[OPENING] magical training log

[spellslash]

Who: Brie, whichever newbies want to show up.
Where: The beach.
When: Day 4
Open/Closed: OTA

[It's about noon on the island, based on the position of the sun. The newbies have had a few days to settle in, but that doesn't mean they've fully mastered their newfound abilities.

As much stock as Genette puts into telepathy, Brie is more concerned about their other newfound gifts. She's aggressively tried to wrangle as many newbies as possible onto the sandy shores of the beachfront area for some magic practice.

She's got a list of everyone's magic -- only a few vague notes, limitations are for you to discover -- and she's handing out missions for magic training. If you want to participate? Feel free. If you don't? Suit yourself.

But understanding your magic isn't just an activity that benefits the group. Learning your magic's abilities may be what stands between you and survival, which is something she makes perfectly clear.]

Comments

[tropism]

MAGIC TRAINING.

[ his mission is pretty difficult: make three people feel terrible with your magic. as if anyone would be so willing. in any case he'd have to initiate contact ... god, why can't he have his stand back, this would've been a lot easier.

he'll come up to you and ask: ]

Hey, want to try something fun?

I'll tell you a ghost story. And then I'll tell you whether or not it'll come true.




ooc; giorno's power is to make people feel uncomfortable. as it's level 1, it won't really linger and traumatize your character in any way! just make them feel scared or uneasy with the story. for more information look here

if you need anything else, hit me up by pping this journal or at my plurk.

WILDCARD.

[ if you want something else, let me know. ]

[parodeity]

[ dave's eyebrows go up as he wonders what the fuck this has to do with magic, but after a second he shrugs, crossing his arms. ]

Yeah, ok, I'm game.

[tropism]

Aren't you a daredevil.

Alright - I don't make the rules. First of all, we have to hold hands like we're best friends. Then I'll tell you a story.

[ and he extends a hand to him. ]

[parodeity]

...

[ . . . ]

Why is the hand-holdin' a rule, though.

[ like. he will. hold out his hand he guesses? BUT DUDE ]

[tropism]

I can also gently caress you somewhere else.

[ dave: is held. because giorno is a shit, he says this statement in all seriousness. ]

[introspects]

A ghost story?

[ oh! orihime loves hearing about those! granted, it's...a little disrespectful to the dead, since she can see them and everything, but. oh well. ]

Sure! I'd like to hear it!

[tropism]

My lady. [ of the terrible food. he almost feels bad. ]

Rules are the same for everyone: I need your hand, if you please.

[ he extends his hand to him like he's going to take her for a dance. ] It's gonna be scary. You can hold onto me until I'm done story-telling.

[introspects]

O-Oh, okay! I look forward to hearing it!

[ alright! she lightly rests her hand in his, unsure of what's to come... ]

[tropism]

ooc; oh wow i just linked the wrong thing up there for powers. here it is in case you need it for reference!


Alright. Keep in mind, I don't know how soon my powers will affect you, but either way, it shouldn't be anything physical.

[ and he holds it lightly, thumb resting on the side as giorno thinks about a story. he can't exactly go around telling people about the mafia, so ... a modified version of his childhood will have to do. ]

When I was a kid, I saw a witch underneath my bed.

I lived in a small city with my mother. My mother was ... always busy. She would leave in the evening to go to work, and I would often be left alone in the dark.

When you're five and you sleep alone in a big room, everything feels like it's alive, right? The shadows can be tricky. Things aren't always pitch-black, there's always some light from the street lamps outside, or the moon, or whatever. And then there are noises from the street and your neighbours, things like that.

Yours eyes strain to make up for the lack of sight in the dark. It's the same with your hearing. I never slept well enough in the dark because of that; I was frightened by too many things.

Anyway, one evening, I woke up in the middle of the night because something was poking underneath my mattress. Not enough to put the bed out of place. Just ... uncomfortable. At first I thought I was lying on a pillow, or a toy. So I got up.

I don't have a night light in my bedroom, and I don't want to just switch on the light when I'm still sort of asleep. So I switched the light on in the bathroom across my bed. The dim yellow light made things a bit brighter, and I flung the bedcovers here and there to see what I was lying down on. Nothing.

So I bent low on the side of my bed to see what was poking me. And there was a witch underneath my bed.

It grabbed my hand and hissed. I ran away, screaming, and went out of my bedroom. I watched it come out underneath my bed and like a long, thin shadow, move around my bed and flicker back and forth the doorway, before it disappeared.

So. That's my story. [ he glances at her face. ] How do you feel?

[windeity]

[You had him at "ghost", unfortunately, and so John stops what he's doing (why is he holding a rock in his hand...) before he grins slightly in response.]

Sounds cool. I'm listening.

[tropism]

[ well, it's good that he drops the rock, either way. not exactly reassuring when you come at someone with a rock! ]

It's a little interactive. You have to give me your hand first. [ he extends a hand. don't worry, he'll give it back after. winkwonk. ]

[windeity]

[It probably would have been fine! But no, all right, he's going to sort of lift an eyebrow now that his hands are empty and extend his hand anyway and grasping onto Giorno's.]

I am almost afraid to ask how, but I guess that adds to the mystery of it. [Will there be Regrets, we just don't know.]

[tropism]

Definitely. Alright, let's see ...

[ the idea is to give him a story that's more or less something he can easily tell but is also familiar enough to provoke a reaction. and also, hopefully, won't give him too much away. it takes him a while (and it's a bit awkward as they stood there) hand-holding before he starts on a story. it's more or less a retelling of something that he'd heard of back home. ]

This story takes place in an alleyway back home. The details don't matter; certain figures remain central, however, because it's the kind of story that happens everywhere. People, in general, just aren't as nice as they should be. And back home, well. The city can chew up and spit out anyone who isn't careful.

So.

There was once an old woman coming home from work one evening. She decided that before going home, she'd stop by a convenience store to buy some cigarettes. She parks her tiny car right around the sidewalk, gets out, purchases a pack, and goes back into her car.

She was on the way to her route back home when she heard rustling at the back seat of her car. Startled, she glances at the rear view mirror.

Instead of seeing headlights, or the scenery, she sees a man's face.

Terrified, she hits the brakes immediately, and jumps out of the car and into the square. She starts screaming loudly so that bystanders can hear.

The man escapes out the other door, and runs into the alleyways where nobody was able to find him.

The old woman heads back to the store to call the police. The shopkeep and her son, who had come to her aid, calms her down and helps her talk to the police once they arrive.

They search her car. They find a cloth smelling like chloroform on the floor.

That's my story. [ a pause. ] No ghosts this time, I guess, but whatever. It's creepy enough!

[fivefingerdeathpunch]

[Jotaro doesn't see the point in training his new power--what's he gonna learn to do, twinkle harder?--but he's been having fun watching others attempt to master theirs so far today, so when Blondie Italiano walks up offering to tell a ghost story, Jotaro is more interested than suspicious. Not entirely devoid of suspicion, mind you, but mostly interested.]

It better be a good one.

[tropism]

Just for you, I'll make it extra creepy.

[ he extends a hand. ] You have to hold my hand. It's the only way you'll be safe.

[ trust this face. okei ]

[fivefingerdeathpunch]

...

[He looks down at Giorno's hand, then back at his face. Back at his hand, back at his face. This is deep-fried bullshit, he's sure, but Jotaro kind of wants to see what's gonna happen if he plays along, so he grudgingly--and silently--takes Giorno's hand.

Tell the story, nerd.]

[tropism]

I can't believe you actually did that. [ HE'S NEVER LETTING GO NOW THAT THEY'RE HOLDING HANDS, but he's got a smug grin on his face.

anyway, the story .... ]

Well, alright. I did promise you a story ....

There was once a boy who had nightmares every evening. It didn't matter what preparations he did during the day, or what prayers in the evening - the moment he closed his eyes, he'd have nightmares.

At first they were bearable. Horrible deaths. Mutilations. Gunshots. Physical things. Unsettling, but - familiar. And then things started to become more and more difficult to forget: faint voices in his sleep, calling his name. Windows bearing imprints of tiny hands even if he's fifteen floors up. Scratching against the door as he slept, only to wake up to seeing ten marks gouged against the closet door, wavy, thin, and blunt tracks lining the wood. It was difficult to tell where the nightmares stopped and began.

Again and again he would dream of a long shadow occupying the corner of his room.

It would grow, as he grew older. It had long claws and bright eyes. When it spoke he felt serene. Peaceful. Like nothing could harm him. Like they can be friends. It said things but he didn't remember them upon waking up. And all this time, his lack of sleep, his nightmares, his anxieties - they play out in the morning in the most aggravating way, his temper lashing at anyone who got too close to him. He quietly isolated himself from his friends. He kept dreaming.

One night, it asked for his name. And when he opened his mouth, it pulled him apart with hands like knives, and slithered down into his soul like a snake.

In his dreams he walked with this shadow inside of him speaking to him and telling him to kill, to hunt, to maim, everything else - and he loved it - but it was no longer his dream -

Every night, he came back to it. And every morning he would wake up with scratches around his neck and not know where he is, or who he is today, but that's okay. It tells him where to go. It eats. It dreams. It's got the name etched on his skin so he doesn't forget.

That's my story.

[liveinskin]

A ghost story? [She cocks her head to the side.] Ok sure. Just make sure it's a good one, or I'll call you out on it.

[tropism]

Tough customer. Not to worry, I dabble with full-on creepy if the supernatural doesn't do; I'm no Dante, but I like to think I'm quite good.

[ he extends a hand. ] Better hold on to me.

[liveinskin]

[she peers down at his hand with a 'hm']

You don't have sweaty palms, right?

[tropism]

[ giorno shrugs. ]

See for yourself.

[genice]

( Victor's having a great time. (He's not.) But he's determinedly having A Time Of Things, currently walking on the packed, damp sand with the waves crashing around his feet. He's massive in dragon form, leaving impressive footprints as he goes, talons gouging deep with every step. He's still learning how to keep them up, how to be careful with this new body. Water swirls around scaled toes and splashes upward, trying to claim silver scaled ankles with limited success. Victor would have to go further in the water to get even partly damp, but here it's easier to move, and he can eve cautiously stretch out his wings and examine the sunlight as it shone through them, turning silver into something warmer with its touch.

He tucks his wings back against his body when he hears the question addressed to someone else, maybe: he's not sure. Massive head swinging around to focus his too large, vivid blue eyes on the one speaking, Victor tipped his head to one side. He smiled: unfortunately, not very charming with a mouth filled with teeth destined for tearing and ripping and grinding instead of his normal, human expression. )

I feel like that sort of request demands a campfire to go alongside it.

( he pressed his lips closed, lowering his head until its on level with the young man speaking. )

Are introductions going out of fashion these days? Hello, my name's Victor Nikiforov, and you are...?

[tropism]

It's less personal should things go awry. That way, you can forget that it happened in the first place a lot easier.

But if you insist, then the name is Giorno.

[ he frowns at him. the teeth was an awkward touch, one he can live with, really - it's not the worst someone can have here - but the rest of it .... ] Was that a pair of wings I just saw on you?

[genice]

Wow, that's one way of handling things, Giorno.

( Chuckling in more of a rumble than anything else, Victor lifts his head and looks toward his own back. He twitches the tip of one wing out, letting the tines fan just enough to be obvious. )

Seem to still be attached.

( Catching the light as he moves it, silver glinting and shimmering as he shifts. Scales are pretty, he supposes, but he still finds it unnerving to be so forcibly divorced from the body he's known all his life.

This Is Fine. He Is Fine. Fine. Or he will be. It's mastering one more skill, one more unknown aspect of himself. )

[tropism]

I just like being cautious.

[ oh, lovely. for a moment there his hands reach out to try and touch the scales, the wings, but it's so brief that there's barely even contact at all.

having been satisfied - for now - giorno decides to leave the matter for now. ]

No campfires. This one doesn't really need that. [ he extends his hand again, as if asking him for a dance. ] Would you like to try? It shouldn't take long, and anyway it's not permanent.