arcanarumlogs | though hope is frail, it's hard to kill

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though hope is frail, it's hard to kill

Who: Stiles, Derek, and eventually Waver.
When: December 10th
Where: Casa Waver.
What: Stiles finds his spark. Literally.
Warnings: ~~It's gonna be pretty gay.~~ Things exploding.

Now that things around the island had finally settled down, Stiles had been pondering the presents. There had been two boxes, and while his first one had his trusty red sweatshirt--useful, if a lousy ironic reminder of his humanity--the second had. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was insanely frustrating for Stiles, who liked to figure out everything, and he'd spent all of this evening ranting about it to Waver.

(No one else would listen.)

Stiles wasn't sure if Waver was actually listening, but Scott was busy with Allison and Derek was busy with...brooding, or something. Or at least that's what he'd assumed when he was six inches deep in a pile of books. While he'd not yet figured out where his present might have come from, Stiles started to go through Waver's library of books and various things he'd wished up, taking notes on things that could or could not be useful. Besides, he'd had an inkling. He wasn't sure if it was a good inkling, but it was an inkling. And the more books he read, the more confident he started to feel.

"What are you doing in there?"

The question wasn't directed towards Waver, but towards the person he'd assumed was brooding. About halfway through the evening Derek had just. Shown up. (As he does), and gone off to do something important (probably brooding related). At this point Stiles was used to him coming in and out of his life, enough to completely tune him out until his attention span finally wavered and he cracked his neck, pushing away from the large spellbook that was making his eyes swim.

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"Things."

Derek remained in the kitchen where he had taken over, though he'd noted the day after Scott had fallen asleep on him that Waver hadn't minded in the slightest bit. It had left a thought in the back of his mind, a quiet reminder that he should come over more often and at least leave food with the thing of mercury in some sort of... repayment for Waver's help (and patience, really).

He'd initially been coming over to talk to Waver about Ryuunosuke, but finding Stiles there? Had temporarily derailed that plan. His curiosity still lingered, of course, but he opted instead to go busy himself while Stiles was nose-deep in the books.

"Why?"

Stiles shrugged in response, and then quickly realized Derek couldn't actually see him; he made a loud noise of general complaint instead and slapped his hands on top of the books. "Do you ever feel like you're literally wading through a pile of shit to find a marginally less disgusting piece of shit?"

It wasn't as frustrated as it could sound. His idea was bothering him, but it needed confirmation. A second opinion. "I'm sure Sansa'll be thrilled with her new housewife."

"Often." Derek continued what he was doing as he called back to Stiles, mixing and pouring and overall not making enough noise to give away what he was doing. The occasional clink of a spoon, but not much beyond that. When he finally finished, he hooked his fingers through the handles of two mugs before picking up a third around the top and exiting the kitchen.

Brow raised as he comes into the main room, he scoffed softly. "If I hadn't moved in with her, one of you would've eventually to have done the same thing."

"You're the one that's married to her." Grinning a little at the chance to poke at Derek (because what else is new in his life), Stiles ruffles a hand through his own hair, a typical, frustrated gesture, then lets it fall back onto one of the open books in his lap. It's heavy and old, and it's got, as far as he can tell, words for some sort of spell involving fire.

It's also not even remotely close to what he'd been looking for before, but as usual, his circular logic was leading him around to what might (maybe) be some sort of point. Stiles looks up to start explaining himself, but he snaps his mouth shut and throws his arms in the air. "Aw, dude!"

It's basically Stiles for thank you. He takes the cup from Derek and takes a sip, smacking his lips thoughtfully before offering him a wry grin. "Really happy."

"You're the one that fabricated the story," he says it with a scowl, but there's not as much bite to it as there should be. Nevermind the temptation to kick him while he's seated on the floor, but he waits until Stiles takes the mug from him before he goes to set the other down on the coffee table. Waver will join them eventually, and by then it'll be a little more properly drinkable. Hopefully.

With a fate chuff in response to the grin, he just shrugs his shoulders. If Stiles is going to sit there and do research all day, then he'll at least be nice.

(Besides, he can't get rusty making this stuff. Not when it's one of the last things he's holding onto.)

He just shakes his head at the comment, still grinning a little smugly--to be honest, Stiles was getting a huge kick out of the entire situation. He hadn't suggested it on purpose, but the consequences, while actually bad if someone else showed up, were amazing and he'd already mentally added "Lord Hale" to his list of annoying nicknames for Derek.

Glancing at the spell book in his lap, Stiles absentmindedly pasts the spot beside him. "Dude, I know you're made of like 200 something pounds of manpain but I bet it gets tiring to carry that around all the time. Plus if you're going to stand there drinking cocoa you're just going to look like a tool."

Eventually, Derek knows that the story is going to come and bite them in the ass. Stiles, especially, since he was the one that made it up. As it is now, though, he opts to let it continue until they can find a way to work their way out of it. If anything, they can just site that they come from further along in their timeline, considering the various things that show up in Arcanarum as it is.

Nose crinkling in response to the jab, he briefly considers indulging in the earlier urge to kick Stiles. But he stands there holding the cup in both hands, thumb following the curve of the handle before he heaves a heavy sigh and steps forward. Dropping down in one smooth and soundless movement, not dropping or spilling his drink, he crosses his legs and settles next to him on the floor without a word.

See, Derek's already thought it through and everything. Which is kind of disturbing, to be honest, that they're on that much of a similar wavelength. The Hale house, lords of Winterfell, was just going to have to continue that way. And lately, Stiles had gotten so good at lying to people that he could bend over backwards to find a way to make it work.

It was a skill, but not a happily acquired one.

When Derek sits, his mouth curls up into a satisfied smirk, and he shifts with the book on his lap, idly flipping pages. "...So, you got your highbeams and your sense of smell back from that lady, right? What was that like? Did they just hit you? Was there a cheesy Pokemon level up thing going on?" Despite the snark, it's a serious question, albeit a bit out of nowhere.

At some point back in Beacon Hills, they'd wound up syncing in a strange sort of way. Derek had noticed it pretty fast, even if he's still a little uncertain as to whether or not he wants to admit to knowing about it. The fact that it only continues to grow while they're stuck on the island is a bit disconcerting, though.

At least they're both skilled liars trying to weave a believable tale.

Ignoring the smirk, he takes a sip of his hot chocolate and watches the flames of the fireplace. Even with a fair few steps between him and it, he still feels himself a little unsettled in the pit of his chest. Stiles talking gives him an excuse to look away, and he refocuses on him with a raised brow. "My sense of smell was what I noticed first. If it'd been gone longer, it probably would've been disorienting. It was probably more like taking a breath after being congested for a while."

He shrugs, before looking back at the fire. "After that I did process of elimination to figure out what else had come back."

Taking in the information, Stiles nods, deflating a little. He hadn't felt anything special--then again, when Deaton told him he had...whatever he had, he hadn't thought anything of it, either. It was still plausible.

Shifting the spellbook over so it rests on both of their knees, Stiles leans over it, keeping his gaze focused on the words while he speaks before he finally turns his head up to look Derek in the eyes. "...When I opened up those boxes, the first one had my sweatshirt in it, but the second didn't have anything. As far as I've figured out, everyone got two things, no exception."

"Derek, I think I got that spark back. The conduit thing." He sounds unsure for a minute, looking at the spellbook. The words are complicated but unscrambling themselves like it's nothing in his head. "But there's no way to test it, I mean--these are full of a bunch of crap in a language I don't even understand."

Edited 2013-01-15 07:09 (UTC)

Listening, Derek considers the information in silence for a few seconds, scanning Stiles' face. Deaton's magic bordered more on paganistic craft-- wiccan magic, something he'd been familiar with in the past-- but all the same, the spark could still apply just as much here. He releases a quiet sound, almost thoughtful, as he considers it. "Neither of my boxes had anything in them."

It's clarification more than it is anything else, and he turns his attention to where Stiles has propped the book on his knee. The language isn't completely foreign to him, but that doesn't mean he can read or speak it. But he has a feeling that it'll be easy enough for Stiles, once he roots himself in it.

"It's possible. The forest here has mountain ash in it, we could burn it into ash since I'm not sure you can wish for it or not. I haven't tried." Lifting his eyes again to Stiles for a second, he then nods his head back to where Waver had disappeared off to. "And ask Waver to teach you about these books."

"So either I got gipped out of getting something from home, which I totally wouldn't put past my luck, or it's that. It has to be." Exhaling loudly, Stiles squints at the book again, trying to pick apart the letters. It's not Latin, it's not even archaic Latin, because seriously, he's gotten his fair share of that in the past six months.

His brow creases and he nods, licking his lips thoughtfully. "It'd help when the full moon came around. I kind of have an idea--had an idea, I guess, about containment with it. If one of us lays a circle of mountain ash around the peopl..person--" Stiles stops himself with an eyeroll. Why Domon wouldn't go with his plan, he didn't understand. "--who's going to be going all buckwild on us and seals the circle with them inside, they won't be able to get out. Sort of like when they trap a horse on Call of the Wildman by building a corral and then shutting the door when it runs inside. It's kind of a ghetto trap but it's a trap none the less. And if I'm going to be anything like Scott was the first time he transformed, I'll A), be a huge dick, and B), not be thinking straight."

"It'd have to be Waver who laid it, I guess, since it's gonna be me that's gonna get corralled." Smoothing his hands over the book again, Stiles stares at it, a little uneasy. Talking about this werewolf thing is making him nauseous.

Despite the fact that Domon had effectively put himself on Derek's shitlist without them even having spoken, he could see how he wouldn't want to go along with a stranger's plan. Especially when it probably sounded crazy, coming from a sixteen year old. (Not that it sounds crazy to him, but he's seen mountain ash in action and dealt with it personally. Along with Stiles' ingenuity.)

He considers the plan, regarding Stiles all the while as he does. Before he says anything, he sets his mug down on the floor before setting his hand on Stiles' shoulder. It's close to the junction of neck and shoulder, though it's more instinct than intentional as he gives a careful squeeze of reassurance. Even without being able to tell when Stiles' scent shifts with his concern and nausea, it's easy to just know the unease that comes with this.

"It'll be fine, Stiles. I'll make sure it is."

"I'm glad one of us is confident." Stiles rolls his head to look at Derek, finally, a little resigned. It doesn't take him long to change the subject, and he rolls his shoulder under Derek's hands, cracking his neck before starting to look back over the book.

"They're Greek." It hits him eventually, and he puts his finger across one of the runes, reaching habitually for his phone only to remember it wasn't there. Stiles grumbles under his breath about a 'stupid luddite island' before he stops, suddenly. Squints. Leans forward and starts to stare at the pages. You can practically see the gears in Stiles' head moving as he runs his fingers over a line, mouthing something to himself. One of Stiles' many useless (or at least it used to be talents) included a couple of pronunciations of different languages, namely Japanese (an awkward anime phase), Elvish (he's getting nerdier by the second), and a couple pieces of Greek. "What am I supposed to do with this? Half of this is so far out of my league it's not even funny, except for like."

And then Stiles did something that most people would consider a rookie mistake. He traced the word, and murmured, "Flago."

The book promptly shot up a burst of fire--Stiles yelped and juggled it in between his hands, finally dropping it on the ground with a loud, "Shit!"

Waver felt it before he heard it. The crackle of magic energy in the air, summoned right before spellcasting, and then someone yelling shit. He could weep because he and Derek had joked about this happening, but that wasn't important right now. This was a way of studying the island's magic, the best he could do without having it available to himself, and--

--and the book is on fire. With an eyeroll, he wills a fire extinguisher into existance.

"Stiles, as pleased as I am by your command of foreign languages, it would do us all of a favour if you didn't read outloud from them. I can't exactly command a stream of water ἐπανσιδεί so that the fire doesn't spread."

Dropping his hand from Stiles' shoulder, Derek rolls his eyes a little at the comment before he notices the shift of focus, like a realization's hit. And it's fascinating as always to observe the process, especially when it comes to Stiles and his unfocused mind honing in on a point.

That point leads to the book catching on fire, and he's pretty sure that the flame in the fireplace shoots up a little at the same time.

There is not a proper way to describe how quickly Derek jerks back and away from both Stiles and the fireplace, alarmed and visibly bristling. He doesn't even immediately register that Waver has rejoined them and is summoning up an extinguisher to deal with the fire, not with the way his heart's pounding in his ears and his focus is on the damn fire.

Derek wasn't the only one to jerk back, although Stiles did it for an entirely different reason, staring in awe at the book and completely ignoring the slight pain in his hands.

He just did that.

He just did that.

"Yesss!" Mouth snapping open, Stiles runs a hand over his hair and then sends them up to the sky in a gesture of victory, "I did that--did you see that?! I got that spark thing back! Oh my God I just--"

Upon Waver scolding him, he shuts his mouth again, an embarrassed flush spreading on his cheeks. "Uh. Sorry."

"Yes, well," Waver begins, puncuating his speech with sprays of the extinguisher, until the fire is out and the book is on the floor in a circle of scorchmarks, looking quite sad. "You're just barely accountable, you weren't aware you had magic energy to spend."

With the immediate danger over, he places the can down on the sofa, then grins. There's no pride in the achivement, it isn't personal on Waver's end, but it is delighted all the same.

With a deep breath, Derek closes his eyes and clenches his jaw to bring himself back down. He's been a little on edge ever since the fireplaces first appeared in their houses, but he'd just started to relax with them around again. Of course this had to happen, and of course now his paranoia's amped up. (He disregards the imagined taste of ash, but blocks out the smell of burnt paper and smoke.)

"Considering how this place works," he begins, slowly, as he opens his eyes again, "Even without the spark, you probably shouldn't read spells in front of spell books."

"I wasn't actually expecting it to work!" Standing out of the way of the fire extinguisher and still grinning like an absolute freaking moron, Stiles ran a hand through his thick hair, turning up to look at Derek and opening his mouth to say something--but stops.

It's not the most obvious sign of discomfort, but all Stiles has to do is catch onto his clenched jaw. Fire. Of course it would bother Derek of all people. Feeling like an idiot, he shoves his hands in his pockets, muting his excitement a little bit. "But I mean--it works! That means we can do the mountain ash thing! Hopefully."

All in all, it's great news. Amazing news. Stiles can't really keep the smile from his face.

"Mountain ash thing?" Waver repeats, eyebrow raised. He hadn't been kept in the loop of that, but that didn't even matter because his mind was racing with a thousand tests to explore the limits of Stiles' powers right now, what books he would need to wish into adventures, everything.

Lifting a hand to drag it down along his face with a slight groan at all the excitement-- and to get rid of some of the visible tension there-- Derek shifts to rock back up to his feet. He's careful not to knock over any mugs, but the floor's already damaged as it is due to the fire. At least it'll eventually repair itself on its own, something he learned by accident and not an experience he's going to share.

"The supernatural in our world have difficult with rowan trees, otherwise known as mountain ash. In its raw state, werewolves don't have much trouble with them. But burn them down to ash or arrange the wood a certain way and it can be used as a barrier."

"This is the stuff that Deaton taught us--the vet guy. Well, okay, teaching was kind of subjective because he mostly just handed me a bag of the stuff and told me only I could do it with the ~strength of my will~ or something like that." Although normally he'd sound sarcastic, sardonic even, there's a little more hope in his voice, more excitement. The fact that the magic worked again was proving something, if his dad's old adage was anything to go by. Once is a chance. Twice is a coincidence.

That just left one more try.

"Anyway. I basically created a barrier around a building to trap the kanima--the lizard monster thing from before--inside. And it worked. So I'm thinking that if we can find a few rowan trees in the forest around the island, we can get enough ash to build a corral. Then, when I go all Teen Wolf, Derek and Scott can back me into it. From there, you can close the circle with the ash, and I won't be able to get out unless you break the line or expressly give permission."

Stiles' mouth twitches into a little grin, and he points at Waver. "And I think you of all people've got enough experience in telling students no."

"If this doesn't require any sort of actual circut to be cast - just belief on those impacted - then I can do that. If not, then you need to be able to cast it yourself or, well, I could perhaps ask someone else here who I know has his powers back.

"But if your spellcasting comes from strength of will, then right now you can do a lot more than putter around with ash."

Waver's not trying to be dismissive of the plan, it is actually quite clever, if a bit dependent on himself. "In the long run, it'd be more useful."

"There's more than a few trees," Derek offers, almost absently, as he regards the scorch marks in the floor once Stiles is done explaining his plan. Not that he knew about it, personally, but it's good to know the details of it now before the next full moon. If the moon calendar is the same here as it was back home, it'll be coming up towards the end of the month.

Merry Christmas.

"Deaton's type of magic, and the one that Stiles is talking about using now, is more along the line of wiccan magic. Can't say I really know the details, even with having packmates that've used it. The spark is probably necessary for something big, but... I think strength of will, coupled with the inherent magic of this place, should hopefully be enough."

"I'd close the circle myself but that'd totally defeat the point, dude." Finally going to stand up, Stiles rubs his hands on his jeans, the faint red marks starting to fade away. "Maybe Scott could do it, if I taught him. But you're the only one of us who actually has any experience with this crap, even if yours is an entirely different kind than ours."

"I think Derek's right on the Wicca thing. It's not...like, Final Fantasy magic. It's something different." He exhales through his teeth, jittering a little in place; the information is practically overloading, and it's frustrating as hell to not be able to get his hands on something to confirm it, to make sure it's right. "I don't know what the difference is going to be and I really don't want to be the Seamus Finnigan of Arcanarum."

"Howl might do in a pinch, and I know he can cast, even if I don't know his particular school of thought.

"Historically we've probably pilfered what was useful from older practices where Wicca has similar roots, but," Waver pauses to pool his thoughts together, to remember his history properly. "Wicca's a modern religion, and the casting has a spiritual purpose. Magecraft does not share that aspect. We impose our will on the world around us - take our magic energy and the energy of the world around us, chanel it through ourselves and let our wills snaggle and attach itself in the world, so that the laws of nature bow to us."

Oh he could get out another whiteboard and document everything, but that's not the point. "Really we're all bastards on permenent power trips. Which isn't to say that either discpline is without its shared truths. After all, all understandings of magic come from one platonic ideal of the word, and even magecraft conceeds that belief can power any system of magic. The more that use and believe in it's powers, the better. And with regards to of strength of will, well-- you've seen Rider now. I summoned that, and I shouldn't have been able to do so at all."

Stiles just shakes his head to the first comment. "No, it's...that's not gonna work." It had to be someone he could trust. Almost immediately, his mind flicked to Scott.

It wasn't a bad idea, but he'd keep it to himself for now. Whatever Waver could teach him, he could pass on to Scott. If anyone else in the world had a strong will? It'd be him, and there was no one else Stiles would trust in such a life threatening situation. Tuning in fully to the rest of Waver's explanation, Stiles pushes his hands deep in his pockets, exhaling loudly. "It's not like I can just google it. So I guess we've gotta work with what we've got."

"I'd usually recommend experience and power over personal preference, but so be it," he offers as neutrally as possible. This is a personal situation and well, pack verseus himself. One of the smaller differences rearing it's head.

"And what we have is books full of spells. Which isn't a bad place to start, if we're looking to be able to be defensive on a higher level. Diagrams - bounded fields - can help to protect houses in non-mountian ash emergencies, which would let you preserve your stock and mark territory. It's simple casting and I believe compatiable with prior experience. The only other simpler spells I know are the ones my grandmother passed onto me through inheritence and well, you really, really don't need to hear her disgusting drinking songs that revealed way too much personal information."

"I think in this case the bond'll help big time." Stiles runs a hand over his hair, giving Waver a bit of a grin. It's not that it's bad advice; really, it sounds smart to him, too. But the magic Deaton had shown them had been tempramental and entirely dependent on the state mentally of the person. It wasn't that Stiles didn't think Howl (whoever he was) could do it--this needed to be a pack thing. Something could go horribly wrong.

Swallowing that thought, he turns his gaze up to look at him, lacing his fingers together as he sits back on the couch, letting them drop between his knees as he ponders it. It's a mix of excitement and apprehension, and Stiles finally declares, "...'s worth a shot. I mean, hell, what's the worst that could happen? Besides like accidentally setting the island on fire or something."

Waver responds by gathering up a small stack of books and plopping them into Stiles' lap. The Witch-Hunt in Early Modern Europe, The Night Battles: Witchcraft and Agrarian Cults in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, Bounded Fields: An Introduction, A Beginner's Book of Spells and The Primer of Defensive Magic. Waver beams. "Know your history and your basics."

Stiles' face went from excited to flabbergasted in seconds, and he turns his head towards Waver, all but whining, "Where did you even get those?"

It's mostly just a rhetorical question--to be honest, he's got a voracious appetite for information when he's doing something he enjoys. Studying magic? The possibility that he might actually have some magical talent? Something he enjoys. Rolling his head in an exaggeration of an eyeroll, he drops his hand onto the pile of books, drawing his mouth into a line. "Guess I'll get crackin'."

"I just recalled the library copies back at my home institution," Waver says, although if the smile is pleased or dangerous, it's hard to tell.

"When you're done, we'll begin practically. It gives me time to design a curriculum."

"Hooray." It's deadpan, but hell. Stiles is kind of excited. Leaning back against the couch, he cracks open one of the books, absentmindedly wishing for a highlighter and starting to chew on the cap as he props it on his knees. He's already going into hyperfocus, and he cracks his neck before curling over The Primer of Defensive Magic, brow barely furrowing as he starts to read.

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though hope is frail, it's hard to kill

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