spellbinders | [WORLD TWO

Entry tags:

[WORLD TWO | INTRO LOG]

Who: All coven members
Where: In and around the new world’s apartment building where the coven is staying
When: Day (the calendar isn’t syncing for me hELP)
Open/Closed: Open to All

You’re in a room. It’s pretty bright — blindingly so, even. There’s something very stark and very clean about the place, and also the person you’re sitting in front of. You’re sitting? You’re sitting. There’s also a pane of very powerful plexiglass separating you from the uniform-clad person who is now speaking to you.

It’s impossible to transcribe what they say verbatim, but here’s the gist of it:

- You’re being welcomed to a city called Shehui. Depending on who you are, the level of technology may be light years ahead of you or child’s play.
- There’s a very strict policy about magic. While there are measures put in place to prevent magic from happening, this is still something that they reiterate over and over. They don’t want to take chances.
- Crime is also frowned upon. Small infractions will result in credit deductions, while major crimes will get you banned. Antisocial behavior is also looked down upon. You’re locked in the city for your initial eight weeks. You can leave afterwards, but trying to break out of the city or cause social unrest will result in monitoring and a potential ban.
- This city is supposed to be somewhat relaxing. Is it a free pleasure cruise? No. Is it a self-contained society that runs on community and indulgence? Yes.
- You’re being given an allotment of credits in order to stay in the city, which is what the economy there runs on. This goes on for quite some time.
- You’re being moved to a housing location. Despite the slotted speaker in the middle of the plexiglass, the only time you have a chance to ask questions is when a small slit opens in the bottom and a package is slid towards you.
- What’s in the package? There’s a credit card-like apparatus that has apparently taken a picture of you. It contains a place to write your name, an identification number and barcode. It also has a thin strip near the top that has scrolling script floating by. It states “WELCOME TO SHEHUI. YOUR ID WILL UPDATE WITH COMMUNITY NOTICES AND PERSONAL PINGS FOR JOBS AND VOLUNTEER OPPORTUNITIES RELATED TO YOUR INTEREST.” It’s a lot to take in, but that’s the long and short of it.

Have questions? The person will reiterate a few times that there are information desks around the city. That’s all for now…now you’ll be traveling to your next destination: your new home.

The floor slowly lowers as if you’ve been in an elevator the whole time. It connects to several other glass containers, much like your own, all suddenly clanking together in a chain. After a short wait, the chain begins to move — quickly. Faster, maybe, than you’ve ever gone before. It’s hard to even make out the scenery when you’re zipping past everything so quickly.

Where does this trip lead you? The ground floor of your new apartment building. The plexiglass cases open up and you’re in a hotel lobby. There’s a flashing board on the wall — NEW ARRIVALS, COME HERE.

The apartment building is locked up tight for three hours in order to let new arrivals get their bearings. After that, the ground floor lobby doors open into the city of Shehui. There’s a lot to take in, but let’s cover the biggest bases:

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How fast isn't how much.

[ Stop????

Blood won't heed him, but he can at least control his voice.

MOVING RIGHT ALONG. ]

Who says I want your scraps?

[ Besides... ]

I thought you hated sharing. You don't have to try so hard. Don't think of me.

[ Try harder.

Think more of him. ]

Edited 2017-11-29 06:15 (UTC)

[ It surprises McGillis, just as much as it takes Gaelio off guard, to see reddening cheeks, as if anything he said or did could still incite him to feel embarrassment. For that reason, he looks up from the list of orders with heightening focus on the development, chin lifting out of his palm.

He hadn't really expected Gaelio to remember. Confusion, accusations that used the word "weird" or "strange", irritation -- any one or combination of those responses, that had been the expectation. That he remembers, that it embarrasses him to this extent, and that he shuffles into overcompensating with a stern rejection of the offer...

A pause, satisfaction unfurling warmly.

He can't let Gaelio see it. He can't step too far out of bounds, not this soon into a strange reconciliation, but there's a mysterious glint in his eyes that speaks to some of it. ]

Places like this waste food all the time.

[ ever dumpster dived in a rich neighborhood?

McGillis taps his chin, as if reconsidering his plan. ]

But the leftovers are perfectly good. They wouldn't be more than a day old, when everything is freshly made. If you're not interested, I'm sure I can find someone who is.

[ Drawling, then back to tablet, scrolling. ]

If I have to eat them all... better that, then waste it. It would be smart to gather bulk before returning.

Edited 2017-11-29 16:07 (UTC)

[ The lighting in the bakery permits no mistake. Bright and white, designed to highlight bright colors in glossy fruit and darkly dyed icing. If the warmth inching up his neck, sprawling over jaw and into cheeks, looks as it feels, the McGillis must see it. That, then, the reason for his raised face.

The glimmer in his eyes.

Gaelio tenses with expectation, the itch of aggravation heightened, but -- beyond that gleam, nothing.

A moment, instead, in which they both stand conscious of it, yet McGillis grants a reprieve. Gaelio isn't certain whether that's worse, whether he's more annoyed for it.

Talk of wasting food tugs him enough from that. Though of course he has little awareness of that. Beyond the impossible notion of his dumpster diving, the seven star estates were so wealthy as to transcend definition as a neighborhood. He hardly knows what a neighborhood should be, aside from curious visits to distant cousins. ]

I'm sure you can.

[ Find someone who is interested. Stiffly said. A rigidity that pulls through his stance, pushing him off the case, no longer leaning at ease. ]

You won't have to eat it all, but if it came to that, I'd have to help you.

[ Even choosing to get fat, McGillis couldn't eat everything. Some would have to be tossed, and however at superficial odds with his upbringing, it remains true -- Gaelio hated to waste food. Something that nettles even now.

Face cooling, if too gradually for his comfort, he looks properly at the contents of the case. Fruit tarts, elaborate cupcakes, cakes upon cakes, frosted cookies. ]

Did you make these?

[ It's been about four days since they arrived here, but as it's McGillis, it wouldn't surprise to learn of quick mastery. ]

[ Who would turn down free sweets? There's a thread buried underneath Gaelio's I'm sure you can, a slight edge to it that carries through in his body language along with his tone.

He could try to tug and follow along with it. He could, but in a similar vein along with choosing not to tease Gaelio over his red cheeks, he leaves well enough alone. His hunger for such inclinations, hallowed out by recent history, isn't what it once was. He can't throw scraps to like he once used to.

A beast he has to be careful about feeding.

Not that he doesn't want to. Not that it isn't tempting to revive it. Not that it isn't tempting with -- more recent memories of -- and even returning to his work, he sneaks side-long looks to capture images of the blush fading. ]

If I asked for your help first, would you?

[ Casually, finger flicking through a recipe adjustment. ]

Some. I'm still a novice. Considering the residence we're returning to... it's wasted knowledge, isn't it?

[ What use will he have for cake recipes once they're back on the island hub?

Once they're back home, for that matter? McGillis, chin resting back down in his palm, leaning in Gaelio's direction, forgets his tablet to fashion a furtive smile at him. ]

Pick something.

[ Too much clemency in this, too much mercy. The itch won't abate, but it needs a different reach. Standing tall and tense, he must instead wait it out. Impossibly conscious of every glance, every swift and indirect press of those eyes.

No less conscious of memories, of one memory. At once, he feels too close, maddening proximity, and too far. The counter's barrier both gift and curse. Gaelio must exert himself to keep from closing his hands, fingers into fists, and loosening, and closing -- must prevent that expression of what is restrained, what would bubble out into his fingertips and spread.

Gaelio stops himself from taking the question of help and dissecting it, reducing it to pieces less than component parts, incoherence.

Not every word can be a puzzle, not every phrase a challenge, something to suspect shades of meaning or insincerity behind. But, your help first, why should it still stir in him? The mere notion of McGillis coming to him first. Over something like this.

God, but he does hate himself.

A breath, measured. ]

Edited 2017-12-20 23:27 (UTC)

I might.

[ A good show at distance, at matching nonchalance, if only because the fuss in his head pulled him enough back from the moment. ]

But... that doesn't sound like you.

[ Regaining ground through that space. ]

McGillis Fareed, doubting the utility of knowledge?

[ Less need now control in his hands. Gaelio crosses his arms, crooking a hip against the case, recovering more. ]

We might bring more back. You might need to be creative.

[ Much as it might be hot air. Gaelio would be hard-pressed to devise utility for cake recipes, either on the island or in the thick of McGillis's coup, or with whatever followed it. Though he can't imagine McGillis choosing a job with no use to him, the beginning and end of it might have been the opportunity to gorge himself on sweets. How very...

He's spared nostalgia when McGillis leans, such an ~~irresistible~~ insufferable expression so targeted. Gaelio's overcome himself enough to raise his eyebrows.

No smirk, no curvature to his lips, but an edge, a slant. ]

Pick for me.

Edited 2017-12-20 23:21 (UTC)

[ Should he push the envelope more? Should he challenge both of their boundaries early on and slip into old habit with greater ease?

He can't quite tell if Gaelio would prefer that over this carefulness. Within the fixture of his gaze are hints that he might be unsettled, but the reasons for that could be -- endless. Although McGillis might be comfortable secretly indulging childhood memories and modifying his interactions to suit past behavior, the fact remains that he is the villain in Gaelio's world. The steps they've taken towards reconciliation, no matter the sweeping length of them, haven't erased the past.

But he watches him steadily, smile lifting and aligning at the corners, to hear his response and take note of his body language. Gaelio challenges him to find the utility in something as basic as this. McGillis hums, considering.

He can't think up a decent retort, something along the lines of incorporating dessert knowledge into survival knowledge, with his attention so fixed.

Now fixed on the tilt of that mouth.

McGillis pauses, silently considering the prompt. Pick for him? Another moment passes, eyelids hooding, adding smoke to his smile. ]

You're not wrong. True creativity requires a challenge.

[ He straightens, only to disappear under the counter. Shuffling accompanies the sound of refrigerator door opening, the hum of the motor momentarily louder. ]

Since you're in a health-conscious mood...

[ And the door shuts. He reappears with a chocolate-covered snack, its green stem pinched between index and thumb. ]

This is likely our freshest option.

[ Yes, a chocolate-covered strawberry. ~~It had to be chocolate.~~ Still indulgent. Maybe a shade too daring.

Leaning again on the counter with both elbows, he places his free arm down and folds it in. Now holding the treat out to Gaelio, who will have few options for both accepting the item and keeping his hands clean.

How thoughtless of him to forget the toothpick. ]

And freshly made. This batch isn't more than an hour old.

[ As if Gaelio could be long spared nostalgia with this man. He might have lingered over the steadiness of McGillis, over the preference unabated from childhood, retaining the simplicity of it. No use, no utility, simple pleasure. But that McGillis leaned, smiled, an expression that continues to unfurl, warming with each beat.

Gaelio invites utility, and McGillis deflects.

Difficult to know, to understand, where they stand, where now falls the line between them and how close they are to toeing over. Sand kicked over, further obscuring, on the beach. The lapping there of the tide, and the lapping of their mouths, had been unable to wash away the past. No more than had collapsing metal crushed it, or what he'd wept then, or the blood.

A different path for his blood now. Not spilling into the shattered cockpit, but creeping along his neck, heated by the smolder in McGillis's smile. McGillis lifts and bends away, and Gaelio keeps himself from leaning over the counter to better see his movements, fixing himself still, his arms almost locked together, his hip to casing.

McGillis straightens again with a single item between his fingers, a strawberry coated in cooled chocolate. The insinuation of health is amusing, exacerbating the angle on his stubborn mouth. Chocolate, too, stirring more nostalgia, again tempered by McGillis leaning, now proffering.

Gaelio's eyes drop, first to the fruit, and just past it, to the tips of McGillis's fingers. It will be a touch sloppy to take it directly, however firm the chocolate, it might yet smudge on his fingers. It might.

But McGillis might insinuate a different option. Where do they stand, after blood and salt water, when they daily reassure one another, when McGillis had kissed him with unmistakable satisfaction before pulling away, when he had never been happy then (whatever the assuaging that followed), but smiles like this at him, now. ]

A challenge, huh?

[ His voice distant with it, but thickening, nearing.

Caution is a matter of should, and Gaelio wrestles still, ever, with should. He lifts his right arm, leaning incremental to extend its reach, apparently extending so to take the fruit between his index and thumb as well. Closer to the stem, whether they would brush, or further from stem and accepting the inevitability of chocolate left behind?

Neither, whether that had been his intention when he began the movement, or what he slides into, mapped path offset by gravity's pull. With fractional space between his fingers and what of the stem pokes loose, they continue, and for only just a second, slide along McGillis's index finger. Though his eyes are not closed to better excuse it.

It's an inadvertent memory, sifted from the subconscious, and it shivers at the base of his spine, low and hot. Understanding in the delay of that second its root, he almost jerks away, half-flustered and half too much changed, too disjointed from the younger ghost his mind had provided for that fabrication. He cannot smile so easily, the air will not ripple with it, though he might not resist the drag of an ankle.

But though his wrist twitches, pulling up his fingers, his forearm and elbow keep rigid and determined, set, and ultimately, his fingers flutter then settle on McGillis's wrist. Thumb tips toward the dip in the base of McGillis's palm, less than a stroke, as he lowers enough to capture the strawberry between his teeth.

What else but that had been in those half-lidded eyes?

The chocolate breaks crisp in his mouth, the fruit's flesh bursting with fresh juice. Gaelio chews without straightening. With both leaning, when he looked at McGillis it's directly across.

More than a shade too daring, perhaps. Such that, even with the time granted for thought and composition by chewing and swallowing, once he has, he's unsure. ]

...Not bad.

[ But his neck's hot, and it sounds less cool than deliberately cool, and unmistakably so. He'll remember shortly to release him and stand upright. Shortly. ]

Edited 2018-06-25 02:26 (UTC)

[ He is absurdly curious to find out how Gaelio will react. Even the possibility of a poor reaction, disgust or some variation or anger, doesn't deter McGillis from jutting his elbow along another inch to give the other more clearance for a bite.

Something about this new environment makes him feel lighter. As if born anew, with a new identity. A simple job, a simple purpose, nothing about this present state would indicate that the past was anything but average. Caught in the crossfire of developments that are quickly outpacing the both of them, it's almost soothing to pretend that they've been living here in Shehui their entire lives.

Even at his age, it's fun to play pretend. Alluring, to construct separate realities and enact them to his whims.

In this reality, Gaelio's voice has a husky quality when he replies, alerting McGillis on some primal level of what's to come. Still --

He's not prepared when fingers weave past the chocolate fruit and ghost over his own. With his hand moving up, McGillis might've predicted he was opting for messy fingers -- instead, they skim over skin, a twitched buried in the movement. McGillis has frozen, smile fading to distraction. Green eyes lower, remaining hooded, and contemplative on the trajectory of the other hand. It settles in such a way that Gaelio is nearly holding on by the end, the callous of his thumb grazing against palm, guiding the path of the strawberry in such a way --

Green eyes tip up to watch his mouth break through the skin of candy coating and the fruit underneath. A more fascinating sight than it has any right to be. McGillis lingers on a smear of chocolate left on Gaelio's lower lip and the stain of red creeping up from his collar, staring outright, until blue eyes flit up and lock directly aligned with his own.

He must meet them. He meets them. There's something alive in the air, between this gap, as there always is.

His smile is unfurling anew, charmed by the deliberate nonchalance. An undercurrent of heat laid into the expression, more-so than before, the excitement of an unexpected development overwhelming synapses temporarily. He exhales acknowledgment of the praise. Not quite a laugh, but a subtle note of understated delight for Gaelio's chosen path, that he would take the prompt as far as this. ]

Too sweet? Or not sweet enough?

[ Shoulders leaning in, without dislodging Gaelio's hand, McGillis dips the strawberry up and dips down to nibble on the same spot, biting further down to the stem.

If he could maneuver well enough to graze lips against fingers, he just might.

This sort of headiness is new. They're locked so close -- his bangs might obnoxiously be brushing Gaelio's nose at this angle. The thought keeps his lip curled, even during munching. ]

The berry's a little sour.

[ There is an aftertaste he cannot taste.

Not when McGillis meets his eyes, and he knows better than to think it, but cannot help but feel it inevitable. As much necessitated as demanded by what sparks and expands in the divide. Safer if ire, if the flint strikes for that, for cognizance at least of McGillis's awareness of his effort. If only that, less certain of McGillis's purpose. Not knowing, but feeling, and if actions were simpler on the beach, Shehui firms those sands.

Before he can divert enough attention to the taste, to prepare a responsive answer, McGillis dips. His hand shifts enough for his thumb to drag, light but firm, over the silk paper of inner wrist. A heart beats there, but he cannot discern the thrumming from his own. Enough for that, but not to loosen, and as Gaelio had not lifted from this position, their faces are so close that McGillis's next challenge is one he nearly cannot see, out of focus from proximity.

Nearly, but just right, keeping the details as crisp as the sound of shell and fruit pierced. For less than half a second, fractional, his eyes have widened, just enough to rim white. Gold breezes against his nose, too close for focus, for anything but a blur, like squinting toward the sky adjacent to sun.

When judgment comes, it adjusts his eyes, though the movement knocked them from McGillis's eyes, to his mouth, and they have yet to raise. Chocolate there, too, spotting his lip, as Gaelio can feel on his own. Though his own aren't curved so cheshire. ]

That might be it.

[ Sour, the taste, only just. ]

What will you do? If it's the whole batch, can you sell a substandard product?

[ This close, his voice has hushed, and it's a strange effect when otherwise keeping stern and casual, as though having only the mildest interest in the bakery's treatment of imperfect berries.

It isn't pretending, except that it is, it's far enough that it is, they're far enough. But nothing these last two years has felt as real, as concrete -- or, is it, that in this moment, such is the effect. Substance blotted out. A different, bitter and copper aftertaste, washed out. As unforgivable as it is irresistible. But, not inexplicable.

Much the same for the conscious shift of his other arm. It should be reluctant, it should be as inexplicable as he tells himself it is, or should tell himself, questioning his own purpose rather than fraying with old, painfully familiar anxiety for McGillis's, his eyes fixed high, or as now, fixed low.

Keeping hold of McGillis's wrist, his other arm navigates his hand, his thumb, to draw over the spot on McGillis's lip. It does not linger, but neither does it rush in its retreat and pivot, finding his own parted lips, his dabbed out tongue, which catches the chocolate left on his own mouth. ]

The chocolate might save it.

[ It's good enough, sweet enough, dark enough. His tongue traces his lip, absent or intended, it must be one, but in the haze of the moment, the line between too blurs. Teeth follow, catching, and it's as Gaelio's eyelids are sinking over blackened eyes, that his face begins to tilt, absent or intended -- only it must be the former, because their noses bump, and his fingers twitch around McGillis's wrist, and he jolts.

Letting go, jerking upright, and stabilizing himself once more against the glass casing, He'd cross his arms if it wasn't so obvious, but glances away, toward the door.

It isn't only his neck that's hot, now. Warmth spread. ]

What do I --

[ Clearing his throat. ]

What do I owe you?

~~[ just your average bakery customer sampling/purchasing a chocolate strawberry nbd ]~~

Edited (fuckingdhfjhgkfdss) 2018-07-05 08:24 (UTC)

[ That little bit of stroking under the wrist makes McGillis conscious of his pulse. Collected on the outside, fluttering at a quicker, more nervous pace on the inside. It winds him back to that night they met in the rain and spoke the unspeakable to each other. After they had wound down, side by side, drying off on the same cramped mattress.

Due to his reminiscing, due to that touch, after chewing and swallowing his bite, he's prompted to clip a sigh. Feeling it against his skin in the present moment, he can solidify the memory he began to think was not real, but imagined. There was a touch like this that night. After he'd dozed off -- but he hadn't quite done that, and then not at all.

He hears Gaelio's voice before he lifts his head. As he wonders how any of this can possibly be real, that far-away note in the tone delivered to him keeps him riding on the same surreal wavelength.

What will you do?

His lips are not so curved in another moment, his eyes glazing over as he fixes on a point near the hem of Gaelio's shirt. Another touch jolts him from that reverie; a brand new one. Inexplicaly warm, Gaelio places his thumb to McGillis's lip and swipes at the remaining chocolate residue.

What was fluttering inwardly cracks through the shell, birthed out in the open in the surprise that lights through his eyes, which lift just enough to confirm the source (as if there will be someone else there in front of him when he looks, as if he could blink at any moment and find himself waking from some elaborate dream). McGillis is able to sense his semi-wide eyed staring, but isn't able to stop himself, now with the new fixed point Gaelio's tongue pressed to his own mouth, tracing slowly over his own lip.

For this, he must lift his head a little. The intent must be --

At this distance, their noses brush. A twitch from Gaelio's hold on his wrist and then he spooks quite suddenly, breaking all contact and shuffling back into his original position.

The disappointment leaves McGillis a bit dumbfounded. With Gaelio looking away, he takes a moment to pass his tongue over that tingling spot on his lip, lapping at the last remnants of chocolate that weren't caught by his thumb. A ridiculous urge sweeps through him -- to lean over the counter and take him by the collar, but --

What next?

Gaelio clears his throat, suggests payment.

Payment?

With blushing cheeks, with his gaze averted. McGillis can feel it once more -- the smile creeping back onto his face, only with a twitch at the corner. Rather than give in to that urge, he could take this opening and do something else quite bold with it. After all, Gaelio matched his offer and upped the ante at each turn.

Only... ]

For one-half of a substandard product? You will have to pay dearly.

[ Cheeky. ~~A little bit flirty~~. Despite the cheek, that fluttering feeling returns as he gathers up the nerve (that he would even have to, for something like this), such that he's left holding the stub of an eaten chocolate strawberry for a moment too long.

Into the bin it goes. McGillis leans back onto the counter, crossing his resting arms in front of him. Tamping down the nervous excitement in his eyes proves to be difficult. He has the distinct sense that some of that energy is present in them. That they're in another world doesn't change the fact that all of their encounters have been difficult to pin down and define. All he knows is that with each passing day, with each exchanged mental ping, the urge to test boundaries grows a little stronger.

And each time he's expected Gaelio to react poorly to those tests, his predictions have been a bit off. ]

I request permission to steal one of your upcoming night shifts in return for my generosity today.

[ As even as he keeps his voice, the hand underneath his elbow shifts, his shoulders and arms shifting with it. ]

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[WORLD TWO | INTRO LOG]

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1/2

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lol back from outer space

with that [smug] look upon your face

( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

(ง’̀-‘́)ง

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