redjacketthief | 11th Turn [Written/Action]

Luceti.

Two things:

1. Whoever it was that found my work shop, return the pieces that you stole before the end of the day. I’ll be in the Barracks. If you fail to comply, I will find you.

It won’t be pretty.

2. What do the rest of you think about the last Shift? Was it good or bad? How did the loss of memory affect you? Do you think it left any long-term impact for yourself, your friends, and the rest of your stay in this village?

-Also. Prism Black. You deserve to be commended for your heroism. Never forget that.

Filtered to Trafalgar Law: Unhackable

I have a problem and I’d like a second opinion on it. It’s not big, but it could become complicated.

-I’d promise coffee, but I have an unrelated problem with getting it. I’ll be in the barracks.

[True to his word, Lupin will be in the barracks all day. His encounter with Spock on Monday, combined with his activities from earlier in the week had finally caught up to him. Fatigue was inevitable. He had spent the better part of the last few days asleep, never very far from his new charge. The veritable plague of crows that had been set upon him by an angered god was an unnecessary incentive. He kept the windows shut, locked away the gnawing need for a cigarette that bit at the back of his mind, and tried to ignore the judgement he saw reflected in the eyes of his avian watchmen—but he would have stayed close to the barracks regardless of their looming (and aggravating) presence.

While the days spent between dreams and fleeting considerations over recent affairs had rejuvenated him, it didn't stop the inherent restlessness that was his constant foe—the core problem that would never entirely leave. The people who knew him would be able to identify the briskness of his step and the cool control with which he held every action and every word. He was distracted by a new project , one that was completely foreign to him, and was unwilling to divulge details until the proper time came.

The thief had returned to work, but nothing was as it seemed.]

((ooc: Thread with Spock is chronologically last.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Besides chalk? He let his mind drift...]

A lead slug.

[Like an old fashioned musketball--he had guns on the brain lately, as the Shift had subtly recalled Jigen's influence more than once.]

[The brunette presses the chalk on the wooden floor, and a rather complicated 'circle' is drawn out, shape by shape.]

[When it is completed, Syre presses a finger to the very edge of it, and a brief flash lights up the lines of white. Slowly, something metallic rises from the floor.]

[...Lupin may find that, instead of the ammunition he was thinking of, Syre has formed an actual slug out of lead. There are no guns in her world. How could she know?]

[He watched her move with the rapt attention of a student, processing the information for later experimentation. Though he was starting to accept the magical aspects of Luceti, the urge to try to replicate the tools and constructs would never fully leave. He would ask about the science of her trade when he had a voice again, out of sheer academic interest. Such phenomena were completely unknown in his world.

The actual conjuring looked simple enough, but the effect...

He didn't know whether to laugh or not.

Lupin withdrew his Walther P-38 from its concealed holster under his jacket and ejected the magazine. He unloaded it and rolled the eight remaining .9mm rounds out for her. Another tap, and a smile. These were what he was talking about.

Maybe they could both learn from each other.]</small.

[Oh, so this is what he meant. Right, fixing her mistake now.]

[The lead slug statuette glows brilliantly for a moment, then is very suddenly (and very noisily) changed into a small pile of ammunition.]

[Then, after studying one of the rounds, she speaks up.]

...so, this is a miniature projectile?

[The change was as impressive as the first. Lupin watched it with his full attention as the figure suddenly transformed into the ammunition that he originally had in mind.

Syre's question needed another note to explain.]

it's a bullet, fired from a tool like my gun. it's a high velocity projectile that only inflicts damage because of it's relative speed. alone, it's harmless. it's only dangerous with the right tool.

Similar to an arrow, then, except it's metal instead of wood.

[At least, that's how she rationalized it in her head.]

maybe. guns are baseline machines. their speed is automated, unlike a bow.

do you want to learn to shoot someday?

If you're willing to teach, I've no objections.

Perhaps a mutual agreement: you can teach me how to shoot and I could teach you something in return?

[He nodded; it was a fair trade.]

my gunning for your swording?

Sounds good to me.

[She smiles faintly, tracing a finger along the circle just long enough for the pile of ammunition to shimmer, then change once more, into a featureless metal figurine.]

let's keep it informal. we both have a lot going on. there's no reason to stress on it.

[Though her strange science made him even more curious every time he watched her. Questions for another time, he knew. When he could better articulate.]

If you insist.

[Syre moves the little figurine aside and wipes the chalk from the floor with one white lab coat sleeve before she stands up once more. She takes her rapier into hand again, slowly easing herself back into the rhythm of her footwork.]

Just be warned that I am not soft in my instruction.

[He'd be laughing if he could.]

I regularly train with a man who has a foot on you and is 10x as strong. he's also made of smoke.

I can take what you want to throw at me.

[A pause, mid-advance--]

Made of smoke?

[He tossed a note:]

magic from a different world. I don't really get it either.

...Otherworldly magic is a strange thing indeed.

[She runs through a few more advances, a few more lunges, before settling her rapier into its scabbard.]

What sort of training do you undertake with him?

kickboxing. though not frequently lately.

...Ah, I see.

I... am not familiar with that.

[He sat for a thoughtful moment, looking over his options. Writing out an explanation would take too long, but a physical demonstration was out of the question. He sighed--and took the easy way out.]

I'll show you sometime.