thoughtformed | Action

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[No one can see him, not even himself. He forgot a long time ago what he looks like, and he wonders if anyone even remembers who he is. Not that he can exactly go and ask someone. He holds onto his cloak, digging his hands into the fine, intricately detailed fabric, more of a decoration than a barrier against the cold. Snow falls wherever he walks, sticking to the ground a bit longer than normal snow. He talks to himself to keep himself company, mostly commenting on anyone else he sees. The curse missed his voice, even if it silenced it from everyone else. Right now he follows someone carrying groceries.]

Heading home?

[No answer.]

People are talking that there could be a blizzard. [No they're not.] Sure that's enough if you're stuck in your...whatever you call what you live in?

[No answer.]

[So he tries harder. He talks and talks, about the mundane and the extraordinary, until without thinking, he gives one light tug to the bag, causing the person to drop it, ruining everything and making a mess. Jack laughs, loudly and a little wild. He feels a little guilty afterward, but no real harm done, right? Now that the distraction's over, his mood sours once again. He doesn't know what else to do, but what other choice does he have but to keep trying? The snow whips around him violently, as he wanders, looking for someone new to follow.]

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[People staring isn't really his concern - people stare at him often, he's used to it, and this is far too interesting for him to care if he's being watched.]

I.. Of course I do, I'm a wizard. This.. [He pushes a hand over his hair, this was..] This is amazing. If you're truly the lost prince that I believe you are.. Ah-- I must get home, I have literature on this, I..

[Whether Jack is following him or not, he jams his hat back on and sets off along the path, almost running in his haste to get home.]

Wait! You're going to go read now?

Don't... don't leave me here.

[Oh wait. He can just follow him, can't he? He jogs to catch up, matching his strides.]

[It's not far to where Arthur lives, and he fumbles with the door in eager excitement before flinging it open and ducking inside. It's larger inside than it looks on the outside, and he leaves the door open as if he's expecting to be followed in. He drops his hat and shrugs his cloak off, draping it over a chair on the way to a rickety bookcase which sways and jolts as he pulls dusty volumes off it.

Then he stops, seems to take a breath to calm himself down and pushes a hand through his hair, straightening up.]

You did follow me, didn't you? [Something about the chill in the room tells him yes. He sets out a clean piece of parchment and a pen, then pulls his selected books over to a table. There's some clattering as he pushes things around to make room, sending other scrolls and bottles to the stone floor, then he lets out a huffy breath.]

Jack?

[Give him a moment, Arthur. He has to make sure he's seeing this right. He finally does step in, exhaling a single awed breath of what he assumes is magic.]

That's a lot of books. Have you read all of these?

[Well, he's not just going to stand around. He grabs the first book he sees that appears interesting with care, about to read it.]

Yes-- It would be kind of hard to find me.

[He notices the parchment, and pen, and without asking, because what good would that do, he scribbles out a Yes.]

Ah, good, you can write on that. Good. Excellent.

[He'd left it out in the hope that Jack could use something other than snow to write in, and he isn't disappointed. He flips open one of the books - a handwritten volume - and leafs through it.]

Jack.. Jack.. I know I've read of this somewhere. Quickly now, how long has it been? Come along!

[Don't mind him, Jack, he's just a little jumpy. How often does an opportunity like this come along, after all?] Wait, do you know how to fix this? What were the terms of the curse?

[Jack starts doodling on the sides, putting a hand to his brow as he struggles to remember.]

How long?

[I lost count after the fifth winter. The terms require that I use my..."gift" to help someone, but they have to realize who it is, and I have tried many times. Nothing has yet to work.]

Hmn.. how old fashioned.

[He shakes his head, throwing himself into a chair. A book falls open in his lap and he points to it without looking. Written in spidery script is the tale of a prince, and if he's right, it's the very one he's talking to.]

Well, I know who you are, so I suppose we're off to a good start. [He pauses, frowning slightly.] But I imagine it can't possibly be as easy as that.

[...What's the new fashioned curse? Jack walks by to hover over Arthur's shoulder, reading the tale with intensity. Someone had written a book about him? Who? How long had it been?

He goes back to keep writing. If it were, you would be able to see me. Believe me, I have tried everything.]

[Arthur mutters under his breath as he reads, and though he doesn't know Jack is the cause by his leaning so close, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He rubs at them lightly, glancing over at the paper as the boy writes.]

When I say old fashioned.. it's a rather classic curse, though intolerably difficult to break. [He says 'intolerably' as if he views this kind of curse as an inconvenience.]

Since they can't be deliberately broken... It must be a selfless act.

[The temperature in the room begins to drop, the wind whipping around a little while snow forms.

But I always think about it. How am I supposed to not?]

That would be the entire point of a selfless act. [As if he needs to point that out, right? Right? Not that he's terribly inclined towards selfless acts himself. He could probably count the number of them he's performed on one hand, but it was the very nature of them that made them difficult, and particularly in this case.

Of course the first thing Jack is going to want is for people to see him.]

I.. am going to have to give this some thought. Would you mind not creating a blizzard in my home?

[Jack refrains from banging his head into the bookcase. Arthur's just trying to help, it's not like he's the one who made the curse, and curses are meant to be difficult.

Of course, Wizard. Perhaps I should step outside.]

Hm? Oh, no, there's no need for all that, just keep yourself under control.

[Arthur huffs out a breath and frowns. It's exciting, in a way. How many people got the chance to be even a small part of something like this? He leans forwards, resting his elbows on the table in front of him and pushing a hand over his hair, rocking gently back on his heels.

Near the edge of the table, a candle wobbles, close to sliding to the floor.]

Do you recall who put the curse on you?

[It takes some effort, but Jack manages to keep the cold from spreading. He distracts himself by spinning a stream of snow around his hands, though, to Arthur, it will only appear to be some snow floating in midair.

The former wielder of Winter, from a close-by neighboring kingdom. Our kingdom is resilient to attacks. He knew this, and he knew he could never defeat us. After it happened, he--

He was executed on sight.]

.. Oh, bloody marvellous.

[And likely all his work was destroyed along with him. Arthur pushes his hands into his hair then drops his head to the table, jolting the candle and sending it toppling to a pile of books and curling parchment. The closest edge of the paper begins to slowly blacken and curl, then catches alight, orange flame running along it.]

[In hindsight, perhaps it hadn't been the best action to take, but there's nothing to do about it now.

Wait. Something smells like smoke. Fire? Oh no. Not good. Jack really doesn't like fire, at all, and this fire isn't contained on a candle or in a fireplace, so he reacts without thinking, soaking the paper (and possibly Arthur) with several waves of snow.]

Agh!

[He brings his hands up to cover his head, too slow, and suddenly there's snow sliding down the back of his neck. The wizard sits up, shuddering.]

I said control yourself! Are you incapable of following a simple instruction?

I'm trying!

[Jack spreads his arms out in anger, knocking over a few books.]

You're welcome for saving your books.

[It takes him a moment to calm down, and when he does, he simply scrawls, Next time I'll just let the candle burn.]

Oh, yes, because soaking the books is a far better bloody option, try harder t--

[In the middle of crouching to dig his books out from under the snow, Arthur seems to realise something.

That something is that he hasn't looked at the hastily scrawled words on the desk, but rather, he heard a voice. He straightens up slowly with his back to the prince, clearing his throat.]

That is, I suppose they'll dry out well enough.

...What?

[Jack jumps onto the corner of the table, crouching as if to make himself as small as possible.

He doesn't hope. It was only a coincidence, or maybe he misheard Arthur, so he's surprised when he speaks without thinking.]

Try harder to what?

You're welcome.

[Ehem.]

Try to, ah..

[Bloody hell, it can't have been that easy, could it? A dropped candle (he should know better than to leave flames lying around, he really should), and a few saved books. Had he thought about what he was doing?

Curses are such tricky things, after all.]

Control yourself.

[Yeah, that whole thing about control? Totally forgotten. He scrambles on the table, knocking things over until he's closer. Voice caught in his throat, he doesn't sound like he can quite believe it.]

You can hear me now?! W--why? I don't understand! Can you see me too?!

Oh, bloody hell, I don't want to look-- can you stop making a mess of my house?!

[He knows it's already a mess, Jack, but this is what we call organised chaos and we don't need it getting any worse! Arthur does turn around to scold him, though, then looks taken aback for a moment.

The wizard sure is looking directly at him.]

... Well, then.

Would you stop whining about your house and pay attention to what's going on now?!

[He stares, clearly a little frightened. Years of wandering with only the wind as his companion has left his clothing tattered at the ends and stained, and forget shoes. Regardless, clearly he's dressed like a noble, in garments of mostly blue, though he wears a cloak that looks like it was woven from moonlight itself.]

That's not an answer.

I have to sodding live here, thank you very much.

[Huff! He can hear him. That much he's sure of. He's pretty damn sure he can see him, too.]

... Get off the bloody table!

[How's that for an answer?]

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