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westwhere2021-04-23 10:28 pm
descendency) wrote in westwhere2021-04-23 10:28 pm
Entry tags:
burning through this cigarette
WHO: Mingyu & Lee Chang
WHEN: April 19/20 thereabouts
WHERE: The House of Dew
WHAT: Mingyu is... up to something.
WARNINGS: Gay. Blood magic. Will update warnings as necessary.
In the days following the heist, Mingyu grew more and more reclusive. He took clients as usual, as always, but could seldom be seen without them. He took company by appointment only, was shut away in his quarters the rest of the time, barely taking meals, door somehow sealed from the inside barring all access. Food occasionally found its way to him anyway, somehow, inexplicably, and there were of course the guests who liked to take meals with their bought company so he managed.
Still, sleep eluded him more and more, his focus entirely on his work. He packed his workspace into his lacquered wood chest during his entertaining and unrolled it again once the last guest of the night had left. He prevailed upon one of his regulars to bring him odds and ends he needed for his spellwork without informing the man that's what it was for, performed a few extra services for the man's trouble.
He wove out the enchantments, checked and re-checked his array, the quality of his components. One ruby, a lock of hair, a silk handkerchief embroidered with an eye, bone ash, tail feathers, blood, and flame. It filled an entire notebook, the layering of the spells. He worked better with something physical to flip through, where he could see the layers tangibly laid out atop each other with each interaction clearly denoted. He tore out pages and pasted them back in, refining his work until he could no longer physically keep his eyes open. Then he slept, to put fresh eyes upon it in the morning.
There was no one here who could check his work, no one who could point out errors or fallacies. He didn't have the luxury of time or additional components. He had to get it right.
He leaned harder on the blood, using it anywhere he wasn't sure the components he had chosen would fit right, or were of the requisite purity. He thought to himself how angry Fox would be, how appalled.
But Fox wasn't here. He wouldn't have to rely on his own inadequate methods if Fox was here. Everything would be different if Fox was here.
Fox wasn't here.
This was all he had, and he had to make it work.
The day he finished the enchantment was somehow underwhelming, in light of all that preparation.
He followed his notes, cut his chest open over the scar that was already there so it didn't disrupt any of his tattoos or create any new marks upon his skin. He intended to heal it, but one could never be sure of scarring without the right components and once again he was without the luxury. It was fine. He just had to get it done.
It went off well within his error margins, and the end result was a gleaming silver sword with an overbright ruby glittering from the center of the crossguard. Just above it, carved into the blade, was an eye.
Mingyu was exhausted, felt light-headed from exertion. It occurred to him he couldn't remember the last time or thing he ate, so, somewhat dazed, he stumbled out of his room. He'd just get some food quickly. Wouldn't take him long.
That was the last thing he remembered thinking before he opened his eyes again, on his knees slumped against the wall.
WHEN: April 19/20 thereabouts
WHERE: The House of Dew
WHAT: Mingyu is... up to something.
WARNINGS: Gay. Blood magic. Will update warnings as necessary.
In the days following the heist, Mingyu grew more and more reclusive. He took clients as usual, as always, but could seldom be seen without them. He took company by appointment only, was shut away in his quarters the rest of the time, barely taking meals, door somehow sealed from the inside barring all access. Food occasionally found its way to him anyway, somehow, inexplicably, and there were of course the guests who liked to take meals with their bought company so he managed.
Still, sleep eluded him more and more, his focus entirely on his work. He packed his workspace into his lacquered wood chest during his entertaining and unrolled it again once the last guest of the night had left. He prevailed upon one of his regulars to bring him odds and ends he needed for his spellwork without informing the man that's what it was for, performed a few extra services for the man's trouble.
He wove out the enchantments, checked and re-checked his array, the quality of his components. One ruby, a lock of hair, a silk handkerchief embroidered with an eye, bone ash, tail feathers, blood, and flame. It filled an entire notebook, the layering of the spells. He worked better with something physical to flip through, where he could see the layers tangibly laid out atop each other with each interaction clearly denoted. He tore out pages and pasted them back in, refining his work until he could no longer physically keep his eyes open. Then he slept, to put fresh eyes upon it in the morning.
There was no one here who could check his work, no one who could point out errors or fallacies. He didn't have the luxury of time or additional components. He had to get it right.
He leaned harder on the blood, using it anywhere he wasn't sure the components he had chosen would fit right, or were of the requisite purity. He thought to himself how angry Fox would be, how appalled.
But Fox wasn't here. He wouldn't have to rely on his own inadequate methods if Fox was here. Everything would be different if Fox was here.
Fox wasn't here.
This was all he had, and he had to make it work.
The day he finished the enchantment was somehow underwhelming, in light of all that preparation.
He followed his notes, cut his chest open over the scar that was already there so it didn't disrupt any of his tattoos or create any new marks upon his skin. He intended to heal it, but one could never be sure of scarring without the right components and once again he was without the luxury. It was fine. He just had to get it done.
It went off well within his error margins, and the end result was a gleaming silver sword with an overbright ruby glittering from the center of the crossguard. Just above it, carved into the blade, was an eye.
Mingyu was exhausted, felt light-headed from exertion. It occurred to him he couldn't remember the last time or thing he ate, so, somewhat dazed, he stumbled out of his room. He'd just get some food quickly. Wouldn't take him long.
That was the last thing he remembered thinking before he opened his eyes again, on his knees slumped against the wall.
no subject
Mingyu managed to cut off both any questions he had about the eye, but also any thoughts about it, as he explained the fire enchantment set upon the blade. It sounded impossible, but then…
So much of everything he had seen recently should have been impossible.
“No,” he replied to the question. If he’d had any qualms about spilling his blood before, the plague had erased them. In fact, he was already raising the sword, running the sharp edge of the blade quickly over the side of his palm, blood immediately welling and coating the steel edge of the sword he held.