diatu | Electric Boogaloo

Electric Boogaloo

Who: Tyzias and YOU!
Where: All around Anastara and Diatu
When: Late October
What: Tyzias arrives at Diatu and is thoroughly unimpressed.
Warnings: Curmudgeonliness abounds, lots of swearing.

attention, attention everyone
Anastara, being built around a Magicademy full of mischievous and/or incompetent students, is no stranger to ridiculous happenings. Especially in recent months with the arrival of the Sundered. As such, residents have a high tolerance for magical shenanigans and associated weirdness. But it is extremely difficult to simply ignore a round boulder being pulled at high speeds down the street by a pair of extremely large trolls.

Said trolls have at least a passing knowledge of traffic laws, so thankfully nobody is hurt. But an entrance like that draws attention—which is exactly what Tyzias doesn't want. When her chaffeurs crack the rock open at the academy, Tyzias tumbles out of her luxury transportation (really, it's quite posh inside, the Troll Lord of Okanes isn't a barbarian) and lands flat on her back before the gates of Diatu, staring at the sky.

After a twenty-three second sustained groan, Tyzias grumbles, "Sweet fucking Sufferer, Grumbrig, I know you wanted to give me the 'royal treatment' but that's a little overboard." She laboriously tries to pull herself to her feet. And fails. "Fuuuuuuuck dust got all in my shirt fuck fuck fuck HEY YOU CAN YOU HELP ME UP HERE"

see through bloodshot eyes
Now that she's finally someplace that might be able to get her on track to find some answers, there's no way in... whatever this world's punitive afterlife is that Tyzias is going to waste it on something as trivial as sleep. So it is that it's three AM in the morning and she's still poring through dozens of books by flashlight in the common room, mumbling to herself in a haze as she flips through page after page. Her choice of reading material is eclectic: basic textbooks for beginning mages, advanced theses on Intimation, a few tomes about Sundering, swathes of world history, Osmarius grammar, prayer books, and more. Tyzias is practically buried in a blanket of notes.

Then she sweeps her arm across the table to diagram a High Osmarius phrase, accidentally hits a stack of books, and it all comes tumbling down, tumbling down, tumbling down. While she doesn't go down with the ship, all of Tyzias's study material crash to the floor. The thud that echoes through the hallways is deafening.

Tyzias muffles her scream by planting her face on the table, then sighs, hauls herself to her feet after much effort, and begins slowly putting everything back in order as she braces herself for the inevitable mob of furious students who were just aroused by the chaos. Hopefully whoever finds her first isn't too angry...

wwwwhen you held the knife
Tyzias looks at the supply list in her hand, then at the rack of wands, then at the list again, then she groans. "You know what would've been fantastic? If Teach actually told me what I needed for class. Outlined a clear, concise list of Factors that I need to make the magic shit happen. But no. 'Discovery foci.' What am I supposed to get? Bat guano? I mean, okay, I know that all I need is a book and a wand, I'm not that dumb, but what wand? The one that magically calls out to me or some shit?" Tyzias throws up her hands in frustration.

"You. You have any idea how I'm supposed to pick one of these things? I know this place's reputation, there's no way I'm just gonna snag one off of the shelf there and call it a day."

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[[I don't know that they share any kind of common room given that they're different houses, but we'll pretend they're in a space they both can be.]]

Aziraphale looks up as a thunderous boom echoes through the halls.

He stops, gathering his library books and notes to his chest protectively (more for the books than himself) and waits. No loud cries of pain. No further movement. No giant eye monster--which he supposes is a good sign--but he does worry about the possibility of an intruder or an injured student. His hand strays to the sword hilt in his pocket.

Following the direction of the sound leads into a darkened common room. There's a table full up with books and notes in a scattered mess that reminds Aziraphale of his own work process. Somewhere in the midst of that he can make out some movement--another student, presumably--busy righting all the fallen books, head crowned with a short pair of bright horns. He bends down to address them, pale hair catching the light of their torch like a halo.

"Are you quite alright? What on Earth are you doing sitting in the dark?"

If there had been a monster, Tyzias would've dispatched it by now. Probably. Hopefully? It's hard to gauge how effective she is in this world; Tyzias doesn't have a proper sense of the Kingdoms' power scaling yet, or how much her physical abilities are worth a damn in a place where magic is this prominent. At least she has ridiculously overpowered gear to fall back on if all else fails.

Sleep-deprived rambling aside, Tyzias pries herself off the floor next a huge pile of books at Aziraphale's voice. She looks at him like he's a complete idiot, with a scowl that could probably curdle milk.

"Reading."

Oh, those eyes. Aziraphale puts his hand over his heart and takes in a deep breath. They're not the right eyes, of course. And the face is entirely wrong, but the yellow is evident even in the dark.

The expression does nothing to dissuade him. He's seen far worse. His mouth flattens into a bit of a frown.

"Ah, yes, I see that. I'm going to assume darkvision or a spell of some kind, because otherwise I suspect you'll spoil your vision. Now, is there a reason you've chosen to read in the dark when it is perfectly acceptable to light a candle or something and not hole-up here like a little--" He has to pause because all the descriptives he is currently thinking of might be offensive to this horned-person who may actually be a goblin/gremlin/troll/hellion. "--delinquent with your secret plottings."

Tyzias continues to squint incredulously at Aziraphale as she stumbles through the dark—not because she can't see, but because post-exhaustion mania hasn't set in yet and she relies on that boost to function like a normal troll at this stage.

"Because there aren't enough fucking hours in the day to learn what I need to learn, dumbass." She groans as another pile topples. Great. Just fantastic. This is giving her at least a half dozen discrete flashbacks to just as many timelines. "Now are you going to help me clean this up or just stand there like an idiot?"

He gives a prim sniff.

"I think I'll stand here and watch, thank you," he says with a purse of his lips, shifting the book in his own hands. "It would serve you right for calling me names. Maybe this way will teach you a lesson."

Meanwhile Aziraphale looks over the books she has spilled out and the few still in piles, wrinkling his nose as his corporation's eyes struggle to make sense of the grey tones of everything in the dark.

"What is so important to go to such lengths to learn? Or is it just a general curiosity?"

Tyzias gapes at Aziraphale for a few moments, mouth opening and closing as she struggles to process. He's taking offense at her swearing at him? What kind of world does he- oh, right. He's human-old. Okay, that scans. (But still, DAMN.)

She continues sorting, cursing under her breath as the chaos cascades and more piles fall into disarray. "Both. Learning is ffffff-" Tyzias holds that F for a few seconds, internally debating over whether she wants to get petty with this guy or not at this hour of morning. If he's going to be an ass she's going to fire back, "-fucking fun, and I'm not just saying that for your benefit."

A comically large tome falls on Tyzias's toe, and she swears in several different languages. Quietly. People are sleeping, and she isn't that rude. Eventually, she recovers and continues her Sisyphean task. "But, y'know. Practical applications are nice. For example, I definitely want to know the basics of ghost containment so I can help keep that humongo fucker of a dead lizard down in the basement. I don't want to disrupt what precious little sleep I get with nightmares about- well, shit. Nothing I can really do about the nightmares since this place doesn't have sopor, but still. Helping keep the other students safe is a definite fucking plus too."

Despite himself, Aziraphale might look a little smug as the books continue to resist chaotically well to be being righted into piles. There's a certain degree of Schadenfreude in standing here, offering no help, that reminds him of watching Crowley be outdone by his own foolish demonic endeavors. He does pity her a little, because it'd be a betrayal of his angelic nature not to, but only a little. It's not like she's being hurt by the task--wounded pride excluded.

The cursing itself has little effect on him except to make him frown a scolding little frown-pout, as if to say now that's not very nice in a patronizing sort of way.

"Of course not," he agrees. Definitely not said for his benefit at all. She is a curious creature. Caustic, rude, and amusing.

He does, however, wince in sympathy for her toe.

"I can't say anything for ghost containment," he says, "but I could offer some help with warding glypics. Possible they might be adapted for ghosts; my studies were in demonic wards and that's a whole different kind of otherworldly entity. At least demons are rather ...material."

This encounter is starting to give Tyzias flashbacks to her clique on Alternia. Forget Pallidus's passing resemblance to Sore-Gor. Trading passive-aggressive barbs with an irritatingly posh man who refuses to help Tyzias with backbreaking physical labor while dangling study tips in front of her like a carrot is much more reminiscent of the little weasel than the surprisingly polite demon that she met earlier that night.

Which is why Tyzias is somewhat suspicious of Aziraphale's motives here. "And what kind of favor am I supposed to do for you in exchange for this helpful information?" She rolls her eyes and huffs. "Please. I'm not going to fall for the classic, 'oh I did you a small favor literally one time so now I'm going to hound you every waking hour until you snap from the strain and do some ridiculous fetch quest for me' gambit. If you weren't going to fucking help me with this mess, there's no way you'd offer something I want for free."

"I'm not helping you with this mess because it's a mess of your own design. What did you expect from stacking towers upon towers of books?" He looks at her as if to say it should have been obvious. He bristles a bit at being accused of ulterior motivates, even though, yes, he might have spotted an opportunity and thought...why not take it.

"No, what I'm interested in is your research in exchange for mine," he says, proudly patting his own book. "Tit for tat, as the saying goes. Sharing notes--ongoing, if we're both amenable--because as you said, there's certainly not enough hours in the day, even without sleep, for all there is to know. I'm interested in Sundering and you're interested in the world, and together I think we could amass a great deal of useful research. ...And you might still be able to catch a bit of apparently much-needed shut-eye."

"I would like to point out that I made sure it was architecturally sound," Tyzias snaps back. "I just, uh. Accidentally almost fell asleep and swung my arm into it." This is clearly going nowhere. Tyzias scowls at both Aziraphale and the piles of books, weighing (heh) the pros and cons of shortcutting this whole affair. On the one hand, she could continue with her current strategy and eventually get it done. Eventually. On the other hand, she could potentially expose herself to the musty old man and stop faffing about with her pantomime for an audience of two.

...eh, screw it. She doubts that anybody would believe Aziraphale anyways. Tyzias begins stretching her arms and legs, popping her joints, and disguising a small mechanical click with the cracking of her shoulders. As she does this bizarre warmup, she answers Aziraphale. "As fucking insufferable as you've been so far, you have a point. And I've worked with trolls even bitchier than you with a minimum of migraines, so... fuck it, why not? I'm Tyzias."

Then she springs into action. In a blur of motion, Tyzias begins stacking the tomes with incredible precision and speed. Her movements are a far cry from what they were moments before—graceful, efficient, precise, and fast. In a matter of seconds, all the books are back in their proper place, Tyzias rolls her shoulders again, and her posture returns to a disaffected slouch.

He's not sure what to make of her varying stretches, but then again, she IS an odd one anyway...and he would be further insulted if she wasn't coming around reluctantly, so he will accept being called bitchy and migraine-inducing. After all, Aziraphale knows he is. For 6000 years, he's been a difficult, bitchy, migraine-inducing bastard, but one who knows the power of a good arrangement. So he can make some concessions.

And then she's moving like she's out of time with the rest of the world, like a video recording set to fast-forward. Inhuman, but then he had no delusions about her being human. She, however, might have had those delusions about him, but he parses her movement well-enough, given his own ethereal advantages, and at the end of it all, he gasps and grins brightly like she has just performed a very clever magic trick.

"Bravo. Isn't that marvelous," he declares with a quiet glee and a soft clasp of his hands. "I don't know why you don't use that to read your books. Or do you?" He looks around as if expecting the room around her to betray the secrets of what she's just pulled off, and then realizes she had introduced herself before all this. Tyzias. Pretty name.

Which means Aziraphale is left with a decision. After his failed Crowley-summoning, it presents as less of an outing than before, but still something significant to him.

"You may call me Mr. Fell," he says, holding out his hand. And for perhaps the first time in a while, he feels a little bit like a liar introducing himself as such. One should be relatively forthright with ones arrangement partner, shouldn't one?

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Tyzias says, locking eyes with Aziraphale. There's no hint of deception in her voice. No overt sarcasm, other than the base level of abrasiveness that lines her every word. But there is something in her eyes, something burning fierce and dark.

On Vaikuntha, Tyzias's stare was laced with a powerful psychic punch. If she got a read on someone, Tyzias could knock them out flat with a single icy glare and send the ones still standing running like little children. And while her asterisks vanished when Tyzias's soul was Sundered, trolls' natural inclination towards psionic aptitude left echoes of that power rattling around in Tyzias's thinkpan.

What little remains isn't enough to give someone a nosebleed, or really enhance her intimidation skills at all. But there's something in her eyes regardless, deep and dark and dangerous. And when she clasps Mr. Fell's hand, grip a little firmer than comfortable, the pit widens. No matter how inconsequential the contract, bonds are paramount to the Heir of Blood, even if her godhood has been stripped away.

It's almost like looking into Her eyes for the barest sliver of a second.

Tyzias isn't even doing it consciously. It's just a consequence of her heightened irritation and the temporary release of her facade. And even though such a display probably won't even phase Aziraphale, if her previous feats of superhumanoid athleticism didn't give it away, this most definitely shows that Tyzias is hiding something. Several things, most likely.

She grins sharper than a shark. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Fell."

That something in her eyes is both fearsome and marvelous, and she's all the more fascinating for it. Maybe Aziraphale should exercise more caution with her, not hold her gaze, but in for a penny-- He's captivated by the unholy chill behind the depths of that gaze, something that strikes him suddenly as not entirely unlike looking into the powerful gaze of an angel of the Lord.

For that brief breath of a moment, he thinks that if he had had a mortal soul, he would have just damned it. Or at the very least sold it.

She is not one to be trifled with. She is, without any doubt, far more than she appears. Perhaps beneath that gray skin and those brilliantly colored horns, she's a god, or near enough. A great eldritch horror, ready to tear apart the cosmos. Maybe she's darkness embodied or a trickster gremlin or the kind of thing fairy-tales and nightmares tell of. And he hates to say it, but whatever she is, he likes this odd, crass, cantankerous being just that little bit more knowing there's something un-shown within her.

They aren't so different then, perhaps.

He wrinkles his nose as he smiles back. "Oh, no, my dear. The pleasure's all mine."

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Electric Boogaloo

since late night frantic note-taking is a thing they share...

just realized tyzias doesn't actually need a light to read by rip

lol that's fine (I forget things like that all the time)

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it's funny that aziraphale is the first person who's reacted reasonably to tyzias

LOL This is one of the few interactions where someone has been at all rude to him, I'm so pleased

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the day that tyzias finally drops the training weights literally nobody is going to be surprised

we will still gasp and oooh and awe tho