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WHO: Terra, Illidan
WHERE: THE CITY
WHEN: Around 2 am, 5/7. So, before and ~*~after~*~ Alex's warehouse solo rave.
WARNINGS: Do not eat, drink, or smoke this log.
WHAT: Some people get affected by magic. Some people don't. This is one such occasion.
WORDS: yes

It had been... a strange week, to be sure. The boggling magic that was the "Renaissance Faire" had long since dissipated, but it hadn't gone without residue. Things had been uncomfortably strained between Terra and Zelgadis, matters more complicated than ever. True, Terra thought to herself to the sound of her quiet footfalls, things were often complicated in Terra's life, especially where he was concerned, but it was a great deal more pronounced when they shared an apartment. It certainly didn't make it any easier to sort out her own mess of a life.

So it was well, well past midnight, and Terra needed space enough to think. She forewent the roof this time, instead taking a spring night stroll like more normal people.

Well, like normal people would have done six hours ago.

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He nodded, as if that was all he needed to know! And it was, mostly. Illidan didn't really like questioning things all that much. That was his brother's job, so the confused look just got a slightly quirked eyebrow over his golden eyes, and then he crossed his arms.

"So, we were walking? That's kind of boring, isn't it? Is there something to eat in this place? I'm starving!" and thus proving to Terra, that Illidan was once pretty much a normal teenage boy.

Teenage being relative. He was several thousand years old now.

"We were talking," she replied, and though her voice was getting steadier, her brain was not. Just. Look at him he's so tiny and not-scary and normal, what is this. More than anything else she keeps glancing at his eyes, if only because of how unusual they are, set in his face. She's too used to the bandage and green glow of magic.

It was pretty late, but there should still have been a couple restaurants open. Maybe a bar? She couldn't exactly abandon him like this...

"But we can get something to eat. What do you want?"

He paused, and looked over her again, before looking straight back forward. She was offering to feed him. Only Tyrande did that. He bit the inside of his lip. Why was she nervous? Were they lovers? Her and future him? It was possible.

Although he always figured--

Well, if they were lovers here, then he wouldn't exactly be with Tyrande? Was she dead? Maybe something had happened? He couldn't just ask her about that though! That was wholly inappropriate!

"Anything is fine. I mostly eat whatever they're selling down at the market back home anyway. I'm sure their markets would be the same here?"

She'd already claimed this to be a human world, so it wouldn't really be her fault if wherever she led wasn't actually palatable to an Elf. (What did Illidan eat, anyway? He didn't strike her as the type to go grocery shopping.) "I don't know," she answered honestly. She had no way of knowing what the markets of his world were like.

As they walked, curiosity got the better of her. "What do you remember?"

He thought about it as they walked. "Remember? I was with my brother, and Tyrande, and..." this trailed off as he attempted to put the pieces together.

"Well, then I was here? You said you knew me as I was older? That doesn't make sense. There's no magic like that! None that I know, anyway."

Which, as far as Terra could tell from his tone of voice, meant he probably hadn't been imprisoned for ten thousand years by said brother.

Probably a topic to avoid, then.

"Yes... much older," she decided with a nod, glancing up again. "And magic doesn't make much sense here. This world... it doesn't have any magic of its own. The only people with magic here were brought here. Like you, and me."

He tipped his head, his mouth screwing in curiosity.

"But..." he reached out, his magic senses dipping so naturally into something familiar, but it was sick, corrupted. It felt like slime and waste that rushed into him, and he felt sick when he touched it. He resisted the urge to upend the last of the food in his stomach, and instead cast a small fire spell, letting it dance on his fingertips before the magic rushed through him, and he had to rid himself of it, he tossed it quickly, before it burned him, straight into the streets.

"The well is here," he said resolutely. "The Well of Eternity, but it's sick."

It was a night of nothing but surprises. Terra paid little mind to the fire, flicking ice to chase and snuff it with barely a murmur. "So you can feel it..."

It had been created during the time she was absent from this world, dead and gone. When she had returned, she didn't possess the magical strength needed to sense it; regaining her powers had been such an ordeal, it had taken her a time to notice that dreadful distant presence. The other Illidan had reeked of it.

Her tone was curious, but a more serious tone. "It's sick?"

"In my world, the Well was the source of all magic in my world. It was everything, it was life. This feels like darkness, like it was there, but something covers it?" he ended in a question.

"Does that make sense?"

A hesitation, but she nodded. "Yes... I wasn't here when it was created, but I was here before... and after."

Her bare shoulders came up in a shrug. "There is no Well where I'm from. I can feel what you're talking about, but I... I had no idea it was like that."

He paused, thinking. "It was created? Who made it? Why is it here? It should be at home, and not like this!"

She shook her head once more. "I don't know," was only partially true; the whys wasn't something she understood, and the how -- both for how it had come to be here, and how it had been so contaminated -- were not things she knew.

Terra didn't want to be the one to break the news on 'who.' So instead, she redirected, and hoped he wouldn't notice. "What should be done with it?"

He held a hand to his chin, thinking deep about it.

"What can be done? The well is eternal, and the power can't just be destroyed. It works, so at least it can still do something."

He touched it again, like reflex. His people always had the well on their minds. "It doesn't feel too bad, on the second attempt."

"Maybe not destroyed," she offered, carefully watching the expression on his face. "But you said it was sick... like it was covered in darkness. Could it... be restored?"

He thought about it, a small stretch of silence. "Maybe? You would need a priestess of the moon, and Tyrande is not here. Nobody is," he sighed, and reached up to tighten his topknot in thought.

"You don't know anyone like that, do you?"

Terra matched his silence, turning over her limited number of acquaintances in mind. "Not... off-hand, no. What power does a priestess possess?"

"The power of the moon? A devotion to the goddess Elune," he smiled, and it was almost soft. Almost wistful.

"But if that can't happen, it won't hurt anybody. It's only sick, not diseased."

"It affects you," she pointed out, cautious. Even without knowing that he himself was (would be?) responsible for it, Illidan seemed to be getting defensive of the Well.

"It's..." he trailed off, trying to think of the right words. Even not knowing his future, even not knowing it had been he who made it, it was still the well, it was power. It hadn't been a single motion that forced his hand in the future. It had been a slow, long build of events, things.

"The Well is still the source of everything I am, of course it affects me. I am a sorcerer! I am still young, but I know I have a great destiny!" he smiled a bit proudly at that. It wouldn't be until many, many years later that he would feel the true burden of his destiny, of the power that his eyes would have on his own psychosis.

"When you first noticed it... it didn't seem to affect you in a good way."

Some of it, yes, was concern -- but learning about the Well, how it worked, was more important. If Zelgadis was right about Illidan, that he consumed magic, then having such a noxious source to fuel him seemed like a bad idea to her. It obviously didn't harm him, but perhaps it was part of what made him so difficult for Zelgadis to fight.

Again, she shrugged, turning her gaze to their surroundings. The streets were so empty tonight. It was disconcerting. "It makes me ill to go near it."

He nodded. "It's not like it hurts, exactly. It merely feels different. It amplifies my power, but not in a way that's good. It's like it's uncontrollable," he explained.

Not like his power was actually uncontrollable to begin with, but he wasn't going to admit that one, that's for sure.

"Why ill, though? I don't... I don't understand why?"

Especially not to the pretty human girl who may be his girlfriend (or not). Terra shook her head, a hand coming to her temple, disguised in combing through her hair.

"I don't know how to explain it... Every form of magic feels differently to me. There's just something about it that seems..." Her other hand seemed to grasp at some invisible chain hanging in front of her chest, but her expression was one of concentration, corners of her eyes tight.

He was confused, and curious. Sure, it felt off, but not ill-inducing. Just... off. Wild. Chaotic.

"Seems what?"

"There aren't words to describe it. It's like... describing the color of something with sound."

Here, finally, Terra stopped in her tracks, still grasping at something that wasn't there, her eyes closing for concentration. It was a dangerous action for the scenario, or would be were Terra another person, but what anxiety she felt had nothing to do with the late hour. Or, for once, her company.

She stood there, almost as though hanging in place, while her senses tried to pick out that distant Well, and what lingering shades of it the true Illidan had dragged this way. It was difficult for her to explain the causes, but even as far away as they were, her lips parted so she could breathe in behind hard teeth. As if it were an olfactory offense, yet having no scent.

"I feel... a sort of dread about it." There was a strain to her expression, her hand grasping phantoms. "Like... coming upon a tree with a rotted base. Not rotten, but... knowing that it will fall, not knowing when. And yet... it's not like that at all."

Her hand dropped and Terra exhaled like a morning wind, her shoulders sagging and her head shaking from side to side. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to explain it. Maybe it's... only that way to me."

He listened, stopping at the description, his mouth opening, and then closing. "A tree? A rotting tree? That doesn't make sense," he admitted. "How can something not rot, but be rotten?"

He shook his head, a soft sigh escaping him in frustration and annoyance. "What do I feel like," he asked, almost curious. "I've never known someone with a relationship with magic like you."