Jaenelle Angelline (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
birthrightblack) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
all_inclusive2014-12-21 03:47 pm
birthrightblack) wrote in all_inclusive2014-12-21 03:47 pm
Entry tags:
winsol
Winsol is always celebrated on the darkest days of the year and there's no darker day than that of the Winter Solstice - this day is shorter than any other and the night is long and cold. Winsol is a celebration of Blood and magic and all of the powers of Witch. It seems strange to be in a place that doesn't celebrate it exactly as Jaenelle is used to.
Oh, there is a holiday. There's a holiday called Christmas and the decorations are oddly similar to Winsol ones. There's the exchanging of presents and the trimming of trees and drinking of good spirits and sharing of good food. It's not her Winsol, no, but Jaenelle is pleased enough to celebrate the holiday of this new place in her life. Just because something has a different name doesn't mean it's inherently different; she'd learned that for herself when dealing with Kaeleer.
So today, she's out in the gardens hoping to practice a little magic. She'd always tried to decorate the Winsol trees with magic back at the Keep and SaDiablo Hall and she's...for lack of a better term...terrible. Every time she thinks she's got the right balance, the right little delicate turn of magic, everything simply explodes.
Explosions are common in her life.
She's just about got a set of fairy lights twinkling on one of the hedges when a sound breaks her concentration and the whole thing poofs up in a flame and black smoke. "Stay back!" she shouts, casting a shield over it so the fire can smother out. She'll have to heal the hedges, too, but first she needs to do damage control.
"You'd think I would be better at this, after all these years, but I'm not."
Oh, there is a holiday. There's a holiday called Christmas and the decorations are oddly similar to Winsol ones. There's the exchanging of presents and the trimming of trees and drinking of good spirits and sharing of good food. It's not her Winsol, no, but Jaenelle is pleased enough to celebrate the holiday of this new place in her life. Just because something has a different name doesn't mean it's inherently different; she'd learned that for herself when dealing with Kaeleer.
So today, she's out in the gardens hoping to practice a little magic. She'd always tried to decorate the Winsol trees with magic back at the Keep and SaDiablo Hall and she's...for lack of a better term...terrible. Every time she thinks she's got the right balance, the right little delicate turn of magic, everything simply explodes.
Explosions are common in her life.
She's just about got a set of fairy lights twinkling on one of the hedges when a sound breaks her concentration and the whole thing poofs up in a flame and black smoke. "Stay back!" she shouts, casting a shield over it so the fire can smother out. She'll have to heal the hedges, too, but first she needs to do damage control.
"You'd think I would be better at this, after all these years, but I'm not."
no subject
"I'm Blood," she says simply. It's a common enough thing where she's from but she guesses nobody around here is really aware of it. It seems that she's the only one in the entire Nexus who wears a jewel.
Jaenelle pulls out the black jewel she wears on a long chain around her neck and shows it to him. Normally, someone might be frightened when seeing a black but she guesses nobody in the Nexus has any context for it. Not from what she's seen anyway.
"See? What's within me is focused in this."
no subject
Erik had never seen a stone like the one in her necklace before, pure black but clear as any precious gem. It glimmered as if lit from within; by her magic, he guessed. He wanted to inspect it, but knew somehow that touching it would be a faux pas.
"Blood," he repeated. "It's a common thing, where you come from?" At her nod, his brows drew together, disbelief and the start of indignation stirring in his chest. "Then— haven't you had training?" She wasn't young enough to be brand new to her abilities— why had no one shown her what to do with her power? He nodded at the jewel she still cupped in her hand. "Where did that come from?"
no subject
"I got it when I was small. A friend gave it to me when I first offered to the darkness," Jaenelle explains. "Normally, a witch wouldn't have such a powerful jewel at first. You have to get used to it. I'm special, I guess, because I got this one first. It makes it hard to learn things because sometimes I have too much power. Does that make any sense?"
Jaenelle has never explained what it means to be what she is to someone who has never heard of the Blood or her kind of magic. It's sort of fun, in a way, because it's like meeting the Kindred or traveling somewhere new. It's different and exciting and far away from the tedium of daily life.
no subject
A startled sound of amusement hummed in Erik's throat. Hard to learn things, indeed. "It sounds familiar," he said, a smile coloring the words. "But I think your power requires more precision than mine." More often than not, he didn't think about how his power worked— his sense of metal was instinctive, his manipulation of it based on the big picture of the result he desired, not the individual brush strokes. But he remembered the feeling of power without control, potential energy swelling inside him without the ability to give it form.
It may have manifested differently than hers, but abilities were abilities regardless of the name they were given. She'd called herself a witch with no shame in her voice, called herself Blood with the confidence of someone owning a birthright. "We call ourselves mutants in my world," he said thoughtfully. "Our mutations give us our powers, each one unique. We teach ourselves, more often than not." Impossible not to think of the mansion, of Charles. Having guidance— guidance that didn't spring from torture and fear— it had changed everything for him, and for the children, too.
"I'm Erik," he said abruptly, something in his mind snapping neatly shut, a decision made he'd barely realized he was considering. "Next time you feel like practicing, come and find me. I'm not the best teacher, but I'm better than nothing."
no subject
The idea of having someone to guide her again, even if it wasn't the High Lord or Lucivar, was more than Jaenelle was able to resist. "You already saved the hedges from my attempt at magic, so, you've done more than most have in just a short little while."
no subject
But he couldn't deny it: he was bored. His conviction in his calling had never faded, but here he lacked any practical way to use it. The mutant cause was locked firmly away from him (which, if Carter was to be believed, was for everyone's benefit, including his own) and he was wasting away, all his power reduced to the quotidian utility of opening doors and picking up silverware— but he was meant for more. He knew about power, knew how it felt to wrestle with control, and if he had anything to offer anyone in this pretty minefield of a hotel, maybe it was this.
"Room 23," Erik said, "or leave me a message at the front desk. I check them every day." He looked at the hedge with its cloud of shimmering lights, then back at Jaenelle, his expression reflecting none of his inner turmoil or the unfamiliar swell of hope buried beneath his whirling thoughts. "Keep practicing," he said, nodding at the hedge once more before turning and heading back the way he'd come.