[ It's a request that catches Stephen's attention, looking to Jim to trace it back across what he knows of him already, seeking its origin. But far be it from Stephen to stifle curiosity once it's named. Especially when that curiosity quests after magic - especially when it comes from current company. ]
Magic is essentially a hack of the fabric of the universe. Physics don't hold up to much - dimensions lose their integrity if you come at them right. Space is no different. It usually takes a focusing agent imbued with the bulk of the spellwork for travel so the sorcerer's only real job is operation: navigation, putting the key in the engine, fuelling up. Sling rings, we call them. I don't have one here yet, but—
[ But he doesn't need a sling ring for a demonstration, does he? Turning so he can angle himself at the space just beyond the fire, a flourish of his hand conjures a spark that cuts into open air. From there, like the curl of a pinwheel, a circle of bright amber etches itself out of nothing, and once it spins to the height of a man the space beyond it is no longer the woods. An indistinct street in New York City. Maybe once it had been eerily barren as they'd looked out on an emptied world—
A blink and the street has changed. It's Bleecker Street now, safer territory. The portal is only illusion, but even the illusion of home stings. He leaves the cars to drive on in the distance and glances back at Jim, pretends he's not busy regretting having ideas. ]
no subject
Magic is essentially a hack of the fabric of the universe. Physics don't hold up to much - dimensions lose their integrity if you come at them right. Space is no different. It usually takes a focusing agent imbued with the bulk of the spellwork for travel so the sorcerer's only real job is operation: navigation, putting the key in the engine, fuelling up. Sling rings, we call them. I don't have one here yet, but—
[ But he doesn't need a sling ring for a demonstration, does he? Turning so he can angle himself at the space just beyond the fire, a flourish of his hand conjures a spark that cuts into open air. From there, like the curl of a pinwheel, a circle of bright amber etches itself out of nothing, and once it spins to the height of a man the space beyond it is no longer the woods. An indistinct street in New York City. Maybe once it had been eerily barren as they'd looked out on an emptied world—
A blink and the street has changed. It's Bleecker Street now, safer territory. The portal is only illusion, but even the illusion of home stings. He leaves the cars to drive on in the distance and glances back at Jim, pretends he's not busy regretting having ideas. ]