(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric has been exploring the library and is curled up by the fire with a jug of warm mead and several books on magic.

He seems very intent on finding something but is utterly botherable. Especially if you can help him with his research.

Comments

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan wanders up behind him and leans down to kiss his cheek.

"Magic, Sinric?"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric smiles and closes his eyes a moment, leaning into the kiss gladly.

"Yes. I have grown... curious about it. I shied away in fear when first I was exposed to it here. When you brought Rae to heal me. But I was young and very, very frightened. Now I find I'm drawn to the idea of it. I don't know if there is magic in our world. I think these must be. I find myself wondering if I might learn it."

[athelstanthescribe]

"I've seen things, and heard of things in our world", he says quietly, slipping down onto the couch, "that I think can only be a kind of magic. The village Seer, for one."

His left hand is still bandaged.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric nods and leans against him, head resting on Athelstan's shoulder. "Such things were forbidden in the Byzantine Court, or else called miracles and claimed as the work of God but I can't believe that's all there is to it."

He reaches out to take Athelstan's bandaged hand, cradling it very gently in his own. He doesn't ask, not unless Athelstan wants to tell.

"Will you tell me about the Seer?"

[athelstanthescribe]

"I had an accident with a chisel", he says briefly, then nods. "I've never spoken with him as others have, but seen him many times. He's a very unusual man - blind, but it doesn't seem naturally, though nobody asks what happened."

[soldier_blade]

After spending time with Athelstan, Sonya had changed from the stiff dress-A's to civilian clothing of jeans and short sleeved flannel shirt, about as comfortable as she was able to go without being sloppy. Seeing Sinric, her expression brightened by just a little: if it had been a long while since she'd seen Athelstan, it was even longer since she'd visited Sinric.

She got in step just to the side of him. "Hey, it alright if I sit?"

The books get a strange look: are they genuine or more theory.

[thewidewideworld]

Longer still for Sinric. He looks up at her and smiles warmly. "Sonya! You are most welcome. Would you like some mead?"

[soldier_blade]

"Won't say no." She took a seat across from him, her posture straight to keep her ribs from aching anymore. "How've you been?"

[thewidewideworld]

He pours her a glass of the lightly steaming mead with the grace of long practice.

"I have been very well indeed. The bar and those dear to me have done much to lift my spirits." He touches his stomach. "And restore my health. But what of you?" He frowns at her careful posture. "Are you well?"

[i_am_your_host]

The Master of Ceremonies comes a-traipsing through the bar with sheet music in his hand.

"Sinric!" he sings out upon seeing the young man, and he heads toward him, inviting himself to plop down beside him amongst his books.

"Just the person I wanted to find."

And he grins at him, filled with youthful good spirits.

Youthful being the key word, as Sinric may have met him more recently than Emcee thinks.

[thewidewideworld]

"Emcee." Sinric smiles brightly and sets his book done. "You were seeking me? How can I be of service to you?"

He may have, but he never quite made the connection.

[i_am_your_host]

"Well, I was wondering if you would like to perform a song with me," he suggests hopefully.

"I have been cooped up in here far too long without an audience, and it may seem narcissistic of me to say so, but I absolutely need to perform something or I may burst at the seams, ugh. So! What say you, darling?"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric laughs softly and reaches out to rest a hand on Emcee's arm, as if to steady him. "I will sing with you very gladly. Especially if it will bring you peace as well as pleasure. Did you have a song in mind?"

[sidhe_king]

The clunk of heavy-tread boots is the noise that marks Finvarra's entrance to the library, and the sound gets closer and closer to Sinric--but when he looks over to check the man himself, if you can call him that, appears crouched barefoot on his other side.

"Looking for something, are you?"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric looks up in surprise, a little too lost in the passage he's reading. He greets the stranger with a respectful smile and a nod, gesturing to the mead in offer.

"Perhaps. To be honest I'm not sure yet. Of late, I have found myself curious about the magics I have encountered here and wondered if a moral like me may learn such things. I have no desire for power but I wondered if there might be some trick or spell that would allow me to go unnoticed in a crowd when I wished to."

[sidhe_king]

"Oh, yes, there are spells for that purpose," Finvarra says lightly, shifting his weight on his toes. "There are spells for any purpose if you can pay the price for them."

He stands, elegant in a way familiar to Sinric, though not recognizably. "All magic has a price, after all."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric does recognise the grace of movement, artful and trained and it gives him a sudden pang of heartsickness for his lost brother. "So I understand. And that is why I study - in hope of understanding better that which I ask."

He looks up at Finvarra, reminded painfully of Probus. "You speak as one who has knowledge of such things?"

[heatherandsteel]

(OOC: He can't actually teach his magic, its in his blood but he can help with a disguise for a time.)

Quentin hasn't seen Sinric in a while and glances at the book titles, "I didn't know you could do magic."

That's usually something he can figure out about people, he's not disguised and in jeans and a t-shirt, its been a day for house cleaning.

[thewidewideworld]

"I can't. But I have grown curious about it. About if one can learn such things or if it must be a thing one must born to."

He offers Quentin a glass of mead and welcomes him to sit.

[heatherandsteel]

"It depends on the world. You couldn't learn my sort of magic, its in my blood but there are potions and objects that can help you see through it or interact with it,"

He sits down and tastes the mead to glance over and see if any of the books deal with his type of magic.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric has a smattering of texts from different worlds, all of them different and none of them very helpful. "Talismans and potions? Do you make such things or do they come from others?" He asks, interestedly.

[arcane_mixologist]

A tall and lanky man comes by and drops gracefully into one of the couch chairs that in the future will be called fainting couches*. He's dressed in smokey grey, silk pajamas and a brass kimono he seems to be using as a house coat**. He's also carrying a green drink and one of the pamphlets which explain Milliways to the uninitiated.

Sparing a polite nod, and a double glace for Sinric's beauty, he turns back to reading the pamphlet but his eye is caught by the books instead. "Oh dear. Please tell me you are not taking Bolingbroke seriously?"

[OOC: *Has there always been a fainting couch? Who cares.
**The narration apologizes for the cultural appropriation and mistreatment of a wonderful garment. For what it's worth, Eliot does take care not to spill anything on the kimono and is careful not to crease it.]

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric looks up from his book, cocking his head is an expression of mild confusion. He glances at the spine of the book to remind himself of the author. "Thus far, I confess I have found him very dull and more than a little pompous."

He discreetly looks the man over, taking in the rather lovely kimono. "Forgive me, I don't believe we've met."

[arcane_mixologist]

"Dry and pompous is an excellent description but later in that book you'll have to add pious and prudish. Poor man was convinced you had to forgo physical pleasure to be successful with magic." Eliot replies with a wicked grin.

Leaning forward to offer a hand, he adds, "Eliot Waugh. I'm new here, so please be gentle. Or at least exciting if you can't manage gentle."

[thewidewideworld]

He laughs softly "I have never understood how anyone could believe that pleasure shared somehow takes one away from god, away from power, away from purity. As if pleasure is a strain rather than natural and wonderful thing."

Sinric takes his hand and shakes it. His own fingers are delicate and slender. "My name is Sinric and you are most welcome here, Eliot Waugh."