*Is* this how it happens?

[for_tradition]

There's a woman in the Bar proper. She's commandeered a medium-ish sized table and covered it with things: books, pieces of parchment, notes. There's a plate of biscuits and a pot of tea. She has one pair of glasses tucked on her shining brown hair, and she's wearing another, and she's humming to herself.

She is also, as a certain cavalier might say, mega-dead... but she doesn't seem at all perturbed by it.

Comments

[for_tradition]

"A spirit magician!" she says, in the same tones someone else might say "Santa Claus!"

"That happens to be the specialty of my own House, you know. The Ninth House techniques are quite different from my own – how different is impossible to say, they are very protective of the secrets behind their skill – but in a broad sense, yes. The Reverend Daughter and I are both necromancers of the Nine Houses."

[acrookedpath]

"It is?"

You would not think it possible for Wei Wuxian to brighten even more, but somehow, he does.

"Harrow mentioned other Houses have their own specialties, but I did not realize it was so varied as this! How does it work? Ah, I know that is too broad a question, but I do not even know where to start, when all I know is my work and Harrow's -- "

He grabs his red ballpoint pen from its loop in the portfolio and clicks it with an eagerness some reserve for fine wines and desserts.

(Not that Wei Wuxian would turn down wine or desserts, either.)

[for_tradition]

She laughs, a trifle wry. "The Reverend Daughter did not seem altogether interested in spirit magic during our few interactions," she admits, slightly underselling Harrow's intense disdain for anything not relating directly to bones.

"There are a number of techniques and theories particular to the Fifth House: broadly speaking, we are spirit callers; speakers to the dead."

[acrookedpath]

"I see!" For the little she has said, he is already scribbling notes. (At some point, he thinks, he ought to add some ordinary paper to the portfolio as well. Even if he can get all he needs for free, there is no sense in wasting talisman paper!) "That sounds much like my companion's path as well. He is a cultivator, not a necromancer, but cultivation involves plenty of speaking with the spirits of the dead."

He scratches the back of his head with the pen.

"So does my necromancy, of course, but it is more of a commanding than a questioning at times."

[for_tradition]

"So you are adept at summoning?"

She pulls her own notebook over, but before she can jot anything down, she glances over at him and exclaims in surprised delight. "That paper, the calligraphy – did you create those excellent paper talismans I saw among Moraine Sedai's notes?"

[acrookedpath]

The easy grin freezes.

"I may have," he answers, cautiously. "Which talismans?"

[for_tradition]

"Physical transference," she says. "Is that what they were meant for? They weren't precisely like any others I've seen, but there are a few similarities. I found them quite striking."

[acrookedpath]

Ah. Yes. She did not make mention of using the portal talismans, did she -- only the ones to check for suppression on the resentful anomaly.

He forces the grin to relax into a small chuckle. "Yes, those are my work," he says. "One to set in a safe location, another to activate and quickly travel to the first talisman. They are useful when one needs a quick escape."

[for_tradition]

"I thought they were marvelous," Abigail says, admiring. "Very clever. I know next to nothing about portal magic; I suppose in some ways it must be similar to a summoning, but how do you ensure the body and soul stay together? At any rate, I was curious about their author, and now here you are."

She beams. "What good luck!"

[acrookedpath]

She is so genially earnest that Wei Wuxian cannot help but warm to her, despite her mention of Moiraine. (In truth, the flattery doesn't hurt, either.)

"Ah, it is written into the talisman itself," he says. "It takes effort to separate the body and spirit where I am from, aside from death -- a simple working to keep the cultivator safe from harm is usually all that's needed."

[for_tradition]

"I see," she says, perching one pair of spectacles on her nose and scribbling something in her notes. "I assumed the portal would take the subject through the River itself – but if that is not the case, then I can see how it might not be necessary."

She looks up at him and smiles. Her spectacles are really quite thick. "How have your own studies progressed here? This place possesses resources the Sixth would collectively give their right hands for; it's very nearly overwhelming."

[acrookedpath]

"The River -- that is the final resting place of spirits in your world, yes? I cannot fathom how to cross through that and back into the living realm so easily."

Now he's thinking about it, though, and oh, would that be a project to undertake.

"That will have to be another topic for my own studies! They progress... ah, interestingly, I suppose?" He scratches the side of his nose. "I hardly had a concept of thanergy at all before Harrow introduced me to it -- an energy of the body wholly separate from that of the spirit, but utilized just as easily, something that is death and decay itself rather than the result of death. Considering where we are -- "

He gestures upward to the Observation Window.

" -- I hope to learn how to use it, for it would be much faster than calling for resentful energy all the way from the forest. But the one time I touched it, I was chilled for hours. Harrow has her theories why; I have my own. I suspect the truth combines them all to varying degrees."

[for_tradition]

"Actually," she says, leaning forward and dropping her voice as if imparting a trade secret, "I always believed there was another place, somewhere beyond the River, and that the ghosts trapped in the River are always trying to cross it to get there. And I have to say, now that I'm dead, I believe it more strongly than ever."

Sitting back, she sips at her tea, and nods. "I have no basis of comparison, of course, but my guess is that it would be quite difficult for someone outside the demesne of Dominicus and the Post-Resurrection state of our worlds to utilize thanergy in exactly the same way a necromancer of the Nine Houses might. Not to say it couldn't be done, of course...and if there were any place where it might be possible, I must say I think it would be this one."

[acrookedpath]

Wei Wuxian leans in when she does, equally conspiratorial; he lets out a small oh of delighted understanding, nodding vigorously in agreement.

"That was what Harrow thought as well -- that I am different because I lived on a thalergetic world, and cannot safely handle thanergy without sheathing it somehow," he says. "It would also not surprise me if channeling thanergy upsets the balance Madam Bar maintains for the dead. But if you are also dead, and can channel it with no trouble, then your theory and Harrow's seems more likely."

[for_tradition]

"It's mad heresy to say so, of course," she says, cheerful, in response to his enthusiastic agreement. "It's no longer quite de rigueur to believe in the place beyond the River."

She seems remarkably sanguine about being branded a mad heretic, and calmly sips her tea, eyebrows lifting at his theory. "Do you know, I haven't actually tried? I wonder if I can...and what it will mean if I can. Or if I can't, that would be just as fascinating."

[acrookedpath]

Being a bit of a mad heretic himself, Wei Wuxian can only grin in recognition.

"You will let me know if you succeed, won't you? Or if you don't! Though I hope you can, for the sake of continuing your work -- it took me some time to find enough resentful energy to call upon, and it set my explorations back weeks."

[for_tradition]

"Would you like to help me experiment?"

He's older than Isaac and Jeanne...but not by so much Abigail doesn't feel a familiar warm swell, the desire to teach, to support, to encourage.

And he seems like such a sweet boy!

[acrookedpath]

He had started to pick up the ginger biscuit for a closer examination (and an eventual nibble), but at this, he quickly sets it down again, beaming. M

"Of course! What would you have me do?"

[for_tradition]

"Are you able to determine the nature of a summoned spirit, or its intent?" she asks, putting down her teacup to wiggle the wedding ring off her left hand. Like everything else she is wearing, it is simple and beautiful, all understated elegance: a classic band of yellow gold that looks as though it was made for her hand alone.

(It was.)

[acrookedpath]

Wei Wuxian makes a noncommittal noise, wiggling his hand from side to side. "Not exactly," he says. "I rarely get impressions of an individual spirit as it may have existed in life; just the mass of resentful energy it carries. And its intent is always furious by nature. It would not be resentful otherwise."

[for_tradition]

"That will work splendidly," she encourages. "You can assist me by making sure no resentful energy sneaks tags along with the spirit I'm summoning. And I'll appreciate having another adept here to corroborate my findings; lacking a council or publication for peer review, we must be extra diligent if our work is to be taken seriously."

She says all this exactly as if Wei Wuxian is not just a new acquaintance, but a respected colleague. Clearing the table between them, she lays out a fresh sheet of white flimsy and begins to sketch a circular diagram.

"Summoning is easiest when the deceased is both newly dead and someone you know well," she explains, as her pencil moves quickly and surely. "This theorem depends on an anchor, an item which once belonged to or was used by the person in question. The more powerful the necromancer, the more vague the connection between anchor and soul can be. I don't wish to brag, but I can summon a soul multiple thousands of years old, using the pencil that they chewed on in life."

With the diagram finished, she places the paper in the center of the table and sets her ring in the middle of the drawn spell circle, then digs into the sleek twist of her hair to tug out a pin.

"So we have intent, familiarity, a physical anchor," she says, very much as though she is teaching a class. "The last thing we need is food – a tithe, if you like. In this case, I should think just a little will do."

Pricking her finger, she squeezes a single drop of blood, and deposits it gently in the circle of her ring.

[acrookedpath]

Interesting.

He leans closer, scribbling notes in his haphazard calligraphy as she speaks. Every one of Wei Wuxian's teachers would be dumbfounded by the earnest, eager young man who's replaced him -- but it is still such a novelty to be student and peer both, learning something interesting, something familiar enough to hook his attention and different enough to hold it firm. This is not the Ninth House's necromancy, either, with its head-spinning minutiae that relies so much on the physical. They do bones. Wei Wuxian does spirits, and so does Abigail Pent.

"That is more complex than the workings I know," he says. "But it would have to be, to call an individual spirit! Here -- " He pulls the bamboo flute free of his belt to lay on the table. "I am ready, should anything follow. I will only need this."

[for_tradition]

"Oh, yes," she agrees. "The more specific the spirit, the more particular the Summoning. As it happens, I'm very familiar with the soul I'm calling, but well-prepared is half done, as they say."

She casts an interested, approving glance at the flute, arches an eyebrow and says: "Can't wait to learn about that...now then, shall we?"

She places her hands, palms up, at the edge of the table, arms slightly outstretched, and nods for Wei Wuxian to do the same: their hands become nodes quartering the circle of the table. With all in place, she begins.

"You who were betrayed. You who were lost by surprise. You who died protecting that which was most precious to you, listen up!

"I am a spirit-caller of the House of the Fifth. I am Abigail for my mothers, Pent for my people. I bid you come, I offer you a hand in guidance. I name you: Sir Magnus Quinn, Seneschal of the Koniortos Court, Cavalier Primary of the Fifth House, best of husbands and best of men. Dear, come say hello to Wei Wuxian, won't you?"

For a moment, nothing seems to happen. Then, the light gutters, as though the room were lit by dozens of candles all flickering at once. Abigail Pent's eyes are open, the pupils blown wide and black, and she's broken out into a light sweat, but she smiles.

"Come along, darling; we've only got eternity, you know."

[debtstothedead]

And in the shadows weaving over the table, a third pair of arms materializes alongside theirs.

The vacant chair to Abigail's right no longer sits vacant. Someone has joined them: a man near her age, curly-haired and kind-eyed, his clothes finely tailored and his smile jovial. He chuckles as he takes in the sight before him.

"You still can't resist a formal invitation, can you, darling," he says warmly. "Hello there! Wei Wuxian, was it? Sir Magnus Quinn, seneschal of -- oh, never mind, she already mentioned my full title, I'm sure. Magnus is fine."

He extends a hand to Wei Wuxian.

[acrookedpath]

Who is staring as wide-eyed as if Magnus had extended a sackful of gold to him -- and then he beams, delightedly, at this fantastic trick Pent-laoshi has displayed.

"I am honored, Magnus-gongzi," he says, laughing, and starts to reach for his hand before pulling it back in sudden concern. "Ah, Pent-laoshi, will I disrupt anything if I...?"