Open Post: Hooked On A Feeling

[rememberettersberg]

What hobbies have you got? Susan had asked him, and he had to admit to not being sure. At school and for some time after, he played rugby. More recently, he only watched it on the television Peter had set up in the tech cave. Here at the mansion, he has books and research and the beginnings of mentoring, but it occurs to Nightingale that he has been building himself a facsimile of work and very little else. He's survived that way for half a century and been perfectly all right (though others may disagree with that assessment) but here, in this hinterland between realities, he is feeling a growing itch for... whimsy, perhaps.

At this moment, propping up the bar with a pint of bitter and a crochet hook, no one would dare accuse him of being whimsical. Nightingale is scowling fiercely at the hook, the yarn, his pint, and the book sitting open beside it. Company would be more than welcome.

Comments

[involuntaryturncoat]

"Do all pastimes cause quite that expression on your face?" Asmodean asks as he walks in, head tilted curiously. "If so, I'm not exactly sure that you've found the right pastimes."

[timebethine]

Laertes has a habit of glancing into the bars as he passes, just in case Sagramore is there--but this time, he's a bit startled to see Nightingale both outside of his summer house and apparently engaged in a ferocious battle with a length of yarn. "Hallo," Laertes calls. "What are you making?"

[rememberettersberg]

"This is the first one I've tried," Nightingale says grimly. The hook shoots out of his hand and lands neatly in his beer glass; his resultant sigh holds the weight of multiple worlds. "How have you been?" he asks politely, shooting the yarn another venomous look.

[rememberettersberg]

"A mess," says Nightingale, surveying the chaos of yarn he has wrought. "I don't like to admit defeat so easily, but..." He casts it all aside for now. "How goes the practice?"

[ravkanwitch]

Nina has been on the talent show warpath lately, which means she's been looking for him.

"Nightingale!" She says, brightly, spotting him at the bar. She stops short when she gets close. "Are you knitting?"

[involuntaryturncoat]

He politely does not react to the wayward crochet hook. "I have had better times than recently, but I've also had worse, so I suppose the best answer would be just to say that I've... been."

[timebethine]

"Ill," Laertes admits. "I told you of my first werelight; there has not been a second." He'd even tried getting drunk one night, hoping that recreating the conditions of his triumph might coax another out, but it only made him drunk and disappointed.

[rememberettersberg]

"It's crochet," he says with distaste. "And no, I am not." He hides the chain he'd resorted to magic to complete under the manual he'd been consulting. "I see you've been recruiting for the show."

[rememberettersberg]

"Sometimes that is indeed the best one can hope for," Nightingale agrees with knowing familiarity. "I'm happy to lend an ear, whatever ails you." He second-guesses himself straight after saying it; it feels too forward, unnaturally so, but he schools his face to mildness.

[rememberettersberg]

"The fact that you've managed at all puts you ahead of the pack." Nightingale is all reassurance, waving his crochet hook for emphasis. "But perhaps we can modify our approach somewhat. Why don't you try again and talk me through your thought process as you go?"

[timebethine]

Laertes takes a seat at the bar, then lays his right hand palm-up on the countertop. "I bring the forma to mind, and picture it taking shape above my hand," he says. As he speaks, he focuses on that tangle of sensations that are lux to him: sunlight and drying hay, honey and whiskey; the swelling, catching feeling of hope kindling into purpose.

[involuntaryturncoat]

He's quiet, not responding immediately. After a moment, he walks over and has a seat at the bar. "You wanted the story of my world and my abilities." Whether it's a simple change in subject or the start of the answer is not immediately obvious from his tone.

[ravkanwitch]

"Neither knitting or crocheting, got it. I'll ignore whatever you just hid, then," she says cheekily, sitting down on the seat next to him. "I may have been telling people about the talent show here and there. What do you think? Should we have it soon?"

[rememberettersberg]

"Tell me what you're thinking about," Nightingale says. He draws a jug of water closer, just in case. "Try and describe the shape of it."

[rememberettersberg]

"I did, yes." He puts the mess of his work aside. "If now is a good time for you, of course."

[rememberettersberg]

"I think we could probably do with a diversion of some kind, yes." He pats down his jacket and finds his notebook in the breast pocket. There's a rough version of the mansion's calendar scrawled down on the back pages. "I've no idea how this system came about, or if it actually corresponds to seasons here, but at least we can arrange things with some accuracy now."

[wickedwit]

"Nightingale! Just the man I hoped to find," Claudius says, in that walk-and-talk tone he usually reserves for sharing developments with Crowley. He sidles up to the bar, and launches straight to the point. "Circumstances have shifted since last we spoke, and we may need to convene and strategize our next steps -- before or after speaking to Aziraphale. Are you busy now? What are you working on?" he asks with new curiosity, noticing the crochet hook and yarn. "Are you and Laertes exchanging pasttimes now?" Has Claudius ever seen Laertes crochet? No. Does it seem like something Laertes might pick up? Yes, absolutely.

[timebethine]

"The shape, and not the sense of it? It had no particular shape--no." He remembers the shape of his light with sudden clarity. "Not precisely an orb, nor a flame. It had a slight point at both top and bottom, and was wider at the center. Like a top spinning slowly over my hand."

He gathers up all that diffuse brightness, winding up the leaf-gold hay-warm light, and suddenly he realizes that it's not a top at all--it's ... "A spindle."

And with a wash of energy that feels like stained glass shattering and reforming, cool white light blazes in his palm.

[rememberettersberg]

"I had the idiotic idea to pick up a hobby," Nightingale says sourly. "It won't happen again." He perks up a little as he processes the rest of Claudius' speech, gaining a focused kind of stillness in anticipation of learning more. "What do you mean? What circumstances?"

[rememberettersberg]

"Excellent work!" Nightingale is near exuberant, clapping his hands together once for punctuation. "Again, again, maintain your momentum - and this time say lux whenever the shape clicks in your head. Begin to associate the word with the shape."

[wickedwit]

"Oh, good, I have more work for you, so you needn't worry about having any more time for hobbies," Claudius says, a quick and idle joke before returning to business. "We have a new arrival. Aornis¹, a jurisfiction agent from London. It's worth asking, since you do solve magical crimes in London -- are you familiar with any jurisfiction agents, or is this something outside your experience? According to her, they enter books and fix infractions in literature, in what sounds like a material manner. She could describe what the inside of a book looked like, and how fictional characters behave."

¹ Ping!

[timebethine]

Laertes snaps his palm closed over the light, then spreads his fingers and starts to form it again almost at once. It gathers threads faster, now, winding and plying late spring over early summer, growing thick and round at the center. "Lux," says Laertes, and the werelight blossoms into light again. This time, it gives off the very faintest heat, no warmer than skin.

[ravkanwitch]

"Oh, the calendar. That just appeared one day. When do you think would be a good day for the show?" She furrows her brows slightly. "I think there are a few more people I'd like to ask."

[involuntaryturncoat]

Asmodean nods. "As I said, it's a wide-ranging tale." When he first arrived, there was an amusing novelty to telling of events he lived as if they were long ago myth and legend, but the shine has worn off a bit since. Still, he continues, although barely bothering to pretend he wasn't there to witness it. "Thousands of years ago, in the last age, today called the Age of Legends, men and women together worked the One Power, divided into saidin and saidar, the male and female halves. They worked in concert to produce wonders. It was a clean world of gleaming cities, where no one's needs were neglected and status was determined by the service you provided others, in accordance with your ability. Those who could channel were called Aes Sedai, servants of all, as great ability afforded could be used for even more benefit. But the One Power, divided as it is, had limitations, even with all that Aes Sedai could accomplish with it, so searches for other sources of power were conducted, until one proved successful."

[rememberettersberg]

"A jurisfiction agent?" Nightingale repeats, eyebrows hitting his hairline. "Certainly a new one on me. Then again, so were the jazz vampires." He shakes his head, frowning. "What kind of infractions does she fix? Does she know why we're here? Is she part of it?"