Patrollogs
(Miles's decursing attempt)
[Tue Mar 5 2024]
On Service Road North
This somewhat overgrown service road runs along the north end of the Institute. In earlier times, it provided alternate access to the Institute to the south, but since budget reorganization it has become overgrown and disused.
It is morning, about 29F(-1C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing.
Miles says "..Language. "
Miles says "Well. I have some bad news, and maybe good news? Good news. I found a pretty necklace on the ground. Bad news, Tabi? I can't let go of it."
Miles says "Deal. I'm near the abandoned psych ward, just north of the White Oak? I was looking for a market door. "
It's just as Miles had suggested over the call. The bloodied man is standing there with his left hand curled about a necklace, and he's doing his best to try and peel his fingers off of it. They're ignoring his efforts. Things were already strained between he and Tabitha, and this situation does help as he croaks over toward her, "Alright, Tabi-tha? Tabitha?"
The situation does not help, rather.
The hand, and necklace both, are extended out toward Tabitha, and while Miles can't release his grip upon it's string, the wooden pendant at the heart of it hangs from his fist. "Yeah, I'm trying, but it's.." Stuck.
Tabitha sets her phone back into her denim coat pocket, seeking to find her athame knife amidst a clutter of things and bandages within a first aid kit. Those bandages will likely come in handy later... The knife is dragged across her life line, something that, if anyone other than herself would recognize has gotten shorter, likely with every ritualistic cut. Her fingers set into her pooling blood and she reaches forth to the heart of that pendant, seeking to smear her blood on it, and see if any runes are brought forth with her sacrifice.
The whole room shakes.
There's an empathetic sort of turn of Miles's lips at that, but he's too late to stop her, really. "I'm already.." Bleeding. He's already bleeding. Though, to be fair, he doesn't really understand magic, let alone the particular flavour that Tabitha employs. His gaze ticks between the woman and the trinket, and while there's an urge to mutter something, he barely gets to say, "I am sor-", and then the world is tumbling beneath their feet, and Miles is skittered to the side where he bumps into his car. A steady hand is extended to Tabitha with his free hand.
An answer is given as Tabitha's attempt to seek out what curses the item, what its intentions are, with a rumble of the ground beneath her feet. She rocks backward, arm flailing to try to get purchase before she falls backward, onto her tailbone. She does not seek out Miles's help to get back up. She, with a groan, goes hands and knees, knees, then feet. She approaches him again, but there is no comment to what he'd begun to say, at least in acceptance. "It's not the time." She again places her fingers onto the pendant, pressing them into the wood, like she sought to read braille. She begins to chant, her eyes lifting upward to the Heavens.
All metal objects in the room are suddenly tugged violently towards the artifact.
She's right. It's not the time, nor is it the place, but Miles had to say something. Or at least try. The unaccepted hand lingers just long enough to be awkward before it's pulled back and the fellow clears his throat, "Should I-.. what do I do?" He asks of her then, back to the subject at (left) hand. No sooner had he asked as much, and the buttons on his clothes, his belt, the buckle and his badge are all jerked toward his hand - which is a strange situation, to be sure. It's especially worse when a piece of some long forgotten and broken mailbox goes flying across the road, and smacks Miles in the back of the head.
BONK!
At least if Tabitha needs more blood, there's a fresh supply. He skitters forward, nearly falling over from the blow, and staggering to a knee.
It is a good thing that Tabitha's knife is made of bone, at least, in that it doesn't turn and seek out to pierce Miles in the chest -- even should the fiery redhead might want to or has considered it in the last evening. She wouldn't though, would she? She wouldn't necessarily need a knife, either... There is a sudden look of empathy when some other metal makes contact with Miles, barely ducking out of the thing as it makes its hurdling way down to the ground, its trajectory somewhat skewed by the object called Miles's head. While he is down on a knee, she tries to grasp onto the pendant, her blood and his mingling and seeping into the wood. "These things are always tricky..." she intones, quietly, before there is a chant. It may be Old English, by the sound of it, but not Latin. It's poetic, really.
For several seconds the room grows painfully cold.
"Christ alive." The words are squeezed out of Miles's lips as he squeezes his eyes shut for a few moments, shifting his free hand to press against the back of his head. "Fucking tricky?" That's an understatement of sorts. The room slowly stops spinning as he takes a few moments, but then the warm is bleeding out of him, and his scowl turns into a chitter-chatter. The deputy does his best to hold the pendant steady for Tabitha, squinting up at her as she grasps it, "Is this working?"
"These sorts of things -- the rituals -- they work far better when there are three." Tabitha explains through lips that are turning a shade of blue, rather than her rosy bloom. "It appears to be working, however. Or it would not be trying to protect itself, simply curse you with whatever curse has been placed on it." The blood between them has crystallized in the freeze, binding her skin to the pendant, too.
All metal objects in the room are suddenly tugged violently towards the artifact.
"We need more magic frien-" There's that bloody mailbox again. It leaps up from where it was resting, splattered with a bit of Miles's blood, and then darts up to smack the fellow in the back this time. "Unf!"
Miles jerks forward, bumping into Tabitha a little and slipping onto the ground. At least he turns, twisting his arm up and keeping his hand close to Tabitha as she does the lion's share of the work. "I hate it, I hate it, I hate it." The man whines, pectulantly.
With her hand fused to Miles, it now becomes a struggle to not teeter and fall onto her knees too, and ultimately, there she does. But instead of wallow in this, she begins to prostate herself to her Goddess. Though not Lilith, Tabitha is still not above calling to her. No, she calls upon the Crone, the earth mother, as she picks up some mud from the round to smear it across her, hand, Miles's hand, and the necklace.
"Release us, Gaia." Tabitha says, voice light, pleading.
That doesn't seem hygenic, but Miles isn't the magic user here. He just lays there, cringing in pain as Tabitha's power reaches it's climax, and clashes against the curse.
With a final burst of power the curse on a wooden necklace is broken.
Miless Decursing Attempt 240306
(Miles's decursing attempt)
[Tue Mar 5 2024]
On Service Road North
This somewhat overgrown service road runs along the north end of the Institute. In earlier times, it provided alternate access to the Institute to the south, but since budget reorganization it has become overgrown and disused.
It is morning, about 29F(-1C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing.
Miles says "..Language. "
Miles says "Well. I have some bad news, and maybe good news? Good news. I found a pretty necklace on the ground. Bad news, Tabi? I can't let go of it."
Miles says "Deal. I'm near the abandoned psych ward, just north of the White Oak? I was looking for a market door. "
It's just as Miles had suggested over the call. The bloodied man is standing there with his left hand curled about a necklace, and he's doing his best to try and peel his fingers off of it. They're ignoring his efforts. Things were already strained between he and Tabitha, and this situation does help as he croaks over toward her, "Alright, Tabi-tha? Tabitha?"
The situation does not help, rather.
The hand, and necklace both, are extended out toward Tabitha, and while Miles can't release his grip upon it's string, the wooden pendant at the heart of it hangs from his fist. "Yeah, I'm trying, but it's.." Stuck.
Tabitha sets her phone back into her denim coat pocket, seeking to find her athame knife amidst a clutter of things and bandages within a first aid kit. Those bandages will likely come in handy later... The knife is dragged across her life line, something that, if anyone other than herself would recognize has gotten shorter, likely with every ritualistic cut. Her fingers set into her pooling blood and she reaches forth to the heart of that pendant, seeking to smear her blood on it, and see if any runes are brought forth with her sacrifice.
The whole room shakes.
There's an empathetic sort of turn of Miles's lips at that, but he's too late to stop her, really. "I'm already.." Bleeding. He's already bleeding. Though, to be fair, he doesn't really understand magic, let alone the particular flavour that Tabitha employs. His gaze ticks between the woman and the trinket, and while there's an urge to mutter something, he barely gets to say, "I am sor-", and then the world is tumbling beneath their feet, and Miles is skittered to the side where he bumps into his car. A steady hand is extended to Tabitha with his free hand.
An answer is given as Tabitha's attempt to seek out what curses the item, what its intentions are, with a rumble of the ground beneath her feet. She rocks backward, arm flailing to try to get purchase before she falls backward, onto her tailbone. She does not seek out Miles's help to get back up. She, with a groan, goes hands and knees, knees, then feet. She approaches him again, but there is no comment to what he'd begun to say, at least in acceptance. "It's not the time." She again places her fingers onto the pendant, pressing them into the wood, like she sought to read braille. She begins to chant, her eyes lifting upward to the Heavens.
All metal objects in the room are suddenly tugged violently towards the artifact.
She's right. It's not the time, nor is it the place, but Miles had to say something. Or at least try. The unaccepted hand lingers just long enough to be awkward before it's pulled back and the fellow clears his throat, "Should I-.. what do I do?" He asks of her then, back to the subject at (left) hand. No sooner had he asked as much, and the buttons on his clothes, his belt, the buckle and his badge are all jerked toward his hand - which is a strange situation, to be sure. It's especially worse when a piece of some long forgotten and broken mailbox goes flying across the road, and smacks Miles in the back of the head.
BONK!
At least if Tabitha needs more blood, there's a fresh supply. He skitters forward, nearly falling over from the blow, and staggering to a knee.
It is a good thing that Tabitha's knife is made of bone, at least, in that it doesn't turn and seek out to pierce Miles in the chest -- even should the fiery redhead might want to or has considered it in the last evening. She wouldn't though, would she? She wouldn't necessarily need a knife, either... There is a sudden look of empathy when some other metal makes contact with Miles, barely ducking out of the thing as it makes its hurdling way down to the ground, its trajectory somewhat skewed by the object called Miles's head. While he is down on a knee, she tries to grasp onto the pendant, her blood and his mingling and seeping into the wood. "These things are always tricky..." she intones, quietly, before there is a chant. It may be Old English, by the sound of it, but not Latin. It's poetic, really.
For several seconds the room grows painfully cold.
"Christ alive." The words are squeezed out of Miles's lips as he squeezes his eyes shut for a few moments, shifting his free hand to press against the back of his head. "Fucking tricky?" That's an understatement of sorts. The room slowly stops spinning as he takes a few moments, but then the warm is bleeding out of him, and his scowl turns into a chitter-chatter. The deputy does his best to hold the pendant steady for Tabitha, squinting up at her as she grasps it, "Is this working?"
"These sorts of things -- the rituals -- they work far better when there are three." Tabitha explains through lips that are turning a shade of blue, rather than her rosy bloom. "It appears to be working, however. Or it would not be trying to protect itself, simply curse you with whatever curse has been placed on it." The blood between them has crystallized in the freeze, binding her skin to the pendant, too.
All metal objects in the room are suddenly tugged violently towards the artifact.
"We need more magic frien-" There's that bloody mailbox again. It leaps up from where it was resting, splattered with a bit of Miles's blood, and then darts up to smack the fellow in the back this time. "Unf!"
Miles jerks forward, bumping into Tabitha a little and slipping onto the ground. At least he turns, twisting his arm up and keeping his hand close to Tabitha as she does the lion's share of the work. "I hate it, I hate it, I hate it." The man whines, pectulantly.
With her hand fused to Miles, it now becomes a struggle to not teeter and fall onto her knees too, and ultimately, there she does. But instead of wallow in this, she begins to prostate herself to her Goddess. Though not Lilith, Tabitha is still not above calling to her. No, she calls upon the Crone, the earth mother, as she picks up some mud from the round to smear it across her, hand, Miles's hand, and the necklace.
"Release us, Gaia." Tabitha says, voice light, pleading.
That doesn't seem hygenic, but Miles isn't the magic user here. He just lays there, cringing in pain as Tabitha's power reaches it's climax, and clashes against the curse.
With a final burst of power the curse on a wooden necklace is broken.