four - place the moon at my eyes

[kingsroads]

[ the post goes up late Thursday, into the evening hours. and MAN is Strange so thankful for this magical journal system. He really doesn't want to have to write this multiple times. ]

One of our new visitors is an enchanter of some sort. He has cursed me and trapped Sabriel.

Francis, McGonagall, I shall need your help. I cannot save Sabriel alone. Likewise, I will need to help of any new magicians who might have arrived with the visitors. As I cannot tell the new magicians this myself, I am relying on the rest of the ship's crew to pass on this message as I cannot myself. Please meet me at my room—the proper one, not my cursed apartment.

Persson, Sheehan, I have a question of you. How can one dream up an item they had back home? Does it work the same as the communal dream of Goodsir and Jopson's rooms or can I do this by myself? I know the item's properties perfectly as I created it myself, I simply need it here. Do not come to me in person, simply respond with your journal.

As for the rest of the ship, I need a mirror and something dead—flowers, perhaps? Please leave them outside my door if you have them. There is a spell I can still cast, a spell to see what my enemy is doing. I do not know who my enemy is but the enchanter hurt Sabriel. Undoubtedly he is my enemy and undoubtedly he is on this ship.

Stay safe.

Comments

[una_persson]

[ Una would answer, Strange, but she has a crazy person attempting to murder her ass right now. ]

[kingsroads]

[ Time for a mutual "ah yes. That motherfucker" drinking session once all of this is done. ]

[heyboss]

Hurt how, Strange? You can create it yourself. Focus on the object. What it looks like, feels like, smells like. Everything you can think of. Helps me to close my eyes and imagine it somewhere in the room but away, like on a shelf. Personal preference.

It's easier if you have help, though, especially if it's complex.

[kingsroads]

She is trapped in a portrait of herself. It is not a portrait of her, it is a portrait of her. My magics have told me that much. They have also told me that the magic is familiar in a way that I currently cannot place.

[ There is a pause in between this response and any more coming as Strange takes Sheehan's advice. A small vial, with a darkish brown liquid and a little dead mouse soaking inside of it. The smell of smoke from the candles he thought were in people's heads. The acrid taste of something unspeakable yet somehow pineapple flavored. The sound of a thousand trumpets in his ears and a thousand cats mewling at his feet. The knowledge that there was so much more in the world and it was all staring directly at him. All the things that the tincture of madness inspired in him were here, in this room, and he could use them to defeat the enchanter that trapped Sabriel.

When Strange opens his eyes, there is a small little vial sitting in the middle of his bed. He picks up the journal and writes, ]

Thank you, Sheehan. It seems to have worked.

[heyboss]

You're welcome. Whatever you're going to do, be careful

[He knows that's not possible, and it's not fair to ask. So he leaves it at that.]

[endofvanity]

I have a sprig of one of Mr Mason's mustard greens and I hope he shall forgive me for it. Will that do?

What else do you need, Strange?

[kingsroads]

I will need at least two sprigs of mustard greens (apologies, Mr. Mason). And I will need someone to be with me for a moment. Some of the magic that I will be performing might leave me disoriented and I shall need someone to reassure me.

[endofvanity]

A moment—I shall be there soon.

[kingsroads]

Thank you.

[ Poor Fitzjames is about to see one of the less fun sides to magic. When he approaches Strange's room, Strange has a hand to the frame of Sabriel's portrait and is leaning his forehead against it, as if he could beam his thoughts directly in there. I'm sorry. I'll save you.

He turns to look when he hears the sound of someone approach. Spotting Fitzjames, Strange rushes over towards him, mouth moving like he's trying to explain something, but no sound comes out. Strange realizes the problem soon after and tries to speak again—though Fitzjames doesn't have to be a lip-reader to know that the second round of attempted speech is just swearing.

Everything about Strange's being radiates exasperation, confusion, and plain and simple fear. ]

[endofvanity]

Fitzjames is about to ask how Strange got himself cursed but it's immediately obvious. As is the silent swearing.

"All right, all right—look, I've brought you these." He holds out the sprigs of mustard greens, as well as a dead flower that he found on the deck that seems to have blown in from somewhere. It looks tropical, which is strange, but he's been so eager to help his new friend that he hasn't given it much thought.

small threadjack!

[adaptiveimmunities]

No worries. Do what you need to. It's what they're for. I'm not much help for magic shit, so good luck.

[kingsroads]

Thank you, Mason. You do not know the extent of how helpful this is.

[mayiofferyouacoughdrop]

I am on my way. Is there anything else you might nee, Mr. Strange?

[kingsroads]

Aside from the mirror? More paper, pens, and pencils. And a clear head and a great deal of patience.

[mayiofferyouacoughdrop]

I am not always the most patient, but I believe I can marshal my resources. I have a mirror and I can bring the rest as well.

[kingsroads]

Thank you. I believe you will not have to see the worst of it, but the effects are a necessary evil and will linger until she is freed. Your patience will be appreciated.

[ which is cryptic as fuck! But McGonagall's sensible. Strange isn't outright going to say "I plan on dosing myself with concentrated madness because I'm worried this is a fairy's fault and that's the only way I'll actually be able to see the fiend in order to challenge him." ]

[mayiofferyouacoughdrop]

McGonagall knocks at Strange's door once she's gathered the requested materials. She's not sure what she's going to find inside, but she has a feeling that he either has done or will do something impulsive, but she's braced for it, whatever it is.

Private; Later in the evening

[goingtobeunwell]

Forgive me, Jonathan, I was not ignoring your messages. There were other ma I wish to assist. What has become of Sabriel and yourself? What do you need from me?

[kingsroads]

[ fortunately, Crozier doesn't get to deal with as much of a mad magician as poor Fitzjames does. Unfortunately, Strange is pretty much going to be running on batshit, fumes, and mouse juice until he knows Sabriel is free. ]

I need what I always need, magician. Your counsel.

[goingtobeunwell]

[Ah. Something's definitely wrong here.]

I am at your service then.

[kingsroads]

Meet me in my room. We might need to go on the deck later, but we can at least start there.

[goodgrasshopper]

After leaving Una, Molly heads directly to the Strange's cabin and knocks at the door. She's still furious about the spell that had been cast on Una, and she's ready for a fight. Apparently this Mr. Strange needs help dealing with the person who had cursed them. Fantastic. That's something she can do, and she cares a lot less about shattering spells around the caster than she had about her friend.

[kingsroads]

Strange actually isn't at the cabin. He had taken Crozier's advice to look among the new arrivals for magicians, or at least someone who can help. The closest thing he found was a duck that's also a swan, shining bright like the sun, but he thinks he might have made her cry so that duck isn't going to work. Fortunately, he's returning to his cabin right as Molly knocks on the door. And the madness combined with Strange's own slight magical sensitivity tell him right away that this woman can help.

She radiates power, an icy breeze that makes Strange involuntarily shiver as frost drips from her fingertips and her hair shimmers with the colors of the Northern sky. Without hesitation, Strange rushes towards Molly, look of relief visible on his face as he makes to grab her hand. He's got no idea if she's coming or going but at far as he's concerned, he's not going to let her go anywhere.

The most recent enchantment lies at his throat. But Molly can also see traces of a different curse Strange is under, a curse of eternal night held at bay by the dream, as well as the effect of the madness swimming around Strange's mind. He wasn't doing so hot even before this recent curse.

[goodgrasshopper]

Molly stares at him in shock. Even if she hadn't spoken to Una and read the man's plea for help on their network, she would know that he needed help. She can see an enchantment similar--though different--to the one on Una at his throat, but he's also wound up in other magics, and the turmoil in his mind is actually making her a little seasick.

"Mr. Strange, I assume?" her tone holds a sense of mild alarm at his state. "Una told me you're having a problem with a curse. Where is he?"

Wait. No. He can't talk. She can see that.

She presses her lips together briefly. The fae aren't exactly known for their generosity of spirit, and favors must be repaid in kind. It's part of their nature, and it's not something she can just... will away.

"You're going to owe me after this. Blah blah blah, faerie bullshit. A favor to be collected at a time of my choosing. Do you understand?"

[kingsroads]

Strange nods as Molly says his name. The mention of Una surprises him-she scoffed at fairies once and yet she knows one with so much power? Though as the conversation continues, it becomes obvious to Strange why Una might not have known much about the fae. This fairy, this winter lady is...unconventional at best.

Strange can't help but gape a little at the words blah blah blah, faerie bullshit. Because...what? Just what. What the hell. The favor owed is reassuring because it's at least something he expects. Honestly, he'd prefer owing a more physical gift, but beggars can't be choosers.

He nods again to show he understands.