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Who: Syrlya and Strange
When: Day 90
Where: Their trailer
What: Syrlya finishes working out a new portal spell shortly after they leave Eden

Syrlya's injuries are, thankfully, not debilitating. Shamshel left long, nasty iron-claw scars across his chest, but the wound it shallow enough that he's not restricted to rest in the medical tent. The rest of his injuries are even more superficial, so once he has the wounds cleaned and bandaged he's back to the trailer--and back to work. He's down to just his pants for the comfort, which reveals under the bandages the bone-like pattern that's discolored the leaves along his spine and ribs--and a growth of what looks like feathers, dark purple, from his tailbone. He's trying to ignore that.

The mirror's been pulled down from the bathroom again, although this time propped against a bookshelf in the trailer rather than laying on the floor among the papers. He has a short knife he's used to edge runes into the back of it, running along the side, and the glass is now clouded by the swirling, incomplete entrance of a portal. He waits for a minute, and once he assures the stability he grins.

"I've got it!" He says with more enthusiasm than he meets anything else likely, tapping the knife against the side of the mirror.

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There's a bit of an awkward pause before Strange admits, "Perhaps? To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. My magic's changed since Eden so I'm still sorting things out."

Strange isn't entirely certain whether that's due to his time in the Mirror, whatever the Ringmaster did to bring him back to life, both, or neither. He supposes it doesn't matter, though. What matters is he figures all of this out again and gets his magic back to top form.

So, back to talking hypotheticals and talking about magic! "I was thinking about permanently decreasing the size of the mirror, not having someone to increase it or decrease it. If the enchantment stays through the resizing, then it wouldn't matter what size the mirror ended up as."

Syrlya pauses, then leans forward a little and squints. "What do you mean your magic has changed?"

Forget hypothetical spells for a moment, Strange makes that sound like something's been permanently altered. "Thorns, this is why we told you not to touch it. What did the mirror do to you?"

Because it's probably from the mirror, fae artifacts distinctly mess with those who use them and Strange doesn't suddenly look more covered in reflections than he was before.

"I didn't plan on touching it," Strange quickly snaps before this becomes yet another round of Syrlya fussing at Strange for what Strange views as stupid reasons. "I had Ignatius to watch over. Had I not been captured, I would have stayed away from the Mirror."

Mostly because if Strange got to the Mirror, then he could see Ignatius getting to the Mirror and that certainly wasn't going to happen.

"It's still my magic, I'm certain of that. It just feels..." And then Strange comes up with a few analogies that he realizes Syrlya won't get. It feels like he knows how to ride a horse but now they've put him on an elk and told him to ride it instead. It feels like trying to read Latin when all you know is Italian. He frowns for a moment, mentally floundering, before he settles on, "...it feels like you've memorized a song then someone told you from now on, you'll only sing every other word. You know you can do it. It just takes you a while to actually get used to this new arrangement and you'll trip over your words a few times."

As shown by the quizzical frown on Strange's face, he's not entirely sure of that analogy. But hey, it's the best he's got.

"I know that." But it still happened, and he hopes Strange doesn't get ideas that he's capable of still handling it after he's seen the amount of power it really takes. He won't say it, but he's worried about the long term effects of that kind of magic coursing trough his system.

He shifts back against the wall again. "That wouldn't make for a very good song. Have you noticed anything off about your magic, or... yourself?"

"I can't think of any better analogies," Strange admits, with a little shrug. He's still leaning against the back of the bunk beds and still looks far too tired for his own good.

As for Syrlya's question...Strange frowns a little. Has he noticed anything off about himself? Kind of! But he's not entirely sure if this is just him recovering from whatever the Ringmaster did to make him a person again or if this is some permanent change.

"As for your question, perhaps? Though I'm not entirely certain what is a permanent change and what is simply an after effect of all that business." Said with a vague hand gesture as to what 'all that business' actually entails. "Give me a week and I'll know for certain."

Syrlya hums, regarding Strange with a similarly vague look. He can tell how tired he is, so he's not inclined to encourage him perform magic right now. Either to find inconsistency or outdo Syrlya.

Then he lets out a faint sigh, pulling slowly off the wall so he can cross up the kitchen. "You should go back to bed and focus on recovering."

Consider this: one of the best ways to get Strange to do something is tell him not to do it to begin with. He can't help but frown a little at Syrlya's suggestion before he shakes his head.

"Honestly, I'd rather talk for a little bit longer. After all, there's still so much about this new spell that I'd like to learn. Can you move the portal you placed at the mirror to a different mirror, or is this permanently affixed now?"

"You look like you are going to collapse if that bed does not hold you up, Strange." Though he doesn't sound terribly invested in fussing any further as he says it, rooting through the cabinets for a glass.

"I could recreate it on a different mirror, yes. Probably any sort of similar surface. I'd only have to destroy the first one, I expect."

He pours water into the glass as he talks, before gesturing it vaguely in the air. "It is not terribly different from how my portal already functions, except I no longer have to maintain the form of both the entrance and the exit now."

"And you look like you were mauled by a bear," Strange points out, as he gestures at Syrlya's chest. Technically it was a tiger but hey, close enough. He's also not fussing, just pointing out the obvious. Everyone got a little messed up by Eden, it just depends on how it happened.

He listens as Syrlya talks more about his portal spell. Nerding out about magic like this is Strange's bread and butter. Despite his obvious tiredness, he continues to talk.

"Wherever we put the exit, it'll have to be somewhere warded against intruders and disenchantment. I know of one person who can do warding spells, but I'll have to ask around to see if there are any others." Mirrors are mobile. It won't do if they had something propped up somewhere and it got stolen or moved if, God forbid, the carnival were ever invaded.

"It isn't a deep injury. Were it not iron it would already be healed." So, in his opinion, not enough of an injury to keep him down compared to everyone else.

But he already expects Strange to disregard his suggestion. He doesn't respond immediately to his theorizing, instead letting the silence stretch out as he drinks.

Finally he turns back around to Strange. "I know, Strange. I actually account for potential risks before I dedicate myself to something."

He just usually does it anyway, but at least he's more cautious about endangering other people's lives than his own.

Whether Syrlya means it or not, Strange hears an unspoken 'unlike you' after the end of his words. His frown deepens a little as he crosses his arms over his chest. So this is how the conversation's going to go? Very well then.

"Like you accounted for the iron?" Except he obviously didn't if he was wounded like that. Besides, Strange saw what Lambert looked like: it's obvious to him that neither of them did that good a job planning for iron.

"You should be resting more than I am. Iron isn't something to ignore."

It was a little implied, but Syrlya isn't offended when Strange tries to turn it back on him."I knew about the iron. That's why I was only scratched, and not killed."

Scratched is putting it lightly, but Syrlya just isn't worried about an injury that isn't immediately crippling or poisoning him. You get hurt in fights, and he's carrying too many scars already.

"My body is sturdier than yours anyway. Less--" He makes a bit of a face. "Squishy, and the sap flows more slowly. It isn't serious."

"It doesn't matter how strong you are, just how fae you are," Strange explains, slightly irritated. "Ignatius is a hundred times stronger than you and his iron wounds might have killed him if the rest of the carnival hadn't acted as fast as they did."

Something which Strange is eternally grateful for. He'll need to remember to thank the rest of those who helped when he got back on his feet.

Syrlya may be trying to underplay the wound but that won't stop Strange from worrying. "Both you and Lambert are fae enough that as soon as you saw the iron, you should have run."

Him and Lambert and Childermass and all the rest. Strange can't understand why there were so many people who put themselves in danger to that extent.

Syrlya makes a sound in his throat, setting the glass down. "We aren't fae, regardless what kind of changes we experience as an after effect of their magic. We are mortal, dozens of other things can still kill us as effectively as iron. Why not worry about all of it?"

Which might sound a little opposing to his previous point, except it's just he considers human bodies even more fragile. He's seen how they bleed out, it's alarming. "I have fought in wars for years. It's a risk I'm prepared for."

"We're fae enough," Strange responds. As he talks, he reaches up to his hair and twists one of his curls around his finger. The flame burns close to Strange's hand before he pinches it out and continues taking, idly playing with his hair all the while.

"And it's no use using war as a justification. I suspect you've forgotten, but I've fought in wars as well." Syrlya probably hasn't forgotten, what with Strange never shutting up about the peninsula and the fuss he kicked up when he was removed from the nightrunners. But considering he's bringing up war to prove his point, Strange thinks he has.

"I doubt anything from your world could cripple or maim us as much as iron could. Of course you should worry about that the most."

"Do you just think you are immortal to anything that isn't an--explicitly magical weakness now?" His tone is blatantly incredulous as he frowns. Syrlya's been maimed, he knows it doesn't need to be iron. "It wasn't iron that killed you, was it?"

He shakes his head. "I know you think you're an expert on Tyria since I have given you a few anecdotes of my home, but honestly Strange... do not tell me I do not know exactly what risk I am putting my life into. If you've just as much experience in the battlefield, then you should know better what a cause like that entails. Besides, we succeeded in disrupting Shamshel's front and forcing their retreat."

So, it's as much of a mission accomplished as they could have asked for as far as Syrlya's concerned. That makes it worth his own injuries.

"Stop trying to tell me what I do or don't think," Strange snaps, getting more irritated as the conversation goes on.

"The fact of the matter is that iron is our biggest weakness. And yet so many of our number seem to have conveniently forgotten that fact and have gotten themselves maimed in entirely needless circumstances!"

Sure, it would have been nice if Syrlya or Lambert managed to take down an Architect or disrupt their forces even more. But on Strange's mind, that wouldn't have changed much about the main point of the battle.

"Then maybe you should not always act like you know better than anyone else about everything!" He almost shouts, leaning off the counter in open irritation, his hands curling into fists. "I know it is a weakness. My lack of fear for it is not ignorance. I was not maimed needlessly, I took a risk to accomplish my duty and because I knew what I was doing I walked away with only this."

It could have been worse. This is nothing to him, in the grand scheme if things. He'll experience more wounds like this, and he'll walk then off the same because he's capable of it. He needs to be.

Now he can't show any weakness to this injury, but that's fine. It didn't cripple him.

"It looks to me that it was needless." The flames of Strange's hair start burning brighter, as they further climb up towards his scalp.

"The only way that fight would have ended is if either the Ringmaster or Lilith won. Hurting an Architect wouldn't have changed anything."

At least, that's what Strange thinks. How Syrlya could have helped the Ringmaster, he's not so sure. But the other man is smart. He'd have found a way.

"And until one of them succeeded, there was an entire battle down below among all the Honorables and growing casualties. Crippling their efforts preserves the lives of our people and our allies by giving us an advantage in the meantime."

He has doubts they could have all contributed to the Ringmaster's fight at the time. They just didn't have the supplies for that kind of battle, especially not when Lilith's people were on the aggressive to stop them. He doesn't like trusting someone else to do the job, but he can recognize where it wasn't quite a fight he could have won by his own power.

"But you don't consider anything I say to have any merit, so I don't know why I am even debating this with you in the first place!" He throws his hands up in the air, exasperated. "You'll just insist you are right until you are in your grave."

Edited 2018-08-26 20:20 (UTC)

A little bit of confusion is mixed in with Strange's anger. Because what? As far as he's concerned, he's got no idea why Syrlya would think something like that.

"If I thought nothing you said had merit, I wouldn't talk to you about things like this to begin with. I value your opinion even if I think some of your choices are unwise."

He thinks a lot of Syrlya's recent choices are unwise but that's a different story.

"You ignore what I say and insist I am wrong a lot for supposedly valuing my opinion," he grumbles moodily, though he catches himself and quickly smooths the emotion out of his voice.

"You tried to tell me what was right for how we use magic in Tyria, a place you have never even been! I don't think you have ever taken anything I have said to heart or followed an order without arguing it. Are you so arrogant you can't accept that someone else might understand something better than you?"

He's still a little touchy about that.

Strange honestly doesn't remember what Syrlya is talking about. Thankfully, he's smart enough to just assume that he was wrong and not press for details unless asked. (Was it about the dragons? Strange thinks it might have been about the dragons in Syrlya's world.)

"You obviously haven't listened to Lambert and myself talk if you think it's only you," Strange admits, a little tentatively. "As for your other point, I've never needed to follow an order from you in the first place. You aren't my supervisor and never were."

Turns out that Strange and Syrlya have radically different ideas on what a second in command entails.

Syrlya bristles and his shoulders tense, and there's a brief flash of offense on his features befor he purses his lips and pulls his expression into a tight glower.

"Then I suppose you have equally little respect for Lambert's position, seeing as he was your Supervisor and the one who asked me to act in his place when he couldn't."

He turns, striding stubbornly for the door. "Next time I will remember you are research, and I won't ask you for anything."

Edited 2018-08-27 00:01 (UTC)

Good Lord! What the hell did he do wrong now?! Strange just looks downright baffled for a moment before his hair further sets itself on fire, flames shooting up about halfway to the top of his head.

"You've never had to act in his place!" Strange yells, a little exasperated. "Of course I'd listen to you if the situation called for it, but that's never happened!"

He's not following Syrlya out. Strange is awake enough to argue, but he's not sure if he's awake enough to argue while continuing to bother Syr.

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