difficult thing, one which all his thoughts had to be focused on. Unfortunately, he was thinking of far too many more troubling things; his obsessive practice had turned to an exercise in futility.]
Setting: Floor 25
Format: Action, but I will try to match.
Summary: Someone doesn't cope well with screwing up.
Warnings: None yet.
[Since his revival, Waver hadn't slept. He certainly hadn't eaten, considering the miserable state of the cafeteria's choices. Not that he thought it mattered; there were more important things to do.]
[Twice, twice now he'd failed and gotten himself killed. This time it wasn't the death itself that bothered him (though painful, it had at least been quick) so much as it was the circumstances surrounding it. If he hadn't hesitated, if he hadn't faltered, if he hadn't been terrible with one of the most basic forms of magecraft...a thousand 'if' possibilities had run through his head countless times over by now.]
[Waver could be found sitting in the meadow on the twenty-fifth floor, and in time he'd surrounded himself with scattered and discarded notebook pages--upon which were drawn sigils both magical and alchemical in nature. It was clear he'd spent hours there (if not a day or two) doing...what was he doing? There was a small knife in his left hand, which Waver seemed to be using to cut various parts off flowers; sometimes focusing on only one, and occasionally several at a time.]
[However many he'd damaged, the green-suited magus would then hold out his hand and appear to be in deep concentration. If he was lucky, a pale green light would flicker and crackle around his hand, and the flowers would appear to slowly repair themselves.]
[...But he usually wasn't lucky. Waver estimated that even after endless hours' practice, his healing magecraft would only work approximately five times out of ten, and would only heal effectively three out of those five. No matter; he had absolutely no intention of leaving this floor until he got it right. What had begun as a harsh realization of the need for practice had rapidly spiraled downward into an obsessive task of repeated motions and stubborn fixation.]
[For him, healing was a difficult thing, one which all his thoughts had to be focused on. Unfortunately, he was thinking of far too many more troubling things; his obsessive practice had turned to an exercise in futility.]
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She knew the dragon knight wouldn't be in the meadow, considering there were no high places for him brood in, however, as she was passing the floor, she thought to check anyway just in case and the sight of who she did see on this floor caught her attention.
What had Lancelot and Kariya called him? Lord Melloi? Lord El-Melloi? Cecil couldn't remember exactly, but she was certain she wasn't mistaken. She'd watched as the retrieval units took his body away on the fourth floor of the dormitory levels. Of course, no one had told her who he was, exactly, but she gathered that he must have been important to Diarmuid and possibly to Lancer as well, so she decided to introduce herself. ]
Excuse me for intruding...
[ He did look rather busy. Was this magic he was doing? It seemed so complex to her. ]
I'm aware we don't know one another, but I believe we have some friends in common. Do you know Diarmuid Ua Duibhne and Lancer?
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Yes, I do. Is there something you wanted?
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I'm sorry. It's just that I... Well, I was concerned— about you, actually. I was there the day Sir Lancelot killed you. I arrived at the scene after the fact of the matter. I would have come to call on you sooner, but I've been rather preoccupied since, unfortunately.
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[Like 'how the hell do you know me again?']
Waver Velvet. And you are?
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[ She bows her head formally, respectfully. ]
Diarmuid and Lancer are dear friends of mine.
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[ Cecil's attention is on the mess scattered in the grass. ]
Is this magic?
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[ She smiles a little sheepishly. ]
That is, I would like to know the difference, if you would not mind explaining.
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I see. On my world, we used only the one blanket term, "magic", though we assigned descriptors such as "fundamental" and "advanced" in classroom settings.
[ She picks up one of the sliced flowers in her left hand and makes a fist with her right, closing her eyes and centering her attention on the task of performing her white magic. The Cure spell materializes as green light too, radiating warmth, and she pours it over the flower as though it were water. The light vanishes and the flower's delicate petal is mended as though the rip in its skin never existed. ]
The level of the magic should of course be considered during application.
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[oh right he was kind of a shit magus]
I've noticed the distinction as I know it doesn't sound like a common one for other worlds where the ability exists. My world's magecraft is as much a highly advanced science as it is anything arcane.
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[ She lays the flower down amongst the others. ]
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5 years later...