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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[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.

I'm sure they can use all the help they can get.

[Or Kate makes it sound that way sometimes. Even non-medical doctors can be put to work with mundane activities to keep the place running, or taught. Magical healers are another story.

He rubs his forearms, picking at the ink-stained bandage that covers one of his arms; it's more from his nerves and less from any actual, lingering pain.]

I'm afraid there's no one there who could help me with this, though. Magic would only exacerbate these injuries, or I'd have mended them myself long ago. I should be good in a moment to help you carry this down the stairs.

I mean, I could get by if I had to, but I didn't exactly finish med school.

[Not a fact he enjoys talking about, but it keeps coming up today.]

I'm a lot better with already-dead people. [And as if that wasn't even remotely a creepy statement-] Sure, though, take your time. I'm not busy or anything, so it's fine.

[Not even sarcastic.]

[There's something in one part that makes Carlisle distinctly uneasy: his eyes dart back to Michael, his posture stiffening as his brow knits.]

Already-dead people? You're not, ah. Not a necromancer of any sort, are you?

[Mildly sarcastic, but also serious. Please don't be a necromancer.]

[A what? Okay well, Michael guesses that's probably a legitimate danger in a world with magic.]

No, nothing like that. I don't... do magic. Of like, any kind? Least of all zombies.

[That... is what necromancer means, right?]

I work in a morgue.

Oh. Oh good. Very good.

[INSTANT RELIEF. The mere thought of undead had Carlisle rattled.]

Honest work, morticians and what have you. Not necromancers. Not that- not that I'd have minded if you were a necromancer. I'd have just not... wanted to cross you. Aheh.

[So... yeah, he'd have minded.]

[Oops. He didn't mean to scare the guy.]

Is that stuff a real problem where you're from? Or... is it a problem here? Necromancers, that is.

[He hopes it's not a problem here. Like. Can we not???]

It would be a problem here if the ones from back home were brought through the Door. I have been fortunate in that regard.

[It's not yet, Michael. Not yet.]

Seems like a lot of us left behind some bad situations back home. Let's hope we all stay lucky, huh?

[Not that he would know if the killer he was hunting showed up here. What a comforting thought.]

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surely this will end well

y e p

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