Day 28 Chapter 11
- Location
- Around here
[X] Plan: Ho~ly Jesus. What is that? What the fuck is that?
"Envision the shape you see in your soul, and concentrate on invoking that shape with Inguz to give to life."
You have no idea of where to start. You don't know your witch. You don't know what form your soul would take should the worst come to pass. So you guess. If witches take the shape of the things which trouble their master's souls, then surely, yours would be given form by all the memories you've shared with Madoka. You think back to a memory you have of a date you went on with her, early into your relationship. You and Madoka were visiting a festival, when her eyes were caught by the sight of a black bird plush sitting on the shelf behind a shooting game. Something about the eyes, she said, reminded her of you; and the black colour certainly did the comparison justice.
You try to imagine that plush bird, with its fuzzy black feathers and its glassy, royal blue eyes. It's still sitting on a shelf in Madoka's bedroom, next to the plush of a white bird with pink eyes which you also won for her.
Envision the plush bird. Invoke the Inguz rune.
Envision the plush bird. Invoke the Inguz rune.
Envision the plush bird. Invoke the Inguz rune.
An unfamiliar popping sound echoes in your ears, and for a brief moment you feel a burning sensation flare up in your hand. The feeling of pain steals you away from your concentration, and that's when you see it; and it both is, and is not, exactly what you expected it to be. The stuffed bird looks at you, with an almost quizzical look written on its featureless, expressionless face. Face? Do birds have faces? Is that the right word to use? Does it even matter?
"Well, that is… Certainly… Disturbing to look at," Scáthach says. The bird turns its head, as if it can understand her words, or at least recognises them as words, if nothing else. Just how smart is this thing, anyway? Aren't crows supposed to be as smart as young children? Does this thing actually understand human speech?
Or does it only understand Scáthach because she used to be a witch, and it hears something familiar in her voice?
On the off chance that the bird can understand human speech, you don't want its first impression of humans to be an unfavourable one. You have no idea how bad that could be. So you shield the bird, and say to Scáthach "There's no need to be rude. It's-" Yours? Your familiar? Your child? Just what is this bird to you, really? "It's done nothing to earn your ire."
"Do you know what that thing is, master of red Archer?" Scáthach asks. "Do you know what you have done?"
"Tapped into powers beyond my comprehension and breached the barrier between puella magi and witch," you say, fully aware of what you've just done. "Considering the fact that we've already developed a workaround to the Incubator's system on our own, something like this was bound to happen eventually." The fact that you've chosen the Inguz rune as one of your own virtually guaranteed something like this would happen, sooner or later.
"You are lucky to still be alive," Scáthach says. "In truth, I was not expecting for you to succeed, though I am glad to see you are unharmed, regardless."
As you and Scáthach exchange words, you've noticed the bird tilting its head, as if it's following your conversation and can tell which of you is speaking, and when. Your earlier thoughts come back to you; it clearly possesses the ability to recognise sounds, and distinguish them as coming from distinct persons; but what else can it do? Does it understand you? Would it understand you if you spoke to it?
There's only one way to find out.
"Can you fly?" you ask the bird. If it's borrowing a bird's shape, then testing whether or not it can fly should be the first thing you do. If it flies when you ask it to, that'll give you an idea of whether or not it can understand what you say, or if it just recognises sounds without understanding them.
The bird steps out of your hands, flapping its stubby wings as it takes off. Its movements are jerky, like a newborn, and it falls with style more than it flies, but the proof is right there. "Land on top of my head," you say next. "If you can't, then land in my hands instead." Again, the bird's motions are jerky, and it struggles with the ascent, but it does manage to perch atop your head after a few moments' struggle. "Well, I'll be," you say, more to yourself than to either the bird or Scáthach
Speaking of Scáthach, she appears similarly amazed by what you're doing with the bird. "I have never," she says, "Seen one of our kind act in… Such a manner."
"Well, you'd better start seeing it somewhere."
So, the bird can understand you. You don't know whether to be surprised, relieved, whether you should have expected that from the start; nothing. You look to your Soul Gem, considering the amount of Grief you still have left over from your training session earlier. What else can you do with this bird? Can you make it bigger? Can you make more of it?
You decide to try making it bigger, next. Or rather, you decide to try experimenting with pouring different amounts of Grief into it, and seeing what happens; does it grow larger with more Grief, or smaller with less Grief? You'll try larger first. You concentrate on the bird on your hand, though it soon after decides to migrate back down to your hands. Inguz. Pour more of your Grief into this bird. See what happens.
There's a sound like an inflating balloon, and soon enough, the bird in your hands has grown too heavy for you to hold it securely. It hasn't grown much bigger in size, but its weight has increased significantly, and when you drop it, its wings unfold and reveal themselves to have grown larger, more powerful. "Can you fly better now?" you ask; the bird promptly demonstrates that, yes, it can in fact fly better now.
Next, you'll try to make more birds, both to test the limits of your ability to create them, as well as the limit of your ability to control them.
Four. Your limit, as you soon find out, is four birds. Any more than four, and you stop being able to effectively manage them. You can create more than four; that's not a problem at all. In fact, as you stare at the tiny bird in your hand – a product of attempting to pour less Grief into the creation process than "normal" What even is normal with what you're doing? – you realise that there's no real practical limit to how many birds you can create, barring the actual amount of Grief in your Soul Gem to pour into their mould. But in terms of your ability to actively control multiple birds at once, four appears to be your limit.
But now, you're left with a flock of Grief-made birds, and no idea of what to do with them now. Trying to make them go away appears to be your only option "Um… Go away?" Your command lacks surety; you have no idea if you're doing this right or if all these birds will interpret "Go away" as their cue to fly off in all directions. Fortunately, they do not go flying off in all directions; but unfortunately, you don't know what else to try.
Do you try to re-absorb the Grief back into your Soul Gem? Is that safe? Is that even something you're comfortable with doing, willingly injecting Grief back into your Soul Gem?
In the end, it's the only thing you can think of doing, and you invoke the Inguz rune again, focusing your efforts on transferring the Grief you spent to create these birds back into your Soul Gem. You didn't notice it before as you were expunging the Grief originally, but now you feel a weight growing on your soul, and you only return to a feeling or normalcy as you stop, leaving only your first bird remaining, though you've drained it of just enough Grief that you can comfortably carry it perched atop your shoulder.
"You know, between the bird on your shoulder, and your sister's eyepatch, you could almost pass as a troupe of pirates," Scáthach says. "I doubt that was your goal, though if you wished, the Samhain festival draws near; perhaps you and she could dress in pirate garb then?"
"I think we'll be too busy with other preparations to be dressing like pirates," you reply. "Not to mention, I'm sure Kirika has other plans, if we're able to somehow make time for costumes." You certainly won't be going out begging the city for candy; not when the city is currently being hypnotised into evacuating.
Now, what should you do about the one remaining bird? "Please excuse me," you say to Scáthach. "I need to speak with Kanna Niko about something."
"Going to check in with her about the progress of your allies?"
"Something like that."
"Something like that" ultimately turns into something completely different. "Could I speak to you for a moment about something?" you ask Kanna Niko, as you hover a respectful distance away from her and the other eggheads, all of whom turn towards you as you speak up. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but it's…"
You don't know how else to say this. "It's a familiar I made. From my own Grief. I was hoping you could, I don't know, find a way to sync the bird up to my phone, or something along those lines."
"Or something along those lines," Kanna Niko says. "Are you insane? Did you seriously-"
"Yes, I did," you say. "Scáthach already gave me an earful regarding my decision to experiment with the Inguz rune and my Grief. I'm well aware of the risks."
"But you took them anyway," Kanna Niko says. She shakes her head, and her eyes settle on the bird once the shaking stops. "Well, bring it over here," she says. "I can at least take a look at it."
You do as Kanna Niko requests, walking over to her and presenting her with the bird, which hops off your shoulder and onto her desk at your command. She stares at it, and it stares back at her; and to Oriko, Lancer, and Assassin as well, all of whom are looking at the bird with varying degrees of comfort at the thought of what you've done. "Akemi-san, are you sure this was the right thing to do?" Oriko asks as Kanna Niko looks over the bird. "I mean, I know you've had to experiment in the past, but experimenting with your own Grief… What if something had gone wrong?"
Oriko trembles at the thought, before throwing her hands around you and holding you tightly. "What would I have said to your family if you'd turned because of your experiments? What would I say to Kirika? To Minako-san? To Archer? I'd feel responsible for not keeping my sight trained on you, and-"
"I don't think they'd blame you," you say to Oriko. "They'd be upset, of course, but it wouldn't be your fault, and they'd know that."
Fortunately, both Lancer and Assassin say nothing to either you or Oriko as you stand there, hugging it out with your almost-sister-in-law. Though you don't imagine getting away from this without your parents giving you the third degree at what you've done.
"I can work with this." Kanna Niko clears her throat, and addresses you as you break away from Oriko's hug. "But I'll need you to stick around and answer some questions for me about your magic and what you did to make this."
[ ] Wat do?
"Envision the shape you see in your soul, and concentrate on invoking that shape with Inguz to give to life."
You have no idea of where to start. You don't know your witch. You don't know what form your soul would take should the worst come to pass. So you guess. If witches take the shape of the things which trouble their master's souls, then surely, yours would be given form by all the memories you've shared with Madoka. You think back to a memory you have of a date you went on with her, early into your relationship. You and Madoka were visiting a festival, when her eyes were caught by the sight of a black bird plush sitting on the shelf behind a shooting game. Something about the eyes, she said, reminded her of you; and the black colour certainly did the comparison justice.
You try to imagine that plush bird, with its fuzzy black feathers and its glassy, royal blue eyes. It's still sitting on a shelf in Madoka's bedroom, next to the plush of a white bird with pink eyes which you also won for her.
Envision the plush bird. Invoke the Inguz rune.
Envision the plush bird. Invoke the Inguz rune.
Envision the plush bird. Invoke the Inguz rune.
An unfamiliar popping sound echoes in your ears, and for a brief moment you feel a burning sensation flare up in your hand. The feeling of pain steals you away from your concentration, and that's when you see it; and it both is, and is not, exactly what you expected it to be. The stuffed bird looks at you, with an almost quizzical look written on its featureless, expressionless face. Face? Do birds have faces? Is that the right word to use? Does it even matter?
"Well, that is… Certainly… Disturbing to look at," Scáthach says. The bird turns its head, as if it can understand her words, or at least recognises them as words, if nothing else. Just how smart is this thing, anyway? Aren't crows supposed to be as smart as young children? Does this thing actually understand human speech?
Or does it only understand Scáthach because she used to be a witch, and it hears something familiar in her voice?
On the off chance that the bird can understand human speech, you don't want its first impression of humans to be an unfavourable one. You have no idea how bad that could be. So you shield the bird, and say to Scáthach "There's no need to be rude. It's-" Yours? Your familiar? Your child? Just what is this bird to you, really? "It's done nothing to earn your ire."
"Do you know what that thing is, master of red Archer?" Scáthach asks. "Do you know what you have done?"
"Tapped into powers beyond my comprehension and breached the barrier between puella magi and witch," you say, fully aware of what you've just done. "Considering the fact that we've already developed a workaround to the Incubator's system on our own, something like this was bound to happen eventually." The fact that you've chosen the Inguz rune as one of your own virtually guaranteed something like this would happen, sooner or later.
"You are lucky to still be alive," Scáthach says. "In truth, I was not expecting for you to succeed, though I am glad to see you are unharmed, regardless."
As you and Scáthach exchange words, you've noticed the bird tilting its head, as if it's following your conversation and can tell which of you is speaking, and when. Your earlier thoughts come back to you; it clearly possesses the ability to recognise sounds, and distinguish them as coming from distinct persons; but what else can it do? Does it understand you? Would it understand you if you spoke to it?
There's only one way to find out.
"Can you fly?" you ask the bird. If it's borrowing a bird's shape, then testing whether or not it can fly should be the first thing you do. If it flies when you ask it to, that'll give you an idea of whether or not it can understand what you say, or if it just recognises sounds without understanding them.
The bird steps out of your hands, flapping its stubby wings as it takes off. Its movements are jerky, like a newborn, and it falls with style more than it flies, but the proof is right there. "Land on top of my head," you say next. "If you can't, then land in my hands instead." Again, the bird's motions are jerky, and it struggles with the ascent, but it does manage to perch atop your head after a few moments' struggle. "Well, I'll be," you say, more to yourself than to either the bird or Scáthach
Speaking of Scáthach, she appears similarly amazed by what you're doing with the bird. "I have never," she says, "Seen one of our kind act in… Such a manner."
"Well, you'd better start seeing it somewhere."
So, the bird can understand you. You don't know whether to be surprised, relieved, whether you should have expected that from the start; nothing. You look to your Soul Gem, considering the amount of Grief you still have left over from your training session earlier. What else can you do with this bird? Can you make it bigger? Can you make more of it?
You decide to try making it bigger, next. Or rather, you decide to try experimenting with pouring different amounts of Grief into it, and seeing what happens; does it grow larger with more Grief, or smaller with less Grief? You'll try larger first. You concentrate on the bird on your hand, though it soon after decides to migrate back down to your hands. Inguz. Pour more of your Grief into this bird. See what happens.
There's a sound like an inflating balloon, and soon enough, the bird in your hands has grown too heavy for you to hold it securely. It hasn't grown much bigger in size, but its weight has increased significantly, and when you drop it, its wings unfold and reveal themselves to have grown larger, more powerful. "Can you fly better now?" you ask; the bird promptly demonstrates that, yes, it can in fact fly better now.
Next, you'll try to make more birds, both to test the limits of your ability to create them, as well as the limit of your ability to control them.
Four. Your limit, as you soon find out, is four birds. Any more than four, and you stop being able to effectively manage them. You can create more than four; that's not a problem at all. In fact, as you stare at the tiny bird in your hand – a product of attempting to pour less Grief into the creation process than "normal" What even is normal with what you're doing? – you realise that there's no real practical limit to how many birds you can create, barring the actual amount of Grief in your Soul Gem to pour into their mould. But in terms of your ability to actively control multiple birds at once, four appears to be your limit.
But now, you're left with a flock of Grief-made birds, and no idea of what to do with them now. Trying to make them go away appears to be your only option "Um… Go away?" Your command lacks surety; you have no idea if you're doing this right or if all these birds will interpret "Go away" as their cue to fly off in all directions. Fortunately, they do not go flying off in all directions; but unfortunately, you don't know what else to try.
Do you try to re-absorb the Grief back into your Soul Gem? Is that safe? Is that even something you're comfortable with doing, willingly injecting Grief back into your Soul Gem?
In the end, it's the only thing you can think of doing, and you invoke the Inguz rune again, focusing your efforts on transferring the Grief you spent to create these birds back into your Soul Gem. You didn't notice it before as you were expunging the Grief originally, but now you feel a weight growing on your soul, and you only return to a feeling or normalcy as you stop, leaving only your first bird remaining, though you've drained it of just enough Grief that you can comfortably carry it perched atop your shoulder.
"You know, between the bird on your shoulder, and your sister's eyepatch, you could almost pass as a troupe of pirates," Scáthach says. "I doubt that was your goal, though if you wished, the Samhain festival draws near; perhaps you and she could dress in pirate garb then?"
"I think we'll be too busy with other preparations to be dressing like pirates," you reply. "Not to mention, I'm sure Kirika has other plans, if we're able to somehow make time for costumes." You certainly won't be going out begging the city for candy; not when the city is currently being hypnotised into evacuating.
Now, what should you do about the one remaining bird? "Please excuse me," you say to Scáthach. "I need to speak with Kanna Niko about something."
"Going to check in with her about the progress of your allies?"
"Something like that."
"Something like that" ultimately turns into something completely different. "Could I speak to you for a moment about something?" you ask Kanna Niko, as you hover a respectful distance away from her and the other eggheads, all of whom turn towards you as you speak up. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but it's…"
You don't know how else to say this. "It's a familiar I made. From my own Grief. I was hoping you could, I don't know, find a way to sync the bird up to my phone, or something along those lines."
"Or something along those lines," Kanna Niko says. "Are you insane? Did you seriously-"
"Yes, I did," you say. "Scáthach already gave me an earful regarding my decision to experiment with the Inguz rune and my Grief. I'm well aware of the risks."
"But you took them anyway," Kanna Niko says. She shakes her head, and her eyes settle on the bird once the shaking stops. "Well, bring it over here," she says. "I can at least take a look at it."
You do as Kanna Niko requests, walking over to her and presenting her with the bird, which hops off your shoulder and onto her desk at your command. She stares at it, and it stares back at her; and to Oriko, Lancer, and Assassin as well, all of whom are looking at the bird with varying degrees of comfort at the thought of what you've done. "Akemi-san, are you sure this was the right thing to do?" Oriko asks as Kanna Niko looks over the bird. "I mean, I know you've had to experiment in the past, but experimenting with your own Grief… What if something had gone wrong?"
Oriko trembles at the thought, before throwing her hands around you and holding you tightly. "What would I have said to your family if you'd turned because of your experiments? What would I say to Kirika? To Minako-san? To Archer? I'd feel responsible for not keeping my sight trained on you, and-"
"I don't think they'd blame you," you say to Oriko. "They'd be upset, of course, but it wouldn't be your fault, and they'd know that."
Fortunately, both Lancer and Assassin say nothing to either you or Oriko as you stand there, hugging it out with your almost-sister-in-law. Though you don't imagine getting away from this without your parents giving you the third degree at what you've done.
"I can work with this." Kanna Niko clears her throat, and addresses you as you break away from Oriko's hug. "But I'll need you to stick around and answer some questions for me about your magic and what you did to make this."
[ ] Wat do?
