lostcarnival | smoke and mirrors, silver and gold

Entry tags:

smoke and mirrors, silver and gold

Who: Idiot 1 (Lambert) and Idiot 2 (Jonathan Strange)
When: Day 148, after fae and Pokemon breeding chatter on the radios.
Where: Training grounds!
What: English magician bullshit meets witcher bullshit.
Warnings: The usual, where these two are concerned

Unsurprisingly, Lambert's at the training course already, eager to get to activities that involve sweating, dust, and exertion a lot more than Strange is. Jury's still out on whether this is going to be more of a physical exertion or a mental one, but he isn't waiting by the course to run Strange through his paces. Instead, he's standing in the raised, water-surrounded arena.

Before Portland, training usually meant bullying the magician through knife exercises, and they've managed to squeeze in one or two sessions since Lambert finally stopped poisoning himself. But today, for a change, it's not the dagger from Atlantis he's wielding: he's practicing with a sword, a blur of silver gliding fluidly through the air as he moves from form to form. A second sword -- one that Strange has seen before, since it's his steel one -- is in a scabbard on his back. Behind him, his tail swings and curls with every movement, counterbalancing his weight as it shifts ... and throwing his rhythm off, since he'll periodically stumble or tread on it and curse, before straightening to try the movement again.

Regardless of when Strange arrives, he'll complete the series of movements he's working through before he glances over towards him, grinning broadly.

"About time."

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Walking is for chumps and Strange magically appears from a puddle a few feet from the water-surrounded area. He's abandoned the level of formality he normally wears and is just wearing a long sleeved muslin shirt, simple pants, socks, and shoes. Truth be told, he's rather wear more clothing but the last time he wore a vest and cravat to training practice, it ended up with Strange trying to defend Regency fashion and Lambert calling him a poncey git. His Atlantean dagger is strapped to his side in it's makeshift sheath.

As Lambert goes through the drills, Strange just watches, halfway tempted to leave just to see if Lambert would spot it. Unfortunately, the witcher spots him, and Strange matches Lambert's grin with a smaller one of his own.

In true show-off fashion, Strange mutters something, waves his hand, and a rock raises up from the bottom of the moat. Is this needless? Probably! But just as Lambert wants him to get better at stabbing things, Strange wants to get better at using his magic faster. That rock's used as a stepping stone as Strange steps into the raised area, frowning a little at Lambert's choice of weapon.

"You know, I've only just shown up and I already regret this."

"Don't worry. I'm not using this on you today ... as long as you move fast enough." With a neat flick of his wrist, the blade gets stowed back in its place on his back, though Lambert frowns once it slides home, rubbing at his wrist. The angle's still slightly off there -- wanting to avoid catching on his horns on the draw means he's had to rearrange how they hang from what he's used to. Maybe he's going to have to switch to carrying them on the hip, after all.

The rest of his outfit is a leather doublet and shoulderguards that pass for his armor over his regular clothes, the wolf medallion still occupying pride of place on his chest. At this point, though, he'll make an exaggerated point of looking Strange up and down.

"I see you've still got your feet." Lambert reaches back, and the steel sword is what he slides into his palm next, tail flicking to give the sheathe a tap to make it easier to draw. From there, he twirls his sword in hand, casual.

"Lose them, before I make you."

Edited 2017-08-31 01:29 (UTC)

With an overdramatic sigh, Strange closes his eyes and his feet vanish into purple smoke. And here he was hoping this would be a normal training practice, a normal day of Lambert forcing him through drills. He's actually getting better at holding his knife, he's happily take that over whatever sort of nonsense Lambert's going to force him through.

Leaning down, he puts his socks inside his shoes, puts his socks inside his shoes, then sets them near the edge of the platform.

"If they fall in the water, you're the one going in there to pick them up."

"Don't you need to practice swimming too?" Lambert answers, snottily. "All right, time to see what you're made of."

Literally, in this case. He'll take a few steps closer to Strange, and he won't give him any more warning than that before he drops down into a crouch and kicks out with a foot, aiming to sweep the magician's feet out from under him. He's specifically aiming for those few inches of smoke -- Strange seems to be able to stand well enough on them (or hover on them? Who knows?) but they don't look solid in the least.

Congrats Lambert, you have just kicked smoke. Strange spots Lambert's feet kicking out at him and also knows there's no way he can jump out of the way in time. Still, while Lambert's feet pass effortlessly through the smoke (because again, he just kicked smoke), Strange falls backwards, as if Lambert had actually kicked him.

Also, whether he realizes it or not, it isn't just Strange's feet that have turned to smoke. From the knees down, he's smoke as well, though the smoke's somehow keeping the shape of his actual legs inside his trousers.

He's halfway tempted to be just as petty and use one of the elements to knock Lambert off his feet, but that'll happen later. Right now, still a bit wobbly, Strange manages to get back upright.

"And how exactly is that supposed to help?"

"Hold still," is what Lambert answers, waggling his sword at Strange irritably, as though he's done him some great offense by not standing there and letting him keep taking easy shots at him. Not that it was much of a challenge before, but ...

"How far up does it go? Can you feel anything?" He's not going to let Strange respond before he's kicking out at him again deftly, this time aiming for his shins.

Strange winces, as if expecting to feel something. But, oddly enough, he doesn't. And then is when he realizes that oh, wait, it's not just his feet that are smoke. Gently, he prods what used to be his leg. And then, he gives himself a light poke in his ribs, then his hips. "Well however far it goes, it's stopped before my torso. And no, I couldn't feel anything."

And really, because Lambert's having far too much fun with this, Strange figures he might have some fun as well. He floats around the training circle, ostensibly just to see how well he moves now that his legs aren't as solid as he had thought. But when Lambert's turned his back for a moment, Strange gestures towards the water and mutters something under his breath.

Lambert probably heard him casting the spell, of course. Stupid witcher senses. But nothing's happened...at least, nothing's happened yet.

Interesting, and useful. In the sauna, Strange had only really seemed able to change his feet -- though 'able' might be a strong word for it, since it seemed to happen largely without conscious intention.

The rules of magic in Strange's world haven't always proven to be the easiest to grasp, mainly because Strange seems to make up most of them on the fly. Even without muttering mutinously and waving a hand around like a giant showoff, it's the hum of his medallion against his chest that really clues him on Strange being up to something, and he pivots on his heel and closes the distance between them again quickly, fangs bared in a taunting grin.

"We're not done yet!"

The rules of Strange's magic are literally Strange taking the rules and bending them until he gets the result he wants. And as Lambert closes the distance, his medallion's still humming. There's magic around and a spell in place even though Strange isn't doing anything and, in fact, is giving Lambert this look of feigned 'who me???' innocence. It is not working.

"If I wanted to flee, I'd already have left. Whether I like it or not, you have my full attention for the next however long."

He's just gonna be a bit of a dick while Lambert has his attention.

There's not much Lambert can do to anticipate whatever Strange has planned in reprisal, given that he is -- for once -- being subtle. Not about the fact that he's up to something (really, Jonathan Strange, you've got to work on your poker face) but about what exactly he's cast.

"Good, because there's still a lot of things we ought to try out," Lambert grins wolfishly -- and whoops, that sure is his sword stabbing towards Strange's belly there. He has enough control that he pulls his arm back at the last possible moment, well before the magician's in any danger of actually punctured and losing a few pints of bodily fluids, but it's a very convincing effort at running him through.

Lambert might have enough control, but Strange doesn't know that. He can only manage a panicked look before he reacts instinctively. His feet turn solid almost instantly as the patch of stomach Lambert was aiming at turns smokey. It only remains smokey for a second or two, but the dark purple smoke is visible through Strange's light white shirt. Of course, Jonathan 'goddamn oblivious' Strange hasn't yet realized what happened.

"What the hell was that about?!" Strange can't help but yell, glaring at Lambert all the while. Yes, Lambert hasn't run him through, but the point still stands. Without thinking, Strange gestures at the water. A second later, a stream of water shoots out from the training area moat with the intention of hitting Lambert in the back head.

There's none of his traditional incantations, just a quick gesture and then a hopefully wet Lambert. If asked, Strange would answer with some long rambling explanation of how the previous spell was an arrangement to work with the water for a certain period of time and really, his magic is a bit too obvious, he knows that much, this is him working on on making the spells quicker in a combat situation, and so on and so forth. But right now? He's just a little pissed at the threat of being stabbed.

Point to Strange -- distracted by the satisfaction of the magician's indignation and the way his stomach suddenly turns purple, not to mention the magician's modified casting magic, Lambert is caught off guard. He yelps as the water soaks him from behind, stumbling forward more out of surprise than anything else, but that's not going to keep him from complaining.

"What was that for?" the witcher protests, wiping water that's dripped from his hair into his face away and looking down at his dripping self in disgust. "I just wanted to see if other parts of you could change too! And look--" He's going to go right ahead and poke at Strange's vaporous stomach to make his point. "It worked!"

He's not going to be gentle about it either, unfortunately.

As Lambert pokes at his stomach, Strange attempts to swat the man's hand away. However, as he does so, he gets a glimpse of his own stomach and oh good Lord that's slightly terrifying.

"That was because you tried to stab me," Strange bitches. His tone, however, isn't as annoyed as it could be. After all, he's downright distracted by the fact that part of his chest is literally smoke. There's a pause and then an odd feeling shoots through Strange's head, as if he's suddenly got a case of vertigo or he's the heroine of a romance novel about to go into a swoon. He staggers back a bit, looking downright woozy.

Turns out that making one's vital organs smoke is a little bit tougher than making one's nonvital organs! So yep, Strange's chest is now back to being solid. At the moment, no part of him is smokey but he is hella barefoot. "I don't think I want to do that again," he mutters, with an annoyed frown.

As Strange staggers, Lambert impulsively takes a step forward to catch him, but as he finds his feet after all that turns out to be unnecessary, so he'll just let his arm kind of hover for a bit before letting it drop with a frown. Yeah, no, let's just pretend that brief moment of concern didn't exist, thanks.

"So you can't turn your feet and your torso into smoke at the same time," Lambert says, out loud. That's disappointing. What good is a pair of smokey feet? Strange isn't going to sneak just his feet anywhere and accomplish anything useful.

He shakes himself, sending a spray of water droplets everywhere like a big dog, and straightens again, looking at Strange critically. "What does it feel like?"

Yeah that brief moment of concern was totally seen and totally recognized and you bet Strange is going to tease Lambert about it later. Though he can't help but frown at the witcher's disappointing tone. At the moment he can't turn his feet and his torso into smoke at the same time.

"I've only had this ability for a few days. Give me time, I'm sure I can find other tricks I can do with it." Because of course he can do it, why would he think otherwise? He's already made progress going from falling on his feet to standing upright and the more Strange experiments with this magic, the easier it comes to him. New goal: turn his feet and his torso into smoke at the same time because screw you Lambert, he can totally do it.

As Lambert shakes himself, Strange instinctively puts his arms over his face to try and not get too wet. The question though...he frowns a little, trying to think of how to explain it. "Do you remember Atlantis? It feels a bit like that. I'm still in control of my limbs and what direction they go, but it feels like I'm pushing through something in order to move in the first place."

If he does, Strange will get to enjoy Lambert being huffy and in denial about any of it until the end of his days. Or really, until the next time they get drunk. Lambert seems to have far fewer problems with trifling human nonsense like showing affection and emotional vulnerability when he's got a few pints of high proof alcohol in him.

"It looks like it can support your weight, but it's not really there," Lambert muses, glancing down at the magician's bare feet like he expects them to puff into smoke again at the slightest provocation. "But things can still pass through it. Probably wouldn't want to try that with iron, though." If this is some kind of fae magic at work, that much is a given.

"Zecora can turn her whole body to smoke," he adds, after a moment. "I thought you'd be the same, but I guess she's had longer to get used to it."

Newer goal: turn his entire body to smoke because screw you Lambert, if Zecora can do it, then he can totally do it, he's just as good a magician as the horse. Spite and anger might be wonderful motivators for Lambert but being doubted and people thinking he can't do something is just as good a motivator for Strange. A little flush of annoyance spreads over Strange's face, though it's quickly shut down.

He can't help but wince as Lambert mentions iron. That's definitely a terrible idea. "This is mostly fae magic," Strange chimes in, "I can tell that much."

But it's not entirely fae magic. The better he gets to know the magic and the more he uses it, the more Strange can tease out strands of his own magic out of the overall spell. Maybe that's how he'll eventually figure out how to do precisely what he wants the magic to do.

"Of course, I doubt we'd be able to find any iron in the first place to test it out. At least, not in the carnival or the Summerlands."

Nothing like a little competitive spirit to get the inspiration going, at least in Lambert's opinion. Though the flush on the magician's face is quick to recede, as a professional people-annoyer Lambert is quick to pick up on it, and it's going to get him a broad, smarmy grin in turn.

So that's what lights a fire under Strange's ass, is it? He knew he was competing with Norrell, but he hadn't exactly considered that extended to other magic-users (though from what he can tell, Childermass is exempt from that rivalry). Still, the conversation moves on before he can think to pursue it further.

"If it works the same way Zecora's does, the iron will force you to stay corporeal. She couldn't just turn to smoke," he says, frowning. Obviously, that's inconvenient for a number of reasons.

"I want to try something else." He takes a few steps backwards, gestures with his fingers, and the purple sigils of Yrden appear underfoot. "Turn part of yourself into shadow and step in here."

Ohhhh no. Strange recognizes Yrden all the way back from when Lambert used it on him before their trip to hell. Likewise, he knows this isn't going to end up well for him. Still, he does want to see what the results will be like.

With a little nod, Strange's feet turn to smoke. He floats in the magic circle...and then almost instantly, resolidifies, standing barefoot. Strange's frown deepens, as he concentrates on his feet. Nothing happens.

"It's not working," he grumps, as an explanation.

Turns out he works along the same lines as wraiths! That's totally reassuring except for the fact that it kind of isn't.

"Hm," Lambert answers, noncommittally. It's more or less what he anticipated, based on his limited working knowledge of Strange's abilities and Zecora's, but it's still disappointing. Can't count on it working in situations where it would really matter, then.

"Better learn to keep an eye out for anything that cancels magic. That'd put a cramp in your style." However, that seems to have satisfied his curiosity about the smoke, for now, and there are some other things he'd like to try out, too, so he waves Strange to step out of the ward.

"You've never seen me use Axii before, right?"

"If I'm familiar enough with the magic, I can identify it and avoid it." Though the little frown on Strange's face told Lambert that he's aware of the problem with that: he needs to be familiar with the magic in the first place. And even then, it varies. He would be able to recognize magic cast by a Summer Fae, but if he hadn't seen the spell in action, he'd have no clue what it does.

Though, as Lambert mentions Axii, the frown turns into a confused expression.

"I haven't. Which one's that?"

"The one that lets me tell you to turn around and walk to the edge of the arena," Lambert answers, his hand moving in a quick, subtle gesture while he puts the force of his will behind his words. For Strange, if the spell takes hold, it'll feel a bit like a fog descending on his mind and a compulsion to follow Lambert's words -- or at least finding them strangely persuasive.

Strange, as it turns out, is pretty easy to compel to do things. It's a combination of the fact that he's already been brainwashed once before and that he's not one for restraint or thinking things through in the first place. So, without thinking about it, Strange turns around and walks to the edge of the arena.

Aaaand then he realizes just what exactly Lambert did. At the same time, Strange discovers that he has a fun new sore spot and that sore spot is brainwashing! Naturally, Strange being Strange, he doesn't decide to take this slowly and figure out Lambert's method of why he did what he did. Oh no. We're starting with shouting.

"What the hell did you just do?" he hisses, spinning around to glare at Lambert.

To be fair, Lambert doesn't generally have a particular motivation for most things except "seemed like a good idea at the time," so Strange probably doesn't have much reason to expect anything deeper than that.

"I used Axii," the witcher answers, unperturbed and entirely remorseless. If anything, he's strangely cheerful. "You shook it off faster than I thought you would, so that's a good sign." Of course, he hadn't been putting much effort into holding the spell, and there's still the problem of Strange responding far too readily, but every witcher trainee's had to deal with that too. And they're proof it's not absolute.

Edited 2017-09-26 04:02 (UTC)

"I probably shook it off faster because I already know how your magic works," Strange snaps, with a little roll of his eyes. And he sort of knows how Lambert's magic works. He can recognize the traces of witcher magic and piece out some aspects of the spells itself, but if someone asked Strange to replicate what Lambert did, he'd have no idea what to do.

While Lambert's reacting to this in an unperturbed manner, Strange has fallen right back into bitching, moaning, and sulking.

"Besides, you barely put any weight behind it," he grumbles, almost under his breath. Strange knows what deep magical possession feels like: spells that jumble your mind, remove your free will and replace it with something else. Axii wasn't that.

"But you still listened," Lambert muses, shifting his weight onto one leg and rubbing at his chin. "So did Childermass, back at the Celebration." And in case Strange was wondering how Lambert got Mr. Stuffy Breeches to let his hair down for that whole mess, well, now he has his answer.

"Yuya resisted it the first go," he adds, like it's an afterthought. It isn't. He isn't at all going to hesitate in taking advantage of that competitive spirit now that he knows it's there in all it's petty, whiny glory, and he fully intends to add more fuel to the fire.

"Maybe there's just something about English magicians that makes them easier to influence." Childermass had gotten brainwashed, after all, even if that wasn't under magical circumstances per say. "A spell like this wouldn't work on a sorceress back home, no matter how much I put into it."

Strange is just bristling, glaring at Lambert with utter annoyance. Easier to influence?! How the hell would either he or Childermass be easier to influence compared to other people! They knew magic! They should be harder to influence!

This still doesn't answer how Yuya was able to resist it during the first go. But, then again, Strange knows that Yuya is capable of many more things than people give him credit for.

Without saying a word, Strange gestures to the moat. Not even a second later, another tendril of water rises up and shoots towards Lambert: though this time, Strange is 100% aiming for his face. Eat English magic's dust, asshole.

Maybe it's got something to do with going crazy, though Childermass certainly isn't displaying any signs of insanity, and you'd think a mind that doesn't process rational thought would be harder to influence, not more so. However, Lambert doesn't get a chance to offer that theory, because he sure is getting splashed with water in the face, and has the gall to look indignant all over again, wiping the moisture away, though it's quickly replaced by a shitty smirk.

"What, did that offend you or something? I'm just telling the truth."

"A spell like that might not work on a sorceress, but your sorceresses couldn't do half the things I could do," Strange complains, pride wounded by Lambert's accusations. Granted, he had no idea how what Lambert's sorceresses could do in the first place, but travel through realms? Turn into smoke? Raise the dead? Ha, he doubted those sorceresses could even do a fraction of that!

"Try it again," Strange insists. However, his voice halts slightly in the middle, stubborn pride butting up against the fear of being taken over. "And actually put effort into it this time, will you?" He's seen the magic now. He knows what it looks like and what it feels like, moreso than just Lambert's magic. He...might not be able to resist it entirely, but Strange is certain he can at least put up more of a fight now.

"Unless one of them shows up here, guess we'll never know." Lambert doesn't bother to argue, just shrugging. If one of those sorceresses does ever show up here, no doubt they can have a spirited ego-off and see just whose hot air takes up the most space in the room, but he's got little interest in defending the nobleness of the magical profession to Strange.

Besides, the request is worth more of his attention -- and derision. "This must be the only training you've ever asked for more of," he jibes. He can sense the magician's hesitation, but there's no point in asking the obvious question, so he's simply going to go for the low hanging fruit ... making light of the whole thing. Still, that gives him an idea for what to ask for next.

"Take a run around the ring." He orders, putting more weight and force of will behind the words, but no more warning than when he'd used it the first time. If nothing else, it still ought to leave Strange disoriented.

Edited 2017-10-07 05:21 (UTC)

Strange can recognize the spell. As soon as Axii hits, he can sense the magic and piece out that it's Lambert's magic and the nature of the spell itself. He doesn't need to do this. This is just the magic speaking, just the magic telling him to do something. He doesn't want (or need) to do this himself.

But it sounds like such a good idea. Of course he wants to run around the ring, why wouldn't he? Yes it's the magic, but if the magic is telling him to do something fun, then might as well listen. There's a moment of hesitation before Strange does decide to run around the ring, though he stops halfway through. The internal battle of Lambert's spell vs. Strange's mind might have taken longer than expected, but Strange's mind came out on top eventually.

"You can only command someone to do a certain action, correct?" he asks, trying to push back the confusion he's still feeling. "The spell can't change one's personality?"

Look at him go. Lambert grins as he watches Strange run off, shaking his head. When the magician seems to have shaken it off enough to ask questions -- quicker than before, but still not enough to convince Lambert he'll be able to immediately refuse any magical compulsion placed on him. Because the witcher version of this magic sits on the lowest end of the scale: a better magician could have him running in circles and thinking it was his idea in the first place.

"Yeah. It's temporary-- most it can do is misdirect and confuse, maybe make people forget you were ever there." He wonders if Strange has puzzled out the spell's other restrictions, but it'll stick better in his memory if Lambert's not the one to tell him, so he doesn't give it away just yet.

Misdirect and confuse...Strange doesn't really have much to go on with regards to mental magic. All he has is Nightshade's work, so he's comparing Lambert's spell to that. And, at least with regards to that, axii does seem at the lower end of the spectrum. He realized he was enthralled and could piece out the bits and pieces of Lambert's magic.

"Try to get me to do something I wouldn't normally think of doing." Because that's what matters in the end, doesn't it. Lambert can make him run around or walk around to the edge of the arena all the other man wants. But if he wasn't able to resist something dangerous even at a lower level of magic...that wasn't a good sign.

Who has two thumbs and is still a little guilty about almost murdering people during Portland? This guy!

Get Strange to do something he wouldn't normally think of doing? Lambert has to think about that, crossing his arms and mulling it over. It's not that Lambert lacks creative imagination in terms of things he could ask Strange to do that he'd dislike; it's just that it defeats the point of the exercise if it's something Strange would merely bitch about, not something that's the complete antithesis of his character.

A few moments pass by before he lands on the answer, and he straightens, already waving a hand without warning as he utters the command.

"Say 'I think my wife Arabella is an ugly cow.'"

If Strange can't resist that, they've got more work to do than Lambert thought.

"Absolutely not," Strange says, without hesitation, only a few seconds after the words leave Lambert's mouth. It takes him a moment to realize oh wait, he resisted the spell, good job Strange! The problem now is he looks annoyingly smug for a man who's only managed to fully resist Axii one out of three times.

"Well! I'm not certain whether that says more about my mental fortitude or your spellwork, but that's certainly a good sign!"

Strange's attitude has turned on a dime: nothing lifted his spirits like success! As such, he's far too pleased with himself and with this whole endeavor.

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smoke and mirrors, silver and gold

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