![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pumpkinhollow) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ph_memes2023-12-10 08:04 am
December Mini-TDM - "The Dead of Winter"
[Mod Note: This is a Mini-TDM (previously just called an "Open" post) because we were technically due for a fresh bi-monthly TDM. However, due to the light-duty December schedule and the fact that a December-themed TDM that also works for January is kind of limiting, we're doing a single-month mini-TDM now with a new two-month TDM coming in January! This public post is open to both new and existing players/characters. Please mind the content warnings, and enjoy!]
Pumpkin Hollow Gazette
12/10/2023 | Mini-TDM - "The Dead of Winter"
Content Warnings: "Further Details" section has independent CW labels.
Pumpkin Hollow continues to welcome new residents!
HOLIDAY BAZAAR NOW OPEN FOR BUSINESS
By Yorick Aberdeen
MAIN STREET - Splendid news, Pumpkin Hollowites! In preparation for Givingstide, the annual Main Street Holiday Bazaar is now open from now until the end of the month in Downtown Hollow! With the failed-then-rescheduled Dance of Celestine debacle behind us, we could all use a bit of festive cheer as Marrow Isle enters its most difficult season. Come down to Town Hall for a simple game that comes with fantastic prizes, then enjoy an afternoon on the town! Enjoy the spectacle of festive decorations amid snowy streets, and find any number of finely crafted gifts to share with your loved ones this Givingstide.
Long-time residents, please remember that for the first time in a long while we have residents who have never experienced a Pumpkin Hollow Givingstide before. It is important that we show our best and most festive hospitality to newer residents, and comfort anyone who might be homesick during this time. Have a Blessed Givingstide, and may your lantern always be lit!New Oven Installed; Pizza Feast Commences
By Cecil Gershwin Palmer
The oven in question.
NORTHWEST HOLLOW - Local blacksmith River LaCroix has built a free-standing pizza oven on the farm belonging to Arthur Morgan.
Pizza, first created by Francisco Pizarro in the early 1500s before his assassination by Gavrilo Princip, is a food celebrated for its flavor and the variety of possible topping combinations it has. It begins with a base of dough, traditionally made from wheat or wheat by-products. This is then topped with a sauce (tomato is traditional, though other varieties involve barbecue sauce or chocolate sauce) and a cheese that melts easily, along with any vegetables, fruit, meat or other vaguely edible ingredients one desires. Spicy sausages called pepperoni are very popular, as well as mushrooms, peppers and even chunks of pineapple. Anyone who tells you that pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza is simply incorrect and should not be trusted.
In celebration of the new oven’s creation, free personal-sized pizzas will be cooked and shared with all residents of Pumpkin Hollow, funded by local reporter Cecil Gershwin Palmer. Arthur Morgan’s farm is easily reached by trolley, or on foot if you’re scared of trolleys. But it really is a long walk, so just ride with a friend if you’re scared, really, they won’t hurt you. At least, we don’t think they will. Then again, considering how riding the train went in November, you never know…
Regardless! Pizza, Arthur Morgan’s farm, free food, perhaps even drinks? We look forward to seeing you there.
FESTIVE FIEND SIGHTED ACROSS MARROW ISLE
By Yorick Aberdeen
The jingling menace.
ISLAND-WIDE - Reports of a mysterious horned creature sporting strangely seasonally appropriate attire have come in from all over the island over the past week. Witnesses say that this apparently demonic holiday entity somewhat resembles our local Pine Devil, but has curled ram horns instead of antlers and is wingless. He is also apparently capable of speech, as victims claim to have heard him speaking about “wicked deeds” and “naughty behavior” and repeating a gibberish word occasionally--- “Christmas.” The reports detail multiple instances of harassment as well as public acts of violence that are definitely not comical in any way. It is absolutely in no way hilarious to see someone get smacked with a stick in broad daylight by an evil satyr wearing Givingstide getup and jingling festively, and this matter is extremely serious.
Despite resisting arrest and avoiding being detained by the constabulary on numerous occasions, the demon was strangely available for comment. He has identified himself as Krampus the “Christmas” Devil and had this to say of his crimes: “It’s my proud duty and a longstanding tradition that I punish the naughty and wicked every holiday season. It’s practically a civil service, if you ask me. Maybe if you didn’t want to be attacked, you might stop being such a troublemaker and be a blessing to your neighbor for a bit. Or don’t. More fun for me that way.” He then proceeded to take a large fistful of candies from the bowl on Miss Leeds' desk and disappeared in a puff of snow, leaving the carpet wet.
Anyone with any further information about this Krampus creature should reach out to the constabulary with tips. Any noteworthy reports are appreciated!
MOURNER’S NIGHT PROCESSION INFORMATION
By Yorick Aberdeen
The town's lone hearse, prepared for duty after annual maintenance.
FALL'S PROMISE CEMETERY - While it is always easy to get swept up in the jolly festivities of Givingstide, it is important that we also remember to pay homage to the spirits of those we have lost and the goddess who guides them, and whose protection we seek in this most difficult time of the year. Each winter, when the world is at its darkest and its coldest, we take to the streets and process to Fall’s Promise in the tradition of our age old funeral practices. Mayor Poe will have the honor of leading us this year.
To participate, join us in the streets at 6:00pm. Dress warmly, as it has been snowing quite a bit this past week and will not have melted. The procession will begin promptly once everyone has their candles lit, so please be timely and even early if you are able.
Please inquire at the Temple of Sacred Roots if you have any questions regarding Mourner’s Night.
Page 1
Holiday Bazaar
Main Street is beautifully decorated, each lamp post strung together with pine garlands and cranberry strings. The frigid air preserves them perfectly and coats them all in a light frost. Windows of shops glow warmly with festive decorations. Images of horses, either alone or drawing carriages or sleighs, can be seen everywhere. Advertisements for sales and specials dot the street corners and the air is full of delicious smells--- coffee, chocolate, sugar, fruit, roasted meat. Booths are also placed along the streets near Town Hall, and merchants hawk their wares. Artisan crafts and jarred preserves, decorations and novelties, all manner of thoughtful gifts. Givingstide approaches, they declare!
What is Givingstide, you ask? Why, any local will gladly tell you! It’s the festival of midwinter, anticipating the return of spring. Warmer weather, longer days, fresh food, all drawing ever nearer as Winter reaches its peak. Gifts are exchanged to share blessings with loved ones, appreciate them for all they’ve done for you this past year and wish them prosperity in the next one. Perhaps similar holidays are familiar to you.
kr
The holiday bazaar is the perfect place to buy a gift for Givingstide. It’s also a magical place for a walk with friends, or even a date. So many beautiful items for sale! And booths selling warm drinks and sweet treats! There are even carriage drivers offering rides up and down the street to take in the scenery, their steeds and vehicles garnished with silver bells and cedar boughs.
Also, right outside of Town Hall, there is a booth that is selling nothing. In fact, it is offering something for free--- a voucher that can be used to make purchases here! While it can only be used to make purchases from the holiday bazaar and expires after Givingstide, vouchers can be good for up to a whopping 500 Brass. All one needs to do to acquire it is win a trivia game! Ten questions, 50 Brass for each right answer. Perhaps you can earn yourself a bit of extra pocket change?
You'll Catch Your Death of Cold
[CW: manipulative language, hypothermia, starvation.]
There’s always something wrong with Lockwood Forest. From the Pine Devil to Brutoks, some manner of strange nonsense is always going on, and it is almost always dangerous. Less so when the cheerful spectral pocket monsters were here, but now that they’ve moved on and a blanket of snow has coated the leafy ground, the eerie quiet here has returned. Not only that, but the trails are covered. This isn’t a huge issue in areas of the forest with more traffic as there are plenty of footprints to follow, but deeper in, the forest becomes a maze.
Despite the danger, you’ve decided to go in. There are any number of reasons why you’ve done this: needing to hunt or forage to sustain your food supplies through the winter, searching for firewood in places that aren’t already picked over, seeking a quiet moment alone. Perhaps you simply got lost. These things happen, especially if you’re new to the island. No one will judge you, probably! Hopefully you at least didn’t come alone.
Regardless, the trails are covered. It’s hard to tell which gaps between trees are part of the path or just formed naturally. Animal footprints sprawl out in all directions like a spider’s web, which only serves to make things more confusing. Soon you begin to feel turned around somehow. Is it just you, or have the past five trees you walked by looked really similar? Haven’t you seen this holly bush before? You could swear you’ve been this way three times already… Oh dear. It’s so hard to tell. Even if you’re otherwise good at navigating the woods, something about this expanse of white snow and imposing pine trees is throwing you off. Almost as if there is some kind of magic at work here…
You wander the forest for a long time. For a while, your cold tolerance had peaked at that point where you’d been out long enough that you were used to it but not so long that it was starting to wear you down, but that peak is waning quickly. It’s freezing, and you’ve been out in it for a long time now. It sinks into your bones, making you feel sluggish. The chill bites at your face and the wind stings your eyes. Unless you have a traveling companion who is lost with you, there’s a strong chance you haven’t seen another person in… How long has it been? Hours? Days? Surely it can’t have been days. It certainly feels like days. Everything hurts and you are very hungry.
”You look so tired.” You have no idea where the voice comes from, but it’s clearly not just in your head. The echo through the trees causes a startled bird to fly off nearby. Maybe it’s just the haze that’s come over you from the shivering chill and deep exhaustion you feel that is making you so disoriented by the sound of the voice. All you know is that it is close, and it is beautiful and sweet. ”It must have been exhausting, walking all this way. Did you come to see me, or for something else?” You don’t remember the answer.
”Here, follow me. I’ll take you to safety.”
The sound of the voice guides you to a clearing in the forest, and it is the most beautiful clearing you have ever seen. Everything is covered in thick, plush pillows of fluffy white snow that look like billowing clouds and the silvery moonlight causes the icicles in the trees to sparkle and shine. (When did it become night time?) The sky is a deep plummy purple and above you there is a veritable explosion of stars like you’ve never seen before. You feel like you could fall in, dwarfed by the slice of night sky that peeks in through the trees. (The stars, are they closer than usual?)”Come, lie down. Rest your weary bones. The snow here is softer than any bed.” Looking at those mounds of pristine, untouched snow, you begin to feel like whoever this is might be right. And you are so tired. ”You are safe here. You are loved. The world is beautiful and peaceful here. No more monsters, no more pain. Just rest in the arms of someone who loves you. Can’t you feel the warmth of my love?”
As the voice says this, you do notice that you start to feel warmer. Almost uncomfortably warm in your clothes, and you’re tempted to shed them. In the depths of your exhaustion, it is hard to tell if this is the warmth of a loving embrace or something else. But your shivering stops and you feel held. It’s so quiet here, so far away from the town of ghosts and monsters and people and work that you know.
”I promise you are safe here. I will take care of you. Just sleep now, my darling. I love you. Stay with me and you will want for nothing.”
The desire to lie down becomes nearly irresistible.
[ You are entering severe hypothermia. If you sleep here, you will die. If you came here alone, there is a chance someone else could find and rescue you. If you came with a traveling companion, you may be able to overcome the trance and the chill together. Or, if you like, you could write about the aftermath of dying. See our Death page for details! ]
Krampusnacht
[CW: Harassment (tone of comic mischief) ]
Have you been naughty or nice this year? In Pumpkin Hollow, there are no such tales--- but you and your extradimensional neighbors are hardly the first things here to be snatched from other worlds. And there is no better reminder than the mysterious horned figure that has been lurking about town.
If perhaps you’ve been up to some mischief this year, you may begin to see him out of the corner of your eye as the snows of December begin to fall. Did you hurt someone’s feelings? Take the last muffin without asking? Commit unspeakable evils in your former life? Sounds like you’re due for a visit from Krampus!
It all starts with a lump of coal, left out in the open in a place it should not be. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you’ll spot a horned and furry figure (that is decidedly not the Pine Devil) in the distance wielding a bundle of bound sticks in one hand and a sack in the other, wearing a wicked grin. Incongruous with his ghastly, beast-like appearance, he sometimes wears a red cloak lined with white fur or golden jingle bells on red ribbons tied to his ankle. He’ll disappear behind a snow drift and you will think your mind is playing tricks on you.
Next, you’ll begin to find your personal items missing. Wherever you left them, they’ll just be gone, and in their place will be a candy cane. In case you were worried that it might be a nice little treat, fear not! It tastes utterly foul.
The final stage is more direct visits from the Christmas Devil. He will ambush you at any time of day to attack you with sticks regardless of how public the location is, that way everyone can know what a troublemaker you are! He will also occasionally stuff you into his sack and abandon you at random locations, typically unpleasant ones. He cannot be killed--- indeed, he cannot even be struck, dodging quickly or disappearing and reappearing in puffs of snow every time you try and cackling all the while. So how do you get rid of him?
That’s easy! Just get yourself onto the Nice List by any means necessary. Time to start doing some good deeds around town and hope you aren’t subject to any more attacks in the meantime. If you do a good enough job, you may even get your missing items back! Gruß vom Krampus!
Mourner’s Night
[CW: grief and past death in the context of the holiday season]
As the early dark of high winter begins to fall, people begin to gather on the streets. A somewhat odd sight, but this isn’t the first time that people have come together under lantern light for an event that is in defiance of the danger posed by darkness. They are bundled tightly, wearing mostly black if it is available in clothes warm enough, and many people have donned veils which cover their faces with black lace.
From the streets, there is an informal procession. At intervals, there are men in uniform black military peacoats and black caps carrying tall poles with bright lanterns on top, swaying in the frigid air. Their faces are painted to look like skulls. Yorick is among them. Despite the difference in gender, River is invited to take up this role, implying something about what these lantern-bearers are meant to symbolize. The rest of the townsfolk are asked to follow along as they please, each bearing a long white candle stuck into a paper cup meant to catch its wax. The candles are in no danger of blowing out— the wind is eerily still.
The procession is largely silent. The people who do speak do so only in whispers. It winds through the streets of the town, converging on one of the main roads. Once it is clear of buildings, the front of the solemn parade becomes visible. A black funeral carriage, like one that may have once conveyed caskets, bearing lanterns at each corner. The two black horses are marked with skeletons using white chalk on their fur, and it is driven by a woman in garb representative of deepest mourning. This is Hellen Poe, playing the role of Mortanne.
It has been a long time, what feels like ages, since the people of this town have had a funeral procession outside the context of Mourner's Night. But they remember well their traditions and follow them with reverence. This, for you outsiders, is a unique glimpse at something you might not otherwise see due to the effects of the barrier. Each and every person in town follows the trail left by carriage wheels in the fresh snow and arrives at Fall's Promise Cemetery.Beyond the wrought iron gate, there is more silence. Locals gather around the graves of their friends and loved ones, saying silent prayers and spending time in contemplative remembrance. You see Dahlia stand outside the central mausoleum, looking grimly up at her own name carved into the stone.
Degas has made his way over to a grave. He is here as himself, not as a reverend, and he does not leave the side of the headstone he gravitated toward. Melly Clayton.
Meanwhile, Dr. West is loitering at the back near a gargoyle. For once even he is present. And far off in the shadows, a small figure looms outside the fringes of lantern light, looking off into the sea. Silvery hairs catch the light occasionally. Elsie.
The candlelight vigil remains silent for a long time as people recall and honor their loved ones. Any sound of shuffling or movement is dampened further by soft, fluffy snow, creating a deep and heavy hush that is almost loud in its soundlessness. Perhaps, deep in the Season of Spirits, the presence of the fallen can be felt in the quiet dark.
Your mind drifts as the somber reverence beckons your mind to your memories. Who do you honor? A lost lover, a passed parent, someone you left behind in your life before?
Or perhaps you honor yourself. You did die to get here, after all. And it’s probable that you aren’t the only one to think so.
In the distance, the bell tower chimes. Then, rising up from the snow, soft at first and then louder, a song. The locals are beginning to sing a hymn about Mortanne sharing carriage rides with passengers, reminiscing about their lives as her carriage drives them to the afterlife. Did you learn it from a local before the festival? Do you sing, hum, or remain silent?
As the song finally comes to a close, all at once the locals blow out their candles, leaving the graveyard in darkness aside from the lantern poles. The silence now broken, people shuffle along, meeting up to mingle and hug or heading home for an early night. Some of them are crying.
Additional Note:
If you have any form of ESP, you notice something while attending Mourner’s Night. This includes people who have a special connection with spirits or death, or any sort of true sight that allows them to see things others cannot.
Toward the end of the hymn, a person you hadn’t seen before catches your eye. She is a young woman, with long black hair and a tattered white gown. Her eyes are sunken and her skin is marred with contusions and scars. She looks very, very tired. She is sitting on the boarded-up well that is on the far end of the cemetery. Even in the orange glow of candlelight, you can tell she is quite pale.
Across the graveyard, her eyes meet yours. Then the song ends, the candlelight dies, and she seems to blink out of existence.
no subject
It's got him curious enough to distract from his own drunken self pity-- at least until Chris's question.
Jeff shrugs, breaking eye contact so he can look away and stare at... well, nothing in particular.
"I dunno." He wasn't drunk when he met the white-haired lady, but he sure as fuck wasn't sober or in his right mind moments before that, when he'd gone on stage and performed the worst-- and last-- fucking show of his life. "I didn't even know if she was real."
He looks at Chris again and plants a smile on his face, bright and totally forced, as if he's trying to convince them (and himself) that he's just joking.
"Kidding."
no subject
This is a very strange conversation. Chris isn't sure that they're following it well.
"I think you ought to eat something. Maybe this conversation will make more sense over a meal." Chris tugs at Jeff, and if there's no resistance, Chris is going to get Jeff seated in the other chair at the table. "Don't worry about the cost; I'll pay."
no subject
On the plus side, he's pretty cooperative, so when Chris tugs at him, he flops onto the chair pretty easily. And, having done the whole starving artist thing back home, Jeff's used to living like a scavenger. He's not picky, and he's sure as hell not going to turn down an offer of free food.
"No shit?" Jeff cranes his neck and peers around, trying to focus on some of the other patrons, get a look at what kind of food they've got here. "Yeah, um. I could go for food. I'm good with anything, I mean, as long as it's not, you know... meat?"
Then, he quickly adds, "Thanks."
And then: "I'm Jeff."
One more addition: "Sorry I tried to..." Steal? "...share your drink."
no subject
Chris nods in acknowledgement of that thanks, and responds, "Nice to meet you, Jeff. My name is Chris."
And they are sincere, in that it's nice to actually meet him and have a name to put to the face. The halfway apology about the drink has Chris rolling his (now normal) eyes. But when they wave down one of the waitresses, she brings two fresh glasses of beer -- one for Chris and one for Jeff.
no subject
Carbs always go with alcohol. Speaking of: more beer! Good, he's going to need something to counteract the sobering powers of food.
"Hey, so, um. A minute ago... Your eyes were..." He gives an abstract wave of his hand, as if to say 'red' in a way that doesn't say it at all.
Which isn't helpful.
So he sings softly under his breath, and the tips of two of his fingers spark with red lights, and he wiggles them as if they're, like, weird little eyestalks. Hopefully the little display of magic will show that he's bringing it up more out of curiosity and solidarity than any burn the witch sentiments.
no subject
Oh. This mess is also a total dork. Chris gets it now.
"Ah, that." Chris says, "I can see ghosts. Sometimes it flares up without warning and... my eyes will glow. But folks here are pretty used to magic, so they don't panic or anything."
(That last bit was added on just in case Jeff is being circumspect because he's afraid of reprisal.)
When the waitress comes by to take their actual order, Chris asks for two servings of the lentil and mushroom pasta, as well as some garlic bread. And they tell her, "I'm paying for us both." She nods, smiles, and goes back to the kitchen.
no subject
"Whoa." Chris sees ghosts. Jeff doesn't know if that would be terrifying or really cool. But he does seem to relax when they mention that the locals are used to magic shit. Good. Not that he'd ever hide or deny that part of himself-- what would even be the point of living (such as it is) if he did?-- but it's still a big fucking weight off his shoulders. If the locals run him out of town, then, it won't be because he's Gifted. "Good to know the townies are cool with it. I mean, like, magic and stuff, it's not a secret back-- where I'm from? But a lot of people are totally small-minded dicks about it, so..."
He trails off as the waitress stops by, flashing a cheerful smile, then turns to Chris again once she's gone. He leans in, voice lowered, like they're about to engage in some conspiratorial whispering here.
"Wait, so, are there ghosts here? Did you see one just now? Or-- or am I a ghost?" He waves his own hand in front of his face, as if half-expecting to see right through it. "Are we all ghosts?"
no subject
There's a wry twist to Chris's mouth when Jeff waves his hand. "From the perspective of where you came from? You're dead, so you'd probably count as a ghost. But here, on the island? You're very much alive. You have to be alive in order to die, and several of us newcomers have died multiple times here."
no subject
There's a yearning, suddenly, to connect over that. To ask a hundred questions, to make vague comments about his own experiences with a similar sort of pull and see, maybe, if he can finally just open the fuck up to someone who could maybe understand what it's like to peek into a world he has no business of seeing, or ability to truly fathom and comprehend. Maybe Chris knows that love-hate-fear-longing-revulsion-fascination, too.
Jeff takes a drink. "Right on," he says, expressing nothing but empty, inane words.
"Have you died here?" He furrows his brow, frowning suddenly. "Sorry, uh. Is that way too fucking personal?"
If death doesn't stick, does it even have any weight here? Does it matter?
no subject
"I've died here. We were drawn into... a pocket dimension, I think. Where nightmares became reality. And one of my lovers murdered me." Chris glances away, then back to Jeff. "I've died and come back at home as well, and I remember it all. The fear and the pain. We are our memories. And those memories are part of me."
Does it matter? If asked, Chris would say that it does.
no subject
Yeah, this one's a master wordsmith. (Look, Ally was the real lyricist in their band. Jeff can compose, but he's shit at stringing words together in any way that makes sense.)
They're right, though. Or... he supposes they're right, about memories. What are people if not a collection of every memory up to the very present? And what does it say about somebody like Jeff? His memories of the past year are practically swiss cheese, and what he does remember has been run through a blender of psychedelia.
A half-imagined, surreal mess, empty and saying nothing. Much like Jeff, himself.
"Yeah. I guess, um, all you can do is... try and keep going..." He holds up his beer in a toast and puts on a smile, overcompensating with a cheer that doesn't reach past the surface. "So here's to trying!"
no subject
They eat a few bites of the meal, then look up at Jeff and ask, quietly, "Your magic. Were you instructed in it, or have you been... left to figure things out on your own?"
Guess which one applies to Chris? (Spoilers: it's the second option.)
no subject
Maybe he's not entirely vacuous, after all.
"Oh! It's kind of... both?"
Not much of an answer, but here, allow him to explain.
"My parents, my brothers, aunts, uncles, whatever-- everyone in my family, we're all Gifted." That's the euphemism for it, back home. The socially acceptable way of saying witch, sorcerer, mage, wizard, magical freak of nature, whatever. "But it's not... It's not really something you can teach, you know? Magic's this really personal thing, it's like..."
How to put it?
"Like a special language between you and the Gift itself. The big fucking..." He looks up and around, at nothing anyone can see. "Beautiful magic aether that's all around us and in everything. So... People like us, we've got to find a way to communicate with it. Not with words-- well, not for most people, but... actions, intention, creation. You know?"
A beat, while he fuels up with a bite of food.
"So--" Wait. Swallow. Take a sip. Okay. "There's a ton of books and, like, scholarly shit about magical principles, philosophy, stuff like that, but no one can teach you how to turn all that abstract theory into--" Vague handwave, complete with finger wiggles. "Magic. They can guide you and help you-- and my family did-- but they can't teach you how to do anything. That all comes from applying the nerdy abstract stuff into your actions. Talents, we call 'em." Talent with a capital-T. "The spells I compose, another bard could perform 'em, but it wouldn't do anything. And I could take another bard's composition, play it for the world, and fuck all would happen. Does that make sense?"
He could keep going. He'd love to keep going. It's probably pretty obvious that this is Jeff's love, his passion, the thing that animates him.
But it'd be rude to just babble on and on, so--
"What's it like for you?"
There's genuine curiosity and interest in his voice. He's not asking as a formality or social nicety, so much as this is definitely a subject he's all in on.
no subject
"If there are rules, I only find out by bashing my head against the consequences. Which is... an emphatic way to know I'm doing things wrong. But I'm... all trial and error."
no subject
Jeff can't imagine not having community like that. He's always had other Gifted people in his life. Not just his family, but his bandmates, and just about every friend he's ever... well, called a friend.
Nobody could teach him how to work magic, but they at least knew what it was like, cultivating an understanding of the Gift, and urging it into the world through countless hours of practice and study and experimentation and, yeah, sometimes wildly dangerous trial and error!
"I mean... It's all trial and error with me, too." He offers a smile, a real one. "One time, when I was-- when I was first figuring out the light tricks? It flared so bright, I totally thought I went blind. Oh man, and when I was a kid, I set random shit on fire soooo many times before I could light a candle-- and at that point it's like, 'why even learn this crap when I could just grab a lighter,' you know?"
Which is, incidentally, why most Gifted people don't really bother cultivating that special connection with magic. Why bother, when modern living rendered so much of the basics a total waste of time?
"But, um, hey. I'm always trying to work out new spells, if you ever wanna... trial and error with company. At least you won't be bashing your head alone."
no subject
At Jeff's little stories about the 'errors' in his trial and error, Chris offers up a small smile of their own. It does make Chris feel a little less... lost and stupid, on the subject of their magic.
"That... might be nice. I can't promise that I'll be particularly useful for your own trials, but... we could try."