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Passengers: Theo Crawford, Lucifer, and any and all wardens and inmates
Location: All over the Peregrine
Date: Week of March 10
Summary: Theo is out to: enact a plan, ride in an elevator, and avoid therapy.
Warnings: will update as needed

1. Inmates
[Theo is on a mission this week. While he's never been the best at hiding his emotions, it's taking more willpower than ever to keep his nerves in check as he approaches other inmates. He's not as nervous about the plan as much as he is in trusting others to be involved, in needing to rely on all these other people he barely knows. But there was no other way this plan could work.

While out on cleaning duty, Theo will be looking out for inmates who are alone, or in small groups, any spot on the ship that's away from the wardens. Places like a lonely hallway, near a normally empty room like the chapel, or sitting in small groups in the mess hall is where he'll approach them, even if it's an inmate he's never really talked to before. He's been scarce this last month, being made to stay in his warden's adjoining room instead of the dorms. Voice quiet and eyes darting around, he takes a quick, deep breath to steady himself.]

Hey. Listen to me. Just for a minute. It's important.

[OOC: please see this post for details. Welcoming threads with multiple inmates in here, so feel free to jump in wherever with one. If you want to just handwave a conversation, that's fine.]

2. Wardens
[While also out on cleaning duty, Theo has to hop in an elevator to travel from one of the spires back to the center, which means it's a trip on the elevator. He hesitates when the door opens and there's a warden already inside, glowering at them, before deciding he didn't feel like waiting around for the next trip.

He really should have waited. Normally an uneventful ride, this time there's a shudder as the elevator stalls out when switching gravity modules. A robotic voice tells the occupants to remain calm and hold tight while the module is reset and the trip is restored, the latter of the instructions being quite literal. Welcome to some quality time in zero-g with an inmate. Theo holds onto the railing with one hand, and his mop with the other. He sighs a little dramatically. ]

Yeah. Okay. Great. Here we are.

3. Locked to Lucifer - March 11th
[As Theo's first month with a warden winds down, he's starting to feel completely and thoroughly Done with a capital D when it comes to their daily therapy sessions. He can only be avoidant, hostile and cagey for so long.

Every day at every moment on the Peregrine, he's reminded of what he's done, of why he's here, resentful of being alive again and being on this ship. He hates it, and he can't get away from it.

When Lucifer knocks on his door today, he doesn't get the usual responses like a groan, or being told to go away. Theo is in there, but he doesn't respond at all. He's lying in his bed, back to the room. When Lucifer opens the door, Theo's response is a pillow over his head as he avoids looking at his warden. His muffled voice lacks its usual bite.]

I'm not talking today. I'm done.

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[Theo's brow furrows at "purely external".]

Then... you don't have casters? So how'd you ever figure anything out? How'd you know magic was even a thing?

[Surprisingly earnest questions all of a sudden. Theo has a hard time wrapping his mind around the idea. How do you use magic if you can't feel it to begin with? If only Theo ever realized his own mentor managed just that, fooling everyone for decades. Viktor would have liked that guy.

The more they stay on this topic, the more Theo loosens up, and says more than just a few words at a time.]

I take it that's what you do back where you're from, then. Magic experimentation? Even if you know how to cast, it's a lot of that anyway. Trial 'n error. Even if you're gifted, it's still hard to learn. If anyone fuckin' knows, it's me.

Yes, exactly. Experimentation. The casters, as you call them, are so rare as to be legendary. I know only two people who claim to have had a personal encounter with a mage, or, or with magic, and one of those people was so moved by his experience, he eventually worked out a way to recreate it.

[Meanwhile, the other guy was so moved by his experience that he became obnoxiously anxious and would never let them do anything with it, but they don't need to bring a yordle into this conversation.]

The way you referenced your, [what did he call it,] your force spells, it implied they aren't the only kind you know.

[This lift ride is almost over; the door will be opening soon.]

[Oh, good. It'll be just in time for him to make a dramatic exit.

Theo attempts but fails to suppress a smug look as he re-straightens his tie. If there's anything he has confidence in, its his strength in casting.]

Nah. I studied that awhile ago. Alchemy too, cuz that's what my mentor did. [The spite drips off that word.

The journey ends, the chimes ding and the doors open.]

But my niche, my real talent, is in necromancy.

[He scoops up his mop, leaned against the wall, and steps out. As much as he'd like to get away from a warden quickly, he takes a leisurely pace, curious as to what the reaction will be.]

[That's a lot of spite to keep for the person who taught him, Viktor thinks. Perhaps there's a constructive story there. He's about to say he knows an alchemist, himself—coincidentally an early mentor, at that—when Theo goes sweeping off, leaving an unfamiliar word behind.

Viktor's head pops out of the elevator—]

Necromancy.

[—followed shortly by the rest of him.]

Necro, as in... necrosis? Death?

Yeah. Exactly that. As in, the raising and controlling thereof. Spirits, zombies, usin' the dead as spell components. Shit like that.

[Oh hey, look, he's just totally here to clean this section of the ship's floors. Definitely not stopping here to do that so he can keep expounding about his favorite subjects. Viktor's curiosity could keep him talking for awhile.

He keeps an eye his work, except to sneak a look at the warden before he continues.]

Not exactly looked upon well in mage circles where I'm from, but I also don't give a shit what they think.

[The warden, such as he is, has never been particularly great at curbing his facial expressions, so Theo may witness his entire journey from interest to surprise to perturbed grimace if he so desires.

He can certainly sympathize with not giving a shit—or not wanting to, at least, or not wanting to have to—but that part is eclipsed by the rest. Exploiting the material value of the dead, or the dying, is not a new concept by any means, and his own acquaintance with it has become more complicated than he would prefer.]

Using them—to what end?

[A light shrug.] Whatever floats your fuckin' boat. Zombies, ghouls, summon or banish a ghost, make really strong potions. Makin' money on the black market.

[That was the only way he managed to get food on his plate and a roof over his head. It wasn't much, but it was more than anything he had as a young child.\

His voice gets quieter.]

Besides that? I was fuckin' good at it. Really good.

[Viktor looks distinctly uncomfortable, tighter in the shoulders, deep creases between his eyebrows; but he stays where he is.

They both quiet.]

And that's why you're here,

[is somewhere between a question and understanding.]

The simplest version? Yeah. That's why I'm here.

[No need to get into the finer details. The last time the two spoke at length, Theo told Viktor that he was a monster. He'll let Viktor's imagination fill in the gaps.

He stops his pretend work for the moment, leaning on the mop and looking distant.]

'Lotta mages say whatever your specialty is is a reflection of yourself. What your soul really is, that kinda thing. I don't know if I really subscribe to that theory.

[He looks at Viktor now with a mirthless smile.] But, be proud of who you are, isn't that what people usually say?

[That drives in like a nail; his response is quick.]

They say that because it's easy. And so they can feel better that they said it to you.

[Those gaps more or less fill themselves.

He adjusts his grip, shuffles a stiff half-step to resettle his weight. Crooked shoulders, leg turned in.]

It sounds nice. It is also a lazy reassurance, void of insight, that opens the door to complacency.

Edited (more better) 2022-04-09 21:18 (UTC)

Yeah. It's total bullshit.

[He'll go back to that mopping now.]

No one liked how I acted, and they didn't like it when I started acting differently, either. So one day you just wake up and realize you're just fucked up no matter how you act, and it doesn't matter. It's pretty freeing, honestly.

["Honestly", nothing. The lies just slip out of him so easily.]

Sounds like it was something you heard yourself a lot.

[Considering how fast and measured that response was from Viktor, anyway.]

It's as common a sentiment as the one you've just raised.

[What was that he was saying to Claire about Silco—something about a deflection reflex—]

The ugliness of that one may pass for authenticity, but it's just another platitude—worse than that, it's an insult. Imagine if I said to you, oh well, you tried something and it didn't work, nothing you do matters, might as well give up.

[With a short toss of a hand gesture,]

Is that not incredibly condescending? You would tell me exactly where to go and how quickly, and be absolutely right to do so.

[Theo shoots him a withering glare.]

The difference being is that I came to that conclusion myself. People told me that shit and were condescending anyway! Tell 'em you want to study magic and they fucking laugh at you or act like you're a stupid kid. Or like you've lost your mind. Then they give you the bullshit platitudes from both end of the spectrum!

[He throws the mop aside, and it clatters to the ground.]

And ya know what? I fucking did tell 'em exactly where they could go, and I was right.

[This is all sounding rather familiar—similar struggle, different context. Wildly disparate attitudes. More like ascending a fissure than standing on a ledge.

Viktor's attention flicks after the falling mop, then back up to the kid who dropped it. His discomfort lingers, associations still scrape at him, but the fresh surreality of this arrangement has since faded; he is no longer drifting dreamlike through a blue field. He's since got his legs under him, settled into himself. And he, himself, is neither startled by this sudden escalation nor particularly impressed by it.

Intentionally, he allows the moment to settle into awkward stillness, gives Theo the opportunity to hear the lingering echo of his own voice in the silence.

Then, quiet,]

Of the assumptions that were made of you, how many did you disprove?

[Theo stands there, fists balled, trying to get his temper in check. To stop embarrassing himself.

He huffs something that might be a laugh.]

I certainly proved what I was capable of. They'd never have seen it coming. But I guess they were right about me being crazy all along.

Well, that's something. [Weight shifting, swaying in anticipation of a step,] We'll call it a work in progress.

[This seems a fair place to leave it. Theo retains some dignity, escapes without being told off in some fashion or made to feel like he's failed, and Viktor needn't stand here anymore: everyone wins.

The abrupt burst of a cough turns his second stride into a stuttering, lurching stop, and he hastily turns his face aside for the rest. Rounded shoulders, stiff jerks. It's a brief spell, as far as these go—faint taste of coins in his mouth, but nothing on the floor, and from a hasty wipe of lips and chin his hand comes away clean.

Fine.

After clearing his throat—and again, for good measure—he gathers himself to resume his intended departure.]

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