Jan 09 13:27:29 108 PA - How Does Magic Work
From Chronicles
Jan 09 13:27:29 108 PA.
THE ALIBI
Some people may consider this time of day to be rather odd for people to be venturing into bars, nightclubs and other, similar social gathering areas. But considering that outside the doors of the Alibi a vicious, white-out blizzard is raging, shelter where it can be found makes sense. The establishment is crowded, but not really by patrons. Rather, just those taking shelter. This Missouri winter is proving to be a harsh one. Gabriel is seated off in one of the quieter sections, where people have yet to push and gather. Parts of his snow gear lay on the table before him; the wool cap, gloves and part of his hood. There are two translucent brown bottles before him, and he seems absurdly cheery.
On the other hand, there will always be those that enjoy the atmosphere, or simple wish a quality drink they don't need to pour themselves. Leonard has his own means to avoid the blizzard and the blowing snow, cold wind, and most every other unpleasant trait of the blizzard. It's just a simple matter of poking a hole in the fabric of spacetime, stretching the hole, and stepping through. The crackle and flash of blue-white energy that accompanies his sudden appearance near the door only makes it /appear/ more complicated.
Oh, sure, some other showoff asshole mage... oh, it's Leonard. Not an asshole or a showoff, which is nice. But still, seeing someone step out of nowhere is just barely enough to give the very benignly normal Gabriel a very tiny, tiny case of "the willies." Enough so that he wastes a few moments sipping from one of his bottles before raising a hand in greeting. Speaking at this moment would entail shouting, which would make a show of one's self. May as well simply be courteous.
Leonard is courteous enough to pass through the usual doorcheck, which comes pretty quickly after that entrance. As usual, he's unarmed, continues further towards the bar, and notices the raised hand. "Hello," he offers once within something close to normal conversation range. "Are the drinks still cold?"
With a wide grin, Gabriel states, "I'm pretty sure that everything around this city is cold, Leonard. The drinks must be!" He slouches in his chair just enough to reach out with his leg and punch the opposite chair out from the table. "C'mon, take a load off. I'll buy you the first bottle of whatever you want. As long as it's cheap beer." The man ends with a wide grin, and a thick drawl.
"I'd hope so. It would be worrisome, otherwise. I'll take you up on that." Leonard meant the question as a joke, anyhow, and chuckles as he adds insult to injury by sitting on the punched chair. "Are you celebrating, or recuperating?"
"Neither." Gabriel raises his bottle and twists it so the label is visible: "Dorson's Fizz." The older man shrugs, and states, "Closest thing that I've yet to find to good ol' Coca Cola. Well..." He seems to pause for a moment in thought. "Maybe neither *and* both. I'm celebrating that I'm alive, and resting from being netted and shot. I'm going to find the bastard who pulled those stunts and.. educate him a bit as to how the infantry works as a small unit. You? Way you get around, looks like you could be anywhere you wanted to be right now."
Leonard shrugs his shoulders and turns it into flagging a server with one hand. "I'm not one to critique tactics, but it was stupid. I could have attempted to help you by attacking the creature, but I didn't think that you'd consider the risk of you evaporating to be much help. That one is... strange."
With a broad smile, Gabriel raises his bottle in toast. "To you, my friend, for not vaporizing me." He pulls briefly on his soda. "I've said this a number of times.. but when people go into combat, or potential combat situations, there should be a plan, even if it's only priorities. Not just me ordering people around, but input from a good psychic and a good mage, as well. Otherwise?" He pauses to shrug his shoulders. "Clusterfuck waiting to happen."
"I agree," Leonard nods his assent, "though it could just be a matter of practice, familiarity. You're used to training and fighting with others, I assume. Many are not. Worse, many have a reason /not/ to trust others." He lets out a sigh that is mitigated some by a server arriving and returning with a beer. A rare non-wine moment, possibly. "I wasn't exactly my best, either. Smacking myself in the face trying to get my helmet on in a cartwheeling truck didn't help."
You paged Erica with 'If she were taller, and less busty, she would be a perfect Bond girl. I won't try to paint you a picture, just.. absolutely gorgeous. The young men apparently notice the fact, and despite having children around, and an older man right nearby, I'll allow that the "wrong ring hand" throws them off, and I have people hitting on my wife right in front of me. :P She's always very polite, and I have to say, you know, her voice is also the perfect Russian Bond girl... accent, tone.. awesome. The young men also appreciate it... but she politely puts them off, and they leave. One guy, ensign of some kind was really pestering her, though. Like.. really. So she tells him in that perfect accent, "You seem very nice, and you're very handsome, but I don't think that my husband would approve." He glances at me, and even though I'm not full military, I do have rank, which is far above his.. and he just freakin' RAN!!!!!! I know that I shouldn't laugh at others' misfortune like that... but I couldn't help it. Because of the whole look, sound, and way she's treated, I tease her by calling her my "kroshechnye shpiona" which is "tiny spy." :P'
Gabriel offers a tilt of his head as he dangles some credits to pay for Leonard's drink, as promised. "I think that deserves some explanation, Leo. A bit of mystery in the air... maybe a little bit of your past coming to the forefront? The past that you promised to tell me about one of these days after I blabbed mine?" The Kentuckian lifts his bottle to his lips and waggles his eyebrows above it.
Leonard lets out a short laugh, following it with a nod while he takes that first swallow of cold beer. It's savored a moment, and then he can reply verbally. "I did promise to make some attempt at matching your tales, didn't I? What would you care to know? In the vein of most things military, I was either ignorant, or retreated, so it is still a topic I know little about."
"Even more interesting, as any moron can learn the 'vein' of military. I'm obvious proof of that." The Kentuckian winks at his friend. "You knew nothing of life in my time, growing up, what I've been doing up until September. I don't know anything about magic, and what you fellows do... can women be magicians, too? I mean, I've seen Miss Valeriya, but it seems different somehow." It probably seems a stupid question for the year 108 PA, but it's a very legitimate question for Gabriel to ask in 1959.
"Yes, just as any woman can learn to fire a weapon," Leonard smirks lightly, "or throw a grenade. Vixen isn't quite a soldier, but she's certainly more ...combat-savvy than I. As for magic, not all learn to use it precisely the same. Many, like myself, study it like any other profession. Others might have a natural propensity, especially among species other than human." It would be easier to say "non-human" or "inhuman," but he avoids the terms.
Gabriel nods, in some small understanding. "How do you, umm, I don't know. You wear an invisible ammunition belt somewhere that spits fire and lets you, uh.." he waves the neck of his bottle toward the entrance. "Materialize?"
Leonard chuckles. "Oh, that?" Another small shrug. "It was a bit unnecessary, but it's not so spectacular as it appears. Nothing more than opening a door to where I wish to travel and stepping through. Useful, but not very efficient for mass transportation. My specialty involves other realms, travel to and from, and the beings that populate them."
The older man swings his mouth to the side, probably wondering which line of questioning he should follow. So many interesting directions to go. Instead of any of those, however, he takes a rather different tact. "There are other specialties then? Like everyone's infantry, but one's a sniper, one's demolitions, or scouting, firearms assault, hand-to-hand combat, medic..." Gabriel's voice softens as he seems to look to close off his question. "If so - how does this translate into magic?" The question about where magic power comes from is tabled for the moment.
"Well..." Leonard considers that a moment and finally nods. "That is a decent analogy. Not quite so structured or restrictive, though. I would consider it more academic or ...personal, myself. Even two snipers, to use your example, wouldn't necessarily prefer the same weapons, the same..." he waves his bottle uncertainly as he ponders something else sniper-related "...tactics. Magic is, in the basic sense, just another tool, albeit a very versatile one. How it's used depends on how the wielder wishes and learns to do so."
There's some nodding on Gabriel's part. "That's reasonable. For now." He winks, acknowledging that he's only been given the most superficial - extremely superficial - explanation. Gabriel takes a long pull and completely empties his bottle in a matter of two seconds, quite a long drink for something claiming to have fizz. The bottle is cheerfully plopped onto the table. "But where do you get it? To continue to follow my poor analogy, when I want to fire something, I have to slap in a magazine."
Leonard takes a pull from his bottle and releases an 'Ah' in both refreshment and understanding of Gabriel's question. "From myself. As a tool that can't be taken away, for the most part, magic is also limited by the wielder. Everyone is their own ammunition, their own power source. It can be exhausted just like running until you fall over, and stamina improved with practice." The bottle mouth dips to Gabriel. "I'm of the opinion that everyone has a morsel of that power, and simply express it differently. Some learn to develop and nurture it as magic, others empower their minds, and others still are not so blatant with it. They might be lucky, naturally gifted in some field, stronger, smarter, faster than most everyone else, and so on."
Those statements bring a loud laugh to the table as Gabriel tosses his head back. "I must not have any of those power morsels, my friend. Not sure that you can get more bland than me. At least, not around here. Perhaps I drained my batteries sometime in my youth." The older man's eyes narrow slightly as he waves for another fizzy soda. "You're just born with it, then? Predestined to be some kind of person who uses magic through his life? You don't get to choose to be a magician, or a scientist, or a dumb grunt like me?" There's a small buzzing motion on his left wrist, and he starts to slowly pick up the snow gear that had been laying on the table. "Apologies, but you're going to need to give me the short version, Leonard."
Leonard instinctively cringes at the buzzing, even if it is quiet. "I wish some things were never invented. They always buzz or beep at inconvenient times." He turns the wince to a smirk. "The short version? It depends. If you happen to be born to some species that is inherently magical, it's predestined, though I suppose you /could/ ignore it. I chose to study what I've learned, so it's not all that different from learning to be a scientist or a grunt. You could learn, as I did, but it would probably be difficult. There would be much to unlearn. Old dogs and new tricks, so to speak."
An expression of amusement crosses Gabriel's face as he pulls on his gloves, and sets his wool cap in place. Wow, that's a lot of white camouflage the man's wearing. "I'm going to take off now. In the meantime, you can decide exactly what you're trying to express when you look at me and use that expression. They say that old tigers are at their fiercest at the end of their lives, sensing death." He turns to leave, but tosses a wink behind him as he moves off. "If I can learn to use a goddam sword, I can learn new tricks. And trust me - I have a lot more tricks than you've seen. Maybe I'm not quite so boring as I lead people to believe." He wiggles his eyebrows, offers a military-to-civilian salute, then slowly makes his way out the door and into the blizzard, hood down, and not really seeming to care about the weather one way or another.
