logsinthenight | 'CAUSE I'M BROKEN

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'CAUSE I'M BROKEN

characters: Remington, Matt, Quentin, Coraline, Aziraphale, Jason Grace, Wanda, and OPEN to anyone!
location: the church
date/time: Throughout September, following the announcement of the church’s desecration.
content: Everyone’s working together to get the church back in order!
warnings: N/A

[Entering the church, you’ll see that Remington is already assessing all the damage firsthand. As he moves around, he places damages pieces of furniture in groups depending on what appears to be their level of damage: minor, moderate, and major. There’s plenty of head-scratching, of course, and if you’re carrying any supplies, he gestures to one area he seems to have set up as a makeshift tool bench.]

Hey, um, hi! Thanks for coming. This is really a mess, isn’t it? So it’s…kind of all hands on deck at the moment. Let me know if you have any questions or need help getting started.

[He’ll advise anyone who needs direction based on their expressed skill level or areas of expertise from anything to sorting through debris to determine what is or isn’t usable in its current state, to minor fixes, to marking items that need complete reconstruction.]

Don’t throw out anything; I already know what I want to do with any leftover scraps. Just put them all in that empty crate over there.

[He must’ve managed to commandeer one from the general store.]

((OOC: Feel free to make your own toplevels! I’ll be placing my own for Remington, so it can be handwaved that he’s already given your character a task if they need one to get themselves started.))

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[Yes, finally. Something tangible to sink his magic in to and to just focus on, that isn't going to feel as unsatisfactory as punching a pillow repeatedly. Research on this place was going nowhere, and not fast, because those books the librarian had provided were huge. Well, some of them.

But this, rebuilding something. Getting to mend things, that would be actually useful to people (and maybe to that spirit that apparently lived in the basement). That was a idea he would get behind, and after getting the task of starting the fixing in the far west corner, Quentin starts sorting through the rubble. Sitting crossed-legged on what's left of the floor and in a little cleared circle, he starts sorting through everything near, placing it in neat piles depending on what the piece tells him it wants to be.]

Edited 2019-09-18 08:14 (UTC)

( Matt, for his part, finds repairs of the church more frustrating than empowering. and not just because he can't ultimately do that much, he hates that it's in such a state in the first place. his sad catholic boy soul can't handle the destruction of a church, though he's admittedly warmed by so many people determined to fix it.

he can hear Quentin at work, and while he can't admit to understanding what he's doing, sorting through rubble feels vaguely like something he could help with. ) What are you doing? ( he wonders, standing just beside Quentin and frowning like he's trying to make sense of what he can't see. ) I don't suppose you need a second pair of hands.

( not eyes... but hands he's got. )

Uhm.

[This next piece is just a piece of a wall, and there's just so many of those and they all just give off the magical vibe that they want to be a wall again. Which is-- not at all helpful when the whole church was made up of them and Quentin puts it in the pile of bricks to his left before craning his neck back to look at the stranger.

Frowning and hands by his side, this looks like someone who might be helpful. And Quentin waves his hand at the rubble.]

I'm trying to get all of this sorted in to things that I can actually do something about? But-- there's just so much of it, you know? But yeah. Sure, I could always use a hand. Or two. Any hands you'd want to lend would be appreciated. Very much.

[He says that last part with feeling, because magic really isn't the fix-all he'd thought it would be. Usually, it ruins more than it helps. But he can do the minor mending as long as he has the pieces to put together and more hands, means more pieces.]

It's easier if you sit, but-- you don't have to?

( Matt has nothing against sitting, for the record, he was just figuring out if his help was wanted before plunking down next to Quentin. though, frankly, Matt is not above sitting down and rather forcing someone to allow him to help by sheer social pressure, it's just that he figures he doesn't need to play mind games in a situation as simple as this one. thanks for that, Matty...

sitting on the floor actually seems pretty natural to him — it's the position he takes whenever he meditates. besides, he doesn't have any of his fancy lawyer suits here in the afterlife, the simple slacks and button-ups he's found for himself won't be any worse for the wear for sitting on the ground. )

What piles are you making? ( Matt is carefully picking up pieces from each pile to observe the feel of them, and while he can sort of gather without touching that there's certain sizes and materials in each pile, he can't just admit that. so Quentin will have to explain it to him, despite the fact he can figure it out on his own. he's still playing the blind act, at least for now. )

[It's only when Matt sits down that it clicks in his head- sure he'd seen Matt around the church, wearing dark sunglasses even in the dark but really, some people wore those as some strange sort of fashion statement and Quentin was awful with everything fashion related. Except, this guy sits down weird and is touching all the piles. Oh!]

You can't see. [Which, really, is a stupid thing to say, because Matt is probably well aware of this and there's no one else around he could have been talking to and Quentin hunches his shoulders before realizing that Matt can't see that either. Oh! Again.]

Uhm. So, I've mostly been trying to sort them in to piles that might go together? Like puzzle pieces. Because once I have all the pieces I can-- [okay, magic. Not a big deal in this place, right?] magically mend it? I'm pretty good at fixing things.

( Matt smiles the patient smile of a man who has been reminded he is blind by about 89.99% of the people he's ever met, and nods. ) What gave me away? ( while it is at least distantly frustrating to have his disability pointed out to him on the regular, Matt knows there's no ill intent behind it. he doesn't take it personally, it's just something people don't expect until presented with it.

the magic mention is still a bit of a hard pill for him to swallow, though not as bad as it could be. there are spirits walking among them, they're in some eternally dark afterlife, and apparently he died before he realized his kung fu mentor had been right about magic all along. Matt is forcing himself to be more open to the concept, it does him no good to do anything less. )

Is it difficult? Do you need anything besides the raw material? ( Matt has decided he's gotten a good enough sense of the pile and has started sorting — and for someone who can't see, he does a decent job of matching material and size of what Quentin's already started. ) If you don't mind me asking.

It was really just-- [And Quentin snaps his mouth shut, because that was probably just a rhetorical question and there's really no one who needs to know that it's mostly because Matt is wearing sunglasses, in the dark, inside a church, like he's Neo. Only, without the coat.] Nevermind. Uhm, for magic?

[Because maybe Matt didn't hear that? As if being blind and being deaf are two sides of the same coin, when he knows perfectly well that it isn't. Knows that dean Fogg was no less of a powerful magician, just because the Beast tore his eyes out. He clears his throat and tries again, going back to sorting through the debris when Matt does.]

I don't mind? It's-- no, I just need the raw materials. I. I mean, I pretty good at mending things? With magic? So, just finding all the pieces is really all I need. In theory. I've never actually tried to mend anything like this before.

( Matt is actually miserable when he's down a second sense, so no, he did hear. he's not deaf. it's more of a matter of having no concept of magic or how it works. popular culture suggests magic needed accouterments; wands, spells, ingredients. he's simply trying to understand how Quentin's works, keeping an open mind to a reality that before Beacon seemed impossible to him.

even if he's trying to keep an open mind, it's pretty hard for him to understand how the broken pieces they're sorting through could simply magically knit themselves back together. it's a shame he won't be able to watch, that removes him slightly from the process, enough that he could hold onto a sliver of doubt if he wanted to. )

Is this a bigger project than you're used to, or do you mean in general? ( that seems like a hell of a thing to wing, but Matt doesn't know how magic works. maybe winging things is a part of the deal. )

[Still sorting and he's almost got a door. Almost has all the pieces for it, anyway and he turns to look at Matt as if that actually matters to someone's who's blind. Matt's doing a pretty good job of sorting through the debris, though. There's that? Clearing his throat, Quentin says-]

I'm kind of just used to small things? Like chairs or roof shingles or shit like that, trying to fix this place? Wow, I mean, I'm glad I'm not the only one here, because there's no way I could do even half of this and not burn out or fall over or something.

[And he's just about to invite Matt to see him do the magic, when - again - he notices the dark glasses. Right. So no. But maybe Matt can feel it anyway, when Quentin let's his hand hover over the nearest pile of rubble, twisting his fingers together in a complex pattern of shapes and the pile rises up in to the air. Hovering, moving in circles around each other until they each find the piece they're supposed to be connected to. Quentin draws his fingers up tighter, palms flat and out towards the miniature cyclone of wooden pieces and he makes them connect, makes the pieces feel just where they belong and their connection flares up in a bright light as they reassemble slowly, floating midair.]

( thanks for noticing, Quentin!! actually, don't notice, Matt much prefers when people doesn't notice how uncannily good he is at things he should struggle with. hopefully Quentin doesn't pay him much more mind or he might have to sort incorrectly to throw him off. and Matt would rather not, since they're trying to repair the church that matters so much to him.

it's true, he can't exactly see magic. though it's not true to say he can't perceive anything about it. he can sense the pieces lifting and moving, clattering against each other until they levitate neatly through the air. it's bizarre enough that Matt pauses to just listen and focus, trying to make sense of what seems nonsensical to a man who has only ever lived in an unmagical existence befor ehe ended up here.

Matt pauses, head tilted like a confused golden retriever. ) Did you repair a piece? ( it's not exactly a guess, but it's phrased as one. ) Is it safe to touch? ( he laughs at the absurdity of that statement. ) I apologize if that is as dumb a question as it sounds.

[Eyes never leaving the almost repaired door, not even to cast a look at Matt over his shoulder, Quentin says quietly-]

It's done-- not completely done yet? But. It's not dangerous, and yeah. You can touch it. If you try and touch it now, you might feel magic, though. It shouldn't't-- I'm the one doing this, so it shouldn't hurt you in any way. But. It might feel weird? Or you can wait and just, you know, touch the door once I'm done?

[The pieces are slotting together in slow motion, moving between each other as Quentin moves his hands carefully and when he talks, the pieces slow down. Touching it might feel a bit like touching a live-wire, but it doesn't hurt. The feeling of all the hairs on your body standing on end as your skin tingles.]

That doesn't sound like a dumb question at all. I mean, it's magic. My mind was pretty blown the first time I saw it. [Blown away, and he'd been the one to do it, which only made it feel so much bigger, like the first step on the path to an adventure. That hadn't been wrong, but. Also, it had been pretty terrible.]

I'll wait. ( though his sorting has notably slowed to a trickle, distracted with the sound of something that is truthfully very difficult to comprehend without his eyesight. it requires more focus to track what's happening with all his other senses; magic is not something easily detected, he's finding, just like the spirits in Beacon.

that said, he's sort of tempted to touch it, like a child warned not to touch wet paint. he can't help it, he's curious as to what it will be like, especially since he can't actually watch what's happening. )

So you haven't always been aware of your magic? When did you learn about it? ( that question might be a little personal, though, not intentionally. Matt is just curious about how Quentin's world works, magic included, that's all. )

[It takes more concentration than he's used to, but Quentin manages (barely) to keep up the spell and keep talking to Matt at the same time, fingers almost cramping from holding the same position for so long and the magic feel slow, like a tickle and not a stream as he urges it in to the broken pieces of the door.]

Uh, no? I-- I had no idea, growing? I mean, I hoped? I learned. Other kinds of magic. But--
[And now the edges, fine-grained and delicate like this and Quentin twists his fingers a little, making the edges line up smoothly.]

I didn't know about. About this kind of magic. Until-- until I about 24?

( Quentin, just tell him to shut up if you need to, Matt would understand. he's just a talker, okay?? it'd probably help Matt to actually sort more pieces of debris if he would just stop talking, he just can't. he's fascinated, trying to make sense of a concept that seemed impossible until just recently.

Matt can't quite relate to not understanding abilities until late into adulthood. he's had his super senses since radioactive waste got dumped on his face when he was 9. it makes him wonder about the magic in Quentin's world, if it was something latent or something anyone with knowledge could access. )

That late? Interesting. ( Quentin doesn't sound particularly old, so it seems like a more recent development. which matches up with his mention of not doing anything on this scale before. ) I think most kids want to believe in magic. Adults, less so, at least in my experience. I'm not sure why.

[The door mends, slowly, carefully, because it wants to be whole again and Quentin and his magic is really just reminded it about this, reminding it of what it used to be and the magic shimmers dully in the golden glow of all the lanterns in the room as he releases it and the door smacks back down to the ground.

He turns more fully towards Matt.]

I, uh, am probably not the best to ask about that? I was still believing in magic when. When I was kind of lured in to magic school and shown that I'd been right all along? It wasn't-- I didn't live in a cupboard or, you know, find a magic clock to walk through? It was--

[It was following the pages of a book that couldn't exist in to an dark, dirty alley in Brooklyn and exiting on to a sprawling lawn in upstate New York, finding Eliot on a sign, telling him he was late like he was some kind of White Rabbit for Quentin to follow. It was weeks, months, years of hard work. Hard work and hellish nightmares of saving the world so many times over, saving the world, saving his friends, saving everyone else, but-- and the books always made it sound so easy. Life wasn't.]

It was school? But, uh, with magic. So. [he clears his throat] What, eh, did you do? Before?

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'CAUSE I'M BROKEN

Quentin Coldwater | ota

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warning - mentioning violence

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