steahl: (My Pet)
[personal profile] steahl
Who: The Nix and Salamanders
When: Some decades after The Nix falls for Simon.
What: The nix takes an immense risk forthe man she loves.

She sat in the corner of the room, feet tucked against the wall so she could look down at her work. From one edge of the wall to the other a series of rings swam inward. Between each ring, carefully sketched into the floor with wax pencil, were words and symbols in more languages than she cared to count.

They were...gleanings. Decades of research into how to make a hole in reality...and how to make it inviting. She wasn't going to summon dear elements no. She would no more summon any being than she would scream. She had spent years and years learning how to ask, to implore. Each and every inch of the writing in those rings spoke of warmth and heat, of fire, flame, and melting, spitting coals.

Every inch of the writing had made her skin prickle and her hair weave erratically away; she'd taken that as a sign she'd done the wording properly. The innermost circle, rather than dripping words, was covered in a smooth layer of coal and coke dust. Something to provide a warm bed for her hoped-for guests.

She'd planned the whole thing through very carefully over many, many long nights. The letters were in wax because as long as they imbued with power they would remain, but if the fire elementals wished to leave there was nothing truly 'holding' them there. The walls and floor as a practice room were spelled against damage themselves, so the easiest escape route, the one that conserved the most energy, would be to return to the elemental plane of fire.

There was a single circle in the last ring, a place for her to sit as the petitioner. Someplace she might, if luck were with her, be safe. Truth told she'd also calculated her chances of survival. It was a depressingly small number, which was why she hadn't shared it with anyone. The risk was well worth it though in her estimation because Simon....Simon was not well.

Oh taught, yes, and he spoke with her at length still on the phone each night, but he held himself so tightly that it wore away the edges of the man she knew and loved. Also there was the fact that after so many years as he was he should have learned control of his abilities. They were a part of him, now, and he should have been able to regulate...and did not. There was a block, she thought, that she could not work him past any more than the mages of his Majesty could.

What was it that the children's movies said? Desperate times called for desperate measure? Yes, this might certainly qualify. A trace of humor in the moment? Perhaps.

She took a deep breath and carefully set a bare, cool foot on the floor, stepping into her spot. Already it felt alien, other, a place beyond where a Nix should ever be. Good. Her hair slicked down in a cowering cloak of darkness about her, trying desperately to stay within the space she'd allowed herself. Another deep breath and she dropped the old, and ageless hidings she'd held since before she'd come here to Germany.

Like a river the shadows swam into the corners of the room beyond the circle, treasures and terrors forged across centuries waiting...waiting...waiting...

Her treasures. Her responsibilities. Nothing since she'd come here to the school, the library had been a bequeathal, it was not hers to give. But things that she had taken when her mother passed? Items that had dropped from the fingers of heroes in darker times? Those she could and would give, if they should wish gifts. That, too, would hurt, but near as much as it harmed her to see Simon shut himself away a little more with each passing day.

She hoped.

This was to be an entire endeavor in hope. There was one last line of script to scrawl, a word along the inner ring of her own circle. Just a whisper, a chain of words to keep Simon from knowing what she was about until he was invited to speak...and that was what she hoped for, that the being may speak with him.

He was a proud and powerful man in a unique position in their world...he needed...peers.

She hoped. Even a chance to speak may be good for him and his erstwhile kin. What other option was there?

...none that may have as good a result. This was a gamble, but it was the one with the best odds as far as she could calculate. His name fully etched just past the pale stretch of her toes and...she was done. Or she was ready to begin. The terms might be synonymous in this case.

Humor indeed.

She had written a letter to his Majesty, informing him of her intent; it would delivered with the afternoon notes. If the worst happened he could send someone to collect the ashes, no greater harm should come than that. Her research had been partly to ensure the school itself would come to no harm.

This was a...personal call. Schutzhafen should never suffer for such.

And there was no delaying tactic left. She licked lips already dry and cracking just with the promise of heat to come and began her call. A litany of invitation, whispery, shadowy, and soft to weave and waver across inscribed circles that began to shimmer and dance with heat.

Perhaps it was madness, yes, she had considered such, but she could do no less.
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