towerofanimus | ❝trying to talk my way out of this❞

Entry tags:

❝trying to talk my way out of this❞

Characters: Willow and whoever. OPEN.
Setting: Sixth floor (the forest).
Format: I slightly prefer action over prose, but I'll match whatever you want to do!
Summary: Willow's been doing a lot of magic lately, and tries to meditate to help manage it. Unfortunately she picks the worst place possible. Run into her in A or B, just let me know which one in the subject!
Warnings: Grief. Addiction recovery.

A.

[Since she got here, she's been doing magic almost nonstop. Well, not really, but it feels that way. Casual, advanced, ritual and on the fly-- she's even been teaching it, a little. Willow desperately needs to meditate and feel the Earth beneath her before it catches up with her. She can feel the temptation, feel how easy it is, to just solve everything with a burst of power and a hand gesture, maybe a well-placed word...

But it doesn't solve everything, and it won't bring Tara back. Tara, who had just wanted the best for her; who had wanted her to use magic for good things, as an expression of compassion toward the world. Not for selfish reasons. Willow feels intensely ashamed that she still struggles with this, but that doesn't mean she doesn't. She needs the grass under her hands and trees above her head to recenter herself. To find peace.

She shakes out a circle of ash about five feet in diameter, within sight of the stairs. It's a magical perimeter, intended to stop anything with malicious intent from crossing in and harming her. She hasn't had to use one in years, but Eridan had warned her about the monsters lurking in the woods. Willow uses one now, and settles herself cross-legged in the middle.]

B.

[Some time later, just as she'd really been settling into her inner space, the part of herself that stays calm and undisturbed no matter how much black magic roils through her... she hears a voice, and her breath catches. She could've sworn her heart stopped.]

Tara? [she whispers, and a moment later, she hears another trace of it echoing again.

No. She's dead. Willow lurches to her feet, leaving the small bowl of ash behind, forgotten, and rushes over to the stairs. She's breathing fast, almost hyperventilating, as she races down them.]

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[She glances up and gives him a friendly smile, not recognizing him as they'd only spoken via text, before.]

Meditating. --Oh, you mean the circle. It's a magic perimeter; it'll stop anything that wants to harm me from crossing over it. You never know in a place like this.

...you're Willow, then.

[He hasn't met another music user, really, since he's been here. Not one he hasn't considered a mutation (Vivi doesn't count. Vivi is like a pet).

It's an educated guess.]

That's me. [still with her smile] Did we speak online? Or did someone just tell you to look out for the redheaded girl in the forest and loom over her?

[Which is totally meant as a joke, and is pretty evident in her tone.]

Erik. [He smirks.]

Not overly interested in looming today.

[But others, he might. A joke back.]

[She instantly grins.] Oh, hey! It's you. I'm guessing if you can make looming jokes, your friend got back alright?

It seems like everyone else did, injuries included. But at least we know what happened to them.

I did. [It wasn't easy, but it had been done.]

This place not only seeks to trap us, but use our own fear and weaknesses against us. Twist us, play. For what purpose we don't know yet, still.

[Terribly sorry, Willow. He simply isn't a cheery type.]

[If she can befriend Angel, Erik here is small potatoes. She's got this covered: she can be cheerful enough for the both of them.]

It sure does, but hey, I've been through wackier, [she says, cheerful and determined to be cheerful.] I'm not giving up hope yet. It's part of my Scooby cred-- stubborn to the point of stupid about not giving up.

The Scoobies being my group of world-saving friends, for the record.

This isn't about 'wacky', as you put it.

This is about the subjugation, the torture, and the experimentation of people. Crimes against humanity and mutant kind alike.

[He frowns slightly.]

That name is ridiculous.

Maybe we like being ridiculous, [she protests, just a bit defensive.] You don't need to rain on our parade.

We've been fighting the good fight for something like seven years now. After a while you have to stop thinking about how awful it is and get back to the rest of your life. Otherwise you... don't have a rest of your life, and you know what? I want to get back to that. I want to finish college, and no primordial original entity of evil is going to stop me!

[Silence for several seconds. Whoa, she hadn't meant to get that impassioned.] Um. Sorry. That's sorta been a thing for me lately, [she finishes, sheepishly.] I stand by my point, though.

You think it will just end? The fact you've been fighting for seven years tells met hat it may never end. Getting back to the rest of your life is allowing the others to win. It means you're giving up, on some level. Becoming complacent.

[And he is getting impassioned as well. Forgive him, Willow. His whole life has been getting back at Shaw. you're invalidating that accidentally.]

And I stand by mine.

[Willow just gives him a look that can only be described as skeptical and unimpressed.]

Okay, well, you can enjoy your lack of complacency, and I'll enjoy not being miserable. I think I'm owed something after so many years of do-gooding, and hey! Maybe I want that to be happiness instead of the occasional ice cream. I think I'm entitled.

It's not like I sit here and say, oh, someone else will save the world this time, it's fine, they don't need me. Because no one else will step in if me and my friends don't do anything-- not where I'm from. I just want a break every so often. [Her tone is not pleading as she says any of this: it's firm, telling instead of asking. Willow is not shy about taking what she feels she's due.]

And I'm simply attempting to say that sometimes breaks can not be afforded, even if they are wanted.

Please, I have gotten that memo. Trust me. You are preaching to the extremely converted choir.

You could stand to chill a little, you know. We're not going anywhere fast.

[He shakes his head.]

And perhaps that is because too many of us are 'chilling' as you put it. We need to be acting. Not dawdling about.

A good mixture of acting and dawdling is key. People go a little crazy if it's all action and no dawdling, and I'd like to stay away from the crazy.

And I'd respectfully disagree.

[He gives a shrug, moving a bit closer. He has pushed hard his entire life since getting out of the camps. And despite what Charles says, he believes it has served him just fine.]

Well, you can be Mr. Broody if you want, but I want to have my cake and eat it, too.

Anyway... what were you doing out here? [she asks, curious and not at all accusatory.

I was just wandering the tower. Happened to see you.

[He crosses his arms over his chest.]

It isn't as if you weren't visible from the staircase.

I don't mind, I was just curious.

[She gives him a big smile, charging on through conversational awkwardness determinedly.] You said you wanted to do something for Hanukkah, right? Are you still interested?

I am.

[He gives a shrug.]

Though if I have to be honest---I don't remember my prayers.

That's okay, my parents were more the Jewish-when-it's-convenient type anyway, [she says cheerfully.] Mostly they made me attend Yom Kippur and then forgot about me the rest of the year, so I haven't learned a whole lot myself. [There isn't a flicker in her expression at all as she mentions parental neglect. Willow has a family now, and yeah, that's an old hurt, but it's one she's mostly dealt with.]

Besides, I think it's the spirit that counts.

Well I think it's a bit hard to have the spirit here.

But if you are truly interested....I'll try.

[He's reaching out. It's something his mother would have approved of.]

Then we'll have to see if we can't make some.

Was there something in particular you wanted to do?

Honestly?

[He gives a shrug.]

All I want is to light the menorah.

[They don't have any way to make the food he'd like.]

I think we can definitely manage a reasonable approximation of that.

[She gets to her feet and spares a second to smudge the line of ash on the ground with her shoe before stepping over it, and coming up level with him.] I at least have nine matching candles.

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❝trying to talk my way out of this❞

[A]

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I assume youw ant to move this over to dw?

i don't think the posts got moved yet, actually! and LJ works okay for me so no worries

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