2023.03.22 Meeting Trent

03.22.23 Meeting Trent
Jaz hears about a Mage gathering, and meets Trent
IC Date	03.22.23
Players	Jaz, Trent Towers
Location	A clearing near Trent’s glade
Spheres	Mage

It's like Woodstock out here, man. Okay, okay, it's not that kind of scale, but it's that kind of vibe. The event out here isn't permanent, although some people do live out here semi-full time in camping-type setups, being ooone with natuuure and getting suuuper stoooned. Ecstatics, Dreamspeakers and Verbena, mostly, although others filter through. This is their semi-monthly get-together, where more Traddies descend on the place, play music, play games, trade stories, and get. Suuuper. Stoooned.

It's a companionable atmosphere, lot of people with their shirts off, lot of campfires, lot of unamplified guitars and drums and soft singing around. Enchanted animals and familiars browse among the guests, some truly exotic--no sleeper eyes here, blessedly, the whole place lightly warded to keep inquisitive hikers from stumbling in by accident. A big grill's set up at the relative center of the sprawling party, where a couple of magisters are showing off outdoing each other with their cooking.

Trent has been taking a turn over there! He'd brought chicken sausages, because he has little loyalty to his brood, and is sizzlin them up on the grill, slashing them with peppers, dashing them with onions, painting some homemade sriracha across them with a deft hand. He's good at what he does, and he loves it. He's wearing a pair of slouchy jeans and a tied-back apron with WITCH THE COOK emblazoned across it over no shirt at all, because of course. Tom the big black rooster is hanging out around Trent's feet, lurkin around, apparently indifferent to his children's remains roasting on the grill above him. Other wizards and adjuncts are doing food prep of their own--the space is busy, lively, with many hands making joyful work. Trent is just now starting to plate his 12 sausages, shifting them over into buns and moooving them toward the corner of the big buffet table, there to ensnare the hungry.

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Jaz has even given Hands the freedom to wander wherever he likes, but the large orange polydactyl cat seems to want to keep close to her side. Something about Jaz not having the sense the Spirits gave to pebbles. Jaz snorts at that comment, but moves on, checking things out.

The scent of food draws her in -- ah, you can always get 'em with the food -- and she approaches, looking down at the rooster, then up to the sausages. "Is your rooster a carnivore or are you just really insensitive?," she jokes, her weird sense of humor on display for a change. Not like making TikTok videos is SRS BZNS or anything. She takes the time to snag a bunned sausage and grins, seeking out a drink to go with, and finds the keg, managing to one-hand-one-elbow a drink out of it. "Ya know, you could have helped, Hands."

"You gonna share your dinner?"

"Stupid question, don't I always?" Yes, the cat talks. Like, out loud and shit.

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Oooh. It's a talking cat. Trent is impressed. "She doesn't need to!" Trent assures the pair of them, producing a second bun and transfering it down to the ground in a crouch for Hands. He respectfully doesn't reach out and grab the guy, do any petting or anything similarly demeaning, at least not as a very first instinct. Trent is always interested in talking animals; he doesn't have the gift for uplift himself, and has declined some offers to make Tom speak. He likes his boy natural, but he admires the instinct to raise nature higher in others.

"Howdy, pardner," he greets the cat, and then, lifting his eyes, smiling, nodding to the girl. "Name's Trent. And this is Tom," he says, pushing the reluctant rooster a little forward toward his genetic nemesis. "He doesn't talk, but I get the feeling he...no, never mind, he doesn't understand shit. He's just a bird. But he's alright. And yeah, he'll eat chicken if I let him, but I get the feeling it makes him ritually impure to be a cannibal, so I try to keep him away from the stuff."

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The cat reaches up with large ginger murder mittens and takes the proffered sausage. "Thank you," he says with surprising politeness, and begins to nibble daintily at the sausage.

"I'm Jaz, he's Hands," the young woman says, "and Hands doesn't hunt anything that big, don't worry. At least, not if he can avoid it. He's a little spoiled."

The cat snorts at the very idea, but keeps eating rather than contradict.

"Yeah, I would probably do that, too, that would be... well, if nothing else, a little creepy, though I heard some low-budget chicken factories do that. Which is honestly, kinda revolting." She pauses. "I'm a Dreamspeaker. Disciple if that matters. What flavor are you?"

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"Verbena," says Trent, satisfied that Hands has control of the sausage situation, picking up Tom and standing to loom good-naturedly over Jaz. "Since about as long as I can remember. Raised in the trade, y'know how it is, specially with Verbies. So often a family business. And a..." He counts on his fingers. "Five-fold Disciple, now? Seems like knowledge comes fast and thick since I came home. I've got a Sanctum down on the southern edge of town, centuries-old grove, bit of a family business. Anyone who keeps the peace is welcome any time. Your people's magic's usually pretty in line with mine, I bet you'd find reality was real smooth for you out in the yard."

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Jaz nods slowly and she chuckles as he picks up the rooster, narrowly avoiding making the obvious joke. Instead, she takes a bite of her own sausage and tries not to mind the looming. I mean, she's not *short*, but...

"Sounds like you've been at it a while," she agrees, "I'm not the fastest learner, I guess, compared to some. Though some things finally started clicking for me recently. My mentor died like a month ago, so... he didn't get the chance to introduce me around, I guess. Either that or he was holding out for something. Leap Year, maybe."

She studies his expression and then says, "An old, old place, then, probably steeped in all kind of magical goodness," agreeing with his description.

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"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that," Trent says sincerely, all concern. "Anyone I knew?" It's possible. Trent's been Awakened for 1 million years and did grow up in these parts, but he hasn't always been the most social, Awakened-wise. He's busy, okay! "I've been doing this a long, long time, so if you need advice or a place to work, or just to lie low, or a simple ear to commiserate into, any and all are available at the grove. To the both of you, of course," he adds loyally, addressing Hands. "What's your story, then? Transfigured elder, uplifted familiar, companion spirit? You seem articulate. I respect it."

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Jaz thanks him and says, "Jay Walker-Between. he tended to kind of keep to himself. I inherited the house, he didn't have any family or anything. So I have a beach house, which is nice. Quiet." She smiles at his welcome, calm, and then chuckles as the mage addresses the cat.

Hands finishes his meal and gazes upward with golden eyes. "Enfleshed spirit familiar, to be precise. Jay summoned me to keep Jaz company and made me a body. He figured he wasn't gonna be around forever. So she got a cat." And the cat makes a motion that might be a shrug. "As far as company goes, though, I like her."

"Damning me with faint praise," she counters.

Hands replies, "Whose idea were the cat videos anyway?"

Jaz sighs. "They make us money!"

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"She seems good," Trent agrees seriously with Hands. "I wish I had a creature who could speak up for my character, but alas, Tom just listens. He listens hard. Don't you, little man?" He tickles the bird under the beak, who merely looks around insanely in that way that roosters have. "Ungrateful wretch," he sighs, loosing the bird to stalk around Jurasically...but only within a very narrow radius of his master.

"The name sounds familiar, Jay's, but I can't say I ever met him. Sorry again for your loss. It's tough to be about this business on your own. Do you have anyone else, or am I the first father figure you've had the good fortune to stumble upon?" A wry grin. You're not QUITE old enough to be her dad, Trent. "This is a good place to start...some community to be had here." He gestures about himself at the assembled Good Vibes Crew. "Remarkable how little strife we get here, honestly, I always expect more problems clowning, but everyone's pretty cool."

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Jaz chuckles as the rooster proves he's not the most social of beings. She makes her living being funny, so of course she appreciates humorous moments. "Thank you. Sincerely? Jay... well, he kind of doxed himself into pattern damage that wasn't really fixable. He tried, but..." She sighs and winces. "It was ugly."

Jaz tilts her head to one side. "Father figure? I'm 27," she says with amusement. "You're not quite a he-cougar yet, Trent laddie." She giggles, though, so the comment probably had the desired affect. "Seems it," she agrees. "I really do wish I'd been out and about sooner. It just... didn't work out that way. I think my mentor was worried about me."

"Ya think?," Hands adds.

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"I was the opposite way. Fathomless Wycke never had me being all that social, but she was Granny Weatherwaxing me into dangerous shit from about age 15 on. Seems like it worked out okay, but whew. Some close calls along the way. Trial by ordeal after ordeal is one way to raise a magister, I guess." He sounds affectionate, though, almost nostalgic for this dangerous upbringing he's gesturing at. "She's still around, but not local anymore. Moved off to New York for a working retirement on another colonial-era grove. So here I am...being a -father- to my flowers," he insists. It's valid! Trent is, in fact, a dad. Or...a sire, anyway. Not much of a father. You have to be a little more involved for that.

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Jaz watches him, attempting to follow what he's saying. "I -- pretend I don't know much about the slang involved in Mage society, because I don't, and..." She winces, and frowns again. "I think I didn't learn nearly enough, to be honest, because I spent five years as a student, and... I feel like I didn't learn nearly enough, right now. I've barely been tested." She sighs and takes a long swallow from the beer, and says, "So, um... she drove you hard, but retired, left it all with you? All on your lonesome? Sounds like a lot to take care of, though... I mean, a good thing, but still a lot. Huh?"

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"O-oh," says Trent with a laugh, a little chastened, "that wasn't mage-specific argot, that was my own personal brand of incomprehensibility you were getting both barrels of there, I guess. You followed along right. Fathomless Wycke was my dam, my adopted mother-slash-grandmother, who raised me in the Art. She liked to throw challenges just on the edge of my capabilities my way, yup. Good job!" he adds encouragingly. "See? You're not as at sea as you thought you were.

"It's a lot, but..." He sighs happily. "I'm proud of it. And I've been working on it most of my life anyway, so. Just a question of taking the lead on it now. Making sure Tom doesn't get too big for his britches." He pokes Tom with an affectionate toe.

"What kind of magic you get up to? Wanna show off? We've got enough believers around here that you might be able to do the flashy stuff without getting bit, if Jay's experience didn't put you off it."

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Jaz ohhhs and laughs at that, seeming relieved that it wasn't just her. "I guess I'm not going to drown any time soon, then, that's a good thing! I mean, Drowning is bad. Especially if you live right on the water."

Jaz tilts her head to one side, looking down; Hands motions to her, and she crouches to let the cat jump lightly onto her shoulders and arrange himself around her neck like a fur stole. "That's his favorite perch."

She ahhs and says, "My... I mean, I'm not really flashy... mostly summoning spirits. A little bit of fortune, a little bit of energy working. I don't have fireballs or anything..." Another bite of her lower lip follows, until the cat lightly swats her with his thumbed mitt. "I know, Hands, don't do that," she sighs. "He won't be happy until I'm as arrogant as him."

"Of course not. You're a mage."

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"Ooh? Does Hands have fancy tricks?" Trent weedles. "I myself trend toward the vain and hubristic, although that probably comes of spending most of my time in a Sanctum where I can do very little wrong. G'wan, tomcat, if you've got fancy magics unleash em where the crowd can go wild. I promise to applaud. Tom will go 'quack.'" He swipes one of his own sausages off the tray (They've been diminishing as they're speaking, but at least he doesn't take the last one) and snarfles into it, watching with a challenge in his eyes.

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Jaz smirks. "Hands is a TikTok star," she notes. "Cat videos of all sorts. Riding a Roomba. Riding the tide in an inflatable boat. Standing atop a sandcastle and then destroying it for shiggles. That's what we do for a living. So he's a showoff, yes, but not with magic. Most of his powers are really just useful. he can read. And write when he feels like it and I have a pen small enough for his paws."

She shifts from foot to foot and says, "Sorry, I mean... a lot of what I do isn't visual. I was trained to work... subtly, I suppose, not in a way people can perceive. So it's kind of alien to me to do otherwise." She sighs. "I hate letting down an audience."

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Trent nods, understanding suddenly. "Of course! A performer's instincts would get all jammed up when confronted with a challenge where she can't show off. Fear not, the subtler powers are powerful enough and a lot of the flashy stuff only comes late in the day anyway. I can turn -myself- into two-thirds of a dog, I can teleport -myself- from here to New York, but can I move anyone else? Can I grant you a cute little tail? I cannot. Not yet. Feels like I've been hamstrung by the gods, awaiting deeper enlightenment." He rolls his eyes.

"It's fun to get flashy, though," he grins. "I like to work with starlight. Dangerous to do out in the world. But at home, it's mine to grab and twist." He squints up into the fading evening sky. Not quite dark enough yet to play those tricks here.

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Jaz starts to laugh at that. "Which two thirds of the dog?" Of course she had to ask THAT. She adds, a little more seriously, "Also, seeing your mentor bleeding to death for months while he tries to slap enough healing on himself to make it another day? It kinda makes you a little wary of Dox, even if you have a safe place to work, y'know?"

Jaz notes, "Well, it sounds like you're pushing the envelope, which means you should be coming up on the next hurdle, right? I would think so, anyway. I'd still like to see what you do."

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Trent taps on his head, slaps his flank, and prods his dick. He's not shy. "Dog bits. The knot was by explicit request, for the record, left to my druthers I'd've stuck with just the ears and the tail." He shrugs, slightly abashed, grinning foolishly. "Oh, I guess I grew myself hair, too, to hide the fact that I put my human ears away for the duration. There are grades of freak shit I'm about, but 'human ears and wolf ears at the same time' is a little too far for me.

"I assume it's not -that- transformation you'd like to see," he coughs. "But come out to the grove some time and we'll awaken a spirit together, huh? I'll curdle the darkness around us, bless us with a good week, cure anything that ails you...my talents have grown divrse."

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Jaz stares.

So does Hands.

"Uh," Jaz says. "No offense, but I could have gone my whole life without hearing that sentence, and the mental images are kind of disturbing, I'll admit. Maybe that makes me no fun, but, uh." She winces.

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"You asked!" Trent protests. "Whatcha expect? We are as the animals are. But I wouldn't say it makes you no fun. Might make you a little innocent in the eyes of the gathered throng, though," he says, glancing about himself at the various freaks and weirdos chilling out around him.

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Jaz draws in a long breath. "I... yes. I did ask. True." She drains her beer. "I need another seven or eight of these." With that, she walks to the keg and refills her cup. "Okay, I'll wear the scarlet B-for-boring. I guess. I'm mostly ace anyway, so... I'm probably the wrong person to be having these conversations..."

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Trent gives her a look of sympathy. "Ace to the point of an allergy to the concept of sex and slightly weird sex might be a challenge around here. Lot of us draw a lot of power from it, one way or another. Next to the Ecstatics our shallow Verbenic fondness for fertility looks positively chaste. You know, the Great Rite--anyway. Point taken, I'm happy to keep the subject off to the side for your comfort." He gives an apologetic little lowering of the head.

"Moonlight...we'll have it soon," he sighs, looking skyward again. "Could I recall within me her symphony and song..."

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Jaz holds up her free hand and says, "I'm sorry. Like you said, a lot of us here are people who work with sex mystically. I just... well, never did, and it feels alien to me as well. My mentor and I weren't... involved that way, and I know a lot of folks in some trads are, when they teach and all. I don't have a lot of draw to the physical so much as the mystical in a more abstract or cerebral sense. Or a soul-sense, if you prefer."

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Trent pulls a face and laughs. "Well, given my mentor was my mother, I'm pleased to say I wasn't involved with her, either. At any rate. Not your thing: Noted, and entirely cool. I should..." Trent suddenly goes 'oh' and glances at the watch he doesn't have, digs out his phone, siiighs. "Massa. My dear little problem. Sorry, I have 47 texts from my boyfriend," he says, turning his phone around to reveal that, yes, this is in fact the case. "He gets like this about once a week and there is no cure but for me to go sit on his chest for a little while until the palpitations stop. Metaphorically speaking. He's fine, just...being himself." He waves vaguely. "Listen, it was a pleasure meeting you, Jaz, right? Trent Towers was me. The grove's just over--that way--and over there--at this such and such address. Drop by any time, alright? You're welcome to my garden, for reagents or just ingredients. I work with spirits, too; we'll wake something up together." He scoops up Tom, who complains. "See you soon, I hope!" And he's roaming off.