she has been wandering too much, lately. it is hard to sit still. beneath her skin her magic hums and shifts like a restless beast and she has noticed those around her using just one or two more spells, or bearing a gleaming new weapon at their hip, and it is--throwing her off. psychosomatic, certainly, but the symptoms are jarring enough to send her roaming the streets of spirale, looking for--

see, it’s like this. magic wells up and spills over and floods. parley is a finite thing and she is very steadily becoming waterlogged, capsizing, going under. her fingers tremble and the corners of her vision are clouded with stars and her thoughts catch and tangle and disappear. she is desperate for an outlet, going wild for the want of it.

but the best she has found is an open-air theatre, all carved stone and creeping vines, and she has taken centre stage for an audience of no one. incantations sound like strange poetry if you say them right, line and verse decorated with a language that sounds like spitting flame, and she has gone from praying that the words will conjure something to putting on a show. there’s no one here to see, after all. why not waste the day like this?

parley had always assumed that anyone who said they could smell magic was lying. magic smells like dusty old tomes and dustier old wizards, if anything, the wearying fragrance of libraries and archives and shelves at the back of someone’s office stacked with moth-gnawed scrolls. magic itself smells like nothing; it’s the effects, the lingering consequences (ash and the reek of burnt flesh).

they are not lying, it turns out. not specifically. simplifying, perhaps, reducing the experience to the barest descriptors, but maybe there is nothing to describe the sensation of brushing up against a leyline, skimming the surface of a well spilling over. even parley falters, now, trying to define it. like being submerged, like swallowing quicksilver, like collapsing inward and reaching out out out all at once.

the onslaught is a convenient excuse to stumble, stagger and catch her tiny frame on the folds of the man’s robes, breathe deep of incense and gold. “i--sorry, i don’t--quite know what’s come over me--!”

(making no attempt to right herself, get her bearings; letting the other be a lifeline.)

hollowstorms·:

when her words don’t result in a sudden eruption of fire and the thing in front of her being burned to a crisp, she’s forced to reconsider her situation. first: this thing doesn’t seem to want her dead just yet, or she would have been done for by now. second: well, now she just looks like an idiot. parley takes a moment to suck in a deep breath, hold it, exhale very slowly, before straightening up and inclining her head towards the other. “i--hello. sorry. bad first impression. but you do look very... spooky.”

tenacioushound‌:

so she’d been staring at him over the lip of her own drink, far more attentive than the situation called for. something about him smells just that little bit off, like the copper-dust tang of magic but wrong, so parley had--gotten a little focused. “my mistake,” she responds, trying to keep her tone aloof. “i thought men took things like that as a compliment.”

coming at you live from the bottom of a well it’s a starter call, tentative cap at five but we’ll see what happens

hollowstorms·:

she’d known from the start that coming this deep into the towering cyberpunk structures of fibonacci was a mistake. she put up a brave front, sure, but when it came down to it anything that could even maybe do her harm sent her skittering--so down here, in the gloom, she’s jumping at every shadow.

only that one isn’t a shadow. that one is towering and shambling and absolutely horrifying. to parley’s credit, she doesn’t scream--but she does yelp, leap backwards, scramble for a wand she doesn’t have and get halfway through an incantation she’s forgotten how to cast. something something conjure fire--

just want to say thank you for putting up with my spotty presence. i think i’ve sorted out whatever was keeping me away till now, so look out for me ! i’m not sure how many pre-event threads i’m going to keep going so i’ll make a starter call later i think. for rebuilt city adventure time

anglerfishnabe·:

against all better judgment she considers flicking through her camera roll thoughtfully just to tease him, but--but the way his face can storm and clear over in the span of a heartbeat has set her on edge, and toying with him like that would be foolish in the extreme. instead she fumbles with her phone, shoves it in the pocket of her jeans.

one step, two step back. deep breaths. “that’s it. i’d only just seen you. or i would have known to take the flash off.” parley sighs, turns as if to leave, then pauses.

“what were you doing, stalking around like that, anyway?” oh, idiot girl. curiosity kills.

atonings·:

“are you planning on killing me over this? really? a handful of books that belong to no-one?” her tone is aloof, but her grip on the book she’s holding is white-knuckled to keep her fingers from trembling. as stubborn and irresponsible as she may be, she’s still a coward at heart, and she knows this man could do plenty of damage to her if he chose to. “seems a bit of an overreaction.”

atonings:

parley straightens up from her half-crouch, still thumbing idly through the pages of a half-ruined book (poisonous flora and you, if the smudged title is to be believed). “unless you're about to arrest me for looting--and as far as i was aware, this place does not have a functioning police force--i’ll be as overt as i like, thank you.”