because this guy has a GREAT track record with fire...

[diagnosispuberty]

Who: Sam and Hiro
Where: Their hip happening bachelor(ette) pad
When: post-April-Fool's-effects (April 20th-ish)
What: COOKIES also Hiro clarifying a few things
Warnings: Excessive amounts of cookies and sad attempts at baking

Years of watching sitcoms about people in wacky roommate situations had not adequately prepared Hiro for the reality of living with someone. All right, yes, granted, he'd never so much "watched" them as "begged Aunt Cass to stop watching them and let him change to channel to something with monsters or robots", but still -- this never happened to people on TV.

"This" being a sad, well-meant but poorly executed attempt at baking. The butter was a solid lump in the middle of the mixing bowl, the vanilla smelled amazing but tasted nasty, and most of the flour was spread over the counters and in Hiro's hair, and he was way too young to rock the grey-haired look. He may have been a certified genius, but when it came to baking, he was absolutely hopeless.

"Stupid space cookies," he muttered, glaring at the congealed mess in the mixing bowl. That was a good plan, blame Haven for his mishaps, rather than taking responsibility. That miiiight not work too well once Sam returned home, however, especially not when Hiro took into account what Dirge had said.

A witch. Sam was a witch. A witch who could apparently curse people (though Hiro wasn't too sure how much faith he should put into a conversation had between talking about robotic tongues) if she was mad enough. Would the total destruction of her (their?) kitchen be enough to make her that mad?

Hiro exhaled slowly, wiping baking soda off his face. Well, that was that. He was going to spend the rest of his life as a newt. At least until Sam needed his eyes for some secret deadly potion. A dismal end to a dismal day.

Comments

\o/

[10_20_15_5_50]

"Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." Sam did her best to deadpan the words, sounding as serious as anyone could while navigating their crowded consonants. Her tone held as long as anyone who knew her should've expected, which was to say not very; it was back to casual-conversational in her answering "Yeah."

She paused to regard Hiro with a mild and momentary concern. Once she was certain he'd manage his mouthful, she continued, speaking as if the idea of blood magic wasn't really remarkable. "'Blood magic' is... kind of a wide term, because it can be referring to magic that has a direct effect on flesh-and-blood workings, or to magic that involves blood---like if you had to have something written in it for a ritual---or magic something or someone had to hurt for. But that latter kinda encompasses the other uses of it, so it's kind of like a three-way Venn diagram with one circle almost eclipsing the others."

[diagnosispuberty]

"Yeah, that." Obviously having something as required reading doesn't automatically mean that Hiro absorbed it. Even awesome elder gods become boring when they're forced, after all.

Now that they're talking about serious weird things like blood magic, Hiro slows down his cookie intake to one at a time, crossing one ankle over the other. "Sooo...which one do you do?"

[10_20_15_5_50]

"A little of column A, a little of column C, but it's all in the overlap. An honourable mention goes to column B as the ritual which needs a person puking---as it was first presented to me---included a bit of blood which turned out to be not actually necessary. But, uh, that's beside the point." Sam turned up her palms, side-eyeing the Nth cookie sacrificed to Hiro's insatiable appetite for sweets. "A and C it is."

She left it at that, waiting for Hiro to ask what he would.

[diagnosispuberty]

How many cookies are left at this point? It's anyone's guess. The only reason Hiro isn't actually licking the cookie sheet clean of crumbs is because he can't reach it from his perch on the counter. T

There's a pause before he asks his next question, this one posed quieter, accompanied by Hiro looking down at his feet. Despite this, the anxiety that was present when Sam first walked into the kitchen is completely gone. He's nervous, certainly, but not afraid. "Whose...blood do you use?"

[10_20_15_5_50]

'Whose blood do you use?' was a variation of what she'd expected to hear: Who's getting hurt?

"It's all mine. My blood, my ink. I wasn't just joking in listing 'fifty percent pain' as a part of what makes up my magic---but don't get bent out of shape over it. It's just that when you asked about my tattoos being magic, you weren't far from the mark." Sam smiled a little, following Hiro's gaze to his toes. "It's not the tattoos themselves, but that they're there. Every one I incorporate allows me to manage a little more. My superficiality changes a little, I can... kind of capitalize on the ripple, direct it to almost echo in a sort-of superficial change in the world outside myself."

[diagnosispuberty]

"Oh."

Somehow this is both reassuring -- because Hiro is well-aware of his small size, and didn't think he'd be all that great as a vigilante collecting blood -- and concerning. The reasons for why it's the latter should be evident, because Sam is...Sam is nice. Sam is funny and friendly and calm and chill and, most of all, Sam is starting to mean home.

Hiro may be a big tough cool dude (lol), but he genuinely worries when people he cares about are in pain, in any way. So, still looking at his feet (which are still smudged with flour, despite the kitchen being spotless), he ventures, "Does it...hurt a lot?"

[10_20_15_5_50]

"You've wiped out and done a number on your knees at some point. It's no worse than that, so, y'know, some spots might hurt more to have tattooed but it's all bearable. And besides..." She let loose a soft little snort, leaning over so that her shoulder bumped Hiro's. "I have a high tolerance. That's been both good and bad, but the good wins out. By now? That's for a fact."

[diagnosispuberty]

"...well, yeah, that's not so bad." It's the purposeful aspect that Hiro's having a hard time wrapping his brain around. The shoulder-nudge does a lot to shake him out of these thoughts, however, if only because he has to nudge her back.

"...is there anything you can't do? Like...magical limitations?"

[10_20_15_5_50]

"Not so bad at all, and I speak from experience saying that in the acquisition, there's no difference between a tattoo got to fuel some spell and one added for its own sake." Now just leaning against Hiro, Sam held up her right hand, and indicated a wide band of bars around the wrist. "I didn't always do magic. The first six rows here, I got before I started. The Song That Never Ends, One Thing Leads to Another, and True Colours, if you would've wondered."

She considered his question briefly and shrugged, still leaning. "Superficialities are what I have to work with, so all the effects I can force are tied up in that sort of sphere. And I can't just cast and cast and cast---not without new ink. That said, you're sworn to secrecy."

[diagnosispuberty]

Hiro reaches out, faltering for just a moment before gently poking at the tattoos on Sam's wrist. The monochrome style of all the music notes is sort of...comforting. It's unlike the near-garishly colored tattoos that would cover the backstreet yakuza-types he was always running into. As a matter of fact, they're more like his aunt's old, faded, simple armband of swirling lines and flowers.

"Got it," he answers, leaning back just as firmly. If either of them decide to move, the other's going to fall right off the counter. "Nothing big or dramatic like...bringing people back from the dead or the weather or anything?"

[10_20_15_5_50]

Its uniformity had always been a part of the pattern's appeal, with schoolyard chants, classical, rock and rap all incorporated into a visually-coherent whole.

"You know how I said I would be honest about this...?" Sam spared her housemate a sidelong look, a little amused. "I can do dramatic, but those things are out... even though there are rumours of a ritual which makes it rain meat. I, unfortunately, have not heard more than the rumours."

[diagnosispuberty]

Even if Hiro can't read it (yet), he likes the simplicity of it -- it reminds him of binary code, almost, or mathematical equations.

Sam's answer has him looking a little...disappointed, almost? Most probably about the "no resurrection" thing, though all he does is laugh at the mention of meat rain. "Are we talking like...cooked hamburger or full-on raw steaks?"

[10_20_15_5_50]

"I don't know. I haven't seen it in action, but if records of fortean events indicate anything? Both. And, I know, I know, a rumour is only a rumour but I want to believe---and to get my hands on this ritual, if it's an actual thing, because come on." Sam had noticed that disappointment, brief as its surfacing might have been, but still smiled, encouraged by her housemate's laughter. "It would be cool to know, just for the satisfaction of being able to make it rain meat."

[diagnosispuberty]

That gets a more genuine giggle, accompanied by a delightedly disgusted face. "Better make a pretty sturdy umbrella if it's steaks, though," he teases, elbowing Sam gently. "Otherwise you'll get mad cow disease."

[10_20_15_5_50]

"Oh my god, I can see it now." The adept groaned, ignoring the elbowing. "Cause meat rain, go out without an adequately-reinforced umbrella, contract mad cow disease and think to myself, as I recover in the hospital; 'Man, I really bleu it... but all this time recouping makes for a rare opportunity to reflect; maybe weather is just not my medium. It's ended badly... but what I've managed with still-living skin? That, that was well-done.'"

[diagnosispuberty]

Hiro is quiet for about two seconds, like he can't fully believe that Sam actually went there.

And then he's elbowing her with all the strength in his skinny little arm, burying his face in his free hand and groaning. "That's terrible."

[10_20_15_5_50]

She slid off the counter to stand to escape the elbowing, laughing without an iota of remorse. "I know, I know! But I saw this opening to chain and I'm a horrible human being. I'm also lucky this apartment was originally all mine, otherwise you might be trying to kick me out. I probably would, if I were you. Actually, if I were you, I would still try. But, you should know... that's not going to work well. Not at all." Still sniggering, Sam moved to sit on the counter once again, safe from another elbowing as she sat on the other side of the sink.

"Like I said, you're stuck with me."

[diagnosispuberty]

Unfortunately for Sam, Hiro can still throw bits of cookie at her. Fortunately for Sam, his aim is absolutely terrible.

"Sucks to be me, I guess," he teases, but he's grinning. Clearly this isn't such a bad thing.

[10_20_15_5_50]

"Cut that out, we just cleaned!" After trying and failing to catch a piece of cookie, Sam shifted to spawl along her side of the counter best she could. "You're only guessing? Then my puns aren't as bad as they ought to be, and that's some bull. I should raise the steaks. And, I suppose, I should ask if there's anything else you want to ask. Now's the time; everything's on the table."

[diagnosispuberty]

Have some more cookie crumbs flicked your way, Sam, out of principle, while Hiro ponders what else he's curious about. "...what happens when you run outta space for tattoos?"

[10_20_15_5_50]

"It's not going to be pretty." She spoke matter-of-factly and without moving, ignoring the additional cookies crumbs just to be contrary. "Full-body demabrasion---or almost full-body, because I have some sections of skin I don't want to subject to that---and I start over again."

[diagnosispuberty]

Hiro looks somewhere between fascinated and horrified at this new information, wrinkling his nose and staring at Sam. "Like...take off your skin?"

[10_20_15_5_50]

"Yeah. At least, the layers that have ink in." Sam sat up so that she could turn to Hiro, offering him a small shrug. The issue of limited skin space could be resolved only one way, and she'd long ago resigned herself to the hell of it. "It's either I find some way to strip myself down, or I give up most of my magic. The latter's not even an option---like I said, it's me at potential. What I have to do, I'll do, and I'll just have to be able to take it."

[diagnosispuberty]

Hiro's nose is wrinkled at the idea, imagining some sort of hardcore rugburn all over, taking off layers of skin. On the one hand, that's pretty sick, but on the other, ouch.

"...what if you could...remove the pigmented cells and at the same time stimulate new skin growth instantaneously? Like an automated skin graft?" Uh-oh, he's got his idea face on.

[10_20_15_5_50]

"Is that a doable thing?" Sam didn't sound skeptical, but mildly surprised. "The new skin growth stimulation, I mean. Gonna have to sit you down for the whole scoop on advances in medical science one of these days. I'm hoping to hear there's an improved alternative to MRIs... but I don't want to derail just yet. We'll get back to that. Back to removing pigmented tissue? That's a tricky bit of business, since I'm going to be saturated."

The adept shifted, leaning back on her hands to look up at the ceiling. Her bent for blood and ink carried with it several complications; limited skin space was the most consequential.

"A person only has so many square feet of skin, so I'm getting the most out of mine by inking it up in three stages. The first stage is the sheet music. I like the look, like it a lot, and the bars mean it's easily measured. The second stage is filling in the notation's negative space with white ink. Already tried a test patch, and it worked well. Gonna do my face, too." She lifted a leg, setting its ankle on the opposite knee to show off the sole. "The third stage will be a full face-and-body blacklight tattoo. Stages two and three---alongside the scope---make removal complicated, and may make dermabrasion necessary. Laser removal is actually ideal for black ink, but I don't know how well or even if it would work for blacklight colour, and it was long ago ruled out on account of expense---originally. Availability, now."