diatu | 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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

Electric Boogaloo

no subject

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