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[This is written in a fairly neat handwriting, in a language that may look roughly similar to Arabic to those familiar with it. The paper on the bulletin board has a small note on top, with a lot of space on the rest of the page for people to fill in as needed.]

Since we're all from different worlds and cultures I think there are a few things we should probably get sorted out as a group. First thing should probably be how to address each other. Go ahead and write your name/title/what you want to be called, your gender identifier if that's important to you, and pronouns to use for you.

Kai, he/him

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[he's not going to get to see that for long though it has a title and you know what that means. 'Motherfucker!' she shouts, and then just switches to a reads left-to-right language so she can put letters under the figure like a floor.]

the artist is suppressed

[Primarchs read frighteningly fast -- and better, they've (mostly) got perfect memories.

Not so long after the poem disappears, it's rewritten in full.

Vanishes again.

Is rewritten a second time, without the final period.]

The artist is ambitious and gives a worthy offering. I dub thee Nerd-Probationer. Come and learn, as thou wilt.

Edited (text 2 big) 2026-01-23 06:10 (UTC)

Praise and thanks, so mote it be, etc

[she doesn't know remotely what he's offering but she does know this about the man:]

You're not going to wash me, are you?

[Now Magnus is back to writing like a normal person -- and from his own journal, to boot.]

The offer is sincere even if the delivery is dramatic. I am told you have some sorcerous talent of your own. Are you interested in furthering it?

[Then:]

Do you need a wash?

[well she's tired of the fingerpainting style anyway, it's got its charm but the vulnerability of it wears off with too much use. Hisako selects a third brush, whose sacrifice to the glitter won't bother her too much, and also because the pause lets her write calmly and without looking hurt or bitter.]

I'll have to disappoint you, I'm afraid. I was born with the human Gift, but I was severed from it when I became an Immortal. Stormwing magic is more limited and aside from a trick or two I've advanced mine as far or farther as anyone I've known.

[carefully underneath the question about washing, so she can resume something of a playful tone:]

I am not sure that is a problem I'm equipped to answer! Ask the one who used to smell so beautiful if there is something noteworthy about how I think about the subject.

You do not disappoint me in the least. I would be very interested in learning of your type of magic, and whether there is anything I might offer to further it.

[He's amenable to follow how they've split their conversation into two threads, and so adds his own reply under hers:]

You mean my brother? I had noticed we did not go unobserved.

Since you describe his unique aroma as beautiful, a further question: Is it natural for your kind to smell as you do?

Although if I do not mistake myself, you were the one asking for a fire-pit, were you not?

I'm sure there are some things, it just won't be anything like before the Human Era.

[There's not much she wouldn't have done for such an offer then. Hisako sighs and ignores old pain.]

It comes from our diet. We're a specific sort of carrion-eater, but as it happens I've never actually had the chance to partake. Three hundred and seventy years ago a consortium of mages were able to exile nearly all Immortals to the Divine Realms and created a barrier to keep us from returning. This was very shortly after I was turned. Fortunately, I don't actually have to eat.

[She puts a couple dots under 'three hundred and seventy' and then back under 'the Human Era'.]

That's how I would usually bathe. Or at least follow up getting wet. I get it though. It's a library.

[This is fascinating reading. So much suggested in so few sentences!]

I presume from the name of the era that such an act was a division, as it were, of all that was inhuman from the human world?

Was it done to protect them?

[Then, on another line,]

I could provide flames, though not the pit. At least not in any permanent form, until my communion with this island of the Great Ocean improves.

I would, of course, only do such a thing by your request.

[No involuntary baths for anyone who's meant to smell like a charnel house. He's broad-minded that way!]

Closer to mortal from immortal. Only the greatest powers can still cross back and forth freely, some of the minor ones can cross temporarily on the high holidays when the barrier thins, or visit mortal dreams. Lesser Immortals like yours truly can't manage at all. The powers sometimes pull mortals across, but if they're not ascended or converted the barrier drags them right back at the next holiday. I wish I knew how it was made. So often mortal magic dies with them and a great work has to be passed down to outlast its creator, but no one maintains the barrier and it didn't so much as flicker when everyone who worked on it was dead.

Some Immortals are monsters and exist to prey on mortals. Some are closer to animals. Plenty of us are just people. There certainly was conflict, but we shared worlds for eras. The consortium happened a continent away from me and no one closer has a single clean answer for why.

[She's using 'powers' even if it's not quite accurate because she's noticed sometimes these people get weird about 'gods'.]

Can we test this first? Magic fire has different rules. Imagine the fuss if there's a mis match.

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