hadriel | [Text] (With Pictures!)

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[Text] (With Pictures!)

So it's day 2 of Ikea madness,
and I figured we should set up some kind of cragslist situation,
so that people can get rid of things they really don't want.
Or if you for some reason feel like filling your house with this stuff
follow your dreams?

Anyway I found this yesterday:

[Attached is a photo of a very odd table, the front half of it, anyway. It's sticking out of an apartment wall at an odd angle, legs mostly horizontal. There's a second photo of the back half, which appears to be in another room.

A jacket is hanging off of one of the hooves. Looks like someone has found a use for it, at least.]

If anyone knows how to get this out of the wall
without like, destroying said wall
they're welcome to it.
But to be honest I'm kind of getting used to it.
Might call it "Dave".
This I'm not too keen on:

[Another image, this one of a kind of unsettling chair.]

Frankly you can just have it.
Please.

[Everyone is welcome to post their new furniture they don't want, or offers to acquire more. Michael is not going to moderate, but it's a platform at least!]

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[Michael does not know Carlisle very well, but he's definitely glad someone is willing to help out with the weird furniture situation. Maybe he can somehow convince him to take the scary chair, too.]

Yeah, sure.
I'm on the fifth floor of
one of these tower things.
Hold on.

[He's not sure how else to differentiate it, so he points the phone outside to take a weird lopsided picture of the building he's in. If Carlisle can recognize it from the ground around it and part of its base, it's spire 4.

Surely it's safe to just invite strangers over.]

[Oh hey, it's Spire 4. The only reason Carlisle knows that is he used to live on the top floor there, right next door to Kate. What a lifetime ago, it seems!]

I know which tower that is and will be over shortly.

[And he is within the hour, which is absolutely record time for him. He straightens his tabard and the satchel over his shoulder before he knocks on the door, hoping it's the correct apartment. His knock is fast, eager -- he really, really wants that table.]

[About five seconds after sending his "directions", Michael realizes he's just invited a person to his living space and that is scary for a number of reasons, none of which have anything to do with personal safety. Having been in Hadriel about a week, the shock of the weirdness has basically entirely worn off, so he's no longer immune to the sudden appearance of people he doesn't know.

He fills the time before Carlisle arrives with busily tidying so he doesn't have to think about how awkward this is going to be. When he hears the knock, it's kind of a relief, as the anticipation was worse than the thing itself. He answers pretty quickly.]

Hi, hey. Um- [Shit. He did not ask for a name. Godddddd-] Hello.

[Yes this is going just very good all around.]

[Carlisle realizes the moment the door opens that in his table-acquiring fervor, he did not even ask this fellow for his name. Just showed up at his place of residence without extending even the most basic of manners, and all because there was a deer-footed piece of furniture there that he's not even sure he can free from its imprisonment in the wall.

Well. The corner of his mouth twitches upward into a nervous smile as he tilts himself into a polite, short bow.]

Yes, hello, ah. You.

[This is going s u p e r well. He clears his throat, his eyes darting away as he tries not to look as mortified as he absolutely is.]

Right. I'm Carlisle Longinmouth and we spoke over the communicator -- or not really spoke so much as wrote one another back and forth, as people tend to do on these technological wonders from other worlds -- and after we exchanged some wordplay about the various anatomical parts featured on the table, you said I could come take a look at the piece, seeing how it's stuck in the wall, so here I am. To see... the table.

[His manners might be out of order, but his mouth surely isn't.]

[Well at least they're both a disaster, so that's... oddly comforting. Michael wonders for a second if "Longinmouth" is this guy's real last name or if it's some kind of nickname based on how much he talks. But that's mean, so he'll keep it firmly to himself.]

Right, from the phone. [Thanks for reminding him he didn't even bother to check it was the right person, Carlisle.]

I'm Michael. Munroe. And I should probably show you the table.

[To that end, he shuffles out of the doorway and turns to lead Carlisle to the back of the living room, where the rear-end of the table is indeed sticking crookedly from the wall. He hasn't done a lot to personalize the place, but just in case this weird magic stuff gets out of hand, Michael has moved everything else away from said wall. The creepy spider chair, which first appeared in the dark of his laundry room, has been quarantined in the second bedroom with the other half of Dave.

If it's moving around in there, he doesn't want to know.]

Uh, here it is. [He gestures.] Ta-da.

[Despite his nerves, there's something comforting in knowing he's not the only awkward person in the room. Carlisle's smile relaxes as the rest of him does; he follows Michael to the back of the room, assessing the situation.]

Goodness, that is indeed in the wall, isn't it?

[He adjusts his glasses as he looks it over, tentatively putting a hand to it. He doesn't feel any magical energy around it.]

Not enchanted, in good news.

[Not unless it's a very powerful enchantment, one purposefully disguised. He doubts that's the case, though -- or at least he tells himself that for the moment, as he really, really, really wants this table. He ambles for the second bedroom without even a pause, where the rest of the table is surely hiding.]

I'm not sure if stoneshaping would even work on these walls, so perhaps it would be easier to break it apart and put it baAH!

[That'd be him rounding the corner to the door and nearly jumping out of his skin as the spider chair comes into view. He puts a hand to his tabard, casting his eyes from it as he collects himself.]

Cisth, that- that chair just- just happened to be right there, didn't it? Waiting.

[As chairs do.]

[Michael watches from a slight distance while Carlisle checks the table for magic. Which is apparently something he can do. Neat? And the table is not, in fact, cursed or something, which is also good to know. Michael's not sure how he'd feel about cutting a table in half if it could actually be aware of it, or something crazy like that.

Table murder?? It's not like that's any worse than the other kind. In fact one might say it's less worse.

He's distracted by his stupid thoughts enough that he doesn't think to warn Carlisle before he heads into the bedroom. Oops.]

Yeah, uh. Sorry about that. [He's only slightly trying not to laugh.] It did that to me too, the first time it showed up.

... And it better just be waiting. [He peeks in to make sure it's where he left it.] The alternative is worse.

[He doesn't think it's moved. Please weird alien gods, don't let it have moved.]

I'm... strongly considering just chucking that thing out a window.

[Carlisle runs a hand over his hair, as though smoothing it would soothe his nerves in some way; it doesn't.]

I think defenestration is a perfectly acceptable solution, yes.

[He gives the spider chair a wide berth as he approaches the other half of Dave. It certainly seems like traditional taxidermy, albeit used to create a rather nontraditional piece of decor.]

Have you a saw of any sort?

[It's good to know that someone else agrees he should chuck that thing. Maybe he'll do it. Hadriel doesn't really need any more creepy stuff hanging around, right? Michael also hedges around the chair, following Carlisle to inspect the table.]

I... don't, actually. [Now if only he'd been at work when the Door nabbed him. Except coming here with a bone saw and bloody gloves would be a little harder to explain.]

I have this? [He pulls the knife out of his jacket pocket. It's fairly sizeable for a pocket knife, but it's not exactly serrated.]

[Carlisle gives the knife a dubious look. It's not serrated, no, and chances are that even if it were, they might be sawing through more than just fur. Did the gods use proper taxidermy techniques when making this table? Or did the conjure it from the nether? Will it have bones inside?

He shudders to himself at that last thought.]

I suppose we could try breaking it to free it from the wall. It might look a bit odd after mending, but beggars cannot be choosers.

[Thankfully, Michael is spared the idea of table bones, because he's too busy figuring out how to break the thing. He doesn't exactly have a sledgehammer, either. But...]

Let me try something.

[He plants his hands against the flat of the table, (which is still sideways,) and kind of shoves his weight into it. Since that doesn't do much, he resorts to slamming his shoulder into the thing. Was that a crack? He thinks he heard a crack.

He... is hoping that wasn't his shoulder.]

[Carlisle, on the other hand, doesn't seem too concerned about whether or not that crack was from Michael's shoulder. He steps around to the other side of the table, giving it a closer inspection.]

Ah, good idea! It looks like that put a crack in it. Perhaps if we give this fissure a pull, we can rend it from the wall.

[Michael takes a breather for a second, then nods. He hasn't done any physical exertion since the whole crabtank debacle, which was like, a week ago. Unless you count climbing five flights of stairs to get to his apartment every day? Whatever, point is: he's a bit out of shape.]

Hopefully the other half slides out, and it hasn't, like, become one with the wall atoms.

[He guesses they'll find out soon enough.

For now he switches sides on the table and grabs the edge to pull.]

[With his absolutely beanpole build and a pallor that makes one wonder if he's ever even seen the sun, Carlisle doesn't exactly look as though he's in shape enough to be hauling a table out of a wall, either.

Still, he helps Michael as the other man pulls on one side of the table, using his own, gloved hands to push against its surface. It gives a little, then a little more, and with another solid cr-crack! finally breaks free of the wall.]

[Huh. Turns out taking apart furniture is only slightly more physically demanding than moving dead people around. Neat???

He manages to snag the nearest deer leg so that the table half doesn't just fall to the floor, and sets it down gently. At about the same time, there's a sudden THUNK from the other side of the wall.

Michael looks up, only to be greeted with the new, roughly table-long hole in his wall where the other half of Dave just fell out into the living room.]

Guess that... answers that question.

It's not one with the wall after all.

[Carlisle breathes a sigh of relief, apparently glad for that. He rubs at his forearms, the aged wounds beneath his gloves aching from even that minimal effort. He'll have to watch how much energy he forces through them when communing with Glacius' from now on.

But speaking of energy:]

Right. If you'll drag that in with the other piece, I'll go ahead and prepare to mend it.

[And without even waiting for an answer, he beelines back around the spooky spider chair and into the living room, digging through his satchel for his pen and some papers. He stops once he gets there, apparently having second thoughts.]

Or do you think it'd be easier to maneuver it down the stairwell in pieces?

[Michael dutifully carries the half-table out with him, away from the creep-chair, which he shuts behind the door. Unfortunately, they can still see it through the hole in the wall.

Waiting.]

It's not that big, I'm sure we can get it down in one piece.

[He puts the front half down, next to the back.]

But how were you planning to mend it, exactly? [Paper and pen do not seem like the tools for the task, my dude.]

The only way I know how.

[Neither carpentry, nor taxidermy, are his specialty; however, magic is. Pulling several sheets from his bag, he places them across the floor, side-by-side, until he has an area big enough to fit both pieces of the table. With his pen, he then draws a large, somewhat misshapen circle across the pages.

Needless to say, drawing circles isn't his specialty, either.

Other half-circles go here and there, each attached to the biggest one, then followed by a few symbols within them. He adds one more little half-circle at the very bottom, and with a nod, calls it done.]

All right. Onto the glyph.

[Tucking his pen away, he gets the back half and with a grunt, he lifts it onto his collection of pages, readjusting them with his foot so the lines all connect once more.]

[Michael watches all of this with quiet curiosity. It even catches the Visitor's attention for a fraction of a second, before the beast decides this is nothing of interest and goes back to its regular whining. The markings are probably what perked its ears up, Michael decides, since they bear a very vague similarity with the scenes left behind by the killer they hunted last year.

But this is, obviously, something else.]

So this is how you do magic where you're from?

[He doesn't touch anything, but he sort of crouches down near the papers. This isn't what Harlan's magic looked like when he saw it a week ago, but he's guessing this stuff doesn't work the same everywhere.]

A form of it, yes.

[Next piece. Carlisle hauls it onto the pages and fixes them once more as Michael studies the glyph.]

Glyyyyyyphcrafting [that end was heavier than he anticipated, geez] is not the art in which I am most proficient, but it has its uses. Mending, for example.

[He crouches by the last half-circle he drew and places his fingers in it. The glyph begins lighting up, energy tracing along the lines from his hand and all the way around the pages, until the entire area around the table's pieces is illuminated. It gets brighter, light seeping into the two halves of the table; the ruined pieces begins to move on their own, jittering as the broken splinters and torn hides pull themselves back together, and then—

The table is lying on its side. It's in one piece, like new, save for a bit of wear in the fur along the original break. It will do. Carlisle gets back to his feet, rubbing at his forearms.]

Not bad. We didn't even lose much material to it being stuck in the wall.

[Michael thinks he's getting immune to some of the weirder things here already. The shining glyph is fascinating, but it's not scary or even startling anymore. It probably helps that it's a slow progression, and that he knew it was coming. But now it's got him thinking.]

What all can you do with this stuff? [He motions to the glyph, still from his crouched position.]

And... does it hurt to do it? [This time he sort of flicks his eyes at Carlisle's arms. He definitely caught that rubbing gesture, mostly because he's done it himself in the past, though for what he assumes is a very different reason.]

[Carlisle's eyes flick to his arms as Michael's do.]

Oh. Oh no, this is an old injury. Well, not that old, but old enough.

[Not old enough to not bother him, but some wounds are just stubborn. He inspects the table further, stepping over the lines on the pages, which have begun to steam as they evaporate away.]

Glyphcrafting is a thankfully versatile art for someone with skill in it, allowing those who are talented with such inscription to do nearly anything they command, so long as they have the energy to activate their work. Unfortunately, it's equally dangerous in the hands of an incompetent craftsman whose inscriptions may cause more mayhem than they intended.

[Michael chews on that information for a moment. Nearly anything, huh? Sounds useful, but you also have to have... "the energy", whatever that is. If it's magic, he's probably disqualified.

He stands up finally, then leans down to flip the table back onto its legs.]

Can the... glyph thing not heal injuries? [And was that a rude question? Maybe healing is way harder or something.] Actually, do we have any doctors around here at all?

[He'll get to the energy question in a minute, he's distracted.]

They can be used for such applications, but it's generally not advised, as restorative arts applied to the body create far more problems if something goes wrong with the glyph. That's what trained healers are for.

[Obviously. Deciding that yes, the table is in good enough condition that he should probably figure out a way to get it home -- he really should have thought of that before showing up at a stranger's house on the promise of a weird piece of furniture -- Carlisle collects some of the papers, most of which are blank once more, the ink having vanished entirely.]

There are doctors and healers both at the Clinic. Are you in need of one?

Edited 2017-08-23 05:17 (UTC)

Oh, no. I'm fine. I was just asking because of... [Michael makes a vague gesture in the direction of Carlisle's arms.]

But things going wrong with that, uh, definitely sounds like something you'd want to avoid.

[So he super doesn't blame him for not attempting magic on his own body.]

Good to know about the clinic, though. I'd offer to help with that but I doubt I'd be as useful as like, actual doctors.

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surely this will end well

y e p

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