arcanarumlogs | Island 101

Stiles spent most of the time waiting for waver shuffling around his new dwelling, picking things up, looking for clues--basically, anything that wasn't sitting still for five minutes. He'd attempted the wishing that Luciano had spoken to him about, and spent another five minutes over the Mac he'd wished for that had spontaneously exploded in the middle of his room.

Harsh.

In a way it was like testing the waters, and just as he was thankfully pulling on the clothes he'd wished for--a pair of pants, a t-shirt, but the cloak still fastened around his shoulders--there was a loud knock. In a flail of limbs he stepped out of the way of the skirts he'd unceremoniously pooled on the floor and stumbled to the door, opening it. Waver was just as serious looking as he'd been on the video, but he could smell the coffee, and he pulled the door open all the way. "Hey. Come on in, I guess, oh god, that coffee smells amazing."

"Don't say that until you've tried it. As I understand it, the Brits make coffee as well as the Americans make tea." And with that, Waver happily thrusts the thermos at Stiles as he sweeps in, clerical robes and all, heading right for the living room and flopping onto the armchair. Standard, not unique, boring - the chair, at least. For all that this island reveled in folklore it did not seem particarily concerned with decent interior design. Waver knew mages with better taste and that was overwhelmingly rococo.

He makes short work of tugging out for neat stacks of paper - notes and accounts from those who have helped in creating an archive thus far, all with a top sheet that contained a summary of contents on top in atrocious handwriting. "So, what else have you learned from others? People tend to be forthcoming with the basics of this place."

Coffee was coffee, particularly to someone who was already practically wired. Taking the thermos, he turned to watch the guy sweep into the room--the only "mage" he'd ever met was a veterinarian, this was more like what he'd been expecting. Closing his jaw (which had been hanging open--for lack of a better word, he was decently impressed), Stiles kicked aside the mess of fabric on the floor and sat down across from him, reciting what he'd been told by the others as poured himself a cuppa.

"Not that much, besides the wishing thing." Stiles tapped his thighs, pleased with his pants, and took a sip of his coffee, making a face. "...Yikes. Anyway, I met a furry monster and talked with a couple people about pants and crazy grandparents, but that was about it. What've you got here?"

Stiles took off the stack of paper, squinting--his dad's chicken scratch was worse, examining while he waited for Waver's answer; it wasn't like him just to sit still.

Waver stretches back out on the armchair, although not daring to make himself comfortable by swinging his legs over one of the arms and settling down as he did in his own home. "Good. The summoning of items took me a few days to learn about, so you've got a leg up there."

Coffee, not being Waver's thing unless absolutely necessary to stay awake long into the night, is ignored in favour of further explanation. "The top sheets are summaries of contents. What's below in each packet are first person accounts on the events of this place, ranging in various dates. A few are only weeks back - others months back.

"They all confirm the contents of everyone's letter of introductions - that you've been summoned to merge and eventually replace a missing piece of folklore, but they expand on how it's done. Doubtlessly someone has already clued you in to the fact that the past few days meant everyone lost the use of their language faculties and could only speak in that of their appropriately assigned character - I apologise, I dislike the term denizen and words have power - only to regain regular language capacity after performing a rather humiliating task. There are past examples as well, you'll want--" Waver pauses to squint at the accounts before selecting two medium sized stack of papers "--these for past examples.

"It is enforced method acting with genuine magic. The best part is that everyone I've spoken with who has those skills find the magic of this place blocked off, only to be returned to the individual as a reward for playing their appropriate part, and even then it is all but a fraction of the power they had in their own timelines. Er - I'm not sure if you're familiar with Doctor Who, but the phrase timey wimey is quite applicable here as to the residents."

He leaves it there - this is an information overload by any definition.

Edited 2012-11-03 22:11 (UTC)

There's a rare moment of silence as he takes in all the information, eyes scanning over the different stacks of paper as they're passed across. It's a lot to take in, but as someone who's been working under pressure for about six months straight, it doesn't take him long to process it.

The hyperfocus comes in handy, occasionally, after all. Slowly, he sits back in the chair, sliding down a little and staring over a couple of pages that he'd picked up, his expression flat. "If it wasn't for the fact that we've actually been kidnapped I'd think this was some kind of game. This is straight up Saw levels of screwed up."

Stiles exhales loudly and sets the papers down again, trying not to mess up the order as he gestures back widely and sweepingly, then runs his hands over his hair, full of motion. "Has there been anyone who...y'know, Frankenstein's monster'd it and became their "denizen"?" With air quotes included, naturally, "Obviously it's--they're, whatever--powerful, but what if it's just a bunch of empty threats?"

"i will agree with your assessment, although this isn't the weirdest thing I've had happen to me over the years. As to your first question: not that I've been made aware of," Waver admits, and it's a damned pity that the archive is as tiny as it is. He needs more people to give him information, and that's been an uphill struggle because of the sudden week of language fuckery.

"But the threats are definitely not empty. Prior to your arrival - after the language jam was lifted - people gained physical changes to their bodies to closer mirror their assigned character. I only gained a bit more muscle consistent with pre-industrial countryside living, but another individual I know gained an entire eye.

"Really the biggest problem is that there's no exact prognosis for how long full synchronization is to take - which means that one can be lulled into a false sense of security or have paranoia be dragged out, depending on the individual's personality." Waver pauses to consider where he himself stands in that dichotomy.

"It's powerful magic at any rate. You can't summon across time and space and force physical changes without substantial power."

Stiles wrinkles his nose, his brow knitting together. "Well, that sucks the big one."

That's kind of the understatement of the year, he considers, drumming his fingers over his thighs--it's a nervous gesture. There's not a single ounce of this that is on a level anywhere near okay; the kidnapping, the magical transformation, the...well, anything. It's not like he hasn't had his fair share of Really Weird Shit happen to him, but this blows the kanima out of the water.

Literally. Heh.

Breaking up his inner monologue, he looked back across the table to Waver, taking in a slow breath as he ponders exactly where to start. The words sort of come out in a waterfall, but honestly, what else is new. "'Pre-industrial-countryside-living'? That's like the least concerning thing you said in that entire sentence. And I'm guessing every rebellion has ended in horrible, terrible agony for everyone involved?"

Stiles pauses for a second, flatly. "Of course it has, what am I kidding, this is how things work in freaky magic prison. Really not loving the idea of Shawshank-ing this and crawling out through a river of shit, metaphorically or literally, so what are the other options, or is everyone just biding their time until they turn into the Fairy Godmother?"

"Well, from where I'm sitting, my goal is to research into every thing I can, learn to stem the magic here and find ways to use it to my advantage and go from there. It's a long game, but those are the kinds I've gotten used to playing over the years out of well, let's just say it's a survival tactic in the mess I've chosen to participate in." And to think the game he's playing back home still isn't complete.

"As for other means of resistance, just keeping your own memories is cliche but true - I personally would write them all down as soon as possible." Waver pauses to tap another packet, indicating his own. "What I want is more communication amongst everyone, in case people try to do dumb shit like storm the castle - which is the inevitable sort of thing when people are transforming into great myths, god help is if we get someone assigned to Heracles or Achilles - but that's a work in progress to say the least."

Waver smiles a little and offers a dry laugh. "Sorry I can't be a pleasant oracle."

He waves off Waver's statement with a laugh, raising an eyebrow at him. "Dude, trust me, I've seen worse. Way worse. You are downright pleasant."

Keeping his memories is easy enough. Stiles' short term memory has always been agile to the point of reciting definitions every now and then (but unfortunately, affected by his very short attention span. It's a good idea, and he nods, thinking back for a moment on important things--their "pack", Scott, his dad, his mom--and replies evenly, pushing the thought to the back of his mind. He and Waver seem to have some kindred notions--the brains in the operation of a bunch of crazy people. "Tactics? Something I can do. I kick some serious ass at Risk. It's embarrassing for everyone else involved."

"For the communication thing...maybe there's something that can bring everyone together? Something that preferrably has nothing to do with magic or insane fairy tale prisoner guards." Stiles taps his fingers on his thighs again, thinking, "The biggest problem with everybody I know is that we don't trust each other as far as we can throw each other, and if you've ever seen Derek Hale, I'm pretty sure he could throw me into next Tuesday. If we can do stuff that's..." Packbuilding, his brain wanted to supply. Stupid werewolf friends. "....Team building-y, then maybe we can try to figure out who is worth like an iota of trust compared to who isn't."

"Team building would be ideal, I concur," Waver says, leaning back. God, how old is this kid? Seventeen, maybe? It's embarrassing that Stiles has a better grip on reality than Waver did at that age with his childish delusions of power, but then again, this is something to applaud Stiles for. Waver knows adult mages with less sense and less community focus.

"Admittedly, it's hard for me to focus on something without magic, since I've lived my whole life with it. But if you have suggestions, I'm listening. I've been debating creating an open door policy - not dissimilar to what I have back on campus for my students - but haven't made the decision yet."

"...Like--bonding stuff. The usual." Okay, so that wasn't the most helpful answer, and his habit of assuming everyone understood the Most Basic Functions of teenage life seemed to be kicking up again--furrowing his brows, he reiterated. "...Things like movie nights. Stuff everybody can get behind and no one can complain, be they human, werewolf, or god only knows what else."

So maybe he was a little bit of a pack mom. (Although if you told him that he'd think you were ridiculous.) Stiles laced his fingers together and leaned forward against them, his lips pressing against his fingertips. "Not that I'm thinking there's a video store in Fairy Tale prison, and considering I tried to summon my Mac and it blew up, we might have to wing it."

"I believe electronics are right out," Waver says, trying to remember what his lower blooded mage students used to bond. Complain about school work and upper class mages, mostly, and that was no help at all. Which meant that they needed something else. Well. Stiles had mentioned Risk, and falling back on what to do during a power outage cliches might be their best bet. "And anything too silly is likely to be met with serious criticism as well."

Which. Well, Rider had always filled in long, awkward silences with stories. "Suppose that what we do serves a dual purpose - bonding and memory transcribing."

"Like PTSD campfire stories." Stiles supplied helpfully, tactless as always--he unlaced his fingers and smacked them against the sides of the chair with a, "Works for me. Maybe we can get someone to wish up some marshmallows and a guitar, we'll do it Boy Scout style."

It was a good plan, anyway. Waver had grown on Stiles a lot since the first time they talked, and he couldn't help but shoot him a grin. "Sure hope you can sing kumbaya with the best of em."

"In ancient Greek," Waver deadpans. Although that's a few Homeric hymns and and man, Hermes stealing Apollo's cattle is the opposite kumbaya. He sighs. "But, if we can get everyone to tell dumb stories about themselves, we can write them down and make sure that they're kept so people always retain some collection of themselves in case they achieve full sync with their character. Which makes this all sound like a really terrible version of Assassin's Creed, now that I reflect on it.

"But more to the point, we need to organize it."

"Dude, where have you been all my life?" Completely won over, Stiles' grin widens. That was golden. So the way to his friendship wasn't the most complicated path, but Waver was quickly proving himself to fit any and all necessary qualities--no Scott, but someone to trust in a strange place. Pushing the problem back to the front of his conscious again, he runs a hand over his short, buzzed hair, thinking.

"Should we use the...mirror thing? Is there a way to do that without getting spied on? Or maybe we can pass out fliers. Invitation-style. I'll pick the colors." Now it's his turn to deadpan, snorting lowly.

"Mm, that'd be the best means of doing it," Waver replies, having not actually thought about how the things could be used as a means of surveillance. It was foolish not to consider, really. But with few reliable means of networking himself, it'd be the best. And sometimes it was fun playing under people's noses. "Those things work like tablets, so you can type or video chat. The latter might be better.

"And by the way you owe me an explanation concerning lizard people."

"Lizard people! I guess if we're going to start telling memories like 13 year old girls at a sleepover, we might as well start with the most terrifying."

The entire incident was maybe a few weeks before he arrived at the island--the entire, very long, very traumatizing incident. Naturally, it was still fresh in his mind, and while his "normal" memories were the most important to him, this was the kind of knowledge that didn't get lost. Particularly because it's damn hard to find someone who can read archaic Latin. "It was a South American thing known as a 'kanima', created because someone's body reacted badly to a werewolf bite. It's not all sparkles and abs, despite what the internet, terrible literature, and my ridiculously unfair friends say otherwise, people can die from the bite just because it decides that it won't take."

"Anyway, the guy who it happened to was kind of a raging jerkwad, and when he got the bite --despite every single person telling him it was a bad idea, and then reminding Derek no, who, unsurprisingly, did it anyway because everyone I'm associated with seems to forget that "no" actually in fact means "no"--it turned him into that thing. Scales, sharp teeth, claws with paralytic venom--not fun, by the way--, the whole nine yards. The kanima exists to obey its master, and will maim whatever its master declares as fair game. Ours switched hands and went from like a 6 on the Really Evil scale to a 15."

Stiles pauses to breathe, his explanation wordy and full of asides as per usual. "The only way to get it to stop rampaging after the master died, thank God, was to find something that reminded it of being human--an "anchor". Werewolves have the same thing. For this douchebag it was, naturally, the girl I've been in love with since third grade."

Freakin' Jackson.

"In the end, after both of his masters were killed in various terrible but completely deserved ways, the bite took, and he started howling at the blue corn moon like the rest of them."

Edited 2012-11-09 00:29 (UTC)

"Oh, oh, you think that's the worst?" Waver laughs, because it's true. It's not much for a mage, but it's impressive for someone who is decidedly human. And Stiles is a decent enough storyteller, and without the ego that many others have for it. "Fun though, definitely better than the horrid rubbish I involved myself when I was -- Seventeen? Eighteen? Either way I'm dating myself, I realise."

"Did I mention the part where I'm the human, and I got kidnapped twice? And I'm not even the only human! Not to mention, I got thrown against a wall, threatened to have my throat ripped out by someone's teeth, asked to cut off someone's arm because 'oh, it'll heal back if it works!', and that was all by someone who was supposedly my ally! Someone who really needs a spray bottle for every time he does something stupid." Stiles mimes spraying the air with a deadpan, "No, bad alpha. Bad."

Dropping his hands, he grins. "Alright, like I promised. Lizard people. Top that with your wizard people."

"Spraybottle with mmm - is silver applicable here? It might take more."

And with that, he leans back in the chair comfortably. There's a lot he could go with here - the few years he spent bowing to an eight year old that gave him authority, the time he, Rin and Ismene had to blow up an entire town, and well - god the Grail War wins all the weird factors but that's too personal. But well, a fraction maybe. That's okay, right? "Fine, I spent a week with Alexander the Great who I called up with magic and a scrap of fabric that a professor of mine was going to use for the same purpose. But well, said professor made fun of younger, dumber, ninteen year old version of me and somehow I thought that fighting in a ritual war and being better than him was a good idea.

"You know, as one does."

"Believe it or not, the silver thing? Actually a myth. It's wolfsbane that's werewolf arsenic, and as much as Derek terrifies me/annoys me depending on the hour of the day, he is kind of our ally. Plus the last time we had to deal with him and wolfsbane was that time he asked me to cut his arm in half like it was a Thanksgiving turkey, so, definitely trying to avoid the death by purple flowers path in the future."

Cutting off his outward ramble (eventually), Stiles listened to Waver's story, and maybe his mouth dropped open for a second. Color him impressed. "Yeah-heh-heeeh, totally, because that's what I do on my Sunday nights, I call up Socrates and we have a little chat about dust in the wind. Alexander the Great, seriously? Was he actually, Great with a capital G?"

Edited 2012-11-09 01:12 (UTC)

"Y'know, you could just steep some water and wolfsbane, dilute it, and then go from there. Like werewolf bleach."

It's weird talking about Rider like this. Not even Rin knows, and Rin at least had a war like the one Waver waded through, and at his age (just ten years apart.) But, well, Stiles isn't a mage. The information can't be used against him by some asshole looking for a leg up. Not like Stiles is getting the full emotional journey that was the Fourth Holy Grail War anyway. "He was six foot nine inches of giant, red headed volume who rode about on a chariot whose not he destroyed, pulled by two bulls and spent a lot of time arguing with King Arthur." As one does.

"But context. There was a ritual in which seven mages summon servants - historical and mythological heroes - to fight for a particular device that reportedly would grant the hearts desire of those that win it. So, this means a battle royale amongst everyone - servant and their summoner are both valid targets - until there's the last one standing. So, I did this at age nineteen because I was an idiot and didn't realize how screwed up it was. The other servants involved ended up being King Arthur, Gilgamesh, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne - that's an Irish legend, Gilles de Rais, and one whose identity I couldn't determine, plus Alexander.

"Who, by the way, thought the most diplomatic way of dealing with the situation was to sit with the other two kings involved in this challenge and have a night of drinking to figure out who should just win rather than fight with weapons alone. Which somehow got into himself, Arthur and Gilgamesh discussing philosophy of kingship."

There was a beat of silence. "That sounds like an episode of Epic Rap Battles of History."

Well, it did. Stiles exhaled with a long, low whistle, trying to imagine exactly what he was talking about; it was a clusterfuck to put it nicely, "That. Sounds like something else. Nineteen and fighting your way through the Bill and Ted version of Super Smash Brothers. Man, do you ever get the feeling that someone is getting their kicks off of watching you run around like a chicken with it's head cut off in real life?"

Rambling a little, he cuts off his question with a slightly sardonic smile. "The real question is is here better, or worse?"

"Actually this is the part where I mention King Arthur is a woman and watch your brain explode," Waver offers cheerfully. Not that had been the weirdest part of the Grail War anyway, although it had left him with a number of unanswered questions about Arthurian legend.

"As for that - well, I can navigate the real world better than I can navigate here right now. Same question to you."

"What?! Oh my god, everything my history teacher ever told me was a lie." Stiles had done his fair share of looking into the Arthurian legends; there were always weird things that seemed to catch his attention. "Talk about the lady of the lake..."

At the second question, he falls uncharacteristically silent, looking down at the table between them. There's an immediate twinge of guilt in the bottom of his stomach, more familiar than it should be, as he thinks of his dad, tearing apart the entire town in search of his son. Or Scott--he joked enough times that Scott would die without him around, but the thought was kind of real and terrifying at the moment, pushing to a part of his brain usually occupied by minor panic attacks. In a way it wasn't his own self-preservation he was concerned about; sure, he'd been kidnapped to fairy tale Alcatraz, but he could handle himself. Stiles takes a deep breath and tries to push those thoughts aside, replying, "...Home. Definitely home. Home doesn't have any psychotic ~rulers~. Just psychotic werewolves, and only like half of those are trying to kill me, so it's an improvement. "

"I can imagine," Waver says evenly, knowing that this is one of those inevitable moments when awkward silence needs to filter in. So he lets it, because he's had enough long conversations where little wounds get prodded and covered in salt.

"Going home's a good motivator. Easy to channel into drive and force one to action, in dire circumstances."

"Yeah." He murmurs in agreement, exhaling and fidgeting a little uncomfortably. If nothing, Waver is exactly right--he's determined to get home. Preferrably before he turns into a female symbol of puberty, because wow, awkward. "And I think I'd probably call this dire circumstances, just saying. Direst of dire. They don't call them direwolves for nothing."

Heh. Wolf puns. "Anyway. I guess I can set up the pow-wow. Is there any discriminate day, or should I just go for it? I don't have Derek's threatening eyebrows so I can't exactly force people into going, all I've got is my charm." That last bit is a little sarcastic, and he lifts his mouth into a lopsided smile.

"Pft, you say direwolves and my coat back home is usually red with a gold scarf." A man has to watch some trashy American television every once in a while.

"I think just picking a date and keeping to it would be the best," he continues. "The matter of where becomes my question."

"We've all got our own houses. Can they spy on us in our--you know what, no, I don't want to think about it." Because that was absurdly creepy, and Stiles wasn't sure if he wanted to know the levels of Creepy it could actually get to. (Actually, he did. Which was the worst part.)

He waved a hand at their empty surroundings. "What about here? It's not like I'm hosting any parties. And besides, I've had enough pow-wows in the woods to last a lifetime. And I make a mean casserole."

"That'd work, especially if you're doing the cooking. Me attempting to do so would not end well." Waver cringes as the memories of the few times he tried to do so. Gazpacho on the ceiling because he forgot to lid up the food processor. Setting the oven on fire. Setting the backyard on fire from the grill. The one time he and Rin burned pasta. The rice incident of 2018.

"If you're cooking though, I think we'd want a head count of how many people to expect."

Stiles shrugs his shoulders--it's not like he's going to Paula Deen this, and shifts back in his chair, "Cool with me, man. So--one of us just needs to make a post on the network for everyone to hear-slash-see, and we can figure out who else thinks this sounds good. Hopefully the whole "forced bonding instead of fairy tale death"'ll mean a good turnout. "

Edited (wow style fail) 2012-11-14 06:40 (UTC)

"You might have better luck doing it, although I could assist in fielding questions."

"You got it." He shrugs off a fake salute, glancing back at the piles of papers. "Do you mind if I keep a couple of these?"

Stiles feels better when he's armed with some knowledge. Knowledge and at least a shot in the dark of a plan instead of nothing? He's feeling much more chipper than he was at the start.

"For a few days," Waver confirms, standing up. "I only have those copies, and I would like them back, unless you're rather keen to be a copyist."

He stretches, deciding to leave the coffee and it's thermos with Stiles. It's not really that important to have anyway. "Call me whenever you're done with them. The network accepts private calls, so it shouldn't be a problem.

"And thank you for you trust."

Island 101

maybe I can describe stiles better in third person .....

WE SHALL SEE

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I am on fire with these tags today

You are, I apologise for being slow on my end! |D

You're good! Also I can feel the seeds of bromance blossoming.

WAVER IS ON THE MENTORING END OF THE BROMANCE FOR ONCE. It's an Accomplishment.

Obligatory [HERE BE TEEN WOLF SPOILERS!!]

.....this sounds all so camp as hell i'm excited to watch it

IT REALLY IS THOUGH camp is the best word for it

Lia needs to get home for Thanksgiving already

for realsies!!

AND NOW, FATE/ZERO SPOILERS.

so complicated o^o (also there are an ungodly number of references in this tag)

Fate zero HAS THAT PROBLEM YES (also sob they are bros in pop culture references.)

LOL.

WELL IT'S TRUE EVERYONE'S TRYING TO MURDER EVERYONE ELSE 8DDD

OH GOOD, WE HAVE THAT IN COMMON.

I am pretty sure Teen Wolf has 100% less asshole mages though

There is a mage, but he's not an asshole...

Well then there's the difference! All mages in Fate/ are UTTER DICKWADS. Even Waver.

stiles is kind of a dick too so maybe that's why they get along so great

Maybe. I mean, Waver did kind of get his title by using the death of his professor to his advantage

well then.

|D The moral of the story is all mages are bastards.