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 Playing With Fire, Open
Xander Grayson
 Posted: Feb 24 2017, 08:02 PM
99 posts
puppeted by J-Chan
N/A
MST Him/His/He
job
Bookstore Clerk
species
Witch
group
None
sexuality
Heterosexual
status
Single
age
25
mature
Yes, bring 'em on.
If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together.
N/A
Firestarter



It was dusk, a time when most people were heading home to be with their families and eat dinner. They would sit in front of the television set, or around a fireplace, each member of the family talking about their day. A seemingly normal existence from the outside looking in. It was the sort of ‘apple pie’ life he’d always wanted, yet never had the chance to have. Maybe once, a long time ago, but that life was snatched away from him before he had even a single moment to enjoy of it. He supposed he wasn’t missing much. Families meant attachments, which meant that someone could use them against him if he wasn’t careful. Still, the heart knew what it wanted, but the soul wasn’t quite willing to deliver.

The engine of his motorcycle roared, the sound bouncing off the wall of a mountain side as he sped through the winding turns. Freedom was a beautiful thing, one that he wasn’t willing to give up so easily by marrying and settling down. He was still young and there was so much time ahead of him. Too much, he’d say, because free time led to nights like this. Nights when he pushed aside all the negative, and tried to enjoy the evening while he could. He drove about half an hour out of the city, in the hills that provided a rather stunning view of San Francisco if he was being honest. The best view he’d ever seen, perhaps.

The sun was down by the time he pulled into a parking area, although it wasn’t much of one. Dirt was scattered around the area in place of pavement. The area he was in happened to be a lovely picnic spot, but it was nearly deserted this time of night. He pulled the bike up to a space, setting it down with a kick of the stand to hold it in place. The helmet he took off, he draped it over one handle of the bike and then he moved off away from the thing, a backpack on his back. He walked to a spot over-looking the city, a sea of ever-expanding lights shining like diamonds underneath twinkling stars. A glorious sight to behold, one he never grew tired of.

After gathering rocks for a fire pit and a few pieces of wood, he piled it all together and cupped his hand next to the wood, the stuff catching fire as he willed it to do so. A simple fire, one he could control so there was really no danger to the trees in the area, and people that might happen upon him. Settling on a large stump, he began pulling out a hastily prepared dinner for himself. It was just a sandwich and an apple, with a side of peanut butter cheese crackers. A meal fit for a king. He took to watching the city lights as he ate in silence, the hand that wasn’t holding part of his meal waving around, the flames in the pit dancing and rising into a funnel. The funnel caressed the wood, although it seemed to move entirely on its own.

The sandwich gone, the witch mused on the peace the night brought to this part of the forest, a stillness surrounding him that was just as creepy as it was fascinating. A water bottle was brought from the pack, up to his lips and he took a long drink from it. His paranoia told him he was being watched, a thing he paid little mind to as it was always telling him something to that effect. When the feeling didn’t pass, he said to the darkness, “Come and sit a spell,” he said in his best rendition of a southern drawl, “I promise I don’t bite.” Although he was quite sure that the thing in the darkness did… but he couldn’t be certain.
PMEmail
^
Sloan Dysis
 Posted: Mar 1 2017, 09:53 PM
27 posts
puppeted by kenzie
Slo
EST (Canada) she/her
job
Cashier (Thistledown)
species
Mortal
group
Lucidum
sexuality
Confused AF
status
single
age
23
mature
bring em on
You're just a ghost of blissful feelings, a cloud of smoke that I keep breathing
N/A
magic 8 ball




The freedom to pretty much go wherever she wanted and whenever she felt like it was still a heady feeling for Sloan. Sure she'd been in San Fran for around a year now but she was finally starting to actually somewhat settle in the city, its surrounding area and her freedom with it. That wasn't to say she had stopped thinking the other shoe would drop, but Sloan had found herself looking over her shoulder less often, wasn't expecting a familiar face every time there was someone outside her admittedly run-down apartment.

So she'd begun to explore the parks and wilderness, excited because it was something she'd never gotten to experience before. Naturally, the general lack of other people that she ran into meant that Sloan had more energy than usual - there were no auras to drain to magic. So after an unpleasantly long shift at work that left her with a headache from too many colours Sloan had decided that the outdoors would be a wonderful pick me up. The outdoors and some weed for the pain. Actually taking pain medication rather than drugs had never crossed her mind, simply because she'd never found they gave her relief from the headaches her magic caused. Of course, that could probably be attributed to the fact that she'd never really tried to use them for that purpose.

Rather those she had spent her time with had suggested what they'd considered the more natural alternative, and Sloan always did have a problem of going against those she considered herself close to. Added onto by the fact that it had been her crush who'd suggested and offered her the drugs? Between her crush and her need for validation, there had been no resistance and she'd taken the weed. And despite her new life on the west coast Sloan was still reliant on the vices she'd accepted so easily. So she'd stopped at her apartment just long enough to grab her supplies and headed towards the seclusion of nature.

She'd lit up as soon as she arrived, inhaling the smoke and relaxing as her magic fully settled. Sloan had meandered through the hills, taking her time and letting the drugs work through her system. She was in no rush, had nowhere to be and no one to meet. So Sloan wandered, smoked, and allowed her mind to drift pleasantly through random tangents of thoughts as her entire system relaxed. It was only as she could feel the effects wearing off and herself coming down from the high that she took a more critical consideration of her surroundings. She'd apparently wandered close to a picnic type area - slightly bemusement filtering through her at the idyllic and stereotypic scene of a picnic flitted through her mind - and to someone's fire. Sloan paused, considering as she watched the flames move - someone or something that was pyrokinetic. But the light afforded her a better site of the individual whose fire she'd encroached upon and was surprised to recognize the figure as his aura flickered into existence. Another member of the coven she'd joined - sure she hadn't gotten very close to the other members but she knew who they were. And she'd begun to settle, to relax in her new life so getting closer to the coven that had accepted her was a more pleasant idea.

She'd been considering whether or not to encroach on Xander's fire and solitude when he'd spoken. Sloan had been surprised when he'd spoken - her tendency towards black meant that she probably blended in with the shadows and darkness of the hour. But, she might as well and it had been enough of an invitation. So Sloan stepped into the light of the fire and sat down, habitually her eyes flicked around Xander - looking at his aura - before she actually focused on him and offered a small smile. "I'm a little keener on the spell than the biting."
PMAIM
^
Xander Grayson
 Posted: Mar 4 2017, 10:45 PM
99 posts
puppeted by J-Chan
N/A
MST Him/His/He
job
Bookstore Clerk
species
Witch
group
None
sexuality
Heterosexual
status
Single
age
25
mature
Yes, bring 'em on.
If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together.
N/A
Firestarter



Xander had been here in San Francisco for the last few years, and what he loved about being on his own was the freedom he had to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. But with freedom comes great responsibility, that old adage that his parents always shoved down his throat ever since he came into his powers. His grandmother was a little more lenient, always saying that the power he wielded was a gift to be used to help further his own agenda. Personal gain and what not. You can imagine that he didn’t spend many summers with that grandmother. His mother was strict, letting him only practice magic at home. Things happened, though, sometimes, and there was nothing to be done about them, except accept them as they came to pass.

The rules got too much for him, and he came out here after everything went down. An old story he was tired of telling nowadays. He told certain people about what happened, but trust was not an easy thing to win from the young witch. Still, he had told the coven leader and the advisor to said coven about what happened. He tried not telling his coven mates, but there were those that he told simply because it was nice to have an ear to listen to his problems. It beat going to a shrink, a stranger that knew nothing about him. Talking till he was blue in the face wasn’t enough for them. It was one reason why he was out here, so far from home. He’d gotten sick of the rabble rousers, the ones who trumped up the incident to be more than it was, and he just wanted to put the past behind him. So that meant a new city in a new state, a new job, a new place to live, and new people. He wasn’t exactly living in high cotton, so to speak, but it was much better than what he had at home with his parents.

Taking a stick he found by his fire pit, he touched it to the logs, the fire hissing and crackling as it was teased both magically and with the stick. The log split down the middle as the fire was guided through it, two halves falling to both sides and being engulfed by the flames. The light was reflected in his eyes, his mind always a ceaselessly wandering entity whenever he played with fire. As entranced as though he seemed to be, his other senses were open to the world around him. A necessity, really, because not everyone particularly liked magic. Most were curious about it, but they avoided it, seeing as how they didn’t want to get messed up in all that. He couldn’t blame them. He’d never asked to be put into this life, nor had he asked for everything that happened to him. But what could he do? An infant didn’t have control of whether he wanted to be born or not. He let out a little huff, continuing to play with the fire in the pit as he blew out the end of the stick and settled it next to him.

As the fire danced around in the pit, his senses picked up on the fact there was someone else nearby. He wouldn’t have known the thing from Adam or Eve, if the person didn’t come out of the shadows. Fortunately she did, and he was pleased to see that it was someone he knew. Someone who was inclined in magic just as he was, although their powers were vastly different. He offered her a smile, his eyes glancing at her to see that it was a friendly face, so naturally he didn’t really need to explain himself. The scent of weed tickled his nose, but he paid it no mind. Someone like him didn’t have the right to question the usage of illegal drugs when he himself depended on prescriptions to get him through the day.

“I don’t know; both sound rather fun. Maybe not enjoyable, but fun,” he said, laughing a bit. “So what brings you to the woods tonight, Sloan? Making mayhem without your fellow coven members?” He asked her, a twinkle in his eye that implied he wasn’t exactly innocent, either.
PMEmail
^
Sloan Dysis
 Posted: Mar 9 2017, 07:54 PM
27 posts
puppeted by kenzie
Slo
EST (Canada) she/her
job
Cashier (Thistledown)
species
Mortal
group
Lucidum
sexuality
Confused AF
status
single
age
23
mature
bring em on
You're just a ghost of blissful feelings, a cloud of smoke that I keep breathing
N/A
magic 8 ball




Through her early life, the fact that she'd be a witch had been the only real sure thing for Sloan. Ironic now that her powers were unsure things in and of themselves. There hadn't been any rules of how or when to practice with her magic until she'd been adopted. Admittedly it helped that her powers weren't too evident to anyone who was unaware of her magic - nowadays she would just be written off as another young adult reliant on vices to get by. And it was a bit difficult to worry about harming someone with something like aura reading. Perhaps using a reading to have insight that could be used to intentional hurt or manipulate someone, but Sloan's own need for inclusion and validation made it unlikely. And the idea of doing that, hurting and manipulating someone intentionally, now sounded much too isolating.

Isolation was far from what she had wanted, despite her occasional habit of secluding herself. It sounded a little backward when phrased like that. But to be fair intoxication usually messed up thoughts and made some connections and implications make sense even when they shouldn't. Sloan recognizing the odd logic was proof of her coming down from her high. An odd in between that was comfortable in its familiarity, a place between floating away untethered and from being fully grounded and sober. The edges of reality just soft enough for her to exist without the incessant harsh realities pressing down onto her.

She'd settled by the fire easily.

She laughed and scrunched up her nose a bit at the thought of fun but not enjoyable bites. There was still enough drugs in her system that the possible implication didn't make her uncomfortable, but she wasn't intoxicated enough to agree either. A laugh and a scrunched nose, falling somewhere between the two. "I'm not sure how much mayhem I could cause all by my lonesome; better at joining it than creating it." She grinned, and it was true. Any 'wild' or out there story Sloan had was largely because she'd simply not said no and ended up in situations. She went along, said yes to be a part of things or was too inebriated to think something wasn't the best idea - or to have any functioning judgment at all. To a point that the twinkle she saw in Xander's eyes was familiar and easy to spot. "Why? Worried you're missing out of some debauchery?"

"Just trying to destress really, I find the trees at night to be comforting." She admitted, gaze drifting to the trees around them for several moments before seemingly coming back to herself and the conversation, drifting off just for a moment. "It must be nice to not have to worry about others seeing you with your fire huh?"
PMAIM
^
Xander Grayson
 Posted: Mar 13 2017, 08:21 PM
99 posts
puppeted by J-Chan
N/A
MST Him/His/He
job
Bookstore Clerk
species
Witch
group
None
sexuality
Heterosexual
status
Single
age
25
mature
Yes, bring 'em on.
If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together.
N/A
Firestarter



Isolation was something he was used to by now. He’d been in prison, and a mental ward, so there was a lot of time to get used to being on his own. Might have helped him should he had need to live at the coven house, but he simply didn’t want to be a bother to anyone. His attacks made everyday life hard, difficult even, being so unpredictable in nature. It made life interesting, to say the least, although he was always worried about having a break down in front of one of his coven members. No one really would understand what was happening, unless he had parted with the fact that he had them. So far, just the advisor and the leader knew of them, how they were a side-effect of the magic he wielded (or didn’t) over a long period of time. They weren’t exactly a good conversation starter.

Nor was the incident that had happened once, so many years ago. More people knew about that then the attacks he had on a regular basis. It was a need-to-know thing only, and he hadn’t really thought about telling anyone else, unless he actually started hanging out with his coven members. Covens were supposed to work together, much like a family, being there for each other in their hours of need. Well, it was a hard habit to break being alone all the time. He was isolated in his apartment, away from his coven members and no one was really friendly with him. A sad, pathetic existence, he knew, especially when he saw others being social and enjoying their time with other people. Being alone was just life for him now. Once he had a social life, even a girlfriend, but all of that was taken that day several years ago.

Did he want this isolation? Sometimes; but most of the time he found that he did want to be around people, which was why he had a job that he loved with co-workers and a boss that was rather understanding. He was thankful for that. Some days things were just too hard for him, and he had to take a personal day until he felt better. When the attacks came, they hit him hard, lasted only a few minutes, and by the next day he was back to normal. Fortunately he hadn’t had one at work yet, but it was something he made his employer aware of if anything had happened. His boss even went as far to learn more about his employee’s illness, and accommodated the young man where he could. Understanding people were few and far between these days.

He smiled when she laughed. Like many people out there, he enjoyed making people laugh. And he enjoyed making them happy. The latter was craved internally, to have a relationship that was more than just friendship. But girlfriends didn’t fall from the sk- okay that was a bad joke. Moving on – “I find that I am fantastic at both in spite of my best efforts to stay out of it.” He tried to avoid it, actually, but it always seemed to find him. Fortunately, things had been going somewhat well for him. He really didn’t have any complaints to the contrary, either. “Wouldn’t take much to find my own, really. But I must pry into the lives of others, just to see if they are behaving… I have a righteous asshole complex.” He really didn’t, actually, and most of the coven knew that. He liked things when they were done with the best of intentions in mind, but he knew what they said about the road to hell and good intentions.

As the conversation turned a little more solemn, he eased up on his teasing of the fire so it died down a little, still crackling and glowing. “It is rather lovely out here, isn’t it? I’ve always loved the night better than the day time.” One might think that he liked the sun, being fire oriented and all, but that wasn’t the case. As she asked what she did, he frowned a bit, remembering that people couldn’t see her powers. Invisible powers were hard to control and live with, and he knew that because he had family members with such abilities. He nodded a bit, and said, “And then I remember that my other power, they can’t see it, so it just makes me feel as though they aren’t seeing all of me… or something. Does that make any sense?” Probably not.
PMEmail
^
Sloan Dysis
 Posted: Mar 17 2017, 03:37 AM
27 posts
puppeted by kenzie
Slo
EST (Canada) she/her
job
Cashier (Thistledown)
species
Mortal
group
Lucidum
sexuality
Confused AF
status
single
age
23
mature
bring em on
You're just a ghost of blissful feelings, a cloud of smoke that I keep breathing
N/A
magic 8 ball




For someone that didn't look for mayhem, Sloan had been part of a consider bit of it. Her friends had been the mayhem type, and her coven had condoned the behaviour, letting members stretch and flex their powers and run as rampant as they wanted. There were lines of when to curtail that behaviour, but those were few and far between. Sloan had been along for the ride, both too caught up in her feelings for Mallory and too desperate to belong and feel included, feel a part of something. And there was the small matter of her near inability to say "no". It had made for an interesting adolescence at the very least.

But her magic had warned her of how that path would end and it had scared her shitless. Sloan had done plenty of stupid and probably fear-inducing things in her life, but decided and then actually following through with leaving her old coven surpassed everything. The coven had been all she really knew other than foster homes. And there were only so many options for a high school drop out with a drug habit. Coming to San Francisco she had been weary about joining another coven, worried to step into the same life she'd run away from. To sink into the familiar comfort of that life. Instead, the coven she'd found was ... softer in a way. The softness, the quiet of the coven had also scared Sloan because she hadn't known how to fit into it. The kindness had been the most sincere she'd encountered in years.

And no trap had sprung, there was no other shoe to drop. Sloan was finding this softness something she could try to sink into the same way she'd sunk into drugs; with an ease that had her question what exactly took her so long. Sinking into this coven to counteract the way she'd often float in a haze some days.

She grinned at Xander, "Sure it's not just wanting to make sure you aren't missing out on any good fun? Or you must have a pretty low key definition of 'righteous asshole' because the one I know doesn't quite fit you right." Living in a power hungry coven righteous assholes kind of came with the territory, and drug dealers weren't always known to be friendly either. Xander, from what Sloan knew of him, couldn't be painted with the same brush. Besides, nearly every single righteous asshole she'd encountered - coven and dealers notwithstanding - usually tried to tear into her about her drug use. Sure Sloan tried not to use much around them, but she was sure she smelled of weed numerous times. And definitely did now.

Sloan nodded, she definitely had an idea of what Xander was talking about. There was no real outward expression for her magic, except maybe if you counted the pain it caused her. "It's like a current that only you can feel, it ebbs and flows in ways that push and pull you in how you move about the world. This distinct intangible part of your life that can be grasped as much as a breeze; you experience it but no one else really does. At least not the same way. A different breeze, a different current." She mused aloud, nearly going off on a tangent but managing to reel it in before going a little too far away from their conversation. She'd never quite found the right kind of words for it but that didn't stop Sloan from trying. Musings and metaphors were the closest she could manage, one that were often dropped from her tongue while intoxicated. As if tht helped her blur the line between the current of magic, herself and the rest of the world. Blending them in a way that made it a little more distinct and tangible. "But it feels easier with someone else who knows what it's lie to have that current, that something."

And then Sloan realized tha perhaps not. Maybe living with Xander's powers were different, maybe having one that was visible gave more credit to the one people couldn't see. It was easier to accept the idea of magic that could ore easily be experienced and authenticated. Proving you could move things with magic was a lot easier to prove than reading an aura or farsight was. Or to explain the way that the colours and energy of auras could affect her so viscerally. Her magic resulted in terrible headaches and a slight aversion to bright colours. It was something others couldn't see, couldn't experience, but influenced Sloan in her everyday life. In fact her magic was a large reason for her mostly black wardrobe, or the way she purposefully drained the colours of her environment when she could. "Or I'm rambling about my experience and yours is completely different. Or apparently contradicting myself with weird logic." Or it was the drug fueled musing that had her missing a logical mark. That was a likely possibilty. The same way people made odd leaps in logic when drunk; Sloan had spent enough of her life high that those same kinds of leaps and weird logics had bled into her normal functioning.
PMAIM
^
Xander Grayson
 Posted: Mar 18 2017, 11:47 PM
99 posts
puppeted by J-Chan
N/A
MST Him/His/He
job
Bookstore Clerk
species
Witch
group
None
sexuality
Heterosexual
status
Single
age
25
mature
Yes, bring 'em on.
If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together.
N/A
Firestarter



This was the first coven he’d ever been a part of, outside of his family – which wasn’t what one might call a coven. His mother had been a witch, but she wasn’t the coven type, and therefore, neither was he. Until he’d moved here and learned about the local covens from friends. Yes, friends. He had a few of those, although friends didn’t usually come around very often, and only when they really needed to talk to him. He’d never had that kind of thing happen to him in Lucidum. Everyone treated him as he ought to have been treated – and no one chastised him for being a little different than the rest of them. He’d told his story to the advisor of the coven almost the moment he met the man, and there was no judgement, no reason to think that he’d not be accepted.

He knew the road to magic was going to be a hard one. Maybe not so much when he was younger, but certainly after the incident. Magic was something to be respected, he’d learned, and if it was ever abused, it would lash back with so much force it’d send a head to spinning. It was why being in a coven was so important for him. His mother had had passive powers, mostly, and thus never really knew how to educate her son that had such particularly volatile and dangerous powers. Moving was never really a choice for him, at any rate. He loved Louisiana and never wanted to leave – but the papers and the news stories out there gave him no option. It was either leave and try to make a life for his own – or be hated and feared by people he knew and grew up with. There was nothing like a best friend looking at him as though he was a stranger, no better than a common criminal.

“Eh, you’re probably right,” he said, poking the fire with the stick again, fingers moving slightly as he guided the fire to eat at the rest of the logs and avoid the stick. The stick would grow hot, but it didn’t catch fire, something that had indeed taken a lot of practice and a lot of trial and error. Fortunately, though, the forest surrounding the city was still standing. The scent that accompanied his companion didn’t bother him. He had no place to sit and judge her when he himself swallowed pills as though they were candy. He’d never touched weed, though. His parents were rather strict as it was with his fire use in the house. To have that and carry a lighter, as well? Seemed to be too much temptation. He was a walking lighter, actually – but still, he’d never touched weed or even cigarettes. And barely alcohol. With that there was the threat of him lighting a glass on fire – something that had actually happened to him once or twice before.

“For me, it’s the same… kind of. Except with mine there is always that temptation of lighting someone on fire or throwing them into traffic all low key like,” talk about going on a tangent, “But the fire is something that people can see, not necessarily something they can touch. The telekinesis they can feel, and not really touch. So it’s kind of reversed.” But – “You know people can be afraid of something like my powers? I should tell you the story sometime. Get your take on the kind of monster I am, supposedly.” He says, looking at the fire, still teasing it against the stick for a moment before removing the hot wood. With a twist of air around the hot spot, it became cool within just a couple moments. Still, he put it at the edge of the fire pit, away from the flames.

His eyes were cast to the heavens next, as though they were looking for something. In a way, he was – something that he knew was still out there, somewhere. He just knew it, yet he hadn’t found it yet. After a whole two or three minutes he looked back at Sloan, letting out a bit of a nervous chuckle. “Well, no time like the present. Do you want to hear it?” He asked her.
PMEmail
^
Sloan Dysis
 Posted: Mar 22 2017, 02:10 PM
27 posts
puppeted by kenzie
Slo
EST (Canada) she/her
job
Cashier (Thistledown)
species
Mortal
group
Lucidum
sexuality
Confused AF
status
single
age
23
mature
bring em on
You're just a ghost of blissful feelings, a cloud of smoke that I keep breathing
N/A
magic 8 ball




Not being part of a coven had never really been much of a choice for Sloan. More so because of her mental and emotional wellbeing than for her magic. Quite honestly the fact that she'd been given up so young, that she had no memories of the father that had left her with nothing more than a note had done a rather substantial number on her. As a result, Sloan craved and needed the feelings of belonging and being tied to other people that a coven offered her. It filled the whole that was left when she was left at that church. To say her attachments were messed up was probably putting it mildly. Being in the foster care system, and the foster houses she'd been in had made sure of that.

Sometimes over the years the questions of how she would have coped with the side effects of her magic without her coven to help had flitted through her mind. Back then, while still in Florida, it had been more of a grateful rhetorical question than anything else. No substance to the words other than a sense of thankful appreciation. Now that thought appeared more often, and with a very different tone. How different would she have been if she had found a different way to cope? But that just lead down a depressing spiral of 'what if's that Sloan didn't like to venture down. Nothing good had ever come of it.

So she tried to keep to the present with her thoughts as much as possible. Even when she'd confided to the advisor of the coven why she'd left Florida and moved to San Francisco Sloan had tried to gloss over the worse things because she still hadn't acknowledged everything that had been done to her over the years. Talking about it made it more real. Made her experiences part of her history and not just something that existed in her mind. Memories made tangible.

The young witch had kept to the bare bones of her story. Made it less a story of her trying to escape an end before it was too late and more a story of trying to find herself and her independence - like any young person. It had worked. Sloan had found a coven that was radically different than the one she'd left, had found independence, and managed to be a functional - barely but it still counted - young adult. Sloan was strides ahead of what she had been in Florida, at least in her perspective.

"I didn't know magic could have that kind of temptation." She commented softly. It made sense, in a way. For magic to come with some kind of catch - and she really wasn't sure how pyrokinesis or telekinesis would affect its user. Didn't make sense for the same kind of backlash that Sloan got. "Isn't fire something most people should have a bit of a healthy fear of? Or respect for? So that they don't accidently set themselves or anything around them on fire? Especially when they don't have the ability to control it like you do?" It hadn't really crossed her mind to be scared of Xander's telekinesis, mostly because as she'd said he didn't exactly fit the description of asshole that she was used to. But others didn't always like what was different. "I doubt you're monstrous Xander."
She spoke the sort of affirmation softly.

Sloan was curious, curious to see how others might think Xander monstrous because she didn't get any vibe that was close to that from him. But at the same time, she didn't want to pry, didn't want to push in fear of him closing up and shutting her off. Of being pushed away - even if only for a short time. It was a feeling she hated, hated to the core of who she was. Because that kind of feeling, pushed away, alienated, isolated, not wanted wasn't something Sloan could really cope with.

Her "Yes," wasn't much louder than a whisper. It felt heavy on her tongue as she spoke. It felt like a line she had been weary of until recently, weary of strengthening her connections and relationships within the coven. Sloan knew that this wasn't going to be the kind of story that was told carelessly. The witch moved to sit closer to Xander; a story that made others see him as a monster couldn't be the easiest and she didn't want him to worry about his voice giving way to emotions. And some things couldn't seem to be said with any volume. "You aren't monstrous." She repeated before he delved into the story.
PMAIM
^
Xander Grayson
 Posted: Mar 23 2017, 03:43 PM
99 posts
puppeted by J-Chan
N/A
MST Him/His/He
job
Bookstore Clerk
species
Witch
group
None
sexuality
Heterosexual
status
Single
age
25
mature
Yes, bring 'em on.
If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together.
N/A
Firestarter



His parents were close when he was growing up, a seemingly normal family living on a plantation in the south. Living day to day, each day pushing him closer to developing his powers, and learning how to use them. Responsibility like that was something that had hit him upside the head and sent him teetering in either direction simultaneously. He didn’t know which way was up when he first developed the pyrokinesis, and the telekinesis? Forget it. It was a wonder he hadn’t killed more people than he had. More people should have gotten hurt because he didn’t know how to control such a power… tangent, but it was the reason he was here in San Francisco in a coven that could help him. Well, so far they were helping him. He didn’t know what things would be like down the road in the long term. Hell, he didn’t even know if he was going to live here forever. He supposed as long as the meds kept working, and the attacks were infrequent, then he could live a relatively normal existence and remain here. But he didn’t know what life had in store for him. No one did, really. Even fortune tellers who were legit didn’t know the whole of the future. The future was always changing, always shifting either in favor of someone… or against them.

The woods provided a solace he never knew in a city like New Orleans. There was a peace out here, away from the crowds and hustle and bustle of the city. He’d known the backlash of the incident that had happened, knew the rumors flying around about him at work, but out here, that all seemed to vanish. So much about the wilderness was overlooked, underappreciated and almost all together ignored by those that dwelled in the city. He could see it over the trees, for they were on a little hill in the middle of a valley. Peace in such a large city was hard to come by, he knew, because he lived in a tiny apartment in the downtown area. So many people crammed together in such a tight space, he wondered why his sanity hadn’t abandoned him completely by now. Living the way he did made it important to get out, be among people, in spite of the desire to stay indoors and bury himself under a heap of blankets. A lot of that came from living in the close quarters of prison, and even in the mental ward.

Trying to live in the present grew harder as time went on. The events were so fresh in his memory, even at eight years or so old. Replayed on a little VCR in his head, flashing images making him wonder if they would ever just go away. And then there were days where he didn’t want them to that he wanted to remember so he wouldn’t forget. Felt it was an insult to her memory to forget. Talking about her made things more bearable, but it also made things more real, fear rising up in his mind that something like that could happen again. To one of his coven mates? To a co-worker? A close friend? Didn’t want to think about it, yet there were nights when that was all he could think about.

“You don’t really think about it when you first learn how to control them,” he said thoughtfully, “But it does happen occasionally. It’s nearly all subconscious, though, and I don’t ever act on those thoughts or feelings. At least, not anymore.” There had been a time when he had, and others had paid for it dearly. Not since prison, but he felt she needed to know that it had happened. As if the telling of it would warn her somehow, as if it would help prevent future occurrences. “One would think so, wouldn’t they? I suppose they fear it. They certainly fear me because they know I wield fire.” Chuckled lightly at that. At least – those that were back in Louisiana. None of his coven mates feared him that he knew of – but there was a first time for everything, and that fact was never more clearer in his mind than right now, sitting near Sloan.

He went quiet for a long moment, digging the stick into the ground as he teased the fire a little to continue burning at the logs in the pit. This sort of encouragement would engulf them quicker, make them burn hotter. It was a symbolic representation of his torrential emotions running through him. Sloan would say yes, that she wanted to hear the story, and he let a small smile come across his lips, although it wasn’t something that reached his eyes. Staring into the flames, he didn’t look at her as he began to tell the story. “When I was a freshman in high school, I met a girl that was a year ahead of me. Like most kids at that age, I fell in love with her, and we started dating. Things were fine for a while, she learned about the fire I controlled and accepted it. Used to put on shows for her out behind the school, little displays like hearts in the fire and other symbols…” his eyes seemed distant as he spoke, as if playing the scene through his mind. “Then, the summer before my Junior year, she came up to me under the bridge just outside of town when the water was to our ankles. She told me she was pregnant, and the baby wasn’t mine,” he seemed saddened by that remark, not angry as he had been at the time, “And I felt myself losing myself as I stood there, my hand raising up involuntary. I remember nearly feeling her neck in my grasp as I squeezed. I threw her against the bridge, several feet above the ground. I heard the bones crack, and I released her, and she fell to the ground…” he took a breath, silent for a couple heart beats, “She didn’t move.”

“Someone nearby heard her hit the water, and they called 911. I was shoved into a police car, taken from my family to stand trial for what I had done. I spent the next four years in prison, and then, when I was deemed unfit to remain there, they sent me to a mental ward for the next three years.” He took another breath, deep and long, remorse in his eyes as well as the remnants of tears clinging there. Now he looked at her, saying, “So that is why I left my hometown. Because I couldn’t stand having friends that I’d known for years look at me like I am a monster.”
PMEmail
^
Sloan Dysis
 Posted: Mar 25 2017, 08:06 PM
27 posts
puppeted by kenzie
Slo
EST (Canada) she/her
job
Cashier (Thistledown)
species
Mortal
group
Lucidum
sexuality
Confused AF
status
single
age
23
mature
bring em on
You're just a ghost of blissful feelings, a cloud of smoke that I keep breathing
N/A
magic 8 ball




The woods was something she'd never experienced until moving to San Francisco, having grown up in Florida and closer to beaches than a forest. It was different, almost alien, in the most comforting possible way. Made her actually feel far away and completely removed from the place that she had grown up. And at night, with the darkness making the trees seem almost endless Sloan felt almost like she was walking through some far removed place, some liminal space that was between her past and future where neither really mattered and the witch could breath easier, could relax and not worry about anything or anyone else. A dark little bubble of peace that was solely her own, free of the weight of her past or the fear of an uncertain and daunting future. A place untethered by time, like a secret little peaceful realm where she could just be.

Sloan had taken herself out of Florida, but there was a larger part of herself than she'd like to admit that was still affected by her years there. Even in the city that was so much different than her hometown Sloan was still weighed down by her past, still affected by it in so many things that she did no matter how much she'd wanted to leave that place completely behind. It was to be expected of course, but so often she wished that wasn't the case. It had kept her from getting as close as she had wanted with the coven here, kept any type of relationship just friendly enough without too much depth. Something that now that Sloan was finally settling and realizing there was no other shoe to drop she was trying to fix, to make those tentative friendships more solid, give them more depth. To create that sense of belonging she'd always craved. Just because it had led her into trouble and down a path that would have ended in an ugly didn't mean it had to this time. This time Sloan was in a coven and surround by lighter auras, less malicious and vindictive. Softer temperments.

"Huh, I guess each magic comes with those little demanding quirks. Wanting to be used and letting you know about it." She commented, half thinking out loud. It made sense, fire and auras wouldn't be used the same way so it would logically follow that the magic behind those powers would hint at or demand to be used in different ways. From thoughts and impulses to just showing up and being intense and impossible to know. She supposed she should be thankful that her magic couldn't really cause harm or pain to anyone but herself. Considering Sloan's total lack of control over her magic that would be bad at best and disastrous at worse. "Well people suck sometimes don't they? Probably feel bad about being scared of fire and just direct at you to make themselves feel better."

Despite moving closer for his tale, Sloan was quiet, letting him have his emotional space before be began talking. She didn't want to push or rush him into it, make him clam up. She was making more solid and substantial connections, was wanting to make them and especially within the coven. It probably helped that she was familiar with the bubble of emotions as memories were brought to the forefront of your mind when beginning this kind of story. Her stomach dropped like a lead weight and eyes welled up when Xander's tale started in high school with a girl he fell in love with. She hadn't thought it was going to be a nice happy story, but this? This was a familiar set up and Sloan could only see utter heartbreak coming from it. She could only hope that what happened to her wasn't in Xander's past.

Tears ran down her face silently. Sloan cried for Xander, she couldn't fathom what that would have been like to go through. The thought of the mental ward more terrifying than prison to her. If she had known how to offer any small measure of comfort Sloan would have, but she was at a loss unsure if physical contact would offer comfort or not. "A monster wouldn't be remorseful Xander, wouldn't cry for what they'd done." Her voice was more solid than she expected considering her own tears.
PMAIM
^
Xander Grayson
 Posted: Mar 26 2017, 08:49 PM
99 posts
puppeted by J-Chan
N/A
MST Him/His/He
job
Bookstore Clerk
species
Witch
group
None
sexuality
Heterosexual
status
Single
age
25
mature
Yes, bring 'em on.
If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together.
N/A
Firestarter



The forests surrounding his plantation home were wrought with dangers – but that didn’t stop him or his siblings from playing in them. Often they’d come across an alligator in the swamps near his home, or some other creature that didn’t want to be bothered. Seemed like a millennia ago that he was in Louisiana. He went home on occasion for birthdays and holidays, but he’d rather stay in his own little section of the world, safe and secluded from anyone that was from his past. Safe from those that would judge based on rumors and half-truths. That didn’t stop him from longing to be with his family, though. Sometimes he’d spend hours on the phone with his mother or his sister – other times he’d write texts or emails. And there was the occasional written and mailed letter he would send – more for his mother than anyone else in the family. Never did he really discuss his feelings in those letters, phone calls or emails. He always spoke the same lie – ‘I’m fine – and sometimes he was believed. But his sister nearly always saw through it, and convinced him to tell her what exactly was on his mind.

Vincent had a funny way of getting the truth out of him too, and he was the only person he ever confided in within the coven itself. Friends delved into his life where as Vincent allowed him to tell things at his own pace, didn’t force or expect him to tell anything that he didn’t want to. Vincent was the reason why he was in Lucidum – well, one of the reasons. Lucidum provided him with the opportunity to be around like-minded people, rather than having to try to go it alone. Witches were stronger in covens, something his grandmother had pressed into his mind ever since he came into his powers. She wanted him to be part of hers’, even, allowing him to come over as often as he wanted to meet her ‘friends’. His mother saw through her mother’s intentions, and pressed him to have a life outside magic. At first, he didn’t know exactly what she meant by that – but when he hit high school and met Annabelle, it all became clear as day to him. In Lucidum, he had the opportunity to be with people who understood magic, and after he joined them, he could no longer imagine life without his powers.

“Boy, is that an understatement,” he said, moving his hand up to his head where he rubbed at his temple, “My magic comes with this nifty little side effect – Schizophrenia – and I am on medication because of it. Happens when I use too much, or not enough, in some cases.” He knew that she probably would have seen him taking one of his pills in the coven house. He’d become dependent on them, having to carry them around and take them as needed. They made things easier, but didn’t erase the problem. They were merely a sugar coat over something bitter and terrible. Made life easier to swallow, but his issues didn’t just go away. And he didn’t expect they ever would. “Yeah, they do. But I don’t think they feel bad about it. I think they just want to make my life more miserable than it already is.” He said with a slight chuckle.

It was the last chuckle he’d get to enjoy as he begun to tell the story. He held back the tears as long as he could – but eventually, with more of the story out there, he began to lose his composure. Tears began to fall towards the end of his recollection. It was clear he missed her even as he spoke about her, a longing in his eyes as he stared into the fire he had ceased teasing it, hands resting in his lap. If she looked closely, Sloan could see him digging his nails into one of his palms, the flesh in them turning red. He’d lost his fight against the tears, it seemed, and he took a deep breath once he was done speaking.

When Sloan spoke, Xander was brought out of his thoughts and he took another breath, wiping away the tears on the back of his hand. He’d stopped digging his nails into his flesh in favor of resting his hands in his lap again. “I doubt that God would praise me for feeling remorse over killing someone… I think I’m damned.” He couldn’t say for sure. Killing was killing though, whether you felt remorse over it or not. He’d broken a commandment, doomed from that point in his life when it came to where his soul would end up. “I didn’t cry for a while after her death. I think it was in the mental ward where I finally started crying about her. About all of it. I knew that once I was let go, I couldn’t go back home. Couldn’t face the people I called friend that viewed me as nothing more than a criminal.” And then there was – “And there were people I killed in prison. By accident. Got to the point where I couldn’t have a cell mate anymore. I spent a lot of time in solitary – voluntarily.” But – “Do you think a killer can be forgiven for the things he’s done? Can he be redeemed for the lives he’s taken?” He asked Sloan without looking at her. He instead looked back into the fire, teased it up and down a log, the fire eating away at it quicker than it should have.
PMEmail
^
Sloan Dysis
 Posted: Mar 31 2017, 09:13 PM
27 posts
puppeted by kenzie
Slo
EST (Canada) she/her
job
Cashier (Thistledown)
species
Mortal
group
Lucidum
sexuality
Confused AF
status
single
age
23
mature
bring em on
You're just a ghost of blissful feelings, a cloud of smoke that I keep breathing
N/A
magic 8 ball



She’d done everything possible to shut down and cut off any kind of communication with her previous coven, but guilt had lingered over leaving her adoptive mother. No matter how she’d allowed everything to happen without interference, had encouraged it even. It had led her to sending a Christmas card to her old house, with only a few words and absolutely no hints at a return address or anything like that. Sloan had even made sure that the card was generic and had nothing to do with the city. Anything she could do to prevent being found by them while still trying to mitigate the guilt that welled up at the thought of just up and leaving the people who had given her a home and a sense of belonging. Repeating that she was better off away from them had been necessary to actually do it. A constant little mantra to keep the nostalgia at bay and to keep her thoughts from thinking that perhaps talking to them would be safe from the distance. It wouldn’t be.

The complete sense of removal and the peace that came with it while in the forest was reassuring and put Sloan surer in her decision to move to a different side of the country. Reassuring that the longing and good memories that had bubbled up were little more than wanting the familiar back, a kind of rose tinted mourning for what she’d felt she lost and insisting that it hadn’t been that bad. But here, in that in between and removed space that all faded away. Her past faded away, stopped tying her down and let Sloan breathe easier, let her feel lighter.

When she’d come to the coven, her past hadn’t been pried into and Sloan had appreciated the fact but she hadn’t been nearly ready to confide in anyone. Not anyone who could talk back anyways. Sloan had a small habit of unloading her thoughts onto the python she had, and he didn’t care so long as he had his warmth and she fed him. Beyond that he seemed content to let Sloan talk at him when she could actually manage to verbalize her thoughts and emotions regarding her previous coven. And it felt a little less crazy than just saying it out loud to no one. Gave her some sense of being normal, of doing something that wasn’t really considered odd or delinquent, because everyone talked to their pets right? Right.

”Fuck. Schizophrenia? That’s hallucinations and… uh … other things?” Her faced scrunched up a bit as Sloan tried to see if she knew anything else about the mental illness. As far as she knew, the witch had never encountered anyone else with schizophrenia and the only implications of it were whatever was in pop culture relating to it. Which all things considered probably wasn’t very accurate. Sure she’d seen Xander taking pills in the house before but they weren’t any she was familiar with and hadn’t ever pried into it. There were prescriptions for thousands of different things, and medication could be used for more than one thing. Xander had never seemed to get any kind of high from them and had assumed the medications were actually meant for treatment of something. ”You’re right, I didn’t word it right. People can be cruel, only caring about themselves and their interests. It’s not enjoyable to be scared so instead of it being their fault or problem it’s better to dump all of that on you.” She agreed, trying to use the right words to try and communicate what she had meant. ”Sorry I’m not the best with trying to make the words mean what I want them to.” A fine example of her lack of eloquence.

Sloan hadn’t had a chance at stopping her tears. She’d hoped that Xander’s story wouldn’t be like hers, but his sounded so much worse. Something that Sloan couldn’t even imagine going through, couldn’t even begin to imagine the guilt and longing, or the blame and the fear. Sloan missed the way Xander’s nails were digging into his palms, too caught up in the tale of his past. But she did close the small gap between them and put her arm behind the other witch, beginning to rub his back in soothing circles. Using just enough pressure for her hand to be a solid presence but still easy to move along his back in wide and unhurried circles. ”I do. If God can’t find something to redeem in you then he’s a shitty god. Like I said, you aren’t monstrous Xander, honestly you’re not.” She reiterated, sincere in her words. It wasn’t hard to see that Xander was remorseful and hadn’t taken joy in the killing, and she doubted he could have really meant killing the girl he loved. ”I’m sure if it’s worth much, but Xander, your aura doesn’t show any kind of monstrosity. It’s not all dark and twisted.” Again with the trouble trying to put her thoughts into the right words. But Sloan had known more monstrous auras, knew the kind of people who probably wouldn’t have been bothered taking a life so long as it was a cost or outcome considered worth whatever could be gained.
PMAIM
^
Xander Grayson
 Posted: Apr 2 2017, 10:03 PM
99 posts
puppeted by J-Chan
N/A
MST Him/His/He
job
Bookstore Clerk
species
Witch
group
None
sexuality
Heterosexual
status
Single
age
25
mature
Yes, bring 'em on.
If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together.
N/A
Firestarter



There was guilt in leaving his family, but the need to get away from them outweighed the guilt. They didn’t need the kind of publicity that was being drawn to their house. Reporter after reporter had come after it all happened, wanting to get statements from his parents and siblings. They’d all been turned away, of course, by butlers and maids hired because the family had had enough. He didn’t blame his parents for not wanting any part in all of that mess. Could be that they’d have disowned him, if they didn’t really love him. His mother made it plain as day that they did with each phone call or visit to the prison or mental ward. His father rarely visited, though, because work had become so demanding. Reporters bothered him at work too, and finally Orry had had it up to here with them all, preferring to stay at the office well into the early hours of the morning. Sometimes he even rented a hotel room for the night, and buried himself in work. Out of all of them, Orry, his father, had taken it hardest. He never spent a lot of time with Xander when the boy was growing up, and when he found out he might never get to, he lost it. Maintained a mental state of mind that was devoted to work, his wife, and remaining children – anything to keep his mind off the guilt he dealt with because of Xander.

Being in the forest reminded him that there was still beauty in the world – and that there were still good people out there who’d see him differently than others. Maybe there was someone who’d see the beauty within Xander – not the hurt or the pain as a lot of people did. People like Sloan who looked passed all that to see the good person beneath it all. People like that were in his coven. He was sitting next to one of them, he knew, and he was appreciative in the company she provided. Calmed him with her presence, even affecting his fire. The fire had died down to sizzling, a glow providing them with enough light to see each other and a bit of what was around them. Isolating and made him feel safe. A strange thing to feel in the forest, perhaps, but it was what he felt at that moment.

Much like with her python, Xander had that same companionship in his black ferret named Oscar. Oscar also provided him with enough time to get the man to safety, giving him a warning squeak when things were going to turn bad for him. Honestly most days he wondered how he survived without such a creature to provide him that safety net. Didn’t think he could go on without him, actually, he’d become so dependent on the creature to aid him when the time came to do so. But like all pets, Oscar would eventually die. He was two now, young for a ferret true, but that was nearly half what a ferret was expected to live to. Only time would tell how long the animal would live. It was the only reality that he had lived for so many years now – things that you love can also die. A sobering truth for anyone to swallow, he often wondered how he got through the day without drinking himself into a stupor.

“Yeah, exactly. Seeing things, hearing things, not being able to eat or sleep, or even function as a proper human being for days at a time,” he said, and breathed in the scent of the burning embers in the pit, a sooty smell that he never quite got enough of, “Can be managed with pills, like the ones I take. The sleep thing, too. I take pills to combat the insomnia sometimes. Don’t always need them, but they help. I actually manage to maintain a normal sleeping pattern most days.” The fire continued to crackle, and he put another log into the pit, a log that had been gathered earlier in the night when he had first come here. More of a small branch in reality, as he had no real method of chopping wood. He’d found large down logs, too, and cut bits of them off with the help of his fire, basically using the fire as a torch and splitting the wood. Snuffed out the burning part with dirt, in case there was any danger of catching something else on fire.

He looked at Sloan with a small smile on his face, tears staining his cheeks, “It means a lot that you’re willing to say them to comfort me. It’s the sentiment that counts.” To him, he didn’t care if someone talked with him about these things or not – what mattered was the words they were willing to say in regards to it. The tears continued to fall from Sloan’s eyes, and he had ceased his own crying with a great amount of effort on his part. The fire rolled over the new log, engulfing it in flame, and began to eat at it with guidance from Xander. It was a way to express his emotions and focus them into something constructive. It beat digging his nails into his flesh again, palms still reddened. At her touch, Xander winced slightly, having never had such contact with anyone outside Annabelle, her sister, or his family. Took a bit of getting used to, but he settled and allowed the touch to continue. “Her name was Annabelle.” He said quietly, going on a tangent.

A thing happened, next, that might not have been expected, but it happened nonetheless. Xander began to make a shape in the air with the fire, his artistic mine bringing Annabelle’s face to life in the flames. When it was done the image settled in mid-air for a moment, all smiles and beauty staring out at him without any life to it at all. A simple image that was her from his memory – almost a still photograph in perfect detail. He lowered his hands and the image fizzled out of existence. “It’s all a matter of perspective, I think. If God sees things the way you do, maybe I’ll have a chance in the hereafter.” Maybe… just maybe he could join Annabelle there… his mind cut the thought before it had a chance to complete. She wouldn’t have wanted that, he knew.
PMEmail
^
Sloan Dysis
 Posted: Apr 12 2017, 10:30 PM
27 posts
puppeted by kenzie
Slo
EST (Canada) she/her
job
Cashier (Thistledown)
species
Mortal
group
Lucidum
sexuality
Confused AF
status
single
age
23
mature
bring em on
You're just a ghost of blissful feelings, a cloud of smoke that I keep breathing
N/A
magic 8 ball




There were some days that Sloan still felt isolated and alone, like running to the other side of the country had done nothing but make her a stranger in a place where she didn't belong. A singular dark spot in a field of colour. Those were the days that the separation she'd been responsible for weighed heavily on her shoulders and psyche. Days the witch felt displaced and unwanted, nothing more than some unwanted presence that couldn't quite fit into the same social space that those around her did.

But here, Sloan was just another shadow moving about the trees. Blending into the world around her as if she belonged there, a shade that lingered. A shade of a lonely girl who had tried so hard to fit in and be loved. Who found some form of solace in this place that felt in between and untethered to anything outside of what was immediately visible. Alone, but belonging. No rose tinted glasses seeing remnants and memories of a life she couldn't return to, and no heavy knowledge that weighed down her mind or spirit. Even with the added company and the glow of the flames kept some of that feeling for the young witch. To Sloan, they still felt like they were in some place distanced from their everyday reality. That the world outside of the light of the fire was inconsequential and separate from them, fading from light to shadow and off into a nothingness.

The rest of the city beyond the tree felt removed and time seemed to be similarly irrelevant at this moment. But time had always had a weird way of moving to Sloan, its passage often meaning little to her. It's slip by unnoticed or disappear in chunks and then slow to an agonizing pace. An ebb and flow that was determined to take her wherever it wanted. With even less to tether her to any semblance of a normal perception of time in San Francisco Sloan had worried about it slipping through her fingers and accidentally falling back into worse habits as a consequence of trying to deal with cutting her old emotional ties. The dependence of something other than her own well-being was needed to make sure Sloan would actually take note of time moving around her. Monty had been the perfect solution, well-being that wasn't her own that relied on the witch's actions. And he didn't need to be fed or tended to nearly as much as another animal because she frankly wouldn't have been able to handle that kind of responsibility and attentiveness needed for different pets.

Mental illness was never something that Sloan had ever really known about, only really gleaning the kind of knowledge that seemed to be commonly held or what was represented in media and pop culture. It was something she admittedly had no real knowledge on and was pretty hapless when confronted with any kind of possibility of mental illness. In reality, she could benefit from knowing more about mental illness, both to better understand those around her and probably gain some insight into her own unhealthy mentalities and coping. "It affects your eating?" The surprise was clear, Sloan hadn't known that that was something that a mental illness like schizophrenia could affect. It seemed odd that something known to affect and distort what someone saw and heard could impact their eating. But again, Sloan really had no idea how schizophrenia worked. Had no idea how most mental illnesses - or physical ones if she were being completely honest - worked. "It's good that they help. Things can get hard without sleeping properly, I can't imagine how much harder not sleeping right must make something like schizophrenia." There were times that the pain in her head or too many stimulants would keep Sloan from sleeping, and how those hours and the times she was expected to function afterward had a way of being extra difficult and frustrating. When lacking sleep made her mind work slower like her head was filled with cotton that thoughts had to get through and how even the smallest of things could spiral a mood downwards.

"Yeah the sentiment, it helps when that gets through to people despite me not getting the words quite right. I tend to have a bit of trouble with that." She commented almost absently. It was a fairly recent trouble because it had always been easier to get her thoughts properly communicated to people that she'd spent most of her time around. The way that friends could easily communicate whole conversations with a few looks. But the people who had known her the best were miles away from Sloan and she had found that it wasn't too uncommon for her to get tripped up trying to convey something. Sloan was glad that Xander had mostly gotten what she'd wanted to be said, that the tone of her words had mostly matched the tone of the conversation. Missing it, or her comments coming off just a tad of kilter usually made things awkward and had her internally berating herself over it.

Quietly her attention was drawn to the flames as a shape took shape. Sloan was silently awed as she watched Xander make a portrait, her hand that wasn't on Xander reaching out slightly and hovering several inches from the flames. An impulse to touch the image that was only halted by the heat of the flames too caught up in the display and the potential harm slipping from her mind for a moment. "She's really pretty." Sloan's hand lowered as the image flickered out of existence and moved to wipe the tears from her face.

Sloan took a moment to consider the perspectives of monstrosity, and of killing. "If there's anyone with their head screwed on right making that decision they'd be an idiot to think you're a monster. I mean even I can see that and my head isn't screwed on quite right." She attempted at some levity, though its effectiveness was questionable. But Sloan hoped the sentiment would come across. She hadn't grown up religious or really considering the perspective of some god. Of course, she believed in kind of afterlife considering mediumship and magic. But what did condemn a person? Was it intent? If it was, Sloan was probably more likely to be damned than Xander, his actions had been accidents but her own discretions hadn't been. And there were plenty of ways to be monstrous without taking a life.
PMAIM
^
Xander Grayson
 Posted: Apr 13 2017, 10:10 PM
99 posts
puppeted by J-Chan
N/A
MST Him/His/He
job
Bookstore Clerk
species
Witch
group
None
sexuality
Heterosexual
status
Single
age
25
mature
Yes, bring 'em on.
If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together.
N/A
Firestarter



Xander preferred being alone some of the time, but he also liked being around people. His condition made it hard to be around people, though, the pressure of being in large crowds sometimes getting to him. It made it difficult to go out shopping for things he needed. A few times he’d asked co-workers to get him some things, and he’d always pay them back. He hated depending on people for things like food and personal items – made him feel as though he couldn’t function in this society. Some days he felt like Sloan did – as though he was someone that wasn’t wanted in the same space as another person. Even felt that way with his coven members, but there was also the feeling that he was a burden on them – friends, co-workers, and other people that knew him. He knew it was one of the many side-effects of his condition, lightened only when others denied that he wasn’t a burden on them. But that was a question he’d not always ask. Such things were too awkward.

Being out in the wilderness brought on a feeling he couldn’t quite describe. Out here, the trees and animals didn’t sit there and judge him for being who he was. Out here, the breeze didn’t assault him with the ‘just get over it’s and the ‘you’re fine, you don’t need medication’s. Out here, he could be himself and use his magic without needing to impress anyone or prove himself. And what was more, the shadows didn’t jump or flee whenever he used his magic. His mother always said it wasn’t a crime to be different, and that if people didn’t accept him for who he was, then they weren’t worth the time he wasted on them. Wise words from a woman who was not only his mother, but his mentor for a lot of years during the time when he was just coming into his powers. The one person in his life that actually sat there and listened, rather than bombarding him with things like ‘you could do a lot better’… Aside from Annabelle, anyway.

Xander wasn’t born this way, unlike a lot of people out there with this type of illness. It was brought on by neglect or overuse of his magic, an odd little quirk that came with his kind of abilities. He knew not every witch had something like this happen to them. Not every one of them had a side-effect of their powers. His mother was plagued by nausea whenever she used her powers too much, and his grandmother succumbed to headaches and bouts of memory loss when she went a long time without using her powers. “Yeah it does,” he said simply, nodding his head a little for more confirmation to the fact. “I don’t know if they’re related,” he brought up the thing about his mother and grandmother, “But my mother would have bouts of nausea from not using her magic, and my grandmother had headaches and bouts of memory loss when she went a long time without using her powers. Do you think it’s a genetic fluke to my powers?” He asked her, as if Sloan had all the answers to whatever troubled him. Didn’t, but he liked to get other people’s opinion where he could.

The image came to life right before his eyes, a perfect recollection, even though he rarely looked at her picture anymore. He often saw her in his dreams and sometimes when he was wide awake. And not a day went by that he didn’t think about her, her memory slipping through his mind as though she were on a cloud. A puffy, fluffy cloud that could hold them both if he wanted it to. Tears flowed freely as the image pieced itself together, coming together like a puzzle would. He held the image for as long as he could, and then let it go, the flame coming down in a rush of heat that made the fire rise brightly, and then fizzle back sizzling and glowing a bit. “Yes, she is.” The words he knew, deep down. Annabelle was beautiful, although he hadn’t said was. As far as he was concerned, she would always be pretty.

Her comment earned her a little laugh, a small smile crossing his features as he looked at her. “I think you have your head on better than I do, Sloan. I’m a mess most of the time.” But just because he was a mess most of the time, didn’t mean that he was hated among the coven members. They were as welcoming as his own family. He looked down into the fire again, asking, “Do you think that we’ll see the people we lost again?” He always did, even before he lost Annabelle. “I just have this feeling that I will see her again. That she’s not really gone.” It seemed like a bleak existence, not being able to move on from Annabelle, but he had this feeling that he would see her again, that she wasn’t completely gone. He knew there were angels that walked amongst them, knew the stories that spoke of their actions on this earth. But he also knew, too, that demons walked amongst them. He swallowed, hard, at that thought, and shook it out of his mind.

“I just… I know there are angels that walk amongst us in human form. Could she be one?” He hoped so, he really did. The possibility of her being a demon didn’t set right with him. No one who was that good could ever be a demon… could they?
PMEmail
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