Sam Linnfer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
necessary_child) wrote2006-06-26 08:10 pm
necessary_child) wrote2006-06-26 08:10 pm
(no subject)
A scry, so Sam's often said, is not so much deep and mysterious magic as it is like a TV. A TV that occasionally needs hitting to make it work- though if you're determined to be academic about it, refer to it as 'percussive maintenance' if you must. Though this is likely to make Sam refer to you as, at kindest, a pretentious twit.
A scry is loud magic, so Sam's mother once said. The loudest. To send your magic out, to touch others' minds with yours, is to hear others and to be heard in return. By anyone- anyone- who is listening. Which is why Sam is very, very careful.
So when he crouches over the earthware bowl of water, palms out, in the inky blackness of his flat, and fixes his mind on his favourite half-brother, the son of Wisdom called Buddha, his mental shields are at their best. His mind skims the world like a flat stone on a pond, skirting and skimming until it finds the calm consciousness that is Buddha.
< Hi, brother. >
< Lucifer? >
< That's me. Where are you? Got time for a chat? >
< Heaven, and of course. We've all of us got more than enough of that. What's the matter? >
Wryly, < True enough. Nothing's the matter, but I've a favour to ask you. >
< Go on. >
Sam is never embarrassed. Which is just as well, as otherwise he might be. < I… got coerced into offering a seven-year-old genius called Matilda a look at your library. The earthly one. >
Amused, < A genius? >
< She developed a decent grasp of seventeenth-century Welsh with a few hours’ of teaching, I think she probably qualifies. >
< …And she’s seven. >
< Or thereabouts. She’s rather tiny, so quite possibly slightly younger. And she has a truly terrifying Innocent Pleading Grin. >
< Oh? >
< Oh yes. Time and all his relentless machinations have nothing on this kid for manipulating people, and I speak from experience here. And she knows me as Sam, incidentally. >
A sigh, but there’s laughter behind it. < Well, I hadn’t planned on leaving here for a few weeks, but when I’m back I don’t see why not. Give me a week after that to put my things in order, and I’ll see what I can do. >
Relief and amusement. < Cheers, brother. >
< You’re welcome, Lucifer. Oh, and if you’re not planning on showing the child the mysteries of the universe, you can refer to me as Basil. >
< …Basil. >
< Well, ‘Sage’ would have perhaps been more accurate but over-egging it a bit, so I went for the next best thing. >
< And I suppose ‘Thyme’ would be a bit much. >
< There was that, yes. So, four weeks today, shall we say? How will you get her here? Waywalking a mortal child is probably dangerous. >
Smugly, < I have my methods, Watson. But yes, four weeks today. >
< Very well. Mind if I get on with my cataloguing now? I assume you do want me back in time? >
Laughter. < If you must. Thanks, Buddha. >
< You’re welcome, brother. >
Buddha breaks contact. Sam sits back on his heels and grins. And then heads for Milliways, and a well-deserved dinner.
Of course, nobody could possibly have any reason to be listening in on a purely mundane chat between two Waywalkers. Nobody at all. Because Sam is careful, and skillful, but he's not omnipotent. And that Nobody is suddenly as pleased with themselves as their half-brother is with himself. Plans will perhaps have to be sped up, somewhat, but what child of Time ever finds themselves lacking in hours, days or minutes?
A scry is loud magic, so Sam's mother once said. The loudest. To send your magic out, to touch others' minds with yours, is to hear others and to be heard in return. By anyone- anyone- who is listening. Which is why Sam is very, very careful.
So when he crouches over the earthware bowl of water, palms out, in the inky blackness of his flat, and fixes his mind on his favourite half-brother, the son of Wisdom called Buddha, his mental shields are at their best. His mind skims the world like a flat stone on a pond, skirting and skimming until it finds the calm consciousness that is Buddha.
< Hi, brother. >
< Lucifer? >
< That's me. Where are you? Got time for a chat? >
< Heaven, and of course. We've all of us got more than enough of that. What's the matter? >
Wryly, < True enough. Nothing's the matter, but I've a favour to ask you. >
< Go on. >
Sam is never embarrassed. Which is just as well, as otherwise he might be. < I… got coerced into offering a seven-year-old genius called Matilda a look at your library. The earthly one. >
Amused, < A genius? >
< She developed a decent grasp of seventeenth-century Welsh with a few hours’ of teaching, I think she probably qualifies. >
< …And she’s seven. >
< Or thereabouts. She’s rather tiny, so quite possibly slightly younger. And she has a truly terrifying Innocent Pleading Grin. >
< Oh? >
< Oh yes. Time and all his relentless machinations have nothing on this kid for manipulating people, and I speak from experience here. And she knows me as Sam, incidentally. >
A sigh, but there’s laughter behind it. < Well, I hadn’t planned on leaving here for a few weeks, but when I’m back I don’t see why not. Give me a week after that to put my things in order, and I’ll see what I can do. >
Relief and amusement. < Cheers, brother. >
< You’re welcome, Lucifer. Oh, and if you’re not planning on showing the child the mysteries of the universe, you can refer to me as Basil. >
< …Basil. >
< Well, ‘Sage’ would have perhaps been more accurate but over-egging it a bit, so I went for the next best thing. >
< And I suppose ‘Thyme’ would be a bit much. >
< There was that, yes. So, four weeks today, shall we say? How will you get her here? Waywalking a mortal child is probably dangerous. >
Smugly, < I have my methods, Watson. But yes, four weeks today. >
< Very well. Mind if I get on with my cataloguing now? I assume you do want me back in time? >
Laughter. < If you must. Thanks, Buddha. >
< You’re welcome, brother. >
Buddha breaks contact. Sam sits back on his heels and grins. And then heads for Milliways, and a well-deserved dinner.
Of course, nobody could possibly have any reason to be listening in on a purely mundane chat between two Waywalkers. Nobody at all. Because Sam is careful, and skillful, but he's not omnipotent. And that Nobody is suddenly as pleased with themselves as their half-brother is with himself. Plans will perhaps have to be sped up, somewhat, but what child of Time ever finds themselves lacking in hours, days or minutes?