Private Tales Fireworks and a White Rabbit

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
He went about dressing himself in his spare cloth shirt, and the rest of his usual clothes. To say his first impression of Jonathan's companion was negative would be a bit of an understatement. Something about the way he'd oversimplified things had irked Varys quite a bit, but he couldn't allow it to weigh on his mind. The words of another were not his biggest concern, and he knew it quite well. Passing by the same closet, he gave the closed door a rather disdainful look before descending to sit at the table and order a small portion of food, using only a few of the ten coins he'd been given.

His meal was finished rather quickly, and he spent the remainder of his time, resting his forehead on his closed fists. He was exhausted, and wary of what was to come next. He could not allow his determination to waver though. As cautious about Jonathan as he was, he held a degree of trust in him that he didn't offer to the creature who now wandered down to join him, more specifically to try and steal table scraps.

He quickly swipes the hand away from his plate and scowls at the creature. "It's not the four arms that I would think disturbing about you, Hob." He knew it was unreasonable, the amount of distaste he felt for him at the moment. Even so, he wasn't entirely forgiving when it came to last night. "We may be travelling together, but you didn't exactly instill a great first impression. You can go around sleeping with every barmaid you like, but leave me out of it, and I'll sooner sleep in the wagon than share a room with you again."

Maybe he should have been more cautious about getting on the Pooka's bad side, but he needed to draw a line in the sand; let Hob know that that he wouldn't be pushed around or taken advantage of in this partnership.

Jonathan Burr
 
Someone woke up on the wrong side of the floor this morning. Hob chuckled.

Jon grabbed a plate and sat across from
Varys, offering an apple to Hob before the pooka made a game out of nicking things from Varys. “Never mind Hob, he’s obnoxious at the best of times.” Jon said with a reassuring smile. “Let me know when you’re all done and we can head out to get the things from your cabin. We’ve got a performance here tonight but there’s really no reason we can’t nip off and get your things. All my work has to be done in the dark.”

He leaned in a bit. “Besides, Hob mentioned something about you I find completely fascinating. He said you had an interest in magic, and might have been created rather than born like himself. Is he just blowing smoke?”

Never do. Hob said flippantly, stealing Jon’s bacon off his plate.

Varys
 
Varys bit the inside of his cheek, his body seeming to tense up at the mention of what he'd spoken to the pooka about briefly last night. The effect the topic had on him was quite obvious. Pushing the plate of scraps towards Hob as he stood, dusting any errant crumbs off of his coat before nodding to Jonathan and standing up. "We can go now, if you're ready. I'm not in a hurry to stay here." He didn't wait for a reply, instead turning and heading outside on his own. He should have expected that Hob would repeat his words to Jonathan. He'd been careless in letting his little secret loose so easily.

He approaches the wagon parked out side, dragging the small amount of belongings he did have in a bag slung over his back. He lowers it to the ground and leans back on the wagon. Just one last time, he allows himself the small pleasure of enjoying the cityscape against the sky. It was strange, but he had a feeling he'd miss being here.

A deep breath of the cities air filled his lungs, and he took his precious time letting out small bits of it at a time, as if saving some inside of him for the journey was a way of keeping this place with him. He'd never felt such sentiment before, so why now?

Should Jonathan meet him outside, he would look back down from the sky and clear his throat.

"Hob speaks the truth. I don't know all the details... I just know that whatever made me wasn't natural. My father was planning something for me, he was unforgiving in his methods of keeping me physically and mentally sharp while allowing me no affection from or towards other beings. The wildfires that ravaged the forests of this region years ago killed him before whatever was to come next could happen. Since the cat is out of the bag, I'll come clean with you, Jonathan."

He pushes off of the wagon and picks his bag up, tossing it inside as he continues.

"That is the main reason I agreed to come along. Somewhere out there is an answer to what I am. There has to be. Before you offered me the chance, I'd given up on being anything than a street thief for the rest of my time. Now I have a shot to find out what the hell I'm meant to do here."

Jonathan Burr
 
Jonathan raised an eyebrow. That didn’t sound good. Hob eagerly devoured the boy’s scraps as he left, and Jon sighed. He tipped his plate into Hob’s waiting gullet and, after a second of hesitation, added the plate as well. Hob crunched up the porcelain and eyed the hallway where Varys had gone.

Guess the kid doesn’t like his secret being
out. Poor kid. Just needs someone to talk to. Hob said. He’s interesting though. Somehow when he says father I think he means it like Oor does.


“I think you might be right.” Jon said, and followed Varys out to the wagon. Hob took his customary stance at the front and picked up the wagon tongues. Jon leaned against the back and waited for Varys to speak. “Well, we go everywhere. You’ll find it if you stick with us long enough. I’m the boss here and I make the hours... so if you find a lead, just talk to me. Or take Hob, he’s useful for getting in spots people don’t want you in. Not to mention those big ears hear all.”

Jon reached out to pat his shoulder. “Let’s go to your cabin, then we have to get to the ritzy part of town. Sun goes down means we’re working.” He smiled reassuringly.

Varys
 
He wouldn't admit it, but Jonathan's kind response to Varys' admission caused him no small amount of gratitude. He'd initially thought Jonathan a rather annoying man, and in some ways, maybe he still did. However, Varys was no longer under the impression that Jon had anything but pure intentions. He nods in response to the Transmuter. "Yeah, it's about 15 minutes east of the city's edge. Used to be surrounded by woodland. Still is, but it's a lot sparser after the wildfires."

He spent the short trip to the ruined cabin telling Jonathan a bit more about his childhood. He told him about the markings that had been burned into his skin, and even showed him the one that still remained on the back of his neck underneath his hair. He told him about how it ended, when the wildfires started and burned everything down, about how he'd made it out and his father hadn't. He shared his tales about how he'd hopped from inn to inn, barely scraping by and keeping out of the cold.

When they finally arrive, the trees beginning to be fewer and father between, they see what looks now to be no more than an old overgrowth ridden pile of wood. It barely resembled even the remnants of a home anymore, but Varys insisted this was the spot. He slid from the wagon, quickly jogging to the rubble to begin pulling piece after piece away from the pile.

Jonathan Burr
 
Jonathan had Varys sit next to him on the plush driver’s seat, and he listened as Hob guided them. The pooka had one large ear flicked back toward them, indicating that he too was listening to the boy’s tale. “Well there will be no more of that, but we should try and find out why the old man felt that was necessary.” Jonathan told him, pulling up his sleeve to show the topaz scales sticking out of his skin. “The only marks on you should be the ones magic blesses you with.”

He hopped down when Varys bade them to stop, and Hob snorted. Here? The house here burned down ages ago. The pooka said derisively, but he stopped regardless.

Jon frowned. “Nevertheless I think I can help.” He approached where Varys was digging. “Move please.”

He knelt and put his hands on the rubble. Slowly, charcoal and rock stirred. Jonathan couldn’t affect wood, but wood burned to charcoal was more accommodating. Slowly the pile began to lift by layers, the wood groaning in protest as Jon laid the logs aside neatly. He was careful not to move too quickly and break anything that had survived the fire, laying the rubble in a strangely organized fashion on the grass.

See anything? Hob asked.

Varys
 
The elf's calloused, overused hands had no problem sorting through the old and splintered lumber. In fact, his hands moved on their own as he kneeled in front of the pile; He remembered exactly where he'd hidden the prize he now sought. He called back to Jonathan, not meeting his gaze as he carefully placed specific pieces of rubble aside in neat piles, as though they were pieces to a jigsaw puzzle.

"Hob told me something interesting about you, Jon. He said you have a habit of finding wayward souls and helping them find the correct path. I don't know if that's what drove you to offer me a place with you, but..."

He was interrupted by the the remaining wood lifting from the ground all it's own, shifting under the command of some unseen force and arranging into even neater stacks than he'd been making himself. Turning his body to look up at Jonathan, he smiles a bit. It was perhaps the first genuine smile Jonathan or Hob had seen out of the young man.

"You're a good man. Probably... the only good man I've met so far. You're better than I am, at least..."

The only thing left, sitting peacefully on a handcrafted mound of dry dirt that had been hidden under the remains of the cabin, was a navy blue notebook with a necklace sitting on top. Letting his gaze linger on Jonathan for another moment, his lips part as though he wants to add something. Another second passes, and so does his thought. He couldn't stall this anymore. He turns back to the items and slowly leans down to pick them up.

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He sat cross-legged on the warm, blue rug that sat in front of the only window that Father let the light shine through, right next to his desk. He was all alone, Father had gone out to the market to get provisions for the week, and his classes had ended early.

In his lap sat a notebook, bound by navy blue leather, the same color as his Father's coat that he always wore. He knew he wasn't supposed to be looking at it, but..

He ran his fingers over the word his father had underlined on the paper.

Varys.

The only word Father had ever spoken to him.

It made his chest hurt a little, and he didn't know why.

He did everything his Father asked him to do. Every new tutor that came to see him, he gave his best effort to learn whatever topic they aimed to educate him on. He did his exercise every day, and he only ate two meals. He never stole food, and he went to bed at his bedtime without argument. Father didn't care.

Why wasn't he good enough?

Was he there now? Searching the market for some other kid who did everything even better than he did? He bet the city had them. The city had everything, at least that's what his tutors had told him. All these symbols that he didn't understand in this notebook... were they all the things he'd done wrong somehow?

He felt something wet run down his cheek, and drop from his skin.

He reached out quickly and caught the tear before it hit the paper. Father would know he was reading his book.

He couldn't cry. Not yet.


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Varys cradled the notebook in one arm almost like one would a newborn, totally unaware of his surroundings. With the gentlest of touches, he flips the pages one by one, examining each one for blemishes. Finally, he tucks the notebook in his identically colored coat, and drapes the necklace on. It was simple, with a small golden prism-like shape hanging from it.

Taking a step away from the others towards the pile of rubble he'd made, he again lowers to his knees to replace every piece that he'd displaced back to where it belonged. He stops though, coming to a sobering realization.

He wasn't ever coming back here.

Rising to his knees with all the trepidation of an infant trying to walk, he turns back towards the wagon and lowers his head to Jonathan in a nod.

"Alright, I'm ready now. Where are my new clothes?"

Jonathan Burr
 
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Jonathan smiled at Varys. “Someone once told me the world has enough cruelty in it. Best not to add to it.” He waited patiently, holding up the wood until Varys had carefully pulled out a book, and a necklace. Jon watched him. He saw the sadness in his eyes, a sadness he’d seen quite a few times. Confusion, hurt, lost. He watched the boy put the book into his jacket and the necklace over his head.

He didn’t say anything further and Jon didn’t expect him to. Jon would let the boy come to him, and speak frankly in his own time. Perhaps Hob could talk to him a little further...even if Varys didn’t particularly like the pooka, Hob was a good listener.

Varys asked for his new clothing and Jon released his hold on the wood. It crashed down into the rubble as though a giant had begun a game of pick up sticks. The transmuter presented him with a linen shirt, well-tailored black pants, a black vest, and a coat over it. He was in sharp contrast to Jon’s colorful garb. “To help you in the dark.” Jon smirked. “I play up the magic a bit for folks who have never seen it. Ready to head to your first performance?”

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By the time they came back to the city it was late afternoon. By the time they’d found the correct estate just in the north of town, it was getting later still. Jonathan sat in the back and briefed his new apprentice as they went. “So this is a small gig for us. This lady just wants a nice gift for her husband, meaning a party. Now we’ll set up this performance, and your job for now is to watch and stuff yourself with crab cakes while pretending to be someone’s nephew.” He smiled crookedly. “Grab me some while you’re at it, this gig comes with coin but not hot food.”

Hob pulled up to the gate and was waved through by the guards, who stared awkwardly at the cart pulled by nothing. “One big rule is those sticky fingers stick to food, got it? I rely on repeat business. I want people talking about the flowers, not the broach that disappeared. Right?”

Varys
 
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Whatever bout of melancholy had been afflicting him at the ruins of the cottage seemed to have passed now. He sat beside Jonathan with his arms crossed. His whole body felt as though it were restrained or bound in someway; He was so unused to new clothing, not yet broken in. Now was the time to move forward, and maybe along the way he would find the answers he required.

"I'm almost offended you think I would meddle with your work in such a way, Jonathan. Have you no faith in me?" He smirked over at him, raising an questioning eyebrow. In new clothes, he almost resembled the elven nobles from the upper echelon of Fal'Addas. "I stole from people out of necessity. It kept me alive until something came along. Until this came along." He gestures to the wagon they were riding. "You don't have anything to worry about."

There were a few unspoken questions he did have though. Why was it so important that he be watching? Was his reason for being there solely to collect a bit of food? What did being his apprentice truly entail? He wanted the answer to those questions, but he knew now wasn't the time for them. He disembarks the wagon, straightening his back and dusting off his clothes. The transformation from street rat to somebody resembling a professional was drastic. He'd even thought to tie the long silver hair hanging off his neck into a small tail.

He extends a hand, as if holding an invisible door open for Jonathan.

"They're all waiting for you."

Jonathan Burr
 
Jonathan nodded proudly. Good! He had been hoping that theft had been more of a survival mechanism. He stepped down from the wagon and directed Hob to bring it to the stables. That was always a bit of a hairy situation. The horses inside pinned their ears and stamped at the stalls, whickering in confusion. Jon patted Varys on the back. “First lesson. Unloading the wagon.” He gestured for the boy to follow him.

Hob had set the wagon tongues down and was teasing the horses, who were going ballistic at an unknown thing tipping water buckets. “Hob. Cut it out.” Jon rolled his eyes and climbed into the back of the wagon. He emerged with fifteen long rockets.

They were in a hundred colors, the paper tubes painted garishly with images of gold leaf stars shooting into multicolored skies. They each had long wooden poles, which Jon settled over his shoulder, and ended in impressive-looking moulded caps. The caps were shaped like rabbits, all with snarling faces vaguely resembling Hob.

“Take these to the garden. Through that little iron gate we passed. Don’t put them anywhere wet, or near flames. Stone only.” Jon directed Varys, passing the bundle of rockets to him and picking up a heavy round tube. This one was clay, and blackened from use. Jon loaded it with round balls, each roughly the size of a lemon, and hefted it with a grunt.

He followed Varys out to the garden. Thankfully benches had been moved away from a gravel circle around a pond, and Jon began setting up. The people standing on the veranda had clearly been waiting, chattering eagerly. The elves all had flutes of champagne or wine, whispering to each other about the red haired human. There were a decent amount of guests. If Jon had to guess, fifty or so milling around banquet tables.

I smell game hens and crab... Hob eyed the veranda, salivating.

“Don’t even think about it.” Jon said sternly. “Kid, come here. So, each rocket should be placed around six feet apart. A circle, or curling figure, is what we’re going for here. Let the place inspire you. Just make sure nothing’s tilted at the house. See the colors on the end of the sticks? The bands say what colors will come out of the flower.”

Varys
 
He let out a low whistle when he saw just how much the wagon was packing. He'd only seen one of the things, and that was when Jonathan had just met him. He was much more varied in his selection than Varys gave him credit for. It made sense though, and he pursed his lips as he looked over the... hob-like symbol.

"Tch, you told me my job was to mingle and eat food. You didn't say anything about setting up the show." Even as he said the words he was right behind Jonathan regardless, mounting the long poles on his slender shoulders and carefully finding his balance. The air was chilly tonight, and his legs were a bit stiff under his new clothes. It didn't help that the fireworks were less than light. He eventually finds his footing and heads to the garden, taking a moment to admire the scenery. Such a palatial environment was completely foreign to him, he didn't have much chance to travel to these parts of the city.

The garden was extravagant, even in the low light of the evening. The spectrum of colors and scents that littered every bit of greenery was somehow nauseating and intoxicating at the same time, and he could only imagine how much more powerful it would be during the heat of day.

He did well to follow Jon's instructions to the letter, setting the large fireworks a good six feet apart. He took care to pick the colors so that they would naturally fade into one another: Red to orange, orange to yellow, yellow to green and so on. He rises back to his feet, nodding to Jon. "It's a simple pattern, but it should work. I figure I shouldn't get too crazy yet."

He nods up at the veranda.

"You need me up there?"

Jonathan Burr
 
Jonathan watched in approval, nodding his head. He liked the gradient. “Go ahead, and keep your ears open for anything useful. Get yourself good and stuffed, just don’t get too drunk. You still need to be paying attention and you don’t need your eyes to eat.” He smirked.

Varys would be confronted by an exquisite table. The tables were arranged in a horseshoe shape for the ease of the buffet line, beginning at salads and fruits and ending in desserts. The main course was a hearty dish of beef ribs, glistening with butter and Rosemary sprigs. There were piles of fluffy golden rolls, Brussels sprouts and squash soup, and attendants guarding vats of mulled wine. The attendees were distracted by Jon, even more so when the redhead bowed to them and spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here to celebrate the beautiful relationship between Lady Anise and Lord Anise. Such a great love the lady has for her husband, she arranged for me to come today as a gift. I’ve been told he appreciates displays of color, which are soon to be lost with winter upon us.” Jonathan smiled. “However it is quite loud, so I’d ask any of the wonderful people with mugs of mulled wine...kindly stand away from the carpets lest I spend my evening scrubbing.” A small chorus of chuckles met the joke, and Jon saw a few move away from the carpets decorating the veranda. “Without further adieu, please enjoy the show.”

Jonathan eyed Hob. They were both ready. The pooka walked behind the transmuter as he approached the first rocket, his hand delicately touching the base. Hob settled his hand on his human’s shoulder, and sparks flew around Jon’s hand. The fire flower ripped itself from the ground and lurched into the sky with an aquiline scream. A trail of white sparks showered the ground behind its mad ascent.

It burst into a shimmering red bloom thousands of feet into the air. Yellow crackles and pops spiraled out from its center, much to the amusement and delight of the attendants. Two more followed in quick succession, orange and yellow twisting together into the air with percussive blasts. There was applause, and nervous laughter.

Now that they had been introduced, Jonathan pulled free one of the balls from the clay tube, and Hob’s grip on his shoulder tightened. He held it out to the crowd, and in a burst of white sparks...a white rabbit unfurled. It was made of light, the sparks milling around its form as though trapped in a glass bottle. Jonathan smiled at it, and bid it rise on its hind legs. Ears made of red and white sparks flicked forward curiously, and Jon petted its head. It nipped his finger.

Jon scowled at the little creature and wagged a finger at it, making the crowd laugh, and the rabbit turned its back on him. With a wiggle of its rear it jumped into the tube, and Jon stood clear. A dragon lunged free from the tube, red and gold in its construction, powered by fire. It opened its mouth in a soundless roar, streaming into the sky.

Jonathan lit the other rockets, backlighting the dragon as it twisted a merry dance in the air. With the conclusion of the last rocket, the dragon folded in upon itself, and burst into a gigantic shower of gold flame that lit up the entire visible sky.

The mage bowed to uproarious applause and laughter. “I hope you were pleased with the performance, ladies and gentlemen. Fire flowers are a truly unique specimen, and all you need is the proper florist.” He winked at them, and took his leave of the garden.

He barely made it back to the wagon, half collapsing into the back. Hob grabbed him and helped him sit upright, patting his cheek. Hey. The bit with the dragon was too far. I thought we agreed just light this time. You did too much. Hob chastised.

Jon looked at him drunkenly. The pooka sighed and helped him inside, covering him with a blanket. He hoped the idiot kid had the brains to grab the ceramic tube, now little more than a charred vase, on his way out.

Varys
 
It would be a grave understatement to say that Varys felt out of place placed up high on the veranda, intermingling with the elite and powerful in a society that had he'd always been on the bottom of. Of course, thanks to the hard work of a certain merchant he looked enough of the part. Gently pushing through the crowd, hands fanning strangers aside as courteously as possible, he finds an empty seat at one of the tables. It gave him a nice view out over the edge of the veranda, and he could see his companions setting up for the display he'd started work on.

The air seemed to go as still as death as all of the talking and mingling began to hush around him, all eyes anticipating what was to come in just a few moments. Varys felt himself lean in involuntarily, resting an elbow on his knee as his eyes strained to see Jon and Hob in the dark blanket of night. He'd been told to eat his fill, but already that directive had lost it's place in his mind.

The food here was of an elegant taste, but Varys cared not at all for it. His tongue had grown used to the sours and bitters of a lesser man's meal. Indulging now would just make him want for more, and he was so, so tired of wanting.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here to celebrate the beautiful relationship between Lady Anise and Lord Anise. Such a great love the lady has for her husband, she arranged for me to come today as a gift. I’ve been told he appreciates displays of color, which are soon to be lost with winter upon us.” Jonathan smiled. “However it is quite loud, so I’d ask any of the wonderful people with mugs of mulled wine...kindly stand away from the carpets lest I spend my evening scrubbing.”

"By 'his evening' he means 'my evening'." Varys mutters to himself with a snort of defiance, reaching behind him to take a couple of the crab cakes Jon had been so insistent on collecting earlier. He was the apprentice, and that naturally meant that the lion's share of gruntwork would fall onto his shoulders. It was expected, but that didn't make it any less bothersome.

The show itself was spectacular, even the jaded elf had to admit. Even having seen the equipment Jonathan was utilizing up close, he still had no idea how it was that such things were possible without the use of magic. Perhaps Hob was playing some part in things? It would make sense of why Jonathan kept him around. A touch of something magical to make his show unique? Impossible to replicate? That would increase the value of a performance from him exponentially.

Meeting them back at the wagon, Varys had expected to see a much more impressive sight than a half conscious fellow barely able to move on his own. "They say people will die for their art, but..." He rests one foot on the side of the wagon, tossing a sack of the crab cakes in beside Jonathan. "How the hell did he get so out of it?"

Jonathan Burr
 
Hob had just finished tucking Jonathan in. The mage was shivering and exhausted, clutching the blanket with his head resting on their bundles of clothing. The pooka looked down at Varys as he tossed the food in. Magic’s a balance. Everything comes with a cost, and transmutation is some of the worst. Mind grabbing the ceramic tube? We’ll get out of here and out to the next town. We get paid through the banking system; we’ll pull out your cut at the next town. Hob told him. He waited patiently for Varys to fetch the equipment, then headed to the front of the cart and pulled them away. Varys would have to sit at the driver’s seat, considering Jon and the fire flowers were taking up the majority of the back.

Hob was happy to leave the town, heading south, and flicked an ear back at Varys. There’s a nice goose down blanket back there and a pillow. Curl up and get some rest, I know where we’re going.

The pooka was grateful for another person around. If he was being honest Jon’s dedication to magic scared him a bit. The mage was always taking on too much. Even in the morning Jon hadn’t risen. Hob stopped just long enough to direct Varys how to make bacon and coffee over a campfire.

Varys
 
The pillow and blanket waiting for him to rest on were of better quality than he was used to. The soft down blanket and the clean, unsoiled pillow were a stark contrast to sleeping on a rickety cheap inn's bed, or on a piece of animal hide in an alley. That was probably why he couldn't sleep for the life of him. Eventually, he tossed them both aside and fell asleep with neither commodity quite fast.

Waking to find Jonathan still out cold, a small look of concern crosses his features as he reaches out to prod the man's side softly with one boot. Nothing. A sigh passes his lips as he disembarks the stopped wagon to see what sort of nonsense Hob could be up to.

To his surprise, Hob was in a much more reserved, almost polite mood. He quite graciously instructed Varys on how to prepare food over a fire. It was never really an option for him before, but out in the wilderness in between towns, he understood the value of the knowledge.

Still, it was difficult to make conversation with the pooka. Their last conversation had been awkward to say the very least. Sliding a piece of the cooked meat into his mouth, he eyes Hob with a somewhat wary glance.

"I feel as though I understand you a slight bit more than I did before, Hob. You enjoy the luxuries you normally wouldn't get to indulge in, and you aren't ashamed of such indulgence. I must admit there's a part of me that wishes to do things I haven't had the opportunity to do before myself, although I think we might have 'slightly' different priorities."

He takes a sip of the bitter liquid, choking it down as best he could. No idea how anybody could enjoy this stuff. It tasted like dirt mixed with river water to him. Varys knew what that tasted like.

"So, what's next for us?"

Jonathan Burr
 
Hob flicked an ear and settled against the wagon. Well we’ve got to make some deals and Jon has to renew our supply. We were running low even before we met you. That means a trip to Volta. If you need a magical question answered, it’s about the only place that can give the College of Eternium a run for its money. They specialize more in fascinating cases...like people made, not born. Then we’re headed out to schmooze the rich. We’re getting into winter which means folks want fire flowers for their celebrations and the like.

The pooka smirked. Maybe the kid would learn to cut loose. One ear went up and swiveled back toward the edge of the cart, as Jon shakily climbed down and sat next to the fire. He poured himself a cup of coffee and snagged some of the bacon, shivering.

“Don’t.” Jon lifted a finger when Hob opened his mouth. “Morning Varys. Feel like learning magic today? And don’t, Hob. I’m just instructing, not doing anything.”

The pooka huffed.

Jon nodded at the fire. “Let’s start with that. Fire’s an easy element to talk to. Start by focusing on it. The heat you feel, the way it dances and moves. The smell of it. Watch it, feel it, then tell it to change color. Should be simple enough. Hold the quality of the fire in your mind, then push green into it. Not the color, but the concept. Lush new leaves, a fresh coat of paint, seaglass, whatever says green to you. Go ahead. Try it.”

Varys
 
"Volta..."

It wasn't the resupply portion of the upcoming trip that had caught Varys' pointed ear, and Hob likely knew it. So soon though... he wasn't expecting to have a shot at a possible answer so soon. Brushing some of the hair from his face, he looks down at his hands, still a bit soiled from last night, streaks of black across his palms like he'd climbed a rope coated in soot. It was true, finding such answers was his motive for leaving in the first place. Even so, the nagging doubt chewed on the back of his mind, constantly asking him the same question it always did:

What if he didn't like the answer he got?

There was always the very real chance that when he finally did reach the end of the journey he'd embarked on, and finally seized the one thing he'd ever truly wanted out of whatever this life that he held inside of his body was...

That it would do nothing but hurt him.

No, it wasn't acceptable to think such thoughts. He had always been single-minded and focused on his goal. Now that it was well and truly within his grasp, he couldn't let his own apprehensions shake his resolve.

His thoughts are broken by Jonathan's voice. He turns his head to the trembling Master, a small look of amusement breaking through the obvious fear he'd been failing to hide a moment earlier. He looked as though he'd just spent a night on a tavern floor, and he was going to teach him 'magic'?

"You know Jon, on any other day... if I saw a man stumble out towards me shivering and swaying like a fresh-born fawn and claim he was going teach me some 'magic'... Well, I'd be quite wary of that man to say the least."

For the first time in a very very long time, Varys laughs. A real, boisterous laugh. Unmarred by the thick layer of falsity and insincerity that had coated every other laugh to leave his lips in the last 6 years of his life. It wasn't even that what he'd said was so intensely humorous, it was a release of stress, a cathartic expulsion of all of the hatred that he'd felt for so long now. He laughed for minutes on end, and the fire in front of him almost seemed to dance along with his voice. Bright colors seemed to play at the tips of the flame: Hues of pink and cyan, just barely visible as the flame licked at the morning air.

Jonathan Burr
 
Jonathan laughed with him, shaking his head. He was right, honestly. Jon looked like every terrifying big city trope that women warned little girls about. “Wanna learn magic, little boy?” He teased playfully, enjoying watching his apprentice laugh. He liked Varys. The kid reminded him a lot of himself. Jonathan had grown up rather affluent, his parents nobles. He’d left everything to find some meaning in a life without shoes or a feather bed to crawl into each night. It was hard to stand at that precipice and take that leap of faith into strange black unknown.

He did notice Hob’s ears shoot completely vertical. It was a bit hard not to; they added a good four extra feet to the pooka’s height. Jon. The fire. Hob pointed at the fire.

Jon blinked. There it was. Soft, gentle pink dancing around the edges of the flames as his apprentice giggled. A wide grin split his own face and he patted Varys’ back, nodding to the fire. “Look, lad.” He smiled broadly. Varys did have some talent with magic. They just had to learn to tap into it consciously.

“Hold onto that feeling.” He chuckled. “It’s working.”

Varys
 
He came down from his emotional high slowly, but the oh so serious frown that so often seemed a permanent fixture on his face did not return. No, he was far too distracted by the urgency with which both of them seemed to look at the fire. Turning his gaze, still alight with his moment of vulnerability, his amusement turned to shock as he saw exactly what they were so enthused by.

"Wh-What...?"

In the lapse of focus that came with witnessing such a strange happening that had apparently come from his own mind, the bright pink that had danced teasingly along the edges of the blazing tongues of the fire began to peter away with the moment. It was as though putting two and two together caused a complete shift in his focus, invisible hands pushing him forward. The young man lurches towards the flames, attempting to recapture that feeling, to revive the color. If Varys had leaned any closer to the fire in that instant, he would have singed his hair off. So sudden were his jerky movements that he fell to his knees in front of the flame, the knees of his slacks soiled with the dirt beneath them.

The fire responds in kind to the pressure of the Elf's gaze, his renewed focus coupled with a mind freshly cleared of all the residual anger that he'd been bottling inside of his head causing a new flash of the bright cyan that had briefly shown itself before. This time there was so coyness from the color, it's vibrant hue raged through the flames.

Still, it was obviously taking every bit of Varys' concentration to maintain. One could almost see the veins in his head as he struggled to keep the color steady.

Jonathan Burr
 
Jonathan was deathly silent as he watched Varys. He watched him fall to his knees, watched him connect with the flames. Varys was there. He was reaching inside of the flames not with his body but with himself. The joyous pink faded, and was replaced by a beautiful cyan. Jonathan watched the color stain the orange fire, slowly taking it over as Varys concentrated. Jonathan saw it. The power was there inside of Varys. He just needed to break the anger and step outside of himself.

One could pour oneself too deep, however.

Jonathan very gently touched Varys’ shoulder. “It’s alright. Ease back. You did it.” He said softly. He smiled. He didn’t want Varys to overextend himself just like he’d done the previous night.

“Pink in your joy. Cyan in your discovery.” Jonathan chuckled, and patted Varys. “Rest. It’s a small step. Step by step. Don’t push it.”

Varys
 
He fell back as he felt the hand on his shoulder, taking in a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It had been much more intense than he'd anticipated. Even now, feeling was still fighting to return to his extremities, small pinpricks of sensation traveling through his arms and legs as he came out of focus again. It was all so unsatisfying in the end though. He hadn't been trying to hold the color at cyan.

He'd been trying to make it anything but cyan.

Shaking his head, he looks up at Jonathan. For somebody who had just made a considerable accomplishment, he seemed rather dejected. "I have a sinking feeling that 'Discovery' isn't why it was that color..."

Rising to his feet and running his hands against the soiled knees of his pants, he scowls a bit in protest at the condition of his palms. Even off the street, they always seemed to be dirty. He tucks them into his pockets in an 'out of sight out of mind' manner.

"My father used to do that. Change the color of the fire in the den, I mean. It was always cyan, and I hated that color...."

Turning his head towards the cart, he clears his throat.


"So, will we be leaving soon?"

Jonathan Burr
 
Jonathan listened. Anything but cyan. His emotions and memories perhaps had a stronger hold than he thought. “Breathe. If your emotions have a bigger hold on your magic then it’ll take some work.” He said gently. “This is still a good thing. Your magic is there. You just need to work out those emotions. Perhaps there’s a link to your father. We’ll investigate it further.”

Jon patted Varys with a smile. “It’s easier with an anchor like Hob.” He said, and finished off a few bits of bacon. He yawned and stood up. “Hob, could you point us toward Volta?”

Hob nodded. Hard to get out of that shadow, but it’ll happen. It’s about a week to Volta, focus on change and how magic flows through you. Just sit, and feel. It helps.
Varys
 
Varys pretended to hear their advice, but his mind had already escaped to a different place. He appreciated Jonathan's encouragement, and even Hob had made a valiant effort to be civil and polite towards him today. However much progress he had made thus far, it had been overshadowed by the realization that he wouldn't ever be of any use to anybody until he found a way to discard the baggage that weighed him down.

What was anger? What was resentment? It was all he felt for so long, and now that other emotions were making an attempt to bud inside of him, he found himself having difficulty adjusting. It wasn't fair to the pooka, or to the one who'd so kindly taken him away from poverty in the first place, for him to be so solely fixated on himself. Even so, he was sick of seeing his own reflection in the water and not knowing what it was that looked back at him. Maybe his anger and resentment wasn't towards his father, or towards the world. No, perhaps it was himself that he was growing to resent.

Climbing back into the wagon, he crosses his legs and sits, resting his back against the side as he closes his eyes. "I need rest. I didn't sleep well last night. Wake me if I sleep too late, please."

Jonathan Burr
 
Jon let Varys have the back, and sat up front with Hob. The journey was quiet, and calm. Jon enjoyed the day and napped, or occasionally chatted with Hob about how to improve their techniques. They rode through a few small sleepy towns in the night, and stopped at an inn for breakfast.

When Varys woke he’d be cuddled up to warm, slightly squirming fur. Hob had crawled in the back, and had snuggled up to Varys in the close quarters. He’d lain an ear over the elf, snoring quietly. Jon smirked and put a foot on the back of the wagon, waggling it a bit. “Hey lovebirds. Breakfast.” He called.

Hob lifted an ear and yawned. Mm. Coffee. He reached over and plucked the mug out of Jon’s hands.

Varys
 
The Elf woke up much warmer than he was used to. Despite how upset he'd been with things when he'd closed his eyes, there was an undeniable peace to his rest. No dreams of course, he'd never had a dream that he could remember at least. Opening his eyes slowly, he sees what any other creature would likely mistake for a luxurious coat of fur. Varys knew that fur though, how it squirmed and twisted and broke apart into worms...

"Ach! Hob! Get off of me!"

He kicks at the large body huddled up to him, pushing himself away desperately and scrambling to his feet in the cart. Gah, ever since seeing what that fur could do in a bath, just the thought of touching the pooka gave him a chill in his spine.

"Where are we? How long have I been asleep?"

He stepped over Hob and climbed into the front, looking out ahead of them. He seemed quite uninterested in breakfast this morning.
 
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