#bnd.lesson

[foxlunar]

— lesson 001.

a practical exercise on proper form and focus when casting protective enchantments in a group ritual. part of the INTERMEDIATE RITUAL PERFORMANCE course. [ feel free to use this as a base for your own solos, or reply for a thread! ]

“it’s imperative that you don’t lose focus”, she walks around the circle of witches, her voice echoing through the trees. the sun is almost completely set, and a couple students look visibly concerned. despite this being a very safe environment for a basic multi-layered protective ritual, not everyone feels safe in the forest at night, after all.

in the center of the circle rests a family of squirrels, blissfully unaware of their surroundings. the magic shield around them keeps them safe of environmental hazards, but leaves them open to receive the benefits of the ritual still. a little trick she was happy to pass along — one of those things that is so obvious in retrospect, but that you may never have thought of on your own when under pressure.

she looks at her clock once more, then smiles. “it’s time. in ten seconds, we will begin. keep your form and start your incantations. in three, two, one...”

with a wave of her hand, the sigil underneath them glows a bright hue of yellow. the students begin chanting the words they’d previously practiced in class, albeit a little hesitantly; hyejin has to walk behind a couple and help correct them so they’re in perfect unison. 

once they’re halfway through with the enchantment, it’s time for the real test.

another swift movement and a few words under her breath, and she casts a massive wave of leaves and branches to hover over them, as if ready to attack. understandably, a couple students react instinctively to it and stop the chanting. “do not stop!”, she encourages them, “you must stay focused or the ritual ties will be broken!”

she can sense annoyance and frustration coming from some of the others, and she can’t help but laugh. she’d be lying if she said this wasn’t very funny to her. 

the leaves and branches swirl into a new form in front of them, an arrow pointed directly towards the small animals still asleep.

“again!”

[sndwnsyndrm]

At best, Eunjae is incompetent.

Theoretically, the lesson is easy enough: she's just meant to move the book from point A to point B. It's something she accomplishes easily, without thinking, in everyday life. In the morning, her phone finds its way to her hand without much effort, keys make their way to her when she's in a rush out the door, a brush, chapstick; any of the little innocuous aspects of daily life manage to make their way to her. But now, as she stands in front of Kang Jiho, the task suddenly feels monumental.

Stretching out a hand, she reaches for the book, only to be utterly embarrassed when it barely moves a centimeter. Sighing, she rolls up her sleeves and rolls her shoulders back, adopting a more confident stance, then outstretches her hand once more. Now, the book moves about a foot before coming to a halt.

Eunjae is aware she ought to be patient with herself. Where the rest of the student populace seems to have spent her life enmeshed with magic, Eunjae's own journey has been that of two years. Still, frustration builds in her. It's simple, she's not creating some insane hex or spell, she's moving a book across the room⎯ it should be easy.

She groans now, hands finding their way to her hips as she throws her head back; her exasperation evident.

"I can do this when I'm not thinking about it," she announces to Jiho in a bid to assuage her own bruised ego. "When I'm first getting up, or I'm not thinking about anything, it happens so easily. But when I try⎯"

She fails.

Eunjae doesn't bother to finish the sentence. Only sighs and paces about the room for a moment, trying to soothe her frustration.

"It's like I get in my own way." She finally finishes, her voice somewhat defeated as she admits to her own failings.

SOUTH SIDE ft. @runeink

[glassmorphisms]

( 一 )

𝐀 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐬 𝐀 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝 Lᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: Tʜᴇ Cʟᴀssʀᴏᴏᴍ; Oɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀsɪᴄ ʀɪᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘᴇʀғᴏʀᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴄʟᴀssᴇs – @whitefrrari

A class with only a few pairs of students could be as daunting as one crowded with nearly forty, just the anxiety took a different shape.

At the back corner of the class, Suisho crossed his arms, rubbed them, and tugged at the hem of his shirt, winding himself up like a grandfather clock ticking down to the moment he could bolt for the exit, even though the class had started only a few minutes ago. He checked his wristwatch — only a minute or two early, but a diligent professor beat a less diligent one any day, so he held his mouth shut.

At the front of the room, the professor had already started discussing the famous ritual performances; their purpose, history, and characteristics, the kind of theory that had barely carried him through the final and might still send him back to retake the class. It was his second time registering, so whatever magic the first experience once had was long gone. Now it was more about grinding through to the end and overcoming his shortcomings, which felt like far too many. All he could do was remind himself that he had survived high school and university before, even though those days flashed light-years away.

Swaying his gaze around the room, he noticed that, besides the professor, the students were all fresh faces. Among the small number he could count on both hands, most looked young, far more youngsters than older faces. Some of them had already formed little groups around their seats, and just thinking about approaching them was enough to make him sweat.

So he focused on his classmates’ mannerisms instead, while the class was still just a lecture, taking advantage of his seat in the back corner of the room to let his thoughts drift into the mist. As the lesson went on, he scribbled notes in his notebook, occasionally filling the margins with a storyboard and an improvised comic drawn in the most advanced version of stick figures his pencil could manage.