'CAUSE I'M BROKEN

[axegirlfriend]

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.))

Comments

[catholicisms]

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. )

[moderatelymaladjusted]

[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?

[catholicisms]

( 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.

[moderatelymaladjusted]

[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?