Do You Believe In Faeries ( Juumbled x Cyrano)

[CyranoDeBergerac]

According to physicists there are four fundamental interactions, also known at the four fundamental forces that do not appear to be reducible down to more basic interactions. These four forces are: gravity, electromagnetism, strong and weak interactions. Some physicists propose that there is a fifth force in the universe that cannot be reduced to other interactions and they are correct in that proposal, but they will never be able to empirically prove their hypothesis. They are correct though, there is a fifth force, magic. They will never be able to prove the existence of magic, however, because Magic is an Art. You cannot scientifically know or perform magic, one person can say a word of power such as "Abrahadabra" and nothing would occur. Another one may say it and bring down mountains.

Magic inherently competes with science, because Science requires that 1+1 always equals two, and magic is the inherent refutation of that proposition. Because of this, technology made as recently as the mid-fifties is bound to be reduced to scraps after any amount of time in the presence of a particularly powerful magic user. Airmen in the 1940's were the first to note this strange phenomenon, attributing their unexplained mechanical failures to "gremlins" and not to the number of magic users within their ranks and at the battlefields they were flying over. Perhaps it was also no coincidence that the first article noting disappearances in the triangle created by Miami, San Juan and Bermuda due to mechanical failures was published early in 1950.

Perhaps a more modern example might better illustrate this principle. Imagine, if you will, a young woman driving around the bend of a mountainous road, almost as far from civilization as it's possible to get east of the Mississippi. Now this young woman, from appearances, would seem to be perfectly normal. Driving an affordable modern car made of the safest materials and equipped with an advanced computer to control everything from the wind shield wipers to the engine and brakes. Now, as mentioned this young woman does not appear to have a magic bone in her body, but perhaps she has a reputation for bricking her smart phones and never seemed to keep a new car or device running for long without it needing near constant maintenance. Perhaps, she's never been on a plane or spent much time at hospitals, or maybe she has just been lucky. It could after all just be a twist of fate that her being had become so in tune to the arcane energies that flowed in the world around her that the delicate equipment of her vehicle could not withstand the uncertainty of the energy that now surrounded it. Causing the car to breakdown on the side of the windy mountain road in the middle of nowhere.

Now to continue down this illustration, add grey storm clouds to the sky and the slight echo of thunder in the distance. in the search for shelter and assistance the girl then goes into the woods to try and find anyone at all to give her succor. As she searches it begins to rain and not only does she want to find assistance, she Needs it. Now, Need is one of the most ancient kind of spells, and the type that one does not cast without great consideration. It requires much channeling of energy and will, but it is also the exact type of rough instrument that a prospective mage in need might cast in a time of distress without knowing that she was even doing it. The prospective mage would feel warm, filled with energy, and experience heightened sense for a moment, with the rain falling around her, and then the spell would transport her through the woods and over the hills to the nearest place to find shelter. She would be tired, wet and maybe hungry by the time she arrived to the clearing that contained Jacob's cabin, but besides the slight passage of time she would never have realized she had done magic until it was pointed out.

Not only does this hypothetical demonstrate the basic principles of how magic interacts with modern technology as well as providing an explanation for why Jacob felt the odd pinprick on the back of his neck that indicated that someone was approaching his cabin on the near side of his wards. That was something strange because he had wards designed to do two things: first, stop all really big and powerful things from getting closer than a mile from his valley; second, put a suggestion in the mind of all plain mortals that would direct them to go somewhere else. So the reality that there was something either strong enough to get around his wards without being sensed, or sly enough to sneak through them coming towards him certainly put him on edge.

Jacob looked like a man from another century as he sat at his reading chair beside the fire in his cabin that he had built himself over a period of two-hundred years. He wore jeans with a belt that had loops cut into it for pistol and rifle cartridges, there were a pair of farmer's boots next to the door and a button up flannel shirt that all combined made him look like a farmer from the 1950's. His cabin was a simple thing, with walls lined with shelves of books spanning four hundred years.; a kitchenette to the right of the door,; a hallway beside the kitchenette that led to a bathroom, a room for his apprentice and his own bedroom.; there was also a trapdoor hidden beneath one of the rugs that led to his basement laboratory. His innate sense of the surroundings of his valley told him that whoever was approaching his cabin was about three-hundred yards away and closing.

Rising from his comfortable chair he set the grimoire he was reading on his stand next to his reading chair and turned towards the door, in an umbrella stand next to the door were two instruments that he called to him. His staff and a Henry repeating rifle. He leveled both at the door as he sensed the intruder came to the large, circular clearing that he had created around his cabin, and then he waited as that person crossed the clearing and came to his door. To his surprise, the person knocked, the sound of rain almost drowning it out.

"Who is it?" Jacob asked cocking his rifle.

@Juumbled

 

[Jumbled]

When it came to vehicles, nothing would ever feel completely safe to Moira. Something always tended to go wrong with cars, there was no getting around that. The Mazda, with its shiny paint job and front end that made it look like a grinning, jolly machine was the best it would get for her. Overall the car had done a good enough job. She had only gone through three batteries over the time of owning it, which felt like a new record all things considered. Sure, the automatic windows were giving her pause now, the rear right refused to budge at all while the driver’s side window was working but no longer had its automatic function to lower all on its own; the blasted thing was fine three days ago! It seemed like it was always something, but whenever a major incident occurred, Moira would get lucky and find that the exact person she needed at the time was always close by. And if they weren't-- well, sometimes a girl had to make her own luck.

The mountain roads were winding and kept Moira on edge. Her anxiety controlled her grip on the steering wheel with nearly white knuckles tightening, then retightening as if somehow that gave her better control of how the car was handling the terrain in such gloomy weather. The sky had opened up as fat raindrops smacked against her windshield. In the beginning it had been manageable; she didn’t even need to turn her wiper blades on because they were spread far enough apart from one another and trickled away as the wind ushered them back. But soon a torrential downpour threatened to flood the roads and send her car skidding into the next lane. She could barely see! It hadn’t been nightfall but the clouds mimicked the lighting which would deceive someone into thinking it was much later in the evening than what it was.

As one of the windshield wipers separated itself from the blade, just barely pulling water as it lazily dragged itself across the glass following after its body, Moira decided to pull over. She cursed and flipped on her hazard lights as she found an open area for the car. The vehicle rattled a little as she took it off road. The tiny rocks and wet dirt threatened to make her tired spin out. She shifted the car into park then sat there, watching the rain fall steadily faster. Her right hand searched her center console for her cell phone. With several clicks of a button, she unlocked her home screen and hovered over her messaging button. Who would she text? She hadn’t told anyone where she was going and she wasn’t entirely sure where she was even if she did reach out for help.

The rainwater didn’t suggest it was going to let up. Moira sighed, realizing she was going to be in for a long wait before the storm let up. She tossed her phone over to the other seat, groaning at the thought of being trapped for potentially hours. Her thoughts then shifted as the car did. She sat up straight, looking out of the rain covered window in panic. Did the car just slide? Moira didn’t have long to think about what was happening. Her hand quickly grabbed hold of the emergency brake, lifting it up in desperation. It didn’t help. The water continued to flow at the car, threatening to take it down the mountain. Moira opened her car door, struggling to keep it open against the wind. She stepped out, her foot landing in ankle-high water. The water was high on the road and just on the curb, but the tree line looked clearer. She dashed through the water, splashing it up against her back as she moved into the forest.

“Shit. Don’t take the car. Don’t take the car.” she pleaded as the Mazda continued to shift and slide, hazards blinking in warning as it swerved sideways. The water was growing higher. Moira had to retreat further into the woods. She let out one more curse before abandoning all hope for her poor car, turning as she ran further in. Thunder boomed loudly and she counted under her breath, watching for any strikes of lightning. The older children at the orphanage had taught her that. It was like determining just how close the storm was. She supposed in this instance, as her car faded from sight, she didn’t really need to guess where the storm was. The sky flashed with light, illuminating the cloud lines in the sky before everything faded into darkness again.

Her gentle auburn curls lay flat against the sides of her face, the soft golden highlights hidden without the glow of the sun. Her jacket clung to her form, drenched and cold, though she pulled it closer to her body anyway. She stood there momentarily, looking around for signs of life. This was the middle of raw nature. There were no houses, no trails or signs and certainly not a map to be found.

“Help!” she cried, still spinning slowly. If she kept looking, maybe she’d see something she’d missed before. “Help!” she called again, her voice being washed out by the loudly falling rain and rumbles of thunder. “I need-- help. I need--” Moira felt panic take her and she imagined she sinking into another panic attack. She stepped forward, no longer remembering what direction she had even been facing prior to her circles. Was the road this way, or that? She stepped again, thunder clapping loudly above her followed by a tremendously loud snap as lightning struck a tree somewhere off to the west. Moira’s hand clung to the center of her jacket as she pushed herself forward. Her foot slowly fell into step as the rain around her almost hovered in midair, as if time had somehow slowed. There was an energy, or this heat that carried up inside of her body, maybe from the current of electricity that had traveled underground-- or maybe it was something else. As Moira’s foot touched the ground, completing her step, the trees began to fly by her as if they were all moving and she was standing perfectly still.

Moira trembled from fear and cold, shivering as she looked back up at what lay ahead. Suddenly the trees had opened into a clearing. There was a cabin with a warm light beckoning her forward from the windows. She stepped forward again. This foot fall almost felt as though she was stepping through some veil, like she had stepped inside the wall of a bubble without ever popping it. She moved with heavy feet, her body suddenly feeling so drained she might faint. She stepped under the cover of the cabin’s awning. Her shoes had mud that carried up to her legs, but it was dry as though she’d been walking for longer than she knew she had.

“H-Hello!” she called out. She stepped closer to the cabin’s door, knocking it with an eager hand. “I need help!” Moira leaned her head against the door, resting for a moment. She breathed in, hoping someone was in there willing to help. The rain only continued to fall. She shivered as she knocked on more time, finally hearing a voice muffled by the strong door and the weather.

“Please.” she said, her voice fainter then. Her energy was so low. She lifted her head away from the door, unaware of the danger that stood just behind it.

 

[CyranoDeBergerac]

Jacob Magus was a large man, nearer to seven feet than he was to six. With his head shaved bald and a full beard of ruddy brown hair. He existed in that nebulous period between thirty and fifty where a man looked, while not ageless, certainly ambiguous when it came to dating how long his carcass had been upon the face of the earth. This ambiguity would only be enhanced by the reality that he had been on the Earth for just shy of five hundred years and had lived even longer than that due to spending an un-measurable amount of time in a place where time did not flow as it did in the rest of Creation.

He dressed like a man from a different time, from his faded blue jeans, to his plaid shirt and suspenders he looked every inch like a farmer you would see in a documentary about the Dust Bowl or something along those lines. When he moved, he moved with care, and his shoulders were broad enough that they filled nearly any doorway he stood in. He heard the desperation in the girl's voice, cutting through the storm and the door with ease. To say he was surprised would be a great overstatement of his reaction to the plea in the woman's voice. You didn't live five hundred years and spend most of them as the Council of Mages 'problem-solver' without encountering a thing or two. It was, however, unexpected.

it was unexpected, because the girl behind that door had somehow bypassed his outer wards completely and then pushed through his inner wards without so much as stepping on a stick to give him warning or setting off the slightest hex to fall upon her. A being pulling that much juice behind them most likely would not need to trick him into opening the door and letting it inside his sanctum by pretending to be a girl in serious need. However, given his reputation for chivalry and slight weakness for the ladies, the guise of a woman in need had been used multiple times to attempt to take him by surprise. It was an old strategy, but one that still had merit.

There was only one way to know whether he was dealing with some eldritch being or a damsel in distress was to look upon her with his True Sight.

True Sight, also called opening the Third Eye, was a certain way of looking at things, an opening up of a sense that was not inherently apparent to human beings, but needed to be trained. It was like the sense of balance, body position, or temperature, those myriad other senses that the human body possessed that did not fall into the simple categories of the "five senses", it was a reconditioning of the paradigm's by which the human body took in information processed through the ocular organs. His field of vision turned blue, and the door turned translucent, though a sea of runes floated around the house, runes that prevented powerful creatures from simply dropping hell on his cabin and leaving it a crater, at least without serious repercussions upon their ontological being.

Looking through that door Jacob saw a young woman, with red hair and plenty of freckles, covered in rain and mud and looking fairly bedraggled. The casanova in him did notice that she seemed to be built like a woman at least, unlike many of the young female apprentices he had seen at gatherings of late. Apparently it had become the fashion to starve your daughters now. Jacob certainly didn't approve of the fashion change, but Jacob took them in all flavors. Them being willing women of course, not anything untoward. If his visitor were some kind of divine being, a fey creature or other such nasty bent on his destruction, he would have seen her true form. Instead he saw a human girl, covered in the after glow of powerful magic. That did pique his interest, because it suggested an interesting mystery.

Seeing that she was no threat he lightly depressed the trigger of the rifle in his hand and set it back beside the door, and then he replaced the staff as well. Reaching out he opened his door slowly, and looked down at the girl who was standing on his porch. He towered over her, and was far broader than her as well. His eyes were dark, and had seen many terrible things. but he stepped back and silently gestured for her to come inside. If she had somehow fooled his True Sight with an illusion, she would not be able to enter his house uninvited unless she was a simple human or mage, then there would be no issues at all.

"My name is Jacob. What may I call you?" Jacob asked, having many questions, but not wanting to overwhelm the girl in need too fast.

 

[Jumbled]

The door opened slowly and the warmth from inside flowed outward, beckoning her forward. She froze, however, at the astonishing height of the man that stood before her. She looked up slowly, eyes following up the old flannel shirt he wore, past his beard and finally meeting his eyes. She closed her mouth, only then realizing she had been gaping at his stature. Her arms hugged her body closely as she shivered, bouncing her knees in her displeasure.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much. I’m Moira. It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m incredibly sorry to be burdening you out here… wherever this is. I’m incredibly lost. My car got washed away by the rain. I swear, mountain driving is not for me. Big mistake--” she rambled, though her words trailed off into a calm quiet as she stepped into his home. She looked around, eyes filled with wonder at the very aesthetic of his home. There were so many books. The literal walls might as well have been shelves if they could hold the weight of a house. She soaked in the cabin slowly, turning to see that the kitchen was likely the last thing thought of when the place was built. It was so small! No one could cook a proper meal in that! She stood awkwardly near the door frame and the man named Jacob. He was wider than his kitchen, she thought. She wasn’t sure where to move, but it seemed she was in the way regardless of the direction.

It occurred to her, in that moment, that in this situation she would have been heavily scolded by every person that knew her. Who would just walk right into a stranger’s house like she owned the place? Well, apparently she would. Moira was exhausted. She slipped her shoes off, removing her soaked socks as well, bundling them up inside of the shoes. She wasn’t trying to take over the place, nor did she feel comfortable asking for places to hang her clothes up. She just didn’t want to track mud everywhere. For some reason, she doubted he owned proper appliances, like a washer and dryer.

“You uh-- Are you one of those types that doesn’t use technology?” She asked, trying to think of the word she wanted. “Amish?” that was it, but maybe it wasn’t right. She looked at him again. Bald. Bearded. Farmer. Seemed like a good enough guess to her, but the lights in the house told a different story. “I don’t suppose you have a phone, or a tv?” she asked as she did a double-take of the room. Her phone was still in her poor car. There was no way to tell when the weather was going to let up if he didn’t have the news available, either. She sighed, finding a spot out of the way so that the giant of a man could get back into his own home. As he shut the door, Moira noticed the umbrella... and then the gun. She stiffened at the sight of it. Surely that was for hunting, right? It didn’t look like he was the type to pop into a supermarket for a few pounds of beef.

“Uh--” she shifted awkwardly, looking down at her feet. “Could I trouble you for some dry…. Clothes?” she asked hesitantly. It looked like they were the only ones inside of the cabin. One of his shirts would look like a dress on her, though, so she was at least lucky enough in that aspect. If he was willing to accommodate her even more than what he already had done. A shower would have been more preferable, but-- she looked at Jacob again. It was clear she was uncertain about many things.

 

[CyranoDeBergerac]

"It is nice to meet you as well Moira. You are about twenty-five miles from the nearest road, in a valley that has been in my family for nearly three hundred years. " That was not a lie, not really. He had owned the valley for about three hundred years and he was part of his family. The reason why this valley was twenty-five miles from any road was because of his wards that had kept muggles that far away from him and his property and what he had built here for beings that did not want the outside world to know they existed.

He took in the visage of the woman standing in his doorway, noting how fashion had changed in the time since he had last gone among mortals for more than a few moments at a time. When it came time for Gatherings, any woman young enough to be Moira's age was still likely to be an apprentice. Part of the standard method of training, a method that Jacob had created and pioneered, included limited wardrobes for apprentices. White dresses for females, white shirts and pants for men. Plus the brown cloaks that have been part of the wardrobe of apprentices at gatherings for eons. Jacob had been in security for years, and had grown up in the courts of Europe during the height of the Renaissance. If anyone knew how to look a woman from head to toe and know every detail without ever getting caught it was him.

"No I am not an Anabaptist. But you're right at your assessment, I have no television and no telephone. The companies figured that it wasn't worth the money to run lines out here just for me. though I do have clothes for you and a place to spend the night and ride out the storm. Something Alice sewed might just fit you and her old bedroom is certainly warm. and dry." Jacob said gesturing for her to follow him. He had noted her admiration for the collection of books he had throughout his cabin. He was always a big fan of anyone who was a bibliophile. He also appreciated that she had removed her muddy shoes and socks, though she still had med caked up to her knees.

"Follow me." He said stepping back past where the counter ended and turning down the hallway. "This door is to the bathroom." He said patting the door immediately to the right when you entered the hallway. It had a screscent moon hanging from it. Then, diagonal from the bathroom door in such a way that one could touch both doors at once, was the apprentice bedroom. He pushed the door open and then stepped aside so that she could go in. The room was small, ten feet long by six feet wide. There was a twin size bed with the foot of the bed pressed up against the wall next to the door, a small window in the top right corner of the back wall that let in a little light. There was a desk pressed against the back wall, with a gaslamp on the desk and a book set in the center. There was a waste bin by the desk, and drawers built into the underside of the bed.

Hanging on the wall on the opposite wall from the bed. It was a painting of an old man, kind of looked like a wizard, being pushed inside a tree by a beautiful young woman. The wizard was Merlin, the woman Nimue. Nimue's eyes seemed to follow Moira when she entered the room.

"There should be some dresses in the drawers. Alice comes back to visit from time to time, sometimes likes to wear her old dresses. " That was mostly true, Alice had made the dresses for other women, since sewing had been going out of fashion long before the Summer of Love. "Let me know if you need anything." Jacob said before moving to shut the door and give her some privacy.

 

[Jumbled]

Jacob spoke as if he were a teacher. She could certainly imagine him standing in front of a classroom full of students-- though maybe not in his choice of attire. The way he addressed her seemed incredibly formal, like she was someone far more important than what she actually was. She offered him an awkward smile and bent her knee slightly as she pulled at the end of her jacket like it was a dress. ‘Did I actually just curtsy?’ she thought. How embarrassing. Her face flushed in color as she tried to convince herself he hadn’t noticed. He was a tall guy; he could have missed it.

He confirmed her suspicions about his lack of communication in the house. She shifted her mouth to the side as she deliberated what her next move should be. “That’s a shame. I can see the appeal of a place out all on its own without the noise of the cities and the buzzing electronics that come with it. Those things always tend to break anyway. They can still be convenient though,” she offered up. “But, are you sure you’re 25 miles out? That doesn’t sound right to me.” Moira sighed, more confused than anything else. “I do appreciate your offer though.”

To most people, Moira’s acceptance of complete strangers was offsetting. She was the type of woman that relied on her feelings and reading vibes in a room. She wasn’t concerned that Jacob was going to murder her because she didn’t feel he would. In her mind, it was as simple as that. It was likely due to her growing up in foster care. She was in a new stranger’s home every handful of months and she wasn’t really allowed to have a say in the matter. She had been conditioned to accept a new home as her own, temporary one.

“Thanks,” she said, following after him as he turned the corner. His grand tour wasn’t a long one, for certain. Moira had accidentally bumped into him when he stopped to gesture to the bathroom; they had barely left the first room and she wasn’t prepared. She quickly backed away from him, hoping she hadn’t gotten him too wet from her own attire. “I’m so sorry!” she quickly told him. She was being such a klutz. Her head felt a little hazy after running into him, she thought, though maybe that was just a dizzy spell from feeling as tired as she did. She pushed the idea aside as he showed her Alice’s room. Apparently she came and went as she pleased. The look of the room was that of a sardine can or perhaps a jail cell without the bars. It was a wonder she came back at all. Moira tilted her head, staring at the artwork on the wall as she entered. It was interesting how painters could make the subject’s eyes follow a person around in a room. She was fairly captivated by it, as well. She didn’t take him for a man of high fantasy with his farmer’s gear on, but perhaps this was more of the Alice person’s tastes.

The door closed behind her and she turned around in the room. He hadn’t offered for her to shower and frankly she wasn’t sure she wanted to in such a storm anyway. At the rate her luck was going, she’d be struck by lightning while showering. But, if Moira was one thing, it was crafty. As she stripped away her first layer-- the jacket-- from her body, she took the soaked garment and began to scrub at the mud that covered the skin of her legs. It was moderately effective for what she needed it to do. She worked on her scrubbing for a while until she felt satisfied with her work, then draped her coat over the waste bin to allow it a chance to dry off without damaging any of the furniture. Dropping down to her knees, Moira opened the drawers from under the bed, finding only white dresses inside. “That’s peculiar.” she said. She held one up to herself. The wearer was shorter than her… or a hussie. She wasn’t going to fit into something so small. Her curves alone would threaten to rip the seams. She placed the dress down, back into the drawer. Again, crafty Moira lifted the dark brown tank top she’d been hiding under the jacket off of her body, adding it to the waste bin. Her fingers then worked at the button of her jean shorts, then the zipper. The bigger battle was trying to convince tight jean shorts to slide off of her thighs in a cooperative fashion. Such a task involved a little shimmying from side to side until they were on the floor. With a foot, she kicked the shorts over to the bin as well. By that point the weight of everything caused her clothes to fall directly inside of it. Moira made a face, but chose to remain defeated. She was cold and tired.

Grabbing the blanket that lay across the bed, Moira wrapped it around her shoulders, holding the edges of it with her hands like it were a long cloak. She cracked the door open, looking to either side so as to not bump into the man again, then slowly stepped out. The blanket wasn’t the most concealing thing in the world, it had already slid down her shoulders, exposing the straps of her black bra. “Jacob?” she called. She didn’t want to bother him, but she needed to. Years of sharing space kept Moira from feeling comfortable sleeping in the nude. She’d never felt safe enough like that. However, she’d been soaked to the bone. She might as well have been thrown into a river.

“The dresses, they’re small. Would you possibly be willing to spare a shirt?” she asked him.

 

[CyranoDeBergerac]

Jacob had little in the way of interaction with the outside world's fashion statements and changes. But he had lived through the Renaissance and understood the appeal of clothes like what she was wearing, though he found it interesting just how far society had changed on how much skin a person could show, not that he was complaining. he did almost smile at her little curtsy with her jacket. Alice had been the last apprentice who he had had that had bothered to curtsy, and that had always been in a cheeky fashion. When she asked him if they were really 25 miles out he nodded and said, "Yep, I hike it out to the liquor store every now and then, otherwise I stick with the homebrew." Jacob said before returning to the chair by the fire while she was in the bedroom.

Moira's assessment of Alice was exactly right. The girl had been 4'10", blonde, and not even a hundred pounds soaking wet. But she had also been his apprentice during the 60's, a flower child, and had participated in both the Summer of Love and Woodstock. The dresses would fit a girl like Moira, but she would look like a hussy. Unfortunately, she would eventually end up in those dresses until they could get modern equivalents for her to wear. Jacob caught a a glimpse of Nimue and Merlin as he shut the door, he had painted that painting over two hundred years ago and was always annoyed that he had not gotten Nimue's eyes right, they always seemed to point down and to the left, instead of at Merlin like he had planned. though his female apprentices said that it seemed like her eyes followed them.

As Jacob sat down at the chair and reopened his book he remembered back to Alice and compared her to Moira, as well as to his other female apprentices, it was his experience with all female apprentices that there were three ways they responded to the rule forbidding sexual relationships with their masters. Either the woman had no problem with it and accepted it as a rule, the law of forbidden fruit existed and sexual tension built up but never overflowed, or the woman reveled in the temptation and teased their master at every opportunity about the forbidden fun they could have. Three guesses which category Alice fell in, the first two don't count.

There were two other things that Moira may have noticed about the room and the dresses. The first is that the dresses seemed to be a bit old fashioned, though they looked like they had been sewn yesterday they wouldn't have been out of place at Woodstock. or a Beetle's concert. The second thing was a slight whisper on the wind when she left the bedroom "Drop the blanket, it'll make his answer even better." If she took a moment to investigate she'd find no obvious source, but the hair would rise on the back of her neck when she looked at Nimue in the painting.

When Moira came out wrapped ina blanket Jacob was concerned that that was exactly what was on her mind, then she acked for one of his shirts because of Alice's dresses not fitting. Then he breathed a sigh of relief and set his grimoire down. It would be agaisnt standard protocol if she were his apprentice, but she wasn't yet so he decided that it would be allowable. Standing up he began to walk towards her saying, "Yes, I can go grab one, you can also get a towel from the bathroom if you like." Pushing open the bathroom door as he slid sideways passed her in the hallway. One of his towels would be like a big, shaggy blanekt around her.

 

[Jumbled]

Moira’s eyes shifted before she’d left the room. She could have sworn she’d heard something absurd, like a ghost’s whisper on the wind. She certainly wasn’t feeling inclined to do whatever it suggested. Jacob was older, reserved and certainly not flirtatious. She wasn’t sure about his fashion sense either. He, and whoever Alice was, were both lost to their own times. That was apparent enough by the quaint little cabin in the middle of nowhere. She was sure there was no attraction to find between Jacob and herself.

He had been sitting in his chair, reading a book of his choice when she ventured out. Moira watched him stand up, still astounded by his height as he did, his eyes seeming uninterested in her entirely. He didn’t even arch a brow. Yes, Moira had been right about him. But then, what on earth was that voice going on about? She felt chilled by the thought. She hoped the place wasn’t haunted.

He set off on his quest for a shirt while she slipped into the washroom, fumbling around for a towel. Luckily she had no qualms with riffling through other people’s belongings. With her foot, she pushed the bathroom door closed, most of the way, letting the blanket fall to the floor momentarily as she stepped away to undress the rest of the way. She hung her undergarments up on a free towel bar before wrapping herself in the plush, warm towel. Once she had a shirt she’d gladly dry her hair as well.

Moira gathered up the blanket then stepped back out into the hall. “Thank you, this is much better,” she told Jacob as he handed her a shirt. She looked up at him for a moment longer, her eyes searching his as if she was looking for something. “I’ll, uh, get back in there now. Out of your way,” she said to him, gesturing to the tiny jail cell of a room.

 

[CyranoDeBergerac]

Jacob walked back out of his room with one of his button down flannel shirts, the shirt would be warm and cover her more than her previous modern attire had for certain. When she stepped out of the bathroom Jacob's eyes followed where she had been for a moment, seeing the underwear she had left hanging on the towel rack and then turning back to her. He wasn't going to comment on her leaving her undergarments in a public place, though mentally he did notice that at least something had improved in the past fifty years when it came to women's fashion.

His eyes returned to Moira as he held out his shirt for her to take. He wasn't sure what to say to her, as she looked into his eyes as if searching for something. His eyes were a dark brown and could seem to grow darker with changes in his emotions. They were old eyes, eyes that had seen many dark and terrible things and put down their fair share of those things. Even with the agelessness of his appearance there was something about him that seemed old. Not old like the pyramids or a cave or something really ancient, but old like the rifle a family would hang over the mantelpiece and talk about how it was 'grandaddy's granddaddy's' gun or something along those lines.

You should have invited should have invited him in, it's what I would have done, and those old wizard's know all kinds of things. The portrait of Nimue whispered to Moira once the door to the apprentice's room was shut again. No one had ever talked to Jacob about the whispers they heard from the painting, but when they gathered together for drinks and friendship, the girls talked among themselves about the strange things that they had sworn they heard the painting whisper to them, and the strange dreams that came along with it. Whenever one of Jacob's male apprentices heard these stories they only laughed and suggested that it was simply the toll of his strict training regimen combined with the forced chastity, almost celibacy, that came with being Jacob's apprentice out in the mountains.

Jacob had built this cabin in the days where most people on the frontier lived in single room log cabins that they shared with their families, space had been at a premium and Jacob had never been the type to build a mansion just for himself. The apprentice's room was actually fairly spacious for the time period, but it certainly had started to seem more and more like a cell as time went on. Two of his last apprentice's, Alice and Cleo, had attempted to talk him into starting building an even bigger room, but Jacob had compared it to the servant's chambers he had lived in during his apprenticeship and determined the space was sufficient for all they needed.

If the apprentice requested Jacob would add a shelf or two for books over the bookshelf so that the apprentice could avoid stacking all of their resources into large piles on top of their desk, or needed to continue coming out to the main room in order to replace books on the shelves and retrieve new ones. At the moment there was only one book in the apprentice's room, sitting in the exact center of the desk was a green book with a golden framing on the cover with the title The Fundamental Primer: A Beginner's Guide to the Arcana by Jacob Magus. The first chapter of which began with a brief instruction on how to reach out to the Arcaneum and tap into the energy within their being and focus it into their hand until the appendage started glowing.

The rest of the night was not long for Jacob, he finished the leather bound grimoire he had been reading when Moira came to his door and then replaced it on his bookshelf. the fire was well built up and would keep the cabin warm into the night. He turned down the gas lights in the house to their lowest setting, bright enough that if there was another late night guest he would be able to see, but dim enough that no gas was wasted. Then he returned to his bedroom and put on his night clothes before slipping beneath the bearskin blanket that covered his large bed.

Morning came with the dawn and the sound of a rooster crowing. The storm had died downto the tapping of rain on the shingled roof of the cabin and would most likely die down completely before morning was in full swing. Slipping from his bed he dressed quickly in jeans, his suspenders and a plain white shirtsliding into a pair of doe skin mocassins he stepped into the hall and came into the kitchen. He was ordinarily a man for simple breakfasts, but seeing as he had a guest he decided to all out. In almost no time the air was filled with the smell of buttermilk pancakes, juicy bacon, and scrambled eggs.

 

[Jumbled]

Moira walked back into the tiny room of the cabin, closing the door behind her with a slow and careful push of her foot. She dropped the blanket back onto the bed, the shirt soon to follow, then wandered over to the painting on the wall as she heard more absurd whispers. She squinted at the painting, looking for any hint of speakers or cameras. But to the best of her knowledge, she wasn’t being pranked. Then, what was the deal with it? She tilted her head to the side as she studied the woman depicted. She was wild for sure, was the voice coming from her? Moira shivered as chills traveled up her spine. “Spooky.” she whispered as she wandered back to the bed. She held the towel around her body nervously, her back covered and facing both the painting and the door as she pulled the large shirt over herself. It certainly covered what it needed to, stopping at her mid thighs.

Wizards, she thought. What a strange thing to hear-- or think that she heard. Moira slumped down onto the bed as the aching in her legs finally took hold of her. Her head hit the pillow somewhere off to its side and she closed her eyes. Trying to understand delusional things when one was so tired wasn’t wise. It was strange that her body hurt as though she had walked for an entire day. Her mind thought back to her poor car once more. Maybe she’d go look for it when the storm died down and the rain stopped. She’d just need to retrace her steps, and so far as she could recall, she’d moved in a straight line.

Moira only stirred to the smells of warm breakfast foods seeping into the room at day’s break. The rain was pattering above in a lighter fall compared to the day before and there were chickens outside from the sounds of it. It’d been a while since she had slept over at a farm. She wondered if that’s what this cabin was. She pieced together Jacob’s attire-- the flannels, the suspenders-- she supposed he could only appear more like a farmer to her if he’d worn overalls instead and maybe a straw hat.

She rolled over onto her side, looking out into the foreign room. It really was so tiny. Her eyes shifted up the wall to the painting again. Yeah, she was probably over-tired. Paintings didn’t talk, that was crazy. Slowly, Moira sat up, swinging her feet over the side of the bed. Her eyes adjusted to the small light that pushed its way into the room from the small window above. What a curious place, she thought. She stood, testing her leg’s ability to hold her weight. Her feet hurt and her calf muscles whined as though she’d done an extensive workout.

With a big stretch and a yawn, Moira wandered over to the desk. Her hand traced along the edge as she eyed the book centered on its surface. “What’s this?” she asked herself as she leaned more directly above the tome. “A beginner’s guide… to… Oh hey, look, the author’s name is also Jacob. How funny. I wonder…” she looked up from the book cover to the painting again, searching for any sign of a signature scrolled along the corner of it. “No, that’s silly. But still, what’s up with this place? Is the room supposed to be themed like-- all magicky? Tiny room like… Harry Potter living under a staircase or something?” she turned back to the book, flipping it open, thumbing through a few pages. It looked like a genuine guide, not some storybook. She puzzled over it for a time, then winced as her stomach growled, reminding her of the lovely food smells she’d awoken to. “So hungry, hope there’s some for me, too.” she said as she moved to the door, cracking it open slowly to look out toward the kitchen. She tiptoed across the way, sliding into the bathroom to tend to morning things, dressing herself with the bra and panties she’d hung up previously. They were actually dry and she felt relieved. “Fantastic. Okay,”

After washing up, Moira walked out with hair that’d been combed through with her own fingers, all pulled over to the side where it lay over her shoulder in a bit of a spiraled twist. It lay neatly enough on top of his large flannel shirt she still wore like a dress. “Hey, morning. Sleep well?” she asked him. “Smells great-- the food. What are you making?” she asked him as she found the towering man working in his kitchen his very presence dwarfed. “This is really an interesting place you have here. You know, that room is oddly themed. Magic. Do you somehow have the painting in there talk to give more of the effect you’re trying to get. I mean, it’s cool and all, but the whole, creepy lady thing isn’t really my style, but whatever you like, you know? I’ve stayed in a lot of homes over my life. Yours is certainly unique in its own right.” Moira sat down out of the way as Jacob finished up.

 

[CyranoDeBergerac]

Jacob was surprised that she was so, cheerful, in the morning without any kind of stimulant. he had been around in the days before coffee had been introduced to Europe, it was a different time, and while there were things he enjoyed from his early years he wouldn't trade the sweet bliss of coffee for any of them.He had already started in on his second cup of coffee by the time she was out, and there was a pot with another cup sitting next to it on the table for her to take. There was also cream and sugar on the table for her to mix as well.

"Good Morning, Moira. I slept as well as I could. Thank you for asking." Jacob said politely as he finished pileling all the pancakes onto one plate. Then he took the egg and bacon plates and held them each with a few fingers. He was going to just carry the plates over to the table, but when she spoke as if Magic was not real he pulled a little power into his fingers, put it in the plates and let those plates fly over to the table. then he send the pitcher of buttermilk, the tray of butter, the bottle of syrup, forks, knives, spoons, and all other utensils and fixings needed for breakfast floated past her and onto the table.

"Talk? That painting doesn't talk." Jacob said as he picked up his mug of coffee and walked past her to sit at the head of the table opposite of her. It had been years since he had ever really slept well, after the things he'd seen, the things he'd done, no one could really be expected to sleep "well" anymore. And he had been in the position of being an expert "battle mage" for four hundred years now. Whenever the Council of Mages had a problem they needed to no longer be a problem they called for him. After all of the strange things he had seen, the fact that he was so easily dismissing that the painting could possibly talk was actually humorous.

"Go ahead and eat all you want, I know you went through a lot last night. We have buttermilk pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, cheese for the eggs, more buttermilk, and plenty more. Go ahead. eat." Jacob said as he took three pancakes for himself and buttered them. Then he added on syrup, six slices of juicy bacon and several scoops of eggs that he sprinkled some cheese on. "All of tyhis food comes from my own stables in case that is a concern for you." Jacob added as he started to eat.

 

[Jumbled]

Moira remained peppy as she peered around Jacob to spot the foods she was smelling. She bit her lip as she lifted up onto her tippy-toes, stealing a peek at some bacon, and then the coffee. It was always such a good smell; they both were. Breakfast was always her favorite. Went straight to her thighs, though, not that she minded. She smiled and found her cup, grabbing it carefully. “This for me?” she asked him as she wandered away with it before he’d responded. She found the cream and sugar as she sat and doctored up her coffee to be nearly blonde. “You don’t sleep well out here?” she asked him. It was fairly quiet around the cabin aside from the animal chatter outside, and the rain that danced along the rooftop. “Seems peaceful enough, honestly. Maybe you need a new mattress.” she suggested.

She’d gone on about his aesthetic and before she could understand what was happening, objects were levitating in the room over to the table. In her shock Moira tipped the coffee cup over and quickly cursed as it poured onto her legs and down to the floor. “Shit!” she cursed as she pushed herself back away from the table, her focus split in three ways. The hot liquid that’d burned her legs, though luckily not so scalding thanks to all the added cream. The way Jacob just acted as though nothing strange was happening at all. And of course… the floating utensils. “What in the name of Fantasia is happening here, Mickey?” she blurted out. She was far too gone to realize such a statement would be lost to the man. She stood there, wide-eyed as Jacob took a seat. “Um. Wait. Sorry. Did you not just— are you—” she gestured to the room as a whole, unable to make full sentences. “What do you mean it doesn’t talk? The eggs were flying!” she exclaimed as she motioned aggressively at the plates.

“I mean, yeah I went through a lot last night, sure.” she began as she kept her distance from the table. “But, clearly there’s an elephant in the room here you don’t feel like talking about. Did you not just see that? Does your breakfast normally just take itself to the table? I think the last of my concerns is that detail of the food! I— I— I need a napkin.” she said as she redirected her attention. She grabbed a cloth off of the table quickly and knelt down on the ground, mopping up the coffee from the floor. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say anymore. What was that? Magic? Real magic? She was scrubbing to the point of no return. The coffee had long since been mopped up but perhaps she would manage to polish the floor at the rate she was going.

 

[CyranoDeBergerac]

Jacob watched her reaction to the revelation that magic was real right before her eyes with no emotion on his face. When you were as experienced as he was you came to have either a very good poker face, or you were shit out of luck when it came to damn near any interaction. After multiple lifetimes spent gambling and keeping cool in combat his own poker face was exceptional. Underneath the blank slate of enjoying breakfast was a certain amusement at the situation and the reaction she was having to this revelation.

He enjoyed a few bits of egg and a bit of coffee before he brought his fork and knife to begin cutting his buttermilk pancakes into squares. While going about this project he began to speak. "Does my breakfast usually walk itself to the table? No not typically, I actually find it a waste of energy to use the same Power that would allow me to throw fireballs and fly to do something so trivial and lazy as moving my food from one place to the other. But it seemed a simpler way of demonstrating to you that magic exists than explaining it to you. Now if you'd leave that spot before you light my house on fire with friction, or rub a hole in my floor, your food is getting cold." His last sentence was said to her almost as if he were her father, in the past the master to an apprentice would act, in loco parentis for the apprentice.

In truth the Work that one could do with Arcana was far more complex and varied than the two simple examples he had given. He could call fire from the sky, raise the dead, travel to different planes of existence, achieve a greater understanding of the universe and millions of other things with the power that he possessed and the ability that he had fostered and tended to for his entire life. The same would be true for most all of his colleagues in their own fields. More pertinently, judging by what she had done so far, she had the potnential to do amazing things in whichever school of magic her speciality fell in.