[ ACTIVE/CLOSED ]

[persuaderoll]

Who: Daylen Amell & Anders (& Dark the labrador)
Where: Daylen's apartment
When: Late evening
What: LOOK I CAN CAST A SPELL
Warnings: Terrible, and possibly suggestive, jokes

Daylen is pacing.

The pacing is making Dark nervous, he can tell, the normally sedate Labrador following his movements with worried eyes and wagging his tail slowly.

They've seen enough strange things already, though. Shared odd memories, seen snake statues attack people, heard people talk about being dead -- all sorts.

Still, this feels like a little too much weird in his personal life for Daylen. He isn't meant to start developing these... quirks himself. He's a lawyer, not some... super hero from a comic or something!

That, and everything feels a little odd after Anders stayed on his sofa following the meeting. Or maybe that's just Daylen. It had been nice to have company, after all, normally the flat was just himself and Dark and it was much livelier with Anders around. More animated. More like a home should be, he supposes, rather than the bland empty slate with minimal personal touches it seemed otherwise.

Or maybe he's just hung up on Anders implying they weren't friends, and wondering if they'll go back to whatever that not-friend state is now he isn't trapped in Daylen's apartment with an injury.

He sighs and checks his watch again, shooting Dark a frown. Dark wags his tail supportively.

Maybe Daylen should stick to dogs instead of people, much simpler.

Comments

[stillshrill]

In theory, Anders should understand it will take him longer to get anywhere on crutches than he would normally need. In practice, he consistently underestimates. It's definitely well past the promised half-hour travel time when he turns up at Daylen's place. He has also taken time to tie a red piece of yarn around the neck of a bottle of Caladryl, creating a lopsidedly festive bow, and this he presents upon arrival.

"It's a hostess gift, really," he says when Daylen would demur. "Please, I insist you accept. Even if what you're about to show me is not any kind of a rash."

[persuaderoll]

Daylen has loosened off his top two shirt buttons by the time Anders arrives, mussed his hair from combing worried fingers through it over and over.

He sighs at the sight of the bottle, works his jaw a little as he summons up patience before taking it and moving to stand aside so Anders can pass.

"I haven't got a rash, Anders, I assure you -- I don't need any kind of medical treatment."

[stillshrill]

Anders hobbles over to his favorite couch. "We could pretend you do," he offers with a sly smile.

[persuaderoll]

He blinks at that, frozen for a moment watching Anders hobble away before he frowns and slowly swings the door closed -- blinking awkwardly before shifting uncomfortably.

"No thank you, Anders," he says carefully. Daylen looks at the bottle with a frown, considers it before he paces over and sets it on a side table. "How fares your ankle?"

[stillshrill]

Settling himself comfortably among the cushions, Anders lays his crutches aside and pats the couch to encourage Dark. "Hm? Oh, that. No changes. In another couple of weeks I can get the cast replaced with a stylish boot. Look, if you're going to turn down my offers of perfectly good medicine and perfectly good recreation, I think we'd better cut to the chase."

[persuaderoll]

Daylen sighs a little tiredly, watches Dark jump up -- tail wagging enthusiastically -- and proceed to drape himself all over Anders.

"I --" he cuts himself off, letting an awkward silence hang before turning to pace away and finger-combing his hair again. "As you say, then," he continues smoothly, as if the hesitation never happened. "I apologise if I appear to be wasting your time. This is about the... numbers, the memories and the other people suffering the same thing. You recall some of them have ended up with more than just memories, with strange... manifestations in skill?"

[stillshrill]

Anders hugs the labrador with unselfconscious affection. They're very good friends by now. "Yes, I recall a man who could make beer appear out of thin air. Also a girl who says she's got water magic -- can shoot it with the force of a firehose."

[persuaderoll]

Beer? That catches Daylen off guard a bit -- it seems a whole lot less mysterious as a power to be able to summon beer of all things -- but he gives a nod regardless. The principle applies. The skill is not a natural one.

"Well, it is happening to me too."

Which, as he says it, feels a little less dramatic than it perhaps should be. He watches Dark burrow against Anders for a moment, rolling with doggy affection in the hope of stomach hugs, then lifts his eyes to Anders again. He hesitates only a second before holding out a hand and frowning. The shield shimmers into place.

It would probably be a better trick if looked more interesting than just an odd, slightly purple glow but it is what it is.

[stillshrill]

Anders has begun to scratch idly at Dark's chest and belly. As he watches Daylen conjure up a kind of violet light, the scratching trails off to a slow and irregular pass of the hand over fur. Anders' attention is fixed on the strange glow.

"Can you do that sitting down?" His first impulse is to want to stick his hand into the purple, to see what happens, but he can't exactly leap up to do that.

[persuaderoll]

He isn't really sure what reaction he expected (surprise? fear? questions about when and how it happened? disbelief?) but that question wasn't it. Daylen lets out a huff of laughter, eyes trailing over the barrier around him before he gives a slight shrug and a faint smirk.

"I can do it in any position you wish." He jerks an eyebrow, takes a hesitant step closer. "It moves with me. I suppose it's like... a forcefield, something you might find in science-fiction. I'm not really sure how it works, it just... does."

[stillshrill]

Sometimes Anders seriously wonders about Daylen Amell. Like: why is it that Daylen can sling double entendre left and right, but when Anders says anything even faintly suggestive -- and let's face it, Anders' humor relies heavily on such turns of phrase -- Daylen turns all fussy and schoolmarmish? Sometimes Anders wonders whether Daylen is the only person allowed to say such things because he's specially privileged, and heaven forbid such plebeian types as Anders dare to address him as an equal. Daylen can be generous to a fault, and Anders has had no qualms about accepting his help; convalescing on his couch is only the most recent and extreme example. But maybe Anders ought to be having qualms. Maybe he ought to see Daylen's generosity as a form of condescension. Noblesse oblige.

So Anders doesn't reach for the conversational equivalent of low-hanging fruit, for once. He only renews his purposeful scratching of Dark -- reassured by the dog's lack of concern, incidentally, in regard to the purply glow radiating off Daylen -- and says: "Well? If you sit down, will it scorch the upholstery?"

[persuaderoll]

The hesitance builds up again at that, something wary in him -- like a nervous prey animal assessing if something is safe. He smooths it over quickly, though, shakes his head and closes the distance the rest of the way.

"Dark," he says softly, and the Labrador hefts itself off the sofa to allow its master space before backing up to watch them. Daylen hasn't let any people touch it before, and the idea makes him nervous. "Be careful," he warns, as if there is a non-careful way to poke at a magical barrier. He winces at himself, drops his eyes away for a moment then shoots Anders a pleading look. "I haven't -- shown anyone else. Well, of course I haven't, I haven't anyone else to show aside from Dark -- the point is I have no idea what will happen so... but I know how to turn it off, now, or... make it stop."

He forgoes sitting beside Anders, because sitting makes it harder to throw himself across the room or leap into action if this all goes wrong, and instead moves to linger closer -- and he feels like he's building himself up for something terrible to happen and him having to call the hospital and then pretend Anders has had an electric shock or something ridiculous because of course he's imagining worse case scenarios.

Daylen holds out a hand to Anders warily, watches the barrier move with it, and feels suddenly like he's in some terrible film only he has no idea what genre it is. Some TragiComedyFantasy mishmash and he swears if he kills Anders via weird purple glowing shield this will be the turning point where he suddenly becomes the tragic villain or something. The thought makes him laugh nervously.

[stillshrill]

Anders reaches out in a very E.T., phone home fashion, feeling oddly self-conscious about it now he's had time to think about it, because what if nothing happens? (He hasn't even got any Reese's Pieces. He can't fit Daylen into a bicycle basket, either. E.T. is no guide at all. It only reminds Anders of aliens, and Gerald, and nostril probes.)

Something does happen, though, when their hands touch. No electric shock, no electric anything, but there's the nauseating thrum Anders has come to recognize as echo, what the network calls it. He remembers this glowy thing Daylen is doing.

"It's magic," he says, dry-mouthed. "It's a protection, it's ... an arcane shield. That's what it is. But it doesn't come to people naturally, it has to be taught --" Because what he remembers is learning this magic, learning it and feeling very resentful of the man teaching him, and feeling put-upon, as if he had much better things he could be doing.

But if Anders was taught it, shouldn't Anders be able to do it, too?

[persuaderoll]

Anders is all right.

Anders is all right and Daylen crumples to the floor in relief, braces himself on his hands and knees as he tries to bring the adrenaline rush under control. The spell winks out and he takes a few slow breaths, looking sideways as Dark slinks over to lick at him nervously.

He fixes his arms around the Labrador and tries to slow the panic.

"Oh thank god, when it first happened I -- I didn't mean to do it, I just didn't want to be hurt, and I was worried -- if it happened again..." Daylen makes a frustrated sound, turns his face into Dark's fur and tries to focus on slowing his heart down. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made you come here but... thank you." He takes a deeper breath, schooling himself, then looks up warily again. His expression is a little more open now, nerves dimming but the faint traces of fear still lurking. "You recognised it?" he prompts, one hand petting at Dark as the dog silently tolerates the attention.