THE WET GLASS, AND THAT CLOUD
which is slowly taking the shape / of an astonishing idea
The reflection to Septimus’s left is bloody.
The Septimus-in-the-mirror’s mouth is dribbling blood; there is some concoction of feathers and skin caught between his canine teeth. Distasteful manners, really – he might be an omnivore, and he might be fey-blooded, but that does not mean entirely disregarding matters of personal appearance. It isn’t as though the reflection can hear him, but he gives it half a roll of his eyes and says, “I believe you have something in your teeth.”
The mechanics of these strange stones are interesting, at least – if somewhat insulting.
Some kind of illusion (malevolent or apathetic; it is hard to tell), he assumes. He’s seen the type; in the Wilds, it is rarely so obvious, but, like will-o’-wisps, they make you doubt your own eyes, and, more importantly, yourself. Septimus is not sure that there is any kind of intent behind these strange reflections, but he’d like to find out, and, if there is an answer, it might well be further in the labyrinthian expanse of spikes and spires.
He drifts between mirrors, largely disregarding the images found within; some of them are familiar, some of them are exact, and some are a twisted, ugly distortion. He wonders if there is something different to the material composition of the different shards, or if there is some difference in their - theoretical – enchantment. If so, what could it be? It could surely explain the discrepancy in image – but, of course, magic often defies explanation.
(It is part of why it is such a fascinating subject. Although Septimus has lingered in Novus for quite some time, now – and not necessarily by choice -, he hasn’t even come close to grasping the rules of magic in this place, if there are any at all.)
Septimus leans in close to one crystal, squinting at the material, lips quirked. It is difficult to make out exactly what it is composed of, particularly with his reflections obscuring his view, but, even if he could see it more clearly, he isn’t sure that he would know what it is. It doesn’t look – or move – like any material he has ever seen before, in all his (many) years of travelling, and he finds himself wondering what it would look like under a microscope. Surely, it would be fascinating.
He does not have a microscope, at the moment, but he can find one later… if he can find a way to take a sample of the stone. He could try to use his antlers, he supposes, but the stone is probably much harder than they are; he isn’t even sure if a blade would be able to chip a bit of it off. Perhaps he could find a shard that is already broken, but he hasn’t seen any, and he feels like he has been walking for quite some time – even when he finds the crystal broken, he rarely sees the pieces shattered on the ground. Even if he can find one, that doesn’t mean that he will be able to take it back to the mainland with him. In the interest of progress (and his own curiosity), however, he is obligated to try.
The Septimus across from him has antlers twined with emerald-green vines; he thinks that he recognizes them from his childhood, but it has been many, many years since then.
How nostalgic. He doesn’t allow his gaze to linger. He needs to find a shard; if he does, he might even be able to use it to break off bits of the other crystals, to see if they differ in material like they do in reflective quality.
open! || he's, uhh, literally just vibing.
"Speech!"
which is slowly taking the shape / of an astonishing idea
The reflection to Septimus’s left is bloody.
The Septimus-in-the-mirror’s mouth is dribbling blood; there is some concoction of feathers and skin caught between his canine teeth. Distasteful manners, really – he might be an omnivore, and he might be fey-blooded, but that does not mean entirely disregarding matters of personal appearance. It isn’t as though the reflection can hear him, but he gives it half a roll of his eyes and says, “I believe you have something in your teeth.”
The mechanics of these strange stones are interesting, at least – if somewhat insulting.
Some kind of illusion (malevolent or apathetic; it is hard to tell), he assumes. He’s seen the type; in the Wilds, it is rarely so obvious, but, like will-o’-wisps, they make you doubt your own eyes, and, more importantly, yourself. Septimus is not sure that there is any kind of intent behind these strange reflections, but he’d like to find out, and, if there is an answer, it might well be further in the labyrinthian expanse of spikes and spires.
He drifts between mirrors, largely disregarding the images found within; some of them are familiar, some of them are exact, and some are a twisted, ugly distortion. He wonders if there is something different to the material composition of the different shards, or if there is some difference in their - theoretical – enchantment. If so, what could it be? It could surely explain the discrepancy in image – but, of course, magic often defies explanation.
(It is part of why it is such a fascinating subject. Although Septimus has lingered in Novus for quite some time, now – and not necessarily by choice -, he hasn’t even come close to grasping the rules of magic in this place, if there are any at all.)
Septimus leans in close to one crystal, squinting at the material, lips quirked. It is difficult to make out exactly what it is composed of, particularly with his reflections obscuring his view, but, even if he could see it more clearly, he isn’t sure that he would know what it is. It doesn’t look – or move – like any material he has ever seen before, in all his (many) years of travelling, and he finds himself wondering what it would look like under a microscope. Surely, it would be fascinating.
He does not have a microscope, at the moment, but he can find one later… if he can find a way to take a sample of the stone. He could try to use his antlers, he supposes, but the stone is probably much harder than they are; he isn’t even sure if a blade would be able to chip a bit of it off. Perhaps he could find a shard that is already broken, but he hasn’t seen any, and he feels like he has been walking for quite some time – even when he finds the crystal broken, he rarely sees the pieces shattered on the ground. Even if he can find one, that doesn’t mean that he will be able to take it back to the mainland with him. In the interest of progress (and his own curiosity), however, he is obligated to try.
The Septimus across from him has antlers twined with emerald-green vines; he thinks that he recognizes them from his childhood, but it has been many, many years since then.
How nostalgic. He doesn’t allow his gaze to linger. He needs to find a shard; if he does, he might even be able to use it to break off bits of the other crystals, to see if they differ in material like they do in reflective quality.
open! || he's, uhh, literally just vibing.
"Speech!"
AND RARELY, IF THE WOOD ACCEPTS THE BLADE WITHOUT CONDITIONSthe two pieces keep their balance in spite of the blow❃please tag Septimus! contact is encouraged, short of violence
