faderift | Like a moth to a candleflame [Closed to Myr]

WHO: Myrobalan Shivana & Newt Scamander
WHAT: Myr and a rifter magical human disaster vs. a bunch of angry moths.
WHEN: Late Cloudreach 9:44, post Mage Strike and Rifter Arrival
WHERE: An unfortunate storage room in The Gallows.
NOTES: Mentions and descriptions of angry moths. For the Research division assignment here.

Newt couldn't help but find himself delighted at his latest assignment for the Research division of the Inquisition. Moths! Angry moths, apparently, destroying perfectly good and innocent books. Any work that he can do involving creatures of any sort gets him excited, these days, cut off as he is from his work on magical creatures back home.

He has a partner for the assignment, which excites him because, if he needs a partner to investigate moths, surely they most hold some sort of danger? Perhaps they breathe fire, or have sprouted fangs in unusual places. (It would hardly be the most surprising aspect of any creature he's studied before; he's seen plenty of unusual things in his time.)

He takes his wand with him, even as he knows well how unreliable his magic is as of late. He'd rather have it with him than not, no matter how useful, or not, it turns out to be.

He reaches the door to the storage room in good time, he thinks. He wonders if his partner is already inside, and decides it can't hurt to look, just in case. He opens the door.

Moths. So many moths. A whole army of moths, it would seem, all of them fluttering like mad about the crates of helpless books.

"Merlin's beard," he exclaims quietly. A smile tugs at the corners of his face. This ought to be fun.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Not easily," Myr says, sounding sorry as he does. "They're work to create and maintain, and I think the permanent sort require lyrium to fuel 'em. Or a very dedicated mage who's only doing that with his life."

Having caught his breath, he straightens from off his staff and reaches up to adjust his slipping blindfold again. At least it's not in danger of coming apart the way he thought it was for a bleak moment back in the hall, but-- Well. Worry about that when there's not a more interesting problem at hand.

"I'd not be surprised if it were. Might be worth asking the Provost if the others they've attacked were mages--that'd give us another point to draw from." And the thought of them being drawn to mages gives him a moment's pause as a thought ticks over. "D'you think, if we moved away from them enough and I brought down the barrier a little while, you could grab just one of them? I've got an idea I'd like to test out."

"That is a shame," Newt comments, shaking his head sadly as he watches the moths. Even as fond as he is of the moths themselves, he can't imagine any mage wanting to dedicate themselves to a life of maintaining a shield for the creatures.

"I'll make a note of that," he nods, reaching into his pocket for the spare piece of parchment he'd slipped into it. "Once I have a quill in hand," he adds sheepishly a moment later. Well, he did leave in rather a rush to escort the moths.

Newt considers the possibility. "I think so. Shouldn't be too difficult to catch a hold of just one," he says. "I'm ready whenever you are."

"Might be we could find another enclosed space to keep them in, though, that they wouldn't mind too much. As long as they've air and food, they'll be all right, won't they?" Animals--outside his bees--aren't Myr's forte, though he's got some ideas of the basics of keeping them.

He smiles then at Newt's abashed moment. "I've a pencil with me, if you want that once we've got our new friends a little more settled." And not trying to eat them, or their clothing, or whatever it is precisely these odd moths want so much they'd keep bouncing off the barriers with such zeal.

"But right--here we go." He takes a large step back, then another, making a beckoning gesture to Newt to come along with him. It's only when the sound of moth impacts on the barrier have dropped off noticeably that he stops in place and lets go his hold on it (with no small relief). Straightway they've got moths coming at them--but at enough distance Newt should be able to grab one of the nearer ones before the whole flock arrives to wreak sartorial destruction.

"It's worth a try," Newt nods confidently. He doesn't know these particular moths; they seem unlike any he's ever dealt with in his work and travels back home. But at least providing them with shelter and food seems as good a place to start as any. "And it would provide a place where we might observe them as well, to better understand them and their ways."

"Ah, I would appreciate it," he says gratefully. "I tend to leave in a rush quite a bit, and I'm always forgetting something."

Newt follows at the gesture, waiting for Myr to let go of the barrier. As soon as he does, the moths come flying at them, determined as ever. Newt reaches forward and grabs one as gently as he can but with a firm enough grip that he doesn't have to worry about the creature flying off.

"Got you, you little bugger," he says.

Like a moth to a candleflame [Closed to Myr]

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