finalflight | THE JARS THAT BLEED BEFORE THEY BREAK.

[Someone has been watching the light show for a while now.

The woman with voluminous dark hair has set up a chair for herself and each time light is tossed up into the sky, it reflects in her dark eyes. She wears a flattering dress with a long skirt that trails on the ground and she sits with her back straight enthralled with the sight that Thomas is displaying.

For the Crystalline Witch, Jacqueline Berna Oakes, the joy he has as he releases his power is akin to seeing a happy child. It brings up memories of Solomon and Iona, of them being actual children, chasing each other around with sparklers, and summer evenings full of dry heat.

When she arrived, no one would know but her. It was after Oren left (he'd have a hard time leaving her alone if he knew she had casually strolled into unfamiliar territory). This pocket was easier to step inside than she expected though it helped she purposefully concealed her presence until now.

Berna wants to try something.

In between each swath of energy, she holds out her palm and blows to create a steady stream of diamond dust. As Thomas's light fades, the glimmering dust follows to create an even more beautiful effect. The witch murmurs to herself:]

Hope that doesn't ruin his fun.

[Like a kid, delighted with a new toy — that, or a man chasing his high. The two do not have to be mutually exclusive, and with Thomas, the use of his powers encapsulates the feeling of both. It is a grand, grand release of all the energy that cycles back into him day in and day out, the sort that grants him his power and that awful, awful lucidity. Gone in a few minutes’ time with a dazzling light show every few nights.

It’s routine for those that live here. For years and years now, the sky is lit up vividly bright, and so few of them even care. Lyra is the only one who will watch, sometimes, from her spot near the pond, where his makeshift fireworks glisten across the water.

But that’s fine. As long as he can burn through his powers in a dizzying rush, that’s all that matters. If there’s not a job on hand, the sky will just have to do.]

Aah, it dazzles tonight—

[He remarks to no one in particular. He stops his spinning, looking up and grinning as a strange shimmer seems to trail behind each pop of color. Oh, no, that’s not his; he’s fairly certain it isn’t, anyway. Who, then? Who?

He spins on his heel. He sees no one in the darkness. Well, that’s fine.

He tosses up one more blast of energy, and it explodes in another shimmer. This time, the bright red crimson of a rose blossoming in the sky, made of light and energy. Will it shine and shimmer again? Whose talent is it?]

[Berna grins as she watches Thomas glances around. It's quite dark, isn't it? She continues to stay where she is. When more energy is sent up to the sky, she lazily traces some runes in the air (it oscillates between red and gold) and sends them to the light.

When the crimson blossom begins to fade what falls from the sky is not diamond dust, but rose petals, actual physical petals, that float gently to the ground. The aroma of the actual flower fills the air as if freshly plucked.

Just like magic.]

[And when the rose in the sky bursts, down flutter strange little sensations, hard to see in the dark. A few catch in his hair, and he blinks, holding out a hand, catching some between his fingers.

His other hands summons a bright glow, illuminating what they are: petals. Rose petals.]

Ha... Now, now. This is not mine at all. This looks like magic.

[Is he talking to himself? Maybe a little bit. But then he throws the petals up in the air, and calls out into the nighttime. His tone is playful, drawn-out, almost impish. He's in a good mood right now.]

Hellooooo? Is someone out there?

[A voice, melodious and playful speaks up.]

Behind you!

[And when Thomas turns around, she's closer, if not several good yards away. There are some floating orbs of light (her personal crystals— multipurpose and very useful) around her person to illuminate her figure.

A certain Emerald Witch once said this of Berna with near-complete disdain; she was blatantly beautiful.

Berna waves at Thomas, beaming.]

I enjoyed the show you put on. Very colorful, and very loud. I think I ought to visit every now and then just to watch.

[She looks anywhere between late 20s to her mid-30s. Despite her apparent youth the way she carries herself (confidence and complete serenity) and regards Thomas with a patronizing fondness seems to indicate something inhuman. Even when she hides her most striking features, something will always slip out.]

[His brows raise, delighted, and he spins around on his heel yet again, his long jacket whipping behind him. Dark curls of hair sway with the movement.

Who he sees is... a stranger. But a very beautiful stranger, and Thomas is struck silent for a moment, trying to parse what he's seeing. Oh, yes, she is definitely an oddity, even around here; and even in Thomas' half-giddy state, he can sense something utterly surreal about her. Something in the way she carries herself, or maybe something about the intonation of her words.

But he's not cautious, no. He seems amiable enough, if surprised.]

Flattery will get you everywhere, miss. I do like putting on a show, though usually it is for an audience of... zero.

[He laughs, and steps closer to her, casual and unhurried.]

So it is nice to have someone appreciate all the color. All of me up there, exploding into nothing. [Until he's drained and exhausted, and all he'll want to do is sleep. The second best thing.] Do you plan on it? Visiting now and again? Are you a guest?

[Her chuckle is low and pleasant at his comment.]

I'm good at flattery... Good at receiving it too! I enjoy it too much, or so I'm told.

[Berna doesn't move from her spot; her lamp crystals continue to float in place so that they can see each other clearly.]

An audience of zero? [Her expression softens.]

Sounds lonely. Even with the others...? [Her eyes glance at the house in the distance.]

As for being a guest... Well, I invited myself. I hope that doesn't offend you.

[His grin widens. She seems like a nice sort, and when he's like this, that's all that matters. He doesn't care for the details of how she got here. Not his circus, not his monkeys!]

Not my circus, not my monkeys! [He echoes his own thoughts.] I'm not in charge, so I'm not obligated to be offended just because someone invites themselves in.

[He spreads his hands and shrugs. Here in the light of her strange crystals, he can see pretty well, he belatedly realizes.]

As for the others, this is no longer a novelty to them. Every two or three nights, I put on this show -- if we do not have work for me to otherwise burn away my energy. So, to them, it is boring. "Rote", is the word.

And it's not so lonely. It's fun. Sometimes Lyra watches if she's out late. Maybe she is afraid I will stumble into her pond like a drunkard.

"Rote..." That's a strong word. I know it well, but on the other hand, I appreciate the little things in life.

[He's friendly enough then. Berna muses she must have caught him at a good time, especially after draining most of his energy. Not that she worried too much if it was wielded against her... But it felt unlikely. Mostly because Berna was certain of it and when she is, she sticks with it because it has failed her rarely.

Berna stands up from her seat, dusting off the skirt of her dress— she's quite tall, about 5'11.]

As long as you're enjoying yourself, that's what matters in the end. Though I hope by just being here, I changed things up a bit. Especially with the roses. I think those were a nice touch, personally.

[He still has a rose petal in his hair, smiling. Yes, Thomas is much more… affable when he’s burning off built-up energy, seeking that satisfactory thrill. But it works out. Makes this a much better first impression.

He stands, meanwhile, at 6’2”. But he doesn’t loom, really, and maybe he seems not as tall as he is when he slouches.]

You did. I love the roses. A very nice touch. You bring life to the “roteness”.

[He blinks.]

Where are my manners? My name is Thomas Durand. I am a part of… The Jars! [ ??? ] That is not a terrible band name, no.

[A huff of laughter.]

And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?

[Her smile grows wider when he speaks of what she did as "bringing life." She does like flattery. But truthfully, it feels nice, even after all these centuries to make someone happy with such a small thing.]

Thomas. My pleasure. As for The Jars, I've heard worse band names. As for myself...

[Her crystals flicker as she demurely clasps her hands in front of herself.]

Hm. Well. Now that I think about it, I'm surprised I've hung on to my name for so long.

[A very little-known fact is that she decided to keep her last name from the one man she allowed herself to have a child with. It was the least she could do for him. It was supposed to be temporary but in the end, she kept it because no one else would.

Still, she decides to keep it simple.]

You can call me Jackie. For now.

Hm? And how does one not hold onto a name?

[He isn’t sure he Gets It, but nuance and implication are lost on him like this. He would have to revisit that thought later.

For now, though—]

Jackie is a wonderful name. I love it, too. [He just oozes happy flattery.] But why are you here? Why did you invite yourself? Are you lost, Jackie-for-now? Are you looking to hire? I cannot give you rates, and the others are probably asleep. Maybe.

One can change names like they change clothes. But if, and only if they have the strength to do so.

[Witches, when they get to her age do get cryptic, annoyingly so, (again, a comment by her dear, but grumpy redheaded friend). Berna is totally convinced she's probably more straightforward than most.]

As for why I'm here? [She crosses her arms, exaggerating a thinking expression on her face.]

Oh, I'm not lost. I don't know this area all that well, but I can always go back where I cam from. And my reasons aren't all that exciting... I just like seeing new things, new people.

Is that so? Me, I have always been Thomas. Maybe you mean to say that I have been wearing the same dirty shirt for many, many, many years now.

[But he means it lightly, with humor behind each word. Like it's a joke of some kind.

At her reply, he tilts his head. The gesture makes him sway a little.]

You like seeing new things, new people, and you are magic of some kind. Are you sure? That this is the only reason. No one comes here unless they want something, and people want many things. All the time.

Magic of some kind... What a way to put it.

[It's an audible but amused murmur. Berna's nod is paired with a shrug which obscures her following answer more.]

I'm very sure.

[Her flowery speech switches over to something more casual, more modern even.]

I just wanted to walk in and see. You know, get a feel for the land, see what some of it's... Very few people are about. Maybe I ought to come a little earlier next time?

So you know, my wants? Pretty simple.

[Magic of some kind, yes. That is the best way he can describe it. Thomas is sensitive to the energies of this world, and though he cannot see directly into a person's soul the way Morgan can, there are other subtleties he can pick up on, almost innately.

So yes, magic. It rolls off of her in waves. And he finds it very, very lovely, if not utterly indescribable. He has no way of knowing what she is unless otherwise told, however.]

Mmm. [He seems to consider that, an exaggerated expression that would be faux if not for... how he is, right now.] Okay.

[Just "okay".]

I have been here the longest. More than any of them. [Is he proud of this? It's hard to tell.] If you have questions, or you want to go for a little walk, then I am your man.

Let's walk!

[As Jackie moves to stand next to Thomas, so do her crystals with her.]

Who knows if I'll come back again? Better now than ever.

[He offers her his arm, if she is so inclined.]

Let's. [He echoes breezily. Whether or not she takes it, he raises his other hand and a ball of energy twists and burns bright, hovering inches above. His eyes glow in that same burning color, the same aura.] You don't mind if I burn while we walk?

[What a sentence.]

[Berna accepts, looping her arm through Thomas's as if it's only natural he would do so for her. When his eyes light up she raises a brow but doesn't seem bothered otherwise.

Her words return to that odd elegance, soothing and sweet.]

Go ahead. I'll see t how I'll take to it.

And don't worry about burning me.

[What a nice, pretty woman. He likes her.]

Burn you? Oh, no. No, no. I have more... focus than that. More control.

[He twists his wrist, and the little ball of light burns furiously, but it does not flare. It may be nothing more than plasmic, roiling heat, but it's concentrated.]

It'll just stay here, above my hand. [He just wants to keep exerting energy, if he's not flinging it all up into the sky. This will take longer, but the company is probably worth it. Anyway, they start walking in the house's direction, but not necessarily straight towards it. When Thomas walks, it's a slow amble.] You have no reason to be worried. Though I notice you never seem worried at all. Do you like fire and heat?

[With graceful steps, Berna keeps up with his slow amble, appreciative of the pace. ]

I'm told I don't worry enough. I could and I do, but always in the moment? Hardly.

[Not that she isn't careful or thinks ahead. She's a witch who knows when something will work for her (until it doesn't).]

As for fire and heat... Well, with what I do, it is essential.

[She holds up a free hand to show off the delicate rings on her finger.]

Jewelry making, for instance.

I wish I could be like that. Always, I mean. To never worry... enough. That would be quite an existence to have.

[But his eyes are drawn, of course, to her rings. Shining in the glow.]

You made those yourself? They are beautiful.

It takes a while, believe me. To unburden yourself, to be like air... There are many shackles to release yourself from.

[Berna is quite an existence, unknowingly to him so far.

When he compliments her jewelry, she sets down her hand, smiling.]

Thank you. It's one of my art forms. My type of release.

[It sounds like something someone wise beyond their years would say. Thomas might be a lot older than even she would assume, but he doesn't have the kind of worldly experience Jackie seems to be radiating.]

Shackles stay on tightly, or else they wouldn't be called shackles, would they?

[But. Ah, well. Her jewelry though!]

You must have much practice. And what of these? [He shoots a glance at one of her crystals.]

Edited 2023-04-14 23:46 (UTC)

These things?

[The crystals have been hovering around them, humming with her magic. One is beckoned with an outstretched palm and it drops into her hand, glowing.]

Mm. A different kind of jewelry. Perhaps more practical.

[Doubles as quick weapons in a pinch too but luckily these days she hasn't had to be on the offensive. Not many would pick a fight with someone close in age to the Witch King (though he was still many times more powerful than she).]

Here. You can hold it. Tell me how it feels.

[Berna offers the crystal to him.]

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