tushanshu_logs | i'll say it to be proud

Entry tags:

i'll say it to be proud

Characters: Solomon Wreath and OPEN
Date: Anywhere between 6 May to 14 May.
Location: Various locations around the city. Specifically, places where people have died--anyone from PCs to kedan. The only place I know specifically will be the fountain where Bakura was killed, but if anyone has other specific areas in mind, you may assume Sol has been there.
Situation: Solomon needs to practice his control of his magic, since his control item was broken before he entered the game. This means using hotspots where people died to help him out. People are welcome to interrupt him at any stage of his practice, though his manifesting the echoes of people who died is only something that will happen later in the week.
Warnings/Rating: Death and after-death. Skulduggery's thread contains graphic details of a death (specifically, drowning).

After his semi-healing, Solomon's first priority had been, overwhelmingly, to regain control of his magic. His conversation with Skulduggery had left him a few steps beyond unsettled, and even now he wasn't sure what to think. Added to their differing timelines was Pleasant's uncharacteristic certainty that the armour was related to Vile, and on top of that was the fact that he knew the Temple's most closely guarded secret.

In the end Solomon had been forced to come to a simple solution: regardless of Skulduggery's current beliefs and knowledge; regardless of the current situation on the turtle; there was one thing Solomon needed, and that was use of his magic. Focussing on that, with luck, would allow his subconscious thoughts to ponder the other issues.

Necromancers didn't strictly need control items to use their magic, but it was usually how they were first introduced to it and it had been quite a while since Solomon had bothered to use magic without his. It was something like using a muscle he hadn't for longer than was wise, so to give him an edge he sought out places in the city where death had occurred, or were close by similar locations. Fountains. Street-corners. Parks. Frankly, it wasn't all that difficult.

His exercises were a simple routine. He would sit, meditate upon the deathly energy in a place, and then gather the shadows to him. They'd cluster on the walls or ground or features around him; at first two-dimensional, and then three, wrapping around his wrists and shoulders, curling around his body like a flock of affectionate birds.

Once he could hold them to him for as long as he needed without losing control, he moved on to spreading them around him as he needed and wanted, and in various shapes. If there was music nearby, he would make the shadows dance to it, filling the air with twisting shapes and cloaks, fading in and out from nothing. Once upon a time he had used to do this purely out of boredom. There was something beautiful about it. Something mesmerising. Something calming, and comforting, to watch the shadows sing and know he was the one performing, manipulating the shadows deftly like puppeteer. He hadn't done it in such a long time and it took more effort than it had with his cane, but now, it was soothing.

Eventually he was even able to summon the shadows of those who'd died where he sat. They weren't ghosts, of course; they couldn't speak or even interact. Necromancers couldn't communicate with the dead unless it involved the deceased's physical body. They were just shadows, cast black like graphic puppets, defined enough to tell details of their features. He could have traced the manner of their last moments, if he wished, but for now, he was content to assure himself he could fight without his cane if he needed.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hayley had difficulty learning lessons. It was a way she had always been and not something she much cared to change. The things that truly mattered, she felt, she could work on changing if the need was there. For everything else, it would be a waste of time and energy. And so it was that she was wandering around the dangerous streets of the Metal Sector alone again, taser in the messenger bag at her side, the hood of her red jacket pushed down to ensure her better awareness of her surroundings. She might be reckless, but she wasn't stupid.

She was unaware of the significance of the area she wandered into. It was only the man sitting there that caught her attention, the way the shadows molded around him and seemed to do his bidding. Batman. Malicant. Nico. The names and memories flashed through her mind, trying to place what he was doing and who he might be affiliated with as she froze on the edges of the small and quiet intersection.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she took a few more steps forward, her fear hidden beneath an almost flawless facade of nonchalance. She lifted a skeptical eyebrow as she approached, donning an insincere grin and raising her voice to ensure that he heard her.

"Do you think maybe you could take your spooky shadow thing somewhere else? I mean, I'm sure you think it's the coolest thing since sliced bread and.. maybe it is? But there are a lot of other people here who can do.. well, sort of what you're doing. You just need to, you know, keep it inside and not freak out the random people walking around by playing Creepy McMagicShadow in the middle of the street."

Just when he was starting to think he had a handle on the shadows, they would dissolve. Solomon could catch them before they vanished, give them solidity, and doing so made the shadows wash across the area like an ever dissolving-resolving wave. At least to the untrained eye it looked deliberate.

In reality he was concentrating very hard. Hard enough that he'd actually forgotten to pay attention to who was around him, since there seemed to be few passersby to begin with. The girl's voice interrupted him so abruptly that every shadow in the area fell as though struck by gravity, dissolving before they hit the ground.

Solomon took a few deep, slow breaths to restrain the irritation and came aware of the dull, persistent ache in his thigh. He'd been sitting still for far too long.

"No," he said, gingerly stretching out his leg and wincing at the pull of the flesh wound under the bandage. "I'm afraid I need specific public areas." He looked up and studied the girl. There was a decently strong resemblance between her and Pleasant's apprentice. Dark-haired, about the same age, carried themselves in a similar manner. "If you're unnerved, perhaps you ought to continue elsewhere."

There was something odd about the girl. Something Cain didn't have. It felt like death, but--surely not? She was much too alive to be a zombie or a construct. Even Pleasant's deathliness was like a constant tenor. This was more like a dull thud in water.

"Have you suffered a near-death experience in the recent past, by chance?" he asked abruptly. It was too strong a sensation to be just that, but perhaps death came about more acutely here.

The sudden dispersal of the shadows was more frightening than the way they shifted upon her arrival. Her entire body tensed for a split second, ready to run. She settled when he didn't immediately attack her, when it occurred to her that maybe he had lost control or willingly let his abilities sink away in order to address her. Maybe he wasn't one of the monster's pets; maybe he wasn't so bad.

"There are probably a lot of things I 'ought' to do," she replied offhandedly, even giving him the obligatory air quotes to accompany the word. Then her hands settled around the strap of her bag again, watching him. Her muscles remained tense and yet she maintained the same carefree smirk. "Why do you need specific areas?"

At his question, she paled slightly and her smile slipped away. It was such an unexpected inquiry that she began to worry that he really was one of the possessed - or Malicant himself. "I'm sorry?"

Ah. Of course. Being kidnapped and brought into another dimension to fight a war on turtle-back was hardly a reason to be rude. "I do apologise," said Solomon, rising a little less smoothly than he would have liked and bowing, keeping his weight on his good leg. "Solomon Wreath. I am a Necromancer, and due to the circumstances of my arrival I unfortunately don't have all the items I usually possess for use of my magic."

He spread his hands to indicate the intersection around him. "This is a place where someone has died. I need such places to regain control of my magic since I've arrived."

Which was frustrating, and tiring, but at least not nearly as difficult as he'd feared. All that practice when he had been a bored acolyte progressing far beyond what the masters were teaching had paid off.

"I apologise also if I've startled you," he continued blandly. 'Startle' was putting it nicely. "Necromancers can tell such things. It's simply ... unusual to see someone with the shadow of death over them who isn't undead." Unusual? Impossible. Either it was a simple near-death experience or death here was far more malleable than even his dimension.

In Hayley's usual backward fashion, Solomon introducing himself with a bow put her more on edge than his penchant for molding shadows. She entertained the idea of curtseying for only a split second before practically laughing at the notion, instead staring with a mixture of curiosity, admiration, skepticism, and fear. It was the dangerous people that appealed to her the most.

"Hayley Stark," she replied in introduction. He had given her enough information that depriving him of her name would be rude at best. The girl's eyes moved to scan the area, finding it unfamiliar and wondering who might have died here that would bring the man to channel this area. It was only mildly disconcerting to her that the idea of a Necromancer was no longer as fresh and exciting as it once was.

"I died, but I came back," she explained evenly, more interested in knowing more about him than in keeping her secrets. "That happens in this place. But if you're like the other necromancers I know, then you can't control me or anything, right? You can only raise the dead - most of whom are buried at sea - and.. apparently control shadows? That one's new."

A beat. "Is your last name really Wreath? Is that like W-R-E-A-T-H or like R-E-E-T-H? Does anyone ever call you Sol?"

Died, but came back. And she said it so matter-of-factly, as if it were ordinary for people to simply come back without being undead. Perhaps here it was, but if so--if so! The potential abounded. If he could learn more about that process, perhaps the Passage--well. Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary, perhaps they could make it happen more quickly. Either way, it was certainly an avenue of investigation he couldn't let Pleasant discover.

Solomon debated for a moment. Standing was making his leg ache, and he wasn't so plebeian as to lean on the wall. He was about due to stretch his magical muscles. With a motion of his hand he drew back the shadows and moulded them into a bench against the wall. Its surface shifted and its edges fluttered where they sank two-dimensionally into the wall, but when he sat down it was solid enough to hold his weight, and that was all he wanted. It gave him the opportunity to compartmentalise his use of magic, at least.

"Other Necromancers?" he asked, and didn't bother to hide his interest. "There are other Necromancers here?" That could be ... useful, depending on the manner in which their magic worked. "No, I can't. You're alive in every sense of the word; a Necromancer can only control the dead."

With some exceptions. No one had tried to control Skulduggery. No one knew enough about how he'd returned to try. The news that the dead were usually buried at sea was also useful. Solomon wasn't particularly fond of zombies, and it was unlikely the turtle had the means for him to do anything like what Serpine had done to the White Cleaver, but it was nice to know just what sort of resources he had at his disposal.

Her last question made amusement flicker across his face in the form of a smile. She was eager. His favourite acolytes had always been the ones eager to learn. He'd never found one to make his apprentice, but he still enjoyed working with them.

"No, they don't," he said, and let his amusement show in his voice. "And it's spelled W-R-E-A-T-H. It's a name I chose for myself when I was younger, to protect myself from others controlling me with my given name. Would you like to sit?" The bench was a few feet long--enough for a wary teen to leave some space for herself. He ought to be able to handle a bit of extra weight now the bench had settled. It looked like smooth obsidian, unaffected by the light.

For all her playing at apathy incarnate, certain things continued to pull the girl out of her act and into sincere expression. She eyed the bench curiously at first. Then her expression morphed into genuine surprise when he sat upon it, allowing the admiration and interest she felt to show in her smile. Hayley wasn't about to join him by any means, but that ability was certainly one to know of and perhaps even to endeavor to study if she could.

"But you could tell I was dead," she stated, though it was meant a question. Alive in every sense of the word would hardly mean giving off indications of death. She glanced down at herself, as if she might suddenly find herself decomposing or emitting creepy shadows of her own. Successfully reassured that she seemed as normal as a clone could ever be, she returned to look at him.

His question about other necromancers was intentionally ignored. While Sabriel's presence was common enough and she didn't really care much about Skulduggery, she had no interest in putting Nico's name out there.-

She had a brief flicker of panic, wondering if he could read her thoughts, before she realized how absurd it was to be forever paranoid of the idea. Then she was focusing on his words again, on his invitation to sit. Again she eyed the bench, again she came to the same conclusion. "And thanks, but shadow benches aren't really my thing."

"As you please," Solomon said with a shrug. Perhaps not a wise girl, but a cautious one. How old was she? Thirteen or fourteen, if she was of Cain's age. Too young to be so cautious. That was, unfortunately, the way of life. The way Solomon was seeking to change. There'd be no need for caution if no one could die.

"I can," he acknowledged. "All Necromancers from my dimension can sense when death has occurred. Usually that only involves locations, but I've enough experience to sense it in people. Not--" Dryly. "--that it's terribly common. The undead are decently common where I come from, but the resurrected, not so much."

He waited another beat to give her the opportunity to answer his question, but when she didn't he prompted, "Tell me about the other Necromancers."

"You're like, freakishly polite for a necromancer." Not that Sabriel, Nico, or even Skulduggery were particularly impolite. Solomon just stood out as being more textbook in his responses and invitations. He seemed less interested in amicable approaches and more in fulfilling a need that she had yet to sparse out. She would be lying if she said she wasn't all too eager to try to learn though.

"And it's clones, not resurrection," she corrected. "Where I'm from, people don't come back at all - dead or undead. So trust me, the whole me being alive after being dead thing isn't all sunshine and rainbows or whatever."

Truth be told, she was still remarkably uncomfortable with the memory of her death. Even with Hannibal's permanent demise, some part of her knew he might still be out there in his own world or an alternate universe somewhere, wreaking havoc. Even if he wasn't, talking about her death sometimes caused a tightening in her throat or even ghost pains from what she had been through. It wasn't something she liked dealing with.

"The other necromancers are.. people like you. They do spooky things with shadows and death and they're all pretty cool. The thing is, and, well, don't take this the wrong way? But I haven't decided yet if you're a villain who's going to like, turn around and try to murder me yourself, so I feel like maybe talking about my friends is a little premature, you know?"

After a brief hesitation, Hayley moved forward to take a seat on the bench as offered before. The seat was more appealing now that she'd declined it and, in seriousness, she found herself wanting to know everything about the man.

"Although, mm. There's this one skeleton guy who's new. I don't really know enough about him to care. Magical detective guy? He's pretty cool too, but not exactly the kind of guy I'm just going to go hang out with over coffee! Maybe that's like, specie-ist or something? I don't know."

"And you've known many Necromancers?" he asked with pointed amusement. She obviously knew some, but knowing a handful was a far cry from having a handle on what they as a magical discipline were like. Especially given the difference in dimensions.

Clones. That was interesting. It also explained why the sense of death felt watered-down, for lack of a better term; Necromancers above all knew the interplay between body and soul. Her death was attached to the soul, not to the body. The body was new, and hadn't been affected by death. Very interesting.

Her honest answer made him laugh. He liked her. He did. She was blunt but without being deliberately disrespectful, and secure enough in herself to speak her mind even to those much older and more experienced. He made room for her, shifting his injured leg to a more comfortable position, and smiled. "That is true, and wise."

His smile broadened at her description of Skulduggery--or at least the part wherein she didn't care enough about him to withhold his identity--though it was slightly contemplative as well. She referred to Skulduggery as a 'Necromancer'? Curious. Though, he supposed, for a layperson an animated skeleton would classify.

"Skulduggery Pleasant," he said. "Yes, I already know him. He's from my dimension, in fact. He does have a habit of attracting attention." He paused, and his smile returned. "I do recall one collaborative investigation wherein he was under a disguise. The witness for which we were searching was in a market, and tore off Skulduggery's disguise in an attempt to escape. He was forced to act as a mannequin for a good six hours before I was able to return and retrieve him. I had to secure our witness, of course."

The last was added with utmost innocence, or would have been if it weren't for the fact that his bright eyes gleamed with internal laughter. That particular investigation had not been fun, one of the few into which they'd grudgingly entered after their split. Being able to leave Skulduggery in the middle of a marketplace for a legitimate reason Skulduggery couldn't blame on pure maliciousness had been the highlight of the entire encounter.

"No," she admitted, having no delusions about the few that she knew making any sort of respectable basis to judge from. That wouldn't stop her from judging. It also wouldn't prevent her from admitting as much. Hayley liked to be honest about her shortcomings when it didn't hurt her to be so.

A laugh was a good sign, in her mind. Making people laugh endeared one to them, gave them all the more reason to keep one around. It was an in, a way of teasing her merits before having had opportunity to prove the better ones, like her intelligence and resourcefulness. Her hands found the edge of the bench, forgetting for a moment that it was made of shadow and might swallow her whole at any minute - she'd seen enough horror films to know how it worked.

"What happened to your leg?" Tact was a thing that Hayley chose to have, when appropriate. An 'appropriate' time was only when she felt she couldn't get away without or worried she might unnecessarily upset whoever the victim of said tactlessness was. The rest of the time, she enjoyed pushing boundaries. "Is it that thing where it's asleep and you can't tell if it hurts or if it's just tingling too much?"

She really needed to spend less time with Bart.

To the latter, she smiled to confirm the identity. The story seemed comical, yet she had no reason to doubt its authenticity. How tragic for Skulduggery. The kind of tragedy that had no real personal impact for a third party listener like Hayley.

"Of course." She was pretty sure she understood his meaning. "So, wait. You two work together?"

She couldn't help but sound skeptical. Which, in turn, lead to sarcasm. "Right, totally. Because why wouldn't you be a creepy magical detective too?"

"I'm a detective," Solomon agreed with faint amusement, "but we don't work together unless it involves exceptional circumstances. Unfortunately, that happens far more frequently than either of us would like."

The last was said a little dourly. The last time they had worked together had, for Solomon, been two weeks ago, and he'd been punched twice for lending his help. He wasn't feeling particularly amiable toward Skulduggery at the moment.

He put a hand on his thigh, over where the bandages were. No warmth, no dampness, so the bandage was holding. Even still, he should avoid too much sitting on the ground for the rest of the day. Hayley's particular turn of phrase made a smile flicker across his face. "I was injured a few minutes before I arrived here," he said. "Rather severely, I'm afraid; the hospital couldn't spare the energy to heal me fully. Such is war."

His tone was accepting, if not resigned. Such was war. Such was life.

Solomon folded his hands on his lap. "Tell me about yourself, Miss Stark. You said your world has no undead. Does it have magic?"

Hayley smiled at Solomon's description of working with Skulduggery. A rivalry that could be put aside for the greater good was one of her favorite things to witness. It delighted and fascinated her to watch the dynamics of such complicated relationships unfold, with each party getting what he needed and no more.

"No. My world is totally boring. No magic, no superheroes, no aliens. I think scientists cloned a sheep once, but everyone freaked out, so they made laws against doing cloning after that." She shrugged and looked down at his leg. "I learned some magic here though."

Hayley looked back up at him, wondering how it is that she seems to have learned nothing from Lex or Jason. "I can try healing your leg a little if you want. I mean, I doubt I can fix it, but maybe I can help it heal faster or something?"

Solomon considered that. It was something of a risk, having a novice attempt any sort of magic without a more proficient sorcerer present, but for healing even more so. It was so easy for healing magic to turn to harmful. And while he certainly wasn't going to fault her offer, he didn't think he wanted to take that risk.

"Thank you," he said, "but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. Magic has a habit of going awry in the most unexpected fashions." He smiled at her. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'd rather not have a novice healer attend me unless a master in the arts is also present."

He regarded her for a moment. "Though if you'll forgive me for saying so, I wouldn't have thought someone of your temperament would be drawn to the healing discipline. You're altogether too ..." He smiled. "Together. Healers are usually passive. You seem the more active sort."

Some part of her was relieved that he declined. For all her practice, Hayley knew she wasn't any more than a novice with magic and the last thing she would want would be to upset him in a devastating manner for any length of time. At least right now, while they were still getting to know each other.

She smiled at the specific use of her same words, genuinely amused with him. His decline bordered on condescending in her mind, toeing the line of something she would have insulted him for or made a sarcastic remark about. But he hadn't quite crossed that line and so it was easy enough to focus on his latter remarks instead.

"That's almost a compliment." Her smile slipped into a smirk, chin lifting a fraction with amusement and curiosity. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to charm me, Sol."

Hayley let her eyes drift for the first time since seeing him, looking out at the view of the intersection instead of staring at him for the moment. One of her hands rested lightly on her bag - on the side opposite him - while the other sat in her lap. She was alert, even in her seeming carefree state.

"You're kind of right. I learned healing because it's useful, but it's not the only magic I know. I learned fire, pushing, pulling.. all the basics. Nothing too interesting though." She gave him a look. Nothing as interesting as his magic. "Can you travel through shadows?"

Edited (confused words) 2014-05-15 16:14 (UTC)

"I've no notion what you mean," Solomon said modestly, but with a tease in his eyes and nowhere else. The nickname was new; no one who knew him would have tried to use a nickname unless they were deliberately trying to be derogatory. It was ... strange. Unfamiliar. He wasn't particularly enamored, but he wasn't inclined to correct her at this moment.

"I can," he said, permitting himself a small smile. Shadow-walking was one of the very few Necromantic techniques that didn't use a control item from the outset, which was why it was so difficult to learn to begin with. It also meant that, right now, it was one of his most reliable techniques. "Within a certain range, of course, but for an experienced Necromancer it doesn't require much energy."

Multiple magics. It made sense, from the context of his own world; teens Hayley's age were very versatile in their use of magic. That changed, of course, once they came of age, but it made him wonder whether that was the case here. He would have assumed a world without magic would disclude its people from using magic elsewhere. "You said your dimension has no magic," he said thoughtfully, "yet you are learning it. Does that mean all interdimensional travellers are capable of magic, due to the travel, or simply that you found teachers from a dimension whose magic corresponds to the tenor of your dimension?"

Hayley glanced at him. She wasn't exactly embarrassed about teasing him regarding his intentions, but it almost disappointed her if he couldn't keep up with her. When she saw the look in his eyes, her own narrowed with slight suspicion and she smiled. Whether true or not, she would take that as him teasing her right back. Either way, it was enough to end that particular train of thought.

She hadn't actually expected him to confirm traveling through shadows though. While it was a genuine curiosity and she was pleased to know he could, some part of her had expected it to be a trademark trait of the demigod of Hades and not shared with some random necromancer. No matter how shady and intriguing he might be.

"I'd guess the second one," she answered easily. "It's like blood types, right? One type can donate to everyone, one can receive from everyone, whatever. I think the person teaching me can donate to everyone. But maybe I can receive from everyone too. I haven't really tried any other magic."

She contemplated another pointed look for a split second before opting for a more overt approach instead. "Maybe you could try teaching me some of yours."

Edited (THANKS) 2014-05-16 01:44 (UTC)

"It does seem more logical than the alternative," Solomon agreed. The theory of the lifestream supported it, as well; certain currents through certain universes were bound to match one another far better than others. There were some Necromancers who had even proposed a connection between true-names and the lifestream, though Solomon didn't have an opinion on such a theory as yet. Maybe that would change.

He considered her request for a moment. It might not be impossible. It might not be possible. Their lack of control items would make it highly unlikely she'd achieve anything, even if she was capable of it. And that wasn't even getting into the politics and theology of the issue. There was no Temple here, and Hayley was hardly familiar with their doctrine. One could argue that gave him free rein to teach who he liked. One could also argue that gave him further onus to maintain the integrity of their knowledge.

Of course, those of the Temple likely to argue the latter where the ones who tended to be idiots, and Solomon so very rarely paid them any mind unless their stupidity was an active danger. "I could try," he said at last, "but the situation is, unfortunately, somewhat more complicated than showing you a few magic tricks. Magic, in my world, is a limited institution to begin with. That is an additional disadvantage, whether you're receptive to interdimensional sorts of magic or not."

He tilted his head ruefully down at the bench and the way the shadows against the wall had, over time, become a touch less defined. Like a straight edge, turned furry due to overuse. "There is the additional fact that Necromancy is among the most difficult disciplines to learn. Powerful, yes, but difficult. Usually we use a control item to help us manipulate shadows. Even if you were capable of using Necromancy as I know it, you'd find it very difficult to do so without a training item. I would need to find the materials and have one forged for you."

Which may be possible. He didn't yet know what sort of resources the turtle had, and as long as the item was small, there was potential.

"If none of that puts you off--" He would be disappointed and less inclined to teach her if it did put her off. "--then certainly, I can look into it. In the meantime, there is a different method of using magic I can teach you. Anyone can learn it, but it does have its uses."

Hayley was oblivious to what was more logical with magic. She knew nothing about the religion or doctrine that might be associated with it, outside of Sabriel's specific teachings, and even less about how it might have been offensive to even inquire. If she did know, she probably would have asked anyway. Her insatiable curiosity and her penchant for being forever drawn toward darkness left her unable to walk away without trying to learn more.

He thought about it for long enough that she was beginning to doubt his response. When he finally answered, she smiled again. It waned as he continued, as she listened to the ideas of what might be associated with the work. Difficulty, hard work, being disadvantaged.. none of those things mattered to her in the slightest. It was only the ambiguity that concerned her.

"No blood rituals, no animal sacrifices, no sex, and I'm not trading my voice. Or any other part of me. If it's not those, then I'm all ears."

She lowered her legs from sitting cross-legged to hang off the bench's edge when she saw him glance back at the seam. If he was going to dispel it, hopefully having her feet on the ground would help lesson the fall somehow. "And what materials would you need for the item?"

Which was not, in fact, a reaction Solomon was used to, and he let nothing show on his face regarding the fact that there was, actually, blood involved in the forging of said control item. Instead he smiled. "Specific terms. Very wise. I promise I would not ask anything of you that you wouldn't be willing to give."

Given that he was unsure whether it was worth teaching her anything at all, there was no need to mention what was involved. Particularly as it was privileged information to begin with. The only reasons he was considering it now was that she seemed a capable young woman and he could foresee himself needing something to do without himself beyond the war, and he did enjoy teaching. The fact that it might tweak Skulduggery's non-existent nose was incentive.

He hesitated for a moment. Technically speaking, all aspects of forging a Necromantic item was privileged information. But the physical materials were less so, he was in another dimension, and if he could reforge his own item he would feel more much secure in his use of magic. It was worth the risk, in this case.

"Palladium," he said almost wistfully. "Platinum. Neither are particularly easy to find, naturally, and my item was left behind when I was brought here. I'd need enough for two items--small amounts, but even still." He ignored the twinge in his chest at the thought of reforging his cane. His cane's pommel was the one part of it that hadn't been reforged in nearly four centuries, and now he didn't even have that. "And, of course, materials to bind them. Steel or silver. Not iron. Timber would do, in a pinch."

She was fascinated by him. Anyone who was intelligent, morally ambiguous, devious, manipulative, and less than friendly drew her interest. She was an addict for that metaphorical game of chess and Solomon was the first potential partner she had found since Jason's departure. But, like Lex, for as intrigued as she was, she still didn't trust Solomon and that meant his promise rang somewhat hollow to her.

"Mm. I can get steel and tools. Maybe the platinum. What's palladium?" Hayley really could get the former and hoped she could obtain the latter as well. That didn't mean she would hand them over without learning more about Solomon. Skulduggery might be her new best friend in that regard. The girl hated being used more than just about anything. All she gave during her thoughts was a light smile, insincere though it was.

"Although," she added, as if the afterthought had suddenly occurred to her. "I mean, I'd have to know more about what you do and how it works. It would be kind of embarrassing if I gave you the stuff and then you turned around and like, sided with the evil thing or tried to take over or something."

Hayley flashed him an intentionally innocent smile, with the mischief of a deeper meaning behind it. "We barely know each other."

"It's a metal," Solomon said, regarding her with faint surprise, but quite willing to explain if it meant the opportunity to reforge an item. "Its chemical symbol is Pd. Its atomic number is forty-six, I believe. It's used primarily as a catalyst, though it's somewhat popular in jewellery as well. Quite rare."

Perhaps it shouldn't be as much as surprise as it was. She had obviously been there longer, and knew people. It was entirely possible some of those people had the resources, and she knew how to take advantage. The surprise was replaced with a calculating, but amused sort of thoughtfulness. She was cautious. More cautious than Cain seemed to be. If she was equally as powerful as Cain had proved, the association might be a good one.

Even if she wasn't, well, at least it was something to do. Most of his time spent inside the Temple proper was spent teaching.

"Of course," he said smoothly. "Primarily, Necromancy is that act of drawing power from death. Most of the time, it involves manipulating shadows, but there are other techniques available for those who grow powerful enough. Mind you, the power is not in the act of killing." He said this firmly. "It is in the presence of the death itself, rather than the actual act. Very easy to mistake, I understand, and unfortunately it does mean most people regard us rather warily, but you don't strike me as the sort to be overly concerned by what people think, hm?"

He smiled at her.

"Wait. You guys have the Periodic Table? I thought you were all.. magical and whatever." It never crossed her mind that a world could have both. She suddenly wondered if Sabriel's world had the technology of her own as well. Hayley was so used to magic being presented as something in fantasy, when there was nothing else to be had for weaponry beyond bows and swords, that the idea of a modern era or a world like her own with the addition of magic was genuinely jarring. "Huh. Er- uh, yeah. I'll see if I can get that too."

She shook her head to dismiss the surprise and regain her expression, shifting her gaze to the intersection again. Once neutrality returned, Hayley glanced sideways at him and couldn't help another smile, one mirroring his own. It helped to know that death wasn't part of the magic, although it didn't guarantee Solomon didn't go around killing people.

"Has anyone ever called you sinister?" The question was asked with some fondness. She obviously didn't mind that the the adjective suited him.

Solomon smiled. "Actually, we do. My world is very modern--we entered the twenty-first century not long ago. Magic is something of a secret, you see. Sorcerers only create a small percentage of the population, and not all of them are aware they're capable of magic at all."

And then he just had to laugh. "With regularity," he assured her. "Most people find Necromancers unnerving; it's something of a staple of the magic. Of course, most of my fellow Necromancers are far worse. You see, Necromancy in my world is also a faith. Most Necromancers are members of a Temple, and very rarely ever leave it. They have rules about how you dress, about how warmly you may dress, about those with whom you associate ..."

He shrugged again. "I've always found those needless details rather boring, myself. I'm a member of the Temple, to be sure, but I spend most of my time as liaison between the Temple and the outside world." Another smile, and this one was verging on conspiratorial. "I suppose you could say I'm something of an evangelist."

"Wait- What year are you from?" Okay. Mixing science and magic was strange enough, but the idea of Solomon being from her time was almost unsettling. Although Hayley wouldn't admit to it and rarely even recognized it in herself, she held her unique world as something near and dear to her heart. It was akin to a secret, her own space that no one could understand or take away from her. Because it was normal. If most sorcerers were a secret, there was a possibility they were from her world. She didn't like that idea.

Her posture straightened with her new found discomfort and she turned to get a better look at him, pulling one leg up onto the shadow bench. Objectively, she knew this was crazy. She had just met a creepy and charismatic magic guy who was sitting on a spooky shadow bench asking her for a bunch of strange metals to teach her to play with darkness. Okay, she had asked him to learn first. It was still weird. And there was still nothing to guarantee he wasn't the Big Bad Wolf.

"Oh-kay, so tell me about this great temple of yours." She adopted another nefarious smile. "Would I be someone you could 'associate' with?"

Location: ambiguous intersection where Tony died; time: pre-Bart thread

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