ph_logs | [OPEN] through telescopes and calculations

[OPEN] through telescopes and calculations

Who: Felix Gaeta (

not_a_traitor) & YOU!
What: If any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, then magic should be translatable to sufficiently advanced technology. Or: Gaeta finally gets a frakking hobby.
When: Throughout July
Where: Mostly on the green in Downtown Hollow
Warning(s): probably lots of scientific + mathematical inaccuracies because I am writing waaaaay outside my wheelhouse, if you're an expert in either pls forgive me. (Will warn for anything else as it comes up!)

0. spellbook [meta]

In the middle of another sleepless night, right before he manages to drift off at a truly indecent hour, Gaeta blearily scribbles in his notebook:

VOICE = SOUND WAVE/VIBRATION
GESTURE = PHYS. FORCE
MATERIAL = INTERACTION W/CHEM. ELEMENTS (RIPLEY'S ROCKS?)

Shockingly, this still makes sense in the morning. Mostly. He'd been thinking about the intersection of science and magic again, rotating different frameworks around his head -- could magic be described as a chemical element like carbon or oxygen? Radiation, or some other energy emitted as an element decays? A force like gravity? -- and his brain combined it with some actual mechanics of spellcasting as he'd observed around Marrow Isle for the last year and change. A chemical element could easily interact with any of those mechanics to produce a new result. A force could act upon those mechanics. Radiation... well, that one's probably better folded under an elemental framework. (He was really tired when he first started sketching everything out, okay.)

The more he thinks about it, the more he leans toward force. Something similar to electromagnetism, maybe. That could open up a whole host of possibilities, ranging from intermediary force carriers to atoms taking on an entirely new kind of charge -- positive, negative, or magical -- if subjected to the right conditions. Too bad half the island hasn't even heard of quantum physics yet, let alone built the proper research equipment, but every major discovery starts with basic observation, right? He can probably build a couple small things. See where it goes.

Looks like Gaeta has a new project to tackle.

1. detect magic

Say magic is a variation on an electromagnetic charge. Simple experiments with everyday objects that demonstrate positive or negative polarity are a cubit a dozen; electroscopes can be slapped together in under an hour with the right supplies. And thanks to a recent purchase at Cukefest, he's even got an item on hand that he knows is holding some version of a magical charge.

Gaeta doesn't have a yard of his own and doesn't want to disturb Mulcahy's garden if something goes awry, so once he thinks he's got a good idea of how to modify an electroscope to detect a (theoretical) magical charge, he sets up the experiment on the green, far enough away from the giant watermelon that he won't have to worry about ants getting into his equipment. Along the center of the table rests his cane. The modified electroscope, rigged with a stone that one of the shopkeepers said would work well as a "focus" (which almost sent Gaeta down an entirely different research rabbit hole before he yanked himself back), rests nearby. All it should take is a tweak here, a shift there, then bringing the focus close to the cane, and...

Two things happen in quick succession.

One, the stone bursts into flame.

Two, Gaeta's cane goes rocketing off the table like it's been yanked by invisible strings.

Gaeta yelps in pain, drops the focus, swears, shakes out his hand, then swears even louder once he realizes his cane's hurtling right toward an unfortunate passerby. "Shit, frak -- LOOK OUT!"

2. spell components

So, yeah, that didn't work. (Or maybe worked too well?) Time to take it back a few steps.

He spotted something interesting in the window of the toy store a while ago: a kit that reminded him of those baking soda and vinegar volcanoes he made while on his geology kick as a kid. Except this one purports to show how different mechanics of spellcasting -- voice, gesture, and material -- can affect the same object. Just the thing he needs to study the basics. So what if it's meant for an eight-year-old? Frankly, that's about where his knowledge base is at.

About a week after the Cane Incident, he's back on the green with a slightly less dangerous-looking setup. Three palm-sized origami boxes labeled V, G, and M. That's it. But with the intense way Gaeta's staring at them, somebody might be forgiven for thinking there's more to it.

Slowly, he hovers a hand over the one labeled G. Curls his fingers. Flares them out in swift mimicry of an explosion.

...

Nothing.

"Godsdammit," he mutters as he slumps back in his chair. Well, apparently his knowledge base is worse than an eight-year-old. Not entirely rhetorical, pressing his hands over his face with a frustrated groan: "What am I doing wrong?"

3. minor illusion

Then he comes across a particular illusion spell that seems ripe for dissection. It's already easy to create a ghostly three-dimensional projection with the right materials, angles, and light sources; Gaeta did it for fun a couple times during his other magic phase at age nine (though that was the rabbits-and-card-tricks kind of magic, not... this). He can jot down the equations and a proper diagram without even thinking about it. So just like he tweaked the electroscope, he should be able to modify the setup to incorporate what he's learned regarding actual magic.

Which means letting his ego take a solid beating for a couple more weeks, but whatever. All in the name of scientific progress, he guesses. If he continues looking like an absolute fool on the green, muttering to himself as he adjusts materials and tests different gestures to see how one angle of attack might affect the stability of this interaction with that material and another -- well, at least nothing explodes this time.

One sweltering afternoon, as he looks so wrung out by the heat alone that it's a miracle he can do anything at all, he tries one more time before packing it in for the day. Knitting his fingers together, he flicks them upward and apart as if swiping an object from one computer screen to another.

Above the table, a translucent, shimmering map of the Twelve Colonies pops into view.

Gaeta stares.

And then he whoops so loudly he accidentally makes the whole illusion collapse, but who the frak cares? "IT WORKED!" he yells, punching the air with both fists, caught in the kind of gleeful excitement nobody on the island -- and maybe not even on Galactica -- has ever seen him display.

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Her eyes look over the failed spell, unfortunately interested in making fireballs herself, but she can't see from just a glance what in it might have erupted so. But Gaeta's question stops her from dreaming up new ways to condemn her foes to a fiery hellscape of her creation, and she gives it a bit of thought.

"I've done both, in the past. As I got stronger, I felt like I could try more things, see if there's any flexibility in a direction and if so figure out where it led me. But I've had people talk me through the process of certain ones. And no matter how I figure it out, they take practice to be able to do consistently." A little laugh from her. "There are a few people who I've taught some simple spells in this town, and I make that clear for them. Of course, they're mostly trying out my way, as opposed to your way."

She might not be able to give fully constructive advice on his method of doing it, but Fever can certainly cheer him on the whole time.

If Fever hadn't already mentioned that wizards followed an approach similar to Gaeta's, he'd be wondering if his approach could even work at all. The way Fever describes it is more like an artist learning a new medium, or an athlete training to grow progressively stronger. Sure, scientists play around a lot, too, and there's an artistry to an elegant mathematical proof, but...

...Actually, wait. Maybe if he tries to think of it like that, maybe this might synthesize a little better. (Even if she also said combining a sorcerer's approach with a wizard's approach would be a mess.)

A little cautiously, "Do you think you could show me how to do one of those simple spells you've taught other people? Even if I don't pick it up, maybe if I see how you do it, it'll help me figure out..."

In lieu of finishing that sentence, he gestures broadly to the mess scattered around table.

"It can't hurt, right?"

If nothing else, it can give him some more ideas. And she's hardly going to pass up a chance to show off her skills.

"Have a particular idea of what you want to do, or shall I simply go with my idea of a simpler way to set things on fire?"

She's going to need a chunk of watermelon for this, either way.

"Definitely can't hurt more than this," says Gaeta, with another twitch of an ironic smile, as he holds up his hand so Fever can see the faint shiny patch on his palm. It's practically healed by now, but frak did it hurt at the time. "I'm fine with more fire. Maybe I won't have to buy matches anymore, eventually."

"That's the spirit. Okay, I'll be right back."

With that said, she jogs over to where the giant watermelon is, pulling one of her daggers to cut a chunk of it out and ferry it back to the table. Sorry for the now sticky corner of your workspace, Gaeta, but she needs a target, and the fruit's juicy enough to not fully combust under a fire bolt or two.

"Right. So as I said, there's both movement and an incantation involved."

Stepping back, she pulls her arm into position, the magic reaching for her on reflex with how many times she's cast it. A mote of fire gathers in her palm as it does, swift and certain. Aim at the fruit, and...

"Ignis."

The fire streaks forth and crashes into the watermelon, fizzling out with a hiss and a puff of sweetly scented smoke.

Sometimes, one must make sacrifices in the name of science -- like getting watermelon juice on your work table. Gaeta will persevere!

He'll also pay close attention to Fever, scooting sideways a foot or two to ensure she has enough space to work. It's a little difficult in the moment to judge how one particular sweep of her hand, or twitch of her finger, might pluck the right strings of the Weave and lead to fire instead of, who knows, a water buffalo materializing in the middle of the green. But one aspect definitely catches his eye:

"Wait," he says, completely ignoring the burned-fruit smell in favor of leaning in excitedly, "wait, so -- did you conjure up the fire itself with the gesture and then direct it with the incantation?"

"Not exactly. More that..." She frowns a little, trying to be more precise, and then gives up - it's hard to put an instinct to words, hard to phrase it right, and Gaeta might have to ask more to get the information he needs. "The gesture on its own doesn't do anything unless I think about it. The incantation is more the directive to release the spell, to separate it from me and make it go elsewhere. It comes from something internal that knows somehow to turn enough energy into fire, to bring that into being."

It's hard, like trying to explain the basics of gravity when you don't know enough about physics to point to forces.

"I know it's internal, though, because in the past, there have been times where my power's been suppressed - and it makes me feel very, very ill. Like something's been taken away from me or cut off, leaving me weaker. It needs to be allowed to live in me. Of course, it could be that I've lived so long with it that all of me's learned to function in its presence and goes into a deep state of withdrawal, since you can't exactly snap back to how you were before. Or it's like extreme blood loss, or something like that. Vital."

She shrugs her shoulders.

"I had a lot of time to think that one over when it happened the second time."

So something about internal energy converting to external force. There are thousands upon thousands of scientific models that explain that very conversion, spanning physics to biology and more; it'll be one hell of a rabbit hole to dive down later. Gaeta scribbles a few more notes to himself, adding a line about SOMATIC = TRIGGER?, to pick apart later -- then looks up, a touch startled.

"I had no idea it could be like that." Subdued. "I'm sorry. The second time...?"

"The first time, it was a strange plant my friends and I came across. Something that fed on magic, absorbed it from any source it could, including anyone who could cast. It was deeply unsettling, but I was able to be rid of it swiftly. You find all sorts of odd things deep under the earth, surviving however they can, and its properties could be put to use. The second time, though..."

She pauses, thinks about how to do this delicately. Gaeta's close to Mulcahy, so it's impossible he doesn't know - and yet, she can't simply open a vault of anguish upon the man in the middle of the day.

"I suppose you've heard of a place called the Village, at least once."

Gaeta sits straight up, eyes widening, like Fever just kicked him in the shins.

"Frak," he says, low but fervent. "Yeah. I have. You were there, too?"

"Yes. Not as long as others, but...I was there before the end. Number 2 was clever - he had some sort of device to weaken those who might have otherwise been immediate threats to him. I expect he knew that unbound, I would immediately seek to destroy him and all those who would uphold his rule."

She takes a breath, and continues.

"He sapped my energy and my magic both. Simple spellwork would take as much effort as a ritual needing hours to conduct. Going for a regular walk required intermittent breaks so I didn't faint. Still, he didn't do enough." Fever smiles then, despite what she just said. "Turns out his device wasn't made to survive being hit with a hand full of lightning."

Gaeta exhales a slow breath through his teeth. Yeah. That fits. Every possible subjugation, every way Number 2 could rearrange someone down to their molecules while still keeping them alive, he'd do it. All so he could position himself as their god once they finally broke.

"Good." There's a quiet venom to that one word. "I hope he wasn't made to survive getting hit by lightning, either."

He knows, from Mulcahy's telling, that the bubble holding the Village popped about a month after the final crop of victims arrived. But he doesn't know -- and hasn't asked about -- much beyond that.

"Probably not. But his death was even more fitting. His prize victim - Peter Starr, someone he had tried to ensnare before and lost - had gotten married a while before all of this. And his wife was a woman of great power and equal vengeance. Unbound, there was no stopping her, though he attempted to command his numbers to fight us off. We held them back, and cleared her way - she tore his heart straight from his chest and squeezed until it stopped beating."

It's a good memory, in the end. Success, even as the demiplane collapsed - even as they knew that the souls within might not come back with them. Fever hopes that if she managed to find her way here, the ones that were there managed to find some kinder shore to wash up upon if they didn't manage to make it to the ship.

"A god might not survive that, and a mortal man certainly couldn't."

Edited 2025-09-15 01:33 (UTC)

A flash of recognitions lights Gaeta's face when he hears Peter's name. Though their time on the island only overlapped briefly, Gaeta literally carries a piece of him wherever he walks: Peter's the one who made his prosthesis. He'll always think of the man fondly. So to hear he was a victim of the Village, too, let alone its prime victim, sends a jolt through him like its own miniature lightning strike.

And then, at the rest, a small, vicious smile tugs the corners of his mouth.

"Good. It's no less than what he deserved."

Justice so rarely comes to those who abuse their power.

She nods, her smile mirroring his.

"There are more of us from that time, but we don't really talk about it, for obvious reasons. I only bring up Peter because he's not here anymore."

That period of time, and even before it - the ship feels like some great shadow they're all trying to escape.

"But there's no reason I can think of for that particular scum to ever set foot on this island. We'll never see him again."

"Gods only hope. If Mortanne brought us here for second chances, she'd ruin a hell of a lot of them by bringing him here, too."

He can't even fathom what would happen to Mulcahy if Number 2 turned up again. All that tenuous peace, shakily carved out over the last year and a half, shattered in an instant. Mortanne has never struck Gaeta as a cruel god, and to do that to a person who, by all accounts, she seems to favor...

Fever's right. There's no reason to expect Number 2 would return.

"Hopefully that'll also limit any chances of you, or anyone else, having their magic stifled again."

"Given the criteria Mother Mortanne uses to determine who she can bring here, I think it's safe to say whatever great expanse of nothing he's collapsed into will hold him far past anyone's memory. Some people need to stay dead."

But magic. She shakes out her wrist, and seems to have a renewed burst of energy.

"That said, in terms of getting you started before we even think about stifling - there's a few times a week I like to spend focusing and practicing with spellwork, and I've got no objections to anyone dropping by, if you think it'll help or offer any more insights to watch me go through all the motions."

"So say we all," he mutters. As Fever shifts the topic, the clouds clear from his expression; soon enough he's back to the same intent, bright interest as before.

"That would be great, yeah. If I can see more of it in action it'll help me process some of the physics. Sometimes you just need to -- " He circles a hand vaguely. "Have a clearer model, you know? Especially when I'm not reinventing anything, just reinterpreting it."

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[OPEN] through telescopes and calculations

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