Pause (Ned Mood)
#1
"My disposition is as such: If I'm not engaged in war, fucking or some magical effort, then it means I'm on vacation. If I'm on vacation, that means I'm not doing anything worth noting to improve, degrade or upend the world as I know it. That doesn't mean I'm not doing anything, merely that what I am doing is only really important to me. If it becomes important to anyone other than me, then it's probably going to be life-alteringly important.

Not because I'm full of myself, mind you. I can throw fireballs and warp time. That tends to come with a bit of focused reality cause and effect.
"

~Debra Meetch, Cultist Adept~



Ned has been doing something routine for the better part of months now. 

Between being at home in the House on the outskirts of Aurora, that he shares with his cabalmates, studiously pouring over texts that used to be owned by some crazed lunatic who wrote about everything from 'How buttery your nipples can actually get' to 'Shub-ru-la-thag-la-Tghan'...

...and traveling back into Denver to take free classes or sign up for several well honed practicing in the medieval martial arts categories (Learning how to use a spear was a lot of fun, but carrying one around was also nigh impossible in a lot of respects so he'd had to branch into knife fighting and some shield work as well)...

...Ned had made a habit of forming a circuit that kept him relatively busy. 

Several times a month he made an effort to reach out to Beth and Wiley, the psychopathic high society pair who had been making pains and efforts to hunt down the supernatural, while also looking at discovering what manner of thing could potentially glow incandescent, observe from a distance and obliterate things with a wink (Not much luck on that one so far). 

Throw in a healthy dash of interaction (Read: Conflict, mayhem and the occasional brunch) with the Doc and Margot and his plate had been kept relatively busy. Or at least, engaging. 

About the only real discrepency throughout it all were the dreams. He'd kept those to himself this last little while because dreams were hard to interpret and he wasn't entirely certain they meant anything beyond 'You're still here. All things function.'

But they revolved around the same thing. At least once a week...

There are squares, circles and shapes indescribable. They form a blanket across all angles and perspectives. The world stops being about bodies, eyes and minds and is simply colour and shape. It moves in kaleidoscopes. Shifting, turning and spiraling. It is meant to be confusing and makes him remember when he wakes, that it is only this way to show him how much more attuned he is than most because-

It is not confusing. 
It is not disorienting. 
It is a puzzle. Changing shape. Re-organizing. Re-inventing. 
Pieces fit into other pieces when they didn't fit moments before.
Sections turn and twist in on themselves, negating their need.
Whole continental shelves of random enigma, slide into the ocean of solvency with a shrug or a hum or a murmur of eureka.
It has been this way. Is this way. Will be this way.
But the layers have grown deeper. The puzzle is still moving.
And there is something there that wasn't before.
A single dot at the centre. A lodestone to focus on. Something uniquely different or differently unique that defies the need to focus on it...
...because focus is not how the puzzle works.
But it is there.
He can 'see' it, even as he watches colours solve themselves into different tints.
He can 'see' it through the shapes that operate themselves into completion.
He can 'see' it all shift and change, around this little dot.

And understands beyond all doubt when he is waking into the world again-


Heavy breath. Blinking eyes in the dark, sheets of sweat and charged limbs like the marathon was about to begin.

"...A count down."
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