annexedlogs | Open Log

Open Log

Who: Layla and OPEN
What: Mini-missions and downtime
When: Throughout the month
Where: Around the Witch's Camp
Content Warnings: Possible violence, illness

I. Propaganda: Media
In one of the small parks in the Magitech district, there is a pack of children, ages ranging from four to eight, chasing a stuffed ragdoll that skitters and scampers with a stumbling gait, weaving around its pursuers, ducking between the taller ones' legs, and occasionally bouncing harmlessly off some obstacle, living or otherwise.

Mostly, it avoids passers by. Mostly.

The source of the thing's motion is, presumably, the slim dark-haired woman sat on a nearby bench, gaze unfocused, video camera set up next to her and trained on the spectacle.

It isn't until, through concerted effort, four of the children simultaneously tackle the doll with a gleeful and only slightly bloodthirsty cheer that she snaps back to attention, wincing slightly and rubbing her temples, then pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand. It's only then that she seems to notice she's gained an audience, and flashes a weary smile.

"That wasn't you at the end, was it?" she asks. Maybe it was. Maybe it was a tree. Navigating the world without proper sensory organs isn't the easiest feat, after all.

II. The Weather Wizards
Today, it's freezing rain. Layla stands just outside the zone of hostile weather, frowning at the ice-slicked street. She hadn't actually intended to go chasing trouble today, but her destination is on the other side of the chaos, and she's tired enough - head pounding and stomach sour - that she has no desire to detour several blocks because some idiot has decided they need to get alien internet famous.

She glances sidelong, and maybe you're out visiting the markets with her, or maybe she just recognizes you from a briefing, or around the barracks, or those early raids on the Sylphid's facilities, but regardless, she smiles, though there's an exasperated edge to it, and it doesn't quite touch her eyes.

"Any bets on how long it will take us to sort this one out?"

III. Around the Camp
Layla isn't usually difficult to find - she has coffee at Cyborg most mornings, teaches a self-defense course at a small studio several afternoons a week, and spends much of her free time training, in the library, or making a circuit of various markets, window-shopping and listening to gossip.

Usually being the operative word. The first couple weeks of the month, she's less in sight, harder to pin down. And when she can be, she looks pinched and tired, like she hasn't been sleeping well, or is fighting some illness.

Whatever it is, she seems to throw it off towards the end of the month, sliding back into what passes for her usual routine. If she occasionally looks a little distant, attention caught by something not immediately apparent - what of it? That can't be so uncommon here.

Wildcard
If you have an idea for something else, go for it, or shoot me a PM to plot!

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Layla steps carefully into the circle, as instructed, and offers Marc her other hand. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I have a few things I'd like to say."

Shit, now he has to come up with something. Okay. Maybe it'll come to him when she says hers. He takes her other hand, lacing their fingers together, which earns them both a nod of approval from Visindy. She makes a gesture, and the circle around them lights up with a bright white glow.

"I'll tell you when to say what you would like to," Visindy says, and she pulls some thick, soft cords from behind the altar, coming around to wrap their linked hands with it, chanting softly. The cord is... weird warm, and when Visindy pulls her hands away, it starts glowing a soft gold.

"Now. Speak why you wish to join," Visindy says, moving back to the other side of the altar.

The warmth of the cord is a little unnerving. Layla half expects it to start moving, to show itself to be some strange alien creature disguised as rope. It's almost a relief when it startsl glowing instead.

Almost.

"You know me better than anyone," she says, quiet but steady. "The good parts and the ugly parts. We've fought together against impossible odds. I've trusted you - both of you - with my life, and I will again. There's no one I'd rather trust with my soul and my sanity."

She squeezes his hands gently, beneath the glowing cords binding them. "You're my choice. Today, and every day until the stars go out."

Marc gives the cords a wary sort of look, himself, but Steven seems to think this is perfectly normal, so he lets it be, too. Layla manages to thoroughly distract him, anyway. Those are... some damn good words, actually. He looks down, at their joined hands, then back up at her face.

What comes out is probably dumb, but at least it's heartfelt. "You make me better." That's not even really it, but it's close. He tries to narrow it down. He's not as poetic as Layla is, never has been, but he can do heartfelt. "You make me want to be better. But the two of us together, I feel like we can do anything. Be anything. Maybe even be happy. There's nobody else I'm ever gonna love like I love you."

He pauses, then chuckles weakly. "And Steven says to say you're amazing. Which you are." He decides not to add the bit about being glad he didn't sign the divorce papers for them. That feels like it's ruin the mood.

She can't help but smile at that, despite the aching fatigue, despite her nerves, despite the glow that seems to sink into their skin, gilding bone and vein and tendon where the cords lay against their hands. It's not poetic, but poetry's never something she's asked of him. The sentiment is more than enough.

"I love you too," she says quietly. The tether may not be, in itself, romantic. That doesn't make the bonds they already have any less relevant.

"And Steven's pretty remarkable himself."

The bonds they have already are, frankly, the only reason Marc would agree to this. And they're also the reason he's so nervous about it. But it needs to be done, so here he is.

Visindy nods, satisfied. "Starting from a place of love is not necessary for a tether, but I do find it helps. Now. Keep your hands clasped, and hold still. Oh and, er, if Steven's listening." She pauses, looking vaguely discomforted by that whole thing; she's still kind of getting used to the idea of her student sharing a body and all that. "Don't try to pick this one apart. It's too advanced for you."

(Oi!)

But then she puts her hands on the altar and starts the spell. It's definitely more complicated than anything Marc's seen Steven trying. There aren't any gesture components, but the word are heavy and twine together like there are two voices speaking even though that's impossible. It's also weird as hell. The glyphs are already built into the altar, floor, and the cord wrapped around their hands. All three are glowing, now, and the cord is heating up.

Layla tries to pay attention to the strange, twisting words for the first few seconds, but even if she were in top form, they would be difficult to follow. Later, she will have to come back to ask if that was just a side effect of the magic, or if the caster's partner somehow forms a part of the tether ceremony.

Curiosity has her wanting to look at everything. She focuses on Marc, on holding his gaze, on the thousand moments, large and small, joyful and infuriating, that form the bedrock of her love for him. On the fewer but still precious moments that form the bedrock of her friendship with Steven, who has so quickly become an invaluable part of her life as well. If they're going to be exposed to her emotions, raw and unfiltered by civility and self-control and the knowledge that not every stupid, petty impulse needs to make it beyond the confines of her own skull, then that's what she wants them to get first. Love, and friendship, and the weight of how much she cherishes them.

It's an effort of will not to flinch as the cord heats, to trust that it will stop short of anything actually damaging.

Edited 2022-12-17 08:49 (UTC)

The heat inches up to the level of a hot water bottle or the shower at the temperature Marc likes it best, hot but not painful.

Marc only has the presence of mind to keep his own anxiety under control, focusing on physical sensations and the presence of Steven blurring up behind his eyes, refusing to miss out on any piece of this. But Visindy's spell is taking hold, and while he-- and more tellingly Steven-- can't really piece apart what it's doing, they can see the magic laying in, along the cord and then up their arms, like little trails of light. He has no idea what it will feel like when it actually starts working.

Though what it does feel like, first, is a lessening of the pounding headache that's been making him more irritable and making Steven less focused than even his normal levels. A settling of the vertigo that's occasionally plagued them.

Only once he's registered that does he feel something warm and fond and unfamiliar coming from... inside his own head?

There's no visual marker to show Layla when the magic takes hold, merely a sense of - presence, drawing her like a lodestone. A twinning of sensation, faintly alien and a little bit exhilerating, tugging at the part of her that has always delighted in new experiences.

She makes a small, involuntary sound, not quite a gasp of surprise, not quite a laugh, something a little bit like both.

Visindy wraps up the spell with a gesture, flicking her fingers at both of them, and the cord flares brighter for a moment, then slides off, leaving only the spell. And Marc is-- smiling. There's Layla, right there. And Layla, right there. She's happy. She's excited. And he can tell, not just from her expression, but something else. He can feel it, just kind of on the edge of awareness, like what it feels like to be on the inside but not wholly gone, feeling Steven going about his daily tasks.

That's amazing.

Steven bumps at him, inside, trying to "see", too. (Okay, okay.) Marc steps back, and Steven, beaming, asks, "Layla?"

Marc is smiling, and that's almost as miraculous as the magic now binding them. Even here, away from the lingering weight of gods and the complications that come with them, it's something she doesn't see nearly often enough.

It eases a knot inside her chest, deep down and settled enough that she's hardly even aware of it.

And then it's Steven standing there, and she's not sure if she actually feels a change in their presence, or if it's just that the difference is so stark - his expression, how he holds himself, the pitch of his voice as much as the now-familiar accent.

She does laugh, then. "Hey, Steven."

"It worked! Of course it worked, Visindy's very good at what she does, but, oh, I didn't even really think about it working, isn't that weird. How do you feel? You feel kind of amazing, from here-- I mean, I'm not getting much, but what we're getting is pretty good, right?"

He cuts off his ramble, but he's still got both her hands, and he's still beaming. This is Steven relieved and excited and pretty in love, still, all rolled up into one.

He feels bright, she decides, a bright tone, almost buzzing with excitement, though she's not sure how much of that is psychic impression either, and how much of that is just knowing Steven.

"Yeah," she says, and her cheeks are almost starting to ache from smiling. "Yeah, it's pretty good. I'm pretty good. Steadier. How are you feeling?"

"Oh much better. The headache is gone! The whole dizziness thing, too! I don't know if I'd say steady, exactly, but then, I don't think steady is a thing I normally really feel, do I? No. Wow, this is mental. I can actually feel you, right there, that's amazing." Maybe it's a sign that he is feeling better that his rambling is going a mile a minute.

"Breathe, Steven," rumbles Visindy from behind them, sounding amused. It also sounds like something she probably says a lot. Steven jumps a little, then looks sheepishly over his shoulder. "You two sit down." She gestures to a bench along the front wall, then moves around them, heading for the door. "Don't go anywhere for at least five minutes while that sets. I'll bring you some water."

"I like her," Layla says in a conspiratorial whisper. The woman seems like a force of nature, but not lacking in compassion - just the right sort of person to manage Steven's sometimes runaway enthusiasm without bruising his heart.

She tugs him gently towards the indicated bench. It no longer feels like the fatigue's about to swallow her whole, but sitting down still feels like an amazing idea right about now.

"What does it feel like to you?"

"Oh, I like her, too. She's really smart and also keeps telling me I don't eat enough?"

Steven actually trips a little when trying to follow, and says, "Oh, yes, okay, sitting down is probably a good idea. I keep getting distracted by you, just right there." He drops onto the bench, allowing her to relinquish one hand so she can do the same, but only the one. He's not letting go yet, half out of a certainty that it will help the tether firm up more if they stay in contact, and half because he just plain doesn't want to let go.

"It feels like-- like-- Marc. Kind of. Except outside. You know? Like how sometimes I can feel what he's feeling even if he's not saying anything, or how I can just tell he's there, looking over my shoulder in a way, except you're you and not him."

She settles next to him, leaning slightly forward with her weight braced with the elbow attached to the hand he'd allowed her to retrieve, so that she doesn't lean back without thinking and further aggravate her bruises.

"So you've got a bit of a framework, then. That might come in handy, for figuring out how this works."

Since she's letting him keep that hand, Steven laces their fingers together like he's seen Marc do, and gives their shared hands a little bounce of affection before resting them both on his knee. "I've done a lot of reading about it, so we can be very prepared," he assures her. "You know it's a pretty popular research subject around here. It's a thing everybody's got to have, you know, so it's a legitimate research subject. It's considered kind of fluffy by a lot of the magic community, but there's still a lot out there." He pauses, then admits, "I expect I'm going to be coming at it a little different than most, though, given the whole... two people, one body thing."

"Probably," she agrees, gaze dropping to their linked hands. To where the cords were. It feels like she should be able to still see the magic, that there should be some visual change to show how they're bound. She can't see anything, of course - just feel him there, beacon-bright and buzzing.

"Nothing wrong with that, though. We'll figure out how to make it work for the three of us. It doesn't really matter if that matches how other people do it."

"Yeah... yeah, we'll work it out." And he should probably stop smiling dopily at her at the thought. (Marc, do you want to...? Probably should.)

At least Marc isn't mad at him over the Layla thing, anymore. That's a relief. Resigned and kind of worried, apparently, but not mad.

Steven lets Marc melt back out again, and Marc gives Layla's hand a little pat with his free one. "So Steven's happy," he comments, and his smile might not be dopey, but it's definitely fond-- of both of them.

This time, she thinks she does feel the shift, like the tide rolling out and back in again. She isn't sure she always will, that she would if they weren't so close, if she weren't so focused on the tether, on the newness of it, sensory input she can't quite quantify.

"Apparently," she says with a little laugh, and straightens enough to lean over and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth in welcome.

"Think we're forgiven for waiting so long?"

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