Open Log

[scarabwings]

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!

Comments

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

"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."

[scarabwings]

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."

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

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."

[scarabwings]

"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."

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

"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.

[scarabwings]

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?"