westfallcorndog | Magic Lessons for Steve and Verity

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Magic Lessons for Steve and Verity

At the truly, rudely, ridiculously early hour of 3:30 in the morning Harrowheart sent the following texts:

To Steve:

"Steve; Borrowed a phone to let you know we will meet in 11 and 1/2 hours for magic lessons. Eat lunch first but there will be food. See you then! – Harrow"

To Verity:
"Verity; Borrowed a phone to let you know we will meet in 12 hours for magic lessons. Eat lunch first but there will be food. See you then! – Harrow"
A quick follow-up text reads: "Do not text this number back. Tell that Steve person the same thing."

The texts each accompany a photo of a hand-drawn map with instructions to a place on the far, far outskirts of the Parklands.

* * *

Eleven and a half hours later, Harrowheart is exactly where he said he'd be. The destination is a large area of tall grass surrounded on all sides by woodland that remains leafy despite whatever season it may be on other worlds. The whole area is surrounded by a wooden fence of aged split logs. On one side, nearest the path that leads up to the clearance, is an old picnic bench. Laid out on the table are two thick quilts, two pies under glass covers, a sizable trunk, and one lidded black cauldron sitting above a candle that keeps it warm.

Sitting there at the seat of the bench is Harrowheart. He's dressed much differently today than usual, all done up in a heavy-looking suit of blue armor with a red cape on his back that flows down between his spread legs. His hands are attached to his wrists inside a set of gauntlets. A pair of icy blue axes sit against the bench at awkward angles, their handles attached to the belt of his outfit. He pats his thighs anxiously and often looks to the pathway while he waits for Steve to show up.

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"So make up for it now. Harrowheart's done stuff he's not proud of either. We all have. use it as motivation to be a better you tomorrow. Believe in what you can be if you don't like who you are. I do."

It's easier to shove his own problems aside to focus on Verity's. Encouraging her comes easier. And Steve feels like he has big shoes he needs to fill. He needs to be there for people the way the Steve they expect would be. He wants to be as reliable as that Steve. For his friends.

"Everyone's got the potential to change. And harrow's right. I believe in you."

"Yeah, Verity, weren't you the one over there lecturin' me on anyone bein' able to change? You said gods can change. You're beatin' yourself up over maybe not bein' the best You that you coulda been. But it's not like you were the worst You, right?"

He laughs quietly and hesitantly offers, "I bet there's a universe out there with a worse Verity. And so what if there's a better one? You're our Verity. You're the one who's best in our book."

And it's not even a lie.

Oh man, they're being so sweet, she might cry. She's not crying, it remains entirely conjecture and possibility at this point, and she's wiping her eyes for completely non-crying-related reasons. "It is so much easier to give good advice than take it," she admits with a shake of her head and a sigh.

"This is the better me." This is her making an effort. Compared with what 'making an effort' can look like where she's from, it's pretty sad, and she doesn't think she's doing a great job of it.

Superheroes give people issues.

"Okay. Let's shoot for the best, then." Something something everyone can change. Everyone can come around. That's what the older Steve said, right? Okay, Steve has to believe he's right then. Embrace his future-advice. If even villains and bullies can change, surely the average person can accomplish as much or more. Steve doesn't know that yet, but the older one does. Augh, rationalizing things he's said but not him is giving him a headache.

Everyone can change.

He won't give up on those eyes, either.

Harrow smiles at Verity's last comment, possibly more enthusiastic about it than she is. "That's the spirit! And, hey, just so both of you know? If we ever do run into better versions of you, I promise I'll beat 'em up for makin' my friends look bad. If you two can't be the best You's around, at least you can be the best-looking."

Okay, so maybe changing from a villain and a bully is a slow process.

He leans forward just enough to inspect Steve's face. "So, Steve? Anything you feel the need to talk about, or do you wanna give magic another chance?"

She's not sure she can do better than this... but that's enough baring of her soul for today. Steve's comment gets a little nod, and Harrow gets a smirk. "I should warn you, the better me is probably a kick-ass SHIELD agent or something with like, perfect ombre hair. There's not much competing with that."

He needs to work the process. Has he taken a fearless moral inventory yet?

Verity tilts her head to give Steve a curious look, but no pushing.

"Remembered something Verity told me. That I went down over the arctic with Bucky. That we froze for years an' years....'fore they pulled us out. That's how he survived for so long. He didn't die....somehow. But how awful would it have been? To be not-quite drowning in freezing water for half a century? Alone, in the dark....so cold."

Steve pulls Harrow's cape around himself tighter.

"I saw a version of my friend here. Just once, when I first arrived. He looked...empty. Broken. But he knew me. And then he disappeared." It could mean a lot of things. It could mean nothing. Steve doesn't know what to make of it. Only that he's been left behind. Only that it's so hard not to blame himself. Not to hate himself to the core for allowing Bucky to become like that.

Okay, what? Where did any of that come from? Harrowheart has never been more confused, and he's a professional dumb person.

There is one thing he knows, though.

"That's my nightmare, man," he says, as if saying that is going to help the situation at all. "Being trapped underwater, like a prisoner in your own body forever and ever... Or long enough to lose your mind. Sounds like you had an awful dream? Prob'ly just feels more real than it is, huh? You moved to a new place, you're seeing all sorts of new things. You miss Bucky and you feel trapped here. It's got your brain all stressed out. Right?"

Right, Verity? Back him up on this, because Harrow's not too confident in it himself.

Verity's arms tighten around Steve too, to keep him warm and remind him he isn't in his nightmare.

"The important thing is that you survived. You and Bucky are survivors," she points out quietly. "Whatever happens. And you're going to be okay. Between Harrowheart's lessons and Samus', you're going to get home someday and you're going to kick ass and take names and win the whole damn war. You're not even going to need--"

No, not talking about that.

"...backup. Those finely crafted German tanks don't do so well in the Russian winter. Imagine what a master of ice magic could do to them." Totally nailed covering that up if you don't look at her face.

"...Yeah. I need to try. If I can't help one person....then I can't help anyone." Motivation enough to keep him going through anything. Steve doesn't have delusions of grandeur. He doesn't want to win the whole war. But if he can make a difference. If he can help anyone. If he can save even one life...

Especially if it's his best friend's...

Then he'll kill himself to try. Figuratively. Probably.

"I can keep going." He's standing up again. Nodding toward Harrowheart. "I can do this."

Harrowheart nods in return. As much as he wants to smile at Steve's perseverance or Verity's helpfulness he chooses to keep a serious and determined expression. The fun of emotional toil and openness is over. Now it's time for the fun of facing the same thing that just caused Steve a minor breakdown.

He stands, steps a few long strides away from the two, and nods once more at both of them.

"It's the same exercise, but this time you're gonna best it."

A wind picks up with a motion of Harrow's wrist and the cape he lent Steve billows, caught in the swirling gust that cyclones around them all, gathering speed and ramping up its icy chill. The sound of the tempest is enough that Harrowheart has to shout to be heard from just a few yards off.

"Go back to your memories, be in that freezin' place again! Imagine your pain! Imagine your helplessness... But this time, defy it! You aren't helpless to the cold! YOU have the power to control everything that happens! Find the determination inside a' you to reach out and control your dream! Take hold a' some part of it and make it yours! Use your power to reshape the world around you! Change your fate!"

Verity's going to stay on the ground for now. It seems like a good place to be right now, and she might be softer to land on if Steve has troubles again.

Defying the cold is easy, to a point. She's doing that every day. Every single day when she gets up, gets out of bed and out of the house, every time she talks to somebody, she's changing her fate. She's not that scared little girl anymore, lonely and alone; she's a scared grown woman with real friends. It's a vast improvement. It's maybe not so great for the grass when it starts to frost over around her. Maybe Steve doesn't want to join her down there anytime soon.

It sounds grand and mighty the way Harrowheart talks about it. And the wind whips around him. There's a crinkling sound and Steve can feel more than see the ground frosting under his right foot, by where Verity's still sitting. It's another thing that just comes naturally to her.

Another thing Steve fundamentally doesn't understand, and can't do. He doesn't know what he's supposed to be imagining. He can picture the cold. Can picture fighting back, swimming to the surface, breaking free and screaming his accomplishment to the skies. But what would it matter? The cold has no master. Nature is it's own servant caring little for the wishes of men.

Steve's breathing comes in little puffs as the air around all three of them plummets, but it isn't his doing. It's Harrow's. Verity's. He keeps his eyes clenched shut and pictures. Focuses.

For one tiny moment there's an audible crack as though someone was falling through thin ice. And then Steve's dropping like a stone, fainted dead away from the cold and the effort of giving himself a metaphorical aneurysm trying to summon magic he doesn't have.

"No, no, no!" Harrow gasps, and his voice is as clear as ever. The wind dies down instantly as Harrow strides forward and skids across the half-frozen grass to Steve. He puts his hands on Steve's chest, but he's got no idea what to do here.

"Verity!" he shouts, and then in a frantic whisper, "I don't think he should be doing this."

It's the crack that snaps Verity out of wherever she'd gone. She tries to get herself under Steve before he hits the ground, tries to catch him as much as she can. Better they share the bruises than he lose blood. Or worse. However he lands, she doesn't try and move him.

"No. This is officially bad. I don't suppose you know any healing magic?" Because she's only got basic first aid training. She can check for a pulse and do CPR if necessary, but will that be enough?

Steve's definitely still breathing, shallow and disturbed, as though he was having a bad dream, or winded. So, usual for him all things considered. It had worked for a moment. For just a tiny moment he'd been able to summon something, but then he'd lost it.

Along with the ability to stand, apparently.

His obnoxiously patriotic hat is askew when one eye peers open, glassy and unfocused.

"Did...we do it?" He sounds pretty out of it.

Edited 2015-12-03 04:53 (UTC)

All of Harrow's anxiety comes out in two loud laughs at the sound of Steve's voice. He right Steve's doofy hat, and though he shakes his head he's smiling.

"Y-yeah, you did good." Is that a lie? Is that a pseudo-lie? A half-truth? It's a not-at-all-truth isn't it, Verity? Are you going to be the one to break the bad news to that hopeful all-American face?

"How 'bout you take a little breather, man? Let Verity tell you all about it while I get some stuff outta the trunk." Yes, officially shift the blame to the lady who can't lie.

He pats Steve's cheek, and then he's off to the table to root through the trunk.

Thanks, Harrow. No, really, that's a glare of gratitude.

It doesn't last long. When she looks down at Steve, Ver's got a smile going. His hat may be straightened, but that cape could definitely use some tucking around him. "You did something. I'm not sure what. I heard a crack and then you fainted. Or did you just want back into my lap?" It's just teasing, but laughter's supposed to be the best medicine. Maybe not when he can't breathe properly.

"What do you remember?"

"I remember asking myself what muscle you're supposed to flex to do magic.....and then it got cold for a second? And then someone was yelling." The 'cold for a second' is probably him hitting the ground.

At least the crack wasn't any bones. He's all in one piece. Just disoriented.

"...My head kinda hurts a lot now though." Steve isn't bleeding out his nose or stroking out, so that's good. He's probably not hemorrhaging but it's impossible to tell at a glance. "...Did I Faint? Aww, maaan...."

"You didn't faint! You took a strategic nap." Oh, you liar, Harrowheart.

He turns around after his excavation mission and returns with his haul: In one hand is an Erlenmeyer-style flask filled with a vibrant red liquid. In the other, some kind of training sword with a wooden rod where a blade ought to be. Wedged under one arm is a round, wooden buckler with a metal ring around the edge. It looks suspiciously like it once was the lid to a barrel.

Harrow crouches down, sets down the weapons, and offers Steve the potion. "Healing potion. It tastes like daisy stems, so get ready for a mouth fulla grass. It's worth it, though. Drink it, you'll feel better. It'll wake ya up, heal ya up, make ya go all day. Give Verity a sip if she wants to drink after you." Asthma's contagious, right?

"I realized I shouldn't'a been havin' you two fight me. You oughta be fightin' each other. You're both newbies, it'll be good practice. Verity's gonna work on conjurin' or wand work, and you're gonna try to block her spells. The activity oughta get you warmed up again. Sound good?"

He'll recover from disoriented, but she's not going to rush him. "You fainted. But you don't seem to have hurt yourself in the fall, so that's good." She's convinced Steve appreciates her honesty. Let her have this one precious delusion, guys.

Healing potions sound great and all, and she's all for Steve getting one of those. But the rest of the idea... (that face, guys, that face). "Are you sure that's a good idea? How's a wooden sword going to stop magic?"

The healing potion is carefully sniffed before Steve takes a sip and winces because daisy roots are bitter wow how did he not know that before? It does do wonders for his headache though. The throbbing pain placates to a small ache almost immediately, which would be disconcerting except Steve's too busy being grateful. Another sip has him feeling more or less right as rain. He does offer the rest to Verity if she wants any.

"Sword might not unless i can deflect them. But this should work." Steve slips the buckler over his right arm and smiles somewhat at the weight of it. It's not too heavy to lift with one arm, even his noodle arms. He feels kind of heroic with a cape, sword, and shield. And a might bit silly.

"I'm up for anything that isn't fainting again, so feel free to chuck ice at me Verity. I'm pretty good at catching!" Someone's recovered quickly. Healing potions are sweet.

Harrow laughs at Verity and waves away her concern. "The sword's not for stoppin' magic! The sword's for hittin' you! The shield's gonna stop the magic. Here, look."

He motions for the two of them to stand and takes a step back himself.

"Verity, you and I are gonna work on a simple ice punch technique real quick. I'll provide ya with a little cold to getcha started, then you'll channel that coldness into the shape you want it to be. Think of it like a glove that'll go around your whole hand. Most of your focus is gonna go into containin' the magic so it doesn't hurt you. You gotta tap into that willpower to control your surroundings. The shape'll come naturally so long as you will it."

For a quick demonstration Harrow shapes his hand into a fist. A thick layer of crystal-clear ice forms around it almost instantly, and to prove how durable it is he beats it hard against his armored chest. Unfortunately it doesn't make a comical gong sound, just a violent thud. Then he flexes his hand and as quick as the crystals formed they're gone, falling off like grains of sand that disappear into the grass and melt away.

"Remember. Your focus goes into refusin' to be hurt by the cold. The shape comes naturally from the thoughts in the back of your mind."

As he promised he assists her with starting up the magic. Luckily he doesn't choose 'fucking cold winter tornado' as the spell du jour. Just a mini version of that, a channeled stream of icy magic localized around her hands that's cold enough to sting if she doesn't find the will to overcome it.

Steve's quick recovery is a relief, sure, she's got a lot of other things to think about right now. She's supposed to be learning magic and resisting a mini cold front and pulling her punches and turning off the fight instincts Samus has spent six months installing. Worrying about hurting Steve is taking up so much of her attention she doesn't even really notice the cold on her hands until it starts to hurt. Then she flinches away with a gasp and curls her hands into fists. She can't manage the clear ice Harrow showed them, but a layer of frost that insulates her from the cold is a start.

"I don't want to hurt you." It's a stupid hope, but she's hoping Steve will not try to hit her. The minute she feels attacked, he's going down.

"...I don't really want to swing a sword at Verity, Harrow. Even a fakey one." Steve isn't on board with this whole thing either. "I thought I was just going to deflect her magic. That I think I can do."

Steve gives Verity a long glance, and then tosses the sword to the ground before moving his left hand to brace the shield already attached to his right arm.

"You won't hurt me. Toss some magic my way. I'll block or use the cape, don't worry."

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Steve has big shoes he needs to fill alright. Fill with newspapers.

Aww, you guys~! <3

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Worried About Steve: The Saga

"Worried About Steve: An Original Lifetime Picture"

This is what happens when Warriors try to use Mana in WoW #Trufax

Steve Bluescreens. Or does he... Red white and bluescreen? B)

Harrowheart the Cowardly Worgen.

I'm so glad you said red/white/bluescreens because i was thinking it too.

Steve's an old man but he's too young to have a stroke. (Also cowardly worgen, I laughed)

:D

SHIELD HYPE

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