Chase Collins (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bastardofipswich) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
pineslog2017-05-07 12:15 pm
bastardofipswich) wrote in pineslog2017-05-07 12:15 pm
is this what true power feels like?
Who: Chase Collins & OPEN
Where: School, around the town, home
When: May 7th - 14th
What: Things start getting a little ~WITCHY~
Warnings: Addiction (to magic as a stand-in for drugs, but. You know. Themes of addiction, all the same).
[Open]
It started as this little itch he felt at his fingertips-- not too bad at first. Intermittent and easy to ignore and write off as some kind of side effect of his 'accident.' But as the weeks passed, it grew and spread through his insides, this persistent, gnawing hunger for something indefinable.
And, since nothing he did would make it go away, he started to become restless, agitated, way more of a pill than usual. (Sorry, Sam.) He just wants to make it stop, but whatever it is his body (no, more than his body) wants, he can't figure it out.
It's a month since his accident-- four weeks of living with this growing hunger-- before something gives. It's during gym class, of all things. All he's doing is sitting at the top of the bleachers, shoulders hunched and arms hugging middle as he watches his classmates scurry around playing dodgeball. Being the exact opposite of a team player, it was easy to let himself get hit and sent out within moments of the game starting. The bleachers give him a great vantage point to watch everyone else run around like idiots and get smacked with balls.
But more than ever, there's that itch in his fingertips, and that hunger, and the desire to rip his skin open and step out of his body. His foot taps on the bleacher in an agitated staccato, eyes following the dodgeballs flying back and forth.
Maybe he shouldn't have stood there and gotten himself knocked out of the game, because god, he wants to hit someone. Like that kid over there, Mr. All-American All-Star Athlete, freaking boyscout could use a ball to the face. He can practically see it playing out in his head and, with a reflexive twitch of his fingers, suddenly it happens. One of the dodgeballs goes careening towards his classmate's face with a smack hard enough to bust the guy's nose. The game stops and the teacher's checking up on him, the other kids trying to figure out who threw the damn ball, and no, there's really no reason for Chase to think he had anything to do with it. It's just a freak dodgeball accident, and he wasn't even playing.
But he felt something when it happened, a little spark of something, and then a rush that coursed through his veins. For the first time since his accident, he finds that hunger inside him sated.
After the incident in gym class, Chase spends his days experimenting. Mostly, he moves things, and he basks in the high that follows. Then he starts playing with fire-- literally, he's starting fires!-- and next he moves on to conjuring familiars. One spider, two spiders, five, more, all skittering at his command.
Whatever this is, it feels right. It's his to command and revel in. And it comes so easily, like he's a real natural. (Or like he taught himself all of this before.)
Unfortunately, there's one thing Chase lacks: subtlety. He's not trying to use his magic or whatever out in the open, but come on. He's a teenager tripping on his own power, and that comes with a degree of recklessness. At school, around town, at home... Wherever he is, if he thinks nobody's watching, he'll start playing with magic.
Where: School, around the town, home
When: May 7th - 14th
What: Things start getting a little ~WITCHY~
Warnings: Addiction (to magic as a stand-in for drugs, but. You know. Themes of addiction, all the same).
[Open]
It started as this little itch he felt at his fingertips-- not too bad at first. Intermittent and easy to ignore and write off as some kind of side effect of his 'accident.' But as the weeks passed, it grew and spread through his insides, this persistent, gnawing hunger for something indefinable.
And, since nothing he did would make it go away, he started to become restless, agitated, way more of a pill than usual. (Sorry, Sam.) He just wants to make it stop, but whatever it is his body (no, more than his body) wants, he can't figure it out.
It's a month since his accident-- four weeks of living with this growing hunger-- before something gives. It's during gym class, of all things. All he's doing is sitting at the top of the bleachers, shoulders hunched and arms hugging middle as he watches his classmates scurry around playing dodgeball. Being the exact opposite of a team player, it was easy to let himself get hit and sent out within moments of the game starting. The bleachers give him a great vantage point to watch everyone else run around like idiots and get smacked with balls.
But more than ever, there's that itch in his fingertips, and that hunger, and the desire to rip his skin open and step out of his body. His foot taps on the bleacher in an agitated staccato, eyes following the dodgeballs flying back and forth.
Maybe he shouldn't have stood there and gotten himself knocked out of the game, because god, he wants to hit someone. Like that kid over there, Mr. All-American All-Star Athlete, freaking boyscout could use a ball to the face. He can practically see it playing out in his head and, with a reflexive twitch of his fingers, suddenly it happens. One of the dodgeballs goes careening towards his classmate's face with a smack hard enough to bust the guy's nose. The game stops and the teacher's checking up on him, the other kids trying to figure out who threw the damn ball, and no, there's really no reason for Chase to think he had anything to do with it. It's just a freak dodgeball accident, and he wasn't even playing.
But he felt something when it happened, a little spark of something, and then a rush that coursed through his veins. For the first time since his accident, he finds that hunger inside him sated.
After the incident in gym class, Chase spends his days experimenting. Mostly, he moves things, and he basks in the high that follows. Then he starts playing with fire-- literally, he's starting fires!-- and next he moves on to conjuring familiars. One spider, two spiders, five, more, all skittering at his command.
Whatever this is, it feels right. It's his to command and revel in. And it comes so easily, like he's a real natural. (Or like he taught himself all of this before.)
Unfortunately, there's one thing Chase lacks: subtlety. He's not trying to use his magic or whatever out in the open, but come on. He's a teenager tripping on his own power, and that comes with a degree of recklessness. At school, around town, at home... Wherever he is, if he thinks nobody's watching, he'll start playing with magic.
no subject
That he should perhaps a single fuck about what Chase is doing right now doesn't occur to Pietro until he's practically close enough to feel the heat of the flame forming in the other teen's palm.
Which is not his favorite. Pietro backs up so fast he nearly blurs. ]
What are you--? [ Well, obviously starting a fire, but clearly not the usual way. ] How did you do that?
no subject
He's just staring right back, one-part in shock that he's been spotted, and one-part confused as hell, because is it just his imagination, or did Pietro back up way faster than any normal person would (or could)? Given Chase's own abilities, it'd be pretty stupid to write it off as a trick of the eye.
You need to get rid of him. He doesn't know why that thought comes to him, like he's been here before, thought the same thing, and followed through with it. Like it's so easy to 'get rid of' another person. Chase furrows his brow with a little frown, clapping one hand over the flame and snuffing it in an instant. ]
Magic. [ He says it like it's a joke and grins, easy and hopefully disarming, though come on, he knows Pietro's not as stupid as most people. He'd be surprised if the other boy dropped it so easily. ] Turns out I'm a big fan of David Copperfield.
no subject
Magic. Chase says it like he's just pulling his leg, like any idiot knows magic isn't real, but Pietro knows that it is. Or at least, what the humans call magic is -- something old and unpredictable and difficult to explain, hexes that start fires and draw pitchfork-bearing human crowds.
But Chase is human. And insufferable.
(And maybe not blind to how quickly he just flinched.) ]
You haven't got a match, [ he points out, careful, but not uncertain. He knows what he saw. ] And you didn't burn your hands.
go ask alice
So that's something. Since Cassian is nosy and paranoid to boot, he watches it from his peripheral vision as it makes it's way from the counter and out of sight into the midst of the room.
(There's roughly three people in the shop, other than himself at the moment. It's not hard to narrow down Chase as a suspect.)
It starts up again with a cupcake about fifteen minutes later and this time Cassian steps out from the backroom to cross his arms and watch Chase. Cassian's only associations with the kid are Pietro's complaints about group homework assignments and the knowledge that Sam, he who yells at cameras, is the responsible adult in that household.
"So we've graduated from ASCII unicorns to petty theft of sweets?"
May 10th, School?
But Taako's familiar. He knows how these things go, how it feels when magic ripples the air around him, the way magical fire smells, how you try to keep these talents to yourself when you're young and learning on your own.
He confirms it before he acts. He catches Chase out of the corner of his eyes during a walk around of the class, while he's lecturing about the proper temperature you want to grill at (It's May, memorial day is coming up! Prep those barbecues, guys!) and he quietly throws down a quick detect magic spell. Nothing big, nothing fancy, just to check.
Sure enough, a faint glow encompasses his student and confirms his suspicions.
Before the end of the period, Taako leans over Chase and pulls him aside.
"Hey uh... I'll give you a slip, totally, so don't even flip, but I need to talk to you after class."