+ proselytize

/ˈpräs(ə)ləˌtīz/ (verb): to convert or attempt to convert (someone) from one religion, belief, or opinion to another. "The program did have a tremendous evangelical effect, proselytizing many." Tim Carver, mid thirties, professional charmer.

[steelandmagic-blog]

( yaaaaaaaassss )

literally im staring at the starter list like THE TEAM, THE TEAM, THE,

[steelandmagic-blog]

aporters:

“Lives. Lived… will live.    Dies……  Died…… will die. “

Her head lolls drunkenly with the beat of each word and she raises the bottle to take another generous swig.

All the better to contemplate her own mortality and the temporal mechanics of it all.

A knee nudges her shoulder, sways the forearm that he has braced on it with the motion.

"Is that a precognition, or are you just thinking out loud?"

He's asking with a mix of real curiosity and teasing,  smile tugging at his lips, just the tiniest amount.

[steelandmagic-blog]

-

[rpfunstuff]

Bioshock Infinite Starters

"All I had were questions. But questions get you killed."

"Are you afraid of god?"

"Do you think…it’s possible to redeem the kind of things that we’ve done?"

"Give a man a little power; he falls in all kinds of love with himself."

"Go back to when he was born…and I’ll smother the son of a b*tch in his crib."

"Hello yourself. Keep your hands where I can see them."

"I appreciate a lady who appreciates VALUUUE!"

"I made it very clear that I don’t believe in the exercise."

"I’m not going on any walk with you. Your reputation is well established."

"If I get caught, it’s gonna be a very long time before we see each other."

"If we don’t watch out, we’re going to find ourselves in a kind of trouble you’ve never imagined."

"If you’re going to be a sore loser, then I shan’t do this again."

"Lives. Lived. Will live. Dies. Died. Will die."

"My debts were many. My options were few."

"Odd isn’t it? The way we finish each other’s sentences…"

"One doesn’t expect one’s corpse to look so…. lifeless."

"Stop asking what when the delicious question is when.”

"The only difference between past and present is semantics."

"There’s a world of difference between what we see, and what is."

"Time rots everything. Even hope."

"We swim in different oceans but land on the same shore."

"What I do, I do for love! What lion does not cringe to see their cub in pain?"

"What is this place? What are you planning to do to me?"

"What’s done is done. What’s done…WILL be done."

"When the body cries out, the spirit listens."

"With just a whisper, they’re all yours."

"You don’t want to be here when he gets here."

"You think a dip in the river is gonna wash away the things I’ve done?"

[aporters-blog]

.steelandmagic

There’s a stack of anti-theft magnets sitting on the dresser. Y’know. The kind that usually deter people from shoplifting.   …Usually.

Ash lobs another one onto the dresser — a little too hard and it hits the walls and falls back behind it.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the bedroom floor, two rather big piles of clothes next to her. Picking a shirt from the pile she holds it up to herself trying to decide if she actually likes it or not.

Oh, well. Waste not, want not.   …or something like that.

Humming along to the music playing on her phone dock she gets a bit into it dances in place throws the next sweatshirt into the done pile a ways in front of her more emphatic than necessary. maybe sings a bar or two as she grabs the next article  ( quiet and maybe just a little endearingly off-key ) gets a little more into her little dance  ( maybe gets a little louder, a little because she’s alone    whats the harm? )

[steelandmagic-blog]

There's a row of neatly arranged shoes by the entrance hall-- --There're two more shoes being added to them, there's an arm braced on the wall for balance. Then, there's a hand, shoved through already disheveled black hair.

Tim glances in the direction of upstairs, noting  Ash's presence and general mood almost by instinct.

For a half second, he considers stopping by the kitchen for two mugs of coffee, but he catches a stray thought from her  that involves fabric, so instead he swings by the freezer on his way up, grabs the pint of ice cream he's been holding off on using, and two spoons. Headed for the stairs in his stocking feet means he can hear her music, the faintest bit, and he takes extra care to be slow and quiet on the steps up.

He's pretty sure he's made it to the doorway all right,  leans against the doorframe for a moment with a trademark grin on his face, takes in the situation with ease. 

After a moment, he tosses one of the spoons onto the  done pile. says "Hey, you," and waits to see if he's  actually managed to startle her.

(Not that startling her is that rare an event.)

[steelandmagic-blog]

He's not one for nightmares. Don't get him wrong--the life he leads, he's more than entitled to his fair share. The simple fact of the matter, though, is that he just doesn't get them. 

Which is probably what makes this so terrifying. He can remember with clarity the handful of nightmares he's suffered over the years, remembers the spate that came with Missouri's death, remembers facing down his own parents, grossly distorted and bloated to tens of times greater than their real heights and weights, remembers scrabbling desperately for the approval of an unknown audience that he could never impress, and now--well. Now he's got another nightmare to add to the list that'll play out at the slightest provocation. (Okay, so chances are he won't even think of them again until the next time he snaps awake, but if a guy can't be melodramatic directly after a nightmare, when can he be?)

Ash's grumble at his side pulls him out of his own mind, out of the insanely complicated task of making certain his nightmare hasn't disturbed anything vital; with a quick blanket goodbye to all the broadcasting psychics, he rolls onto his side, takes a half second (a half second longer, a half second shorter than he should) to make sure that he won't be elbowed in the face, or otherwise treated to a trademark Ash dispensation of violence if (when) he reaches for her, and then there's no more real avoiding the fact that he's less hugging her and more clinging to her.

Of course, this doesn't mean that he doesn't get hit in the face, because Ash is as restless waking as she is sleeping, and her attempts at shoving herself up to a sitting position  put her hand in prime territory to reacquaint itself with his face.

"Gh!!" 

"Whu..?"

Okay. so his eye is watering, his girlfriend is a mix of confused, sleepy, and alarmed, and he's pretty sure he's going to roast to death if he actually spends the rest of the night glued as close to her as possible, Simon is going to have to come find their corpses, he's never going to (posthumously) live it down, but--Ash is blinking closer to awareness at him, and he clears his throat, rasps "Hey," at her, and then she's wriggling her way to a more comfortable position, and he thinks--this is probably one of the better wake up calls he's had.

[ofrunning-deactivated20180130]

Finally. 

The itch started up roughly two minutes ago, but now it’s resolved into a prickle of eye-contact confirmation. Thank God; other psychics make him antsy for a gaggle of reasons. Ah, but if he went into broadcasting blatant specifics on it all now, what a boring introduction that would be!

He looks away from the indistinct silhouette at the end of the wide avenue, focuses again on the teeming crowd of uncomfortable tourists passing in front of him. “Don’t be shy, ladies and gents—I’m certainly not! Cheating wife? Greedy brother? Dog ate your homework? Gambling problem? Bet’cha I can guess it, and fix it!—bet you a tenner.”

Did you cross the Pond, or didn’t you, drawls his inner commentary, too-casual, as if he’s not being surveyed while sitting atop a banged up card-table he stole from the back of a Goodwill. He repositions his shitty cardboard sign—The Doctor, Instant Expert (& Travelling Psychic)—with all the pride of a stage magician readjusting a top-hat. No need for top-hats when you’ve got a badly-pressed secondhand suit jacket, right?

The transient aesthetic makes sure that  no one wants to look at him…well, aside from the bloke ambling over whose radar he set off. Ooh, radar, nice one; he doesn’t usually think of it like radar. More like a radio, actually, with the occasional not-normal playing hell with his reception. A girl passes by, schoolgirl in a skirt, too young, trying hard not to check him out. He winks. Genial arseholery is the best part of this schtick.

"Looking for someone?" She hurries on; the bloke (T..im? Definitely a Tim, yes.) will have to answer the question in her stead. Doc doesn’t turn to look, not yet [and he wraps that up in the overall showmanship, buries the true extent of his nerves’ agitation behind a nice, big wall of ego].

[steelandmagic-blog]

An innocous enough looking man is strolling casually through a crowd, hands in jean pockets and bags under electric-blue eyes; unruly hair rustles in the breeze as though attempting to break free of what little restrain it's been coaxed into, and premature laughter lines snake across his temples. Everything about him suggests that he is a people person, fundamentally incapable of being met with any reaction except for pleasure at his company.

He twists sinuously past person after person, expression genial--nothing gives away the stone cold purpose under the exterior except for the humming intensity of the telepathic Link he has open, voices flitting in and out of focus as the radar sweeps across and past them seemingly without even a pause for consideration. Somewhere in the Link, a woman chastises a teen, 'voice' cracking like a whip, barely hiding her fondness for the subject of her ire. 

He stoops midstep as a wallet drops from the purse of a woman ahead of him--he's back up and tapping on her shoulder probably even before she's gotten three more steps; he spins the wallet up between his fingers, explains "You dropped this, ma'am," and tucks it into her unresistant hands, is on his way again before she can even formulate a response.

He's getting closer to the person he'd set out to find, and his mental tinge takes on a decidedly softer tinge--some of the scalpel sharp focus slides into an open greeting, in case the subject of this morning's foray is listening for that.

He draws to a stop next to a man in an ill-fitting secondhand suit jacket, drops him an open grin, and pulls his hand out of his pocket to drag it through his hair. Coincidentally, this ruins the semblance of control he'd managed to keep over what his hair does, and that--well, it strips him of probably around a decade when combined with the easy openness of his expression.

"Yeah, actually," he agrees, leaning casually against a side of the rickety card table that--The Doctor--has made his perch. "Neat how you knew. The name's Tim Carver, good ta meetcha, Doc."

If he's listening, the sheer chaos of the background noise Tim carries around might be a bit much, so Tim carefully wraps a mental kerchief around the mental speakers before he asks "Been here long?"

[steelandmagic-blog]

l ays down okay mom wants my attention be back later

[steelandmagic-blog]

apparently we're doing dinner! see y'all in a while~

[steelandmagic-blog]

l ays down okay mom wants my attention be back later

[steelandmagic-blog]

wHAT A NICE NUMBER

[steelandmagic-blog]

Hide and Go Seek (Psychic Style)

[archivedectopicfantast]

"One group of psychics…" Kichuna considers out-loud. "Only one?"

"Shit, I knew this world was low on magic, didn’t know it was also inept on the mind-scape. Must be a new addition to this world…" At this point, she’s thinking out loud to herself. "Fer it to take this long fer an organization to form… Filled with teenagers." The amusement returns.

She’s probably only brushing up against her twenties, if her voice, build, and mannerisms are any indication.

And on the mention of reality-bending, two small lumps perk up against the hood. “Reality-bender…?”

She finally reaches up to pull off her hood, revealing a pair of feline ears; one chipped, both holding runic earrings. “Always useful, given you know what the fuck you’re doing. I’ve only known a few, but I know enough t’know that’s some serious shit you’re dealing with.”

She pulls down her face-mask, revealing black-painted lips, a feline nose, muzzle, and teeth equivalent to well-organized needles. “A few rips of reality, prob’ly explains the uptake’ve weird shit happening these past few years. Hate to see what’ll happen if it gets too unstable.”

"I ain’t from here, before you ask again." A low chuckle.

[steelandmagic-blog]

"Global," he does add quietly, but that's the only correction he makes. It's far more interesting to watch her muse. Tim himself is in his thirties, but it's hardly an important enough point to interrupt again.

His eyes are drawn at once to the hood, to the strange fingers, and--yeah, okay, that's a bit of a shock. And that's the understatement of the year. She'd already definitely IDed herself as something foreign with the whole 'this world' thing, but. That kinda puts the icing on the cake.

His reaction to his own startling is a rueful shake of his head--really, he should have long since gotten used to shocks. He hasn't, though. He does his level best not to stare! (the memory of Missouri's voice rings through his head, and he mentally shakes himself. People are people, no matter their characteristics.)

"Only what he can touch, for as long as he's touching, but Laurent says he may grow beyond that." 

A pause, then one side of his mouth is tugging up into a genuine half-grin. "Mind me asking where your not here is, seein' as it's so--" he pauses for a half second, humorous "--not here? I've got nothing but time to kill."

[aporters-blog]

[ of course there’s a pro! he is shirtless right now. it’s super circumstantial but it’s a pro! also she gets laid regularly by someone she actually knows.

…while he’s shirtless.

also a pro! ]

so true. it’s only so long before you’re old, gross, and alone.

[ it was only so long before ash dropped the nice act. she stands up and shuffles over to the sink, pulling out the trash can. she wrestles with it to get it out and waddles it over to him, her knees banging against it. kicking the last couple inches she turns  around and goes to the fridge and starts rooting through it. ]

at the rate you’re going might as well get rid of shirts all together~

[ the smirk is implied because she delivers with complete sincerity you can only expect from her. glancing over she catches sight of the gallon of milk she left out. reaching over and grabbing it, she smells it and quickly shoves it back in the fridge, nose wrinkled.

there’s no way she can wait for coffee, what with her eyes feeling like theyre rotting in her skull; so energy drinks are going to have to do. grabbing two cans, she throws one in the freezer, the inside still vaguely smelling like monster from the last time she forgot she put one in and, well… boom.

cracking it open she starts drinking it faster than someone her size should. she walks over to the coffee maker and throws it on for him — the absolute least she can do for him. look at that. ash actually grew some basic human decency.

…yet another con to add to the list of dating tim. ]

[steelandmagic-blog]

[--If he wasn't shirtless while she was getting laid, there might be something wrong with that picture. (Such as the risk of indecent exposure. You know.)

Her comment sparks a laugh, and now he's kneeling in a pile of quickly cooling liquids and shards of porcelain, giggling before he's had anything approaching the right amount of coffee to deal with any of this. Life is shockingly good.

And glory hallelujah, she brought over the trashcan. His shirt goes right on in, along with the towel and the shards of porcelain. He never pretended to be the sort to do silly things like keep towels he'd used first thing in the morning. That requires higher brain function. He doesn't have that.

The soft plink plink plink is the only sound to accompany Ash's movements, and Tim forgets for a moment to do anything but crouch with his hands braced on his thighs and watch her. 

Because his heart does a stupid warm thing whenever there's a quiet moment. Never mind that this is their equivalent of a quiet moment. 

Then, he's levering himself to his feet to grab the broom, ducking past Ash and ruffling her hair as he goes] Thanks, Ash. [He means for the coffee.

And the human decency! That's a PRO, not a con. C'mon.]

[steelandmagic-blog]

Hide and Go Seek (Psychic Style)

[archivedectopicfantast]

"Caught, huh. Welcome to the party." The monotone, raspy voice greets.

The hooded one is crouched on the remnants of a table, elbows on propped knees. With how she sits, it reveals that her odd sense of fashion isn’t just in the cloak. Monochrome, functional gothic dress is exposed, frills and lace and the whole deal with ribbons. But out of the way of limbs, at least. Functionality is kept in mind. 

She pulls the goggles way from her eyes, and there’s a brief moment where her fingers linger on her hood … But she settles to leave it in place. “So.”

"Hiding for three days… Practical, having an escape route like that. You’re from some kind’ve organization, no doubt… But what? What’s yer deal?"

"I ain’t in any, if that’s what yer suspecting." Her hands are exposed; pale white. Unnaturally white. Fingers with … paw-pads. "I work solo, though I got some allies. Connections are … useful. So don’t go thinkin’ my absence won’t be noticed."

"Yer one odd team though, I c’n tell you that."

[steelandmagic-blog]

While Tim would really prefer to be standing, they're not exactly on the rooftop for a pleasure jaunt, so he clears enough of the edge that it'd be hard to accidentally fall off and squats, keeping a wary thought towards the street below. He's not even breathing hard, and between you and I, might look like he's having a bit of fun. 

The whole weird someone who can talk without being part of us thing notwithstanding. 

"Sarah does tend to be." It's jarring, swapping back to actual vocalization, and to be honest for a moment he'd considered simply not, but the years of living with Ash have gotten him fairly accustomed to talking out loud, so it isn't as bad as it could be. 

"We don't exactly have a name. There's- or, as far as I knew, there was only one of us, so." The doubt there is heavy, but he shrugs it off. "We find psychics, keep them from hurting ordinary people before they learn to control themselves, hunt down rogues on sprees." His gaze drops to her fingers, returns to her strange eyes. "Think either I came a lot farther than just a couple cities, or there's something Europe isn't telling us." 

He's actually taken aback at her entirely reasonable suspicion. "It's against policy to harm anyone who hasn't been designated a loss, you don't need to worry about that. And-" he chuckles, low "-odd, I'll give you, but we're the best. Or, we will be, once Nic gets his act together. Reality bending's a hard one to get a handle on. Ergo.." he makes an all-encompassing gesture. "Training exercises."

Don't be fooled, he's freaking out a little (a lot) on the inside. But inside and outside are two very different things, and he's quite good at keeping his cool.

[steelandmagic-blog]

Hide and Go Seek (Psychic Style)

[archivedectopicfantast]

The barking dogs speed past, armored police short on their heels.

They take a turn, following the stranger’s tracks, but confusion emits from the hurried crowd. Following the tracks is quickly become more and more difficult.

Especially considering their target is now on the rooftops. Hood up, goggles on, there’s only the faint reflective glint of light from the lenses to give off her position. She stares down from a crouched perch, observing Tim.

She doesn’t normally back-track for anyone. She normally doesn’t even bother for conversation.

But the boy’s an odd one, and non-mundanes have proven to be a lucrative source of both work and much-needed entertainment. ~Hey.~

Her voice rings in telepathy. Clear, and lacking the rough, broken tone her vocal chords usually carry. ~Two lefts, down the alley, there’s a fire escape. Should be easy to climb, if you’re smart and resourceful. They’re going in the other direction, but the sooner you’re off the ground, the better.~

The silhouette moves out of sight, heading to their marked location. A battered building, scorched from a past fire, and long left in disrepair.

It’s probably safe, if you mind where you put your hands and where you step.

[steelandmagic-blog]

It's definitely a shock to hear her 'voice'- some grim quiet part of Tim suggests that perhaps he needs to have a chat with Mareille when the training exercise concludes- but he's not going to question it at that particular moment. Assuming she can see him (and that had she meant him harm, harm would already have come), he flicks off a smart salute without bothering to look for her, sends back a Gotcha without a second thought. It's a bit fuzzy, because he's pushing a little more than he's had to in a while, but it should come through loud and clear nonetheless.

Heading the way she directs, he ducks down to slip free the small knife he keeps strapped to his ankle, just in case. He doesn't think he's going to need it, and indeed should he make it unmolested to the rooftop he'll put it back without a second thought, but when shifting from a businesslike run to a businesslike walk, it's always important to make certain you won't be defenceless if jumped.

He clears the turns and takes the alley easily, scanning the walls for anything he could use to get to the fire escape, then pockets the knife smoothly in favour of dragging over a trash can. He upends it as quietly as possible, muffling the clang of metal to a bare whisper when he eases it down onto his fingers and then onto the ground. 

A quick shuffle and reach later, he's shimmying up to the rooftop. I'm coming up, he warns. Thanks for the advice. This is a bit further than where we meant to drop, I'm pretty sure. His voice is clearer now, easier, and there's a rueful tint that manages to communicate the sheepish smile he wears. 

I'm not exactly stranded, he explains, so much as I'm in hiding. I'll either get caught, (which is an acceptable loss) or my lift will be back, three days from now. Is that overshare? Does he mind.

[steelandmagic-blog]

person who *tries* to stop you is taken, sure. i’ll be the person who *actually stops you*. clearly two distinct positions.

im not sure im ready for that level of commitment yet

ur cute & all but what are ur stances on legalities

what about cats

i dont know enough abt u to commit it'll b quite impossible im afraid :(

[steelandmagic-blog]

Hide and Go Seek (Psychic Style)

[archivedectopicfantast]

Kichuna stares.

She stares in that wonderful, vaguely judgemental, unblinking way felines do. And to all his words, all his questions, comes a simple, straight-forward answer.

"No."

His squirming brings a deep sense of satisfaction. “Not from here at all.”

But before further questions can be exchanged, or further amusement in making the other feel foolish, a sudden alarm sounds out from a few buildings down. A big building. A big, expensive looking one, with expensive security at that. “-Shit!”

Kichuna looks to Tim, “Look, don’t know what shit you’re dealing with, but I got my own problems!” She pulls the goggles down over her eyes, and bolts to a sprint into the nearest dark alleyway. “You’re on your own!”

The distant sounds of barking is quickly growing louder.

[steelandmagic-blog]

Alarms trigger a very instinctive, very fast reaction in one Timothy Carver. That is to say, he doesn't so much as twitch, but if anyone is paying attention on a psychic based level, there's a blast of information gathering. Shortly thereafter, he kind of just. Vanishes, from the mental landscape. 

Which would be about the point in time that Kichuna makes a run for it, and the bag of shifty looking materials makes a reappearance in Tim's memory. Interesting, that. 

And potentially useful! That is, if he can catch up without getting caught or bypassed by the fast-approaching dogs. Somehow, he doesn't think they're very nice dogs. He marks Kichuna out and heads for an alley that he hopes runs more or less parallel to her, moving at an easily-sustainable lope. He's hoping it'll be obvious that he doesn't have whatever the dogs were released for, seeing as his scent should be nowhere near the area, but that doesn't mean it's safe to linger. 

Besides, the shorter a time period you've known someone, the harder it is to follow them. If he knew the area better, he'd close his eyes to keep better focus, but tense as he is it's difficult enough to keep his concern from leaking through to Sarah and Simon and not lose his mark. Moving his limbs without a clear line of sight while trying to juggle all that? Not happening. 

The dogs have passed him by, and from behind them there's some shouting. 

That doesn't sound good, especially not if anyone stops to ask questions- he doesn't know if they've got a description (hell, he doesn't even know if his hunch is right) but if they do, and someone can eyeball him as having spoken with the person they're looking for..

He reaches out for the mark, and with a supreme effort, shifts perception just the faintest bit sideways. It should make it just the tiniest bit harder for people to lay eyes on anyone he applies it to--not enough to make them unnoticeable, he can barely even do that for himself, but enough to give a bit of a boost if it's needed.

What can he say, he's got a soft spot. He doesn't think it's enough for Nic nor Michelle to find him. He's fairly sure Michelle hasn't fogged his thoughts. Here's hoping!

[steelandmagic-blog]

Hide and Go Seek (Psychic Style)

[archivedectopicfantast]

"The… Sun…?" Kichuna questions, her head tilting back to display confusion. They cast a glance around the street, before finally resorting to pulling the goggles up higher on their forehead.

Exposing a pair of electric-blue, feline eyes. “Sun looks th’same to me. Don’t know what shit you’re talking about.” The slitted pupils glance all around, before locking onto the boy in question. The pupils narrow into fine lines. “Bait?”

"Can’t say I ever been bait fer more than two seconds." The bag’s strap is given another adjustment, heavy on the shoulder. "You ain’t part of this SCP shit are you? We’re gonna have some problems if you are."

"… I appreciate the really shitty attempt though." A raspy chuckle escapes. "Don’t think ‘walk up and talk to the freak’ is a usual tactic."

The eyes narrow in suspicion. ‘Unless it is’ goes without saying.

[steelandmagic-blog]

Tim nods in agreement to her question, glances upwards as well- not before he sees the eyes, but--while those certainly aren't normal, they're certainly also not his priority. In his mind, anything that distracts is just another plus. 

"Figure no one does, but the only other fella who's sun-based is somewhere mid-China, and he's not picking up his phone, so we're on a bit of an ask and hope limb. Could be it's just the growth." 

For a split second, his grin widens as though he's inviting participation to a particularly fine joke, before he notes the suspicion. At that point, the SCP has already been mentioned, and his face crumples into thorough confusion. "SCP? No--I'm being bait for Nic, this is his training exercise. 'S why Sarah dropped me off first, she and Simon are headed to ground."

The freak bit takes him aback, too, and if you're looking you can literally see him re-evaluate. "I think I mighta assumed some knowledge on your part that you don't have, I'm sorry. You've got the loudest-" he breaks off here to gesture vaguely towards headspace "-in the area, which is why I figured I'd ask you. Usually, that only comes with-" he breaks off again, wow boy, make up your mind about how much is okay to say "-talents, yeah? Figured you wouldn't mind the question." 

And that's God's Honest Truth, yes sir yes ma'am. "You from around here yourself?"