day 9- buncha Unwin stuff

I'm not sure if having a jump even works. It's not getting me any more hits or anything. Also, writing these in Docs and copy-pasting them over to here really jacks up the formatting because it copies over incompatible HTML. On the plus side, the subsection category things I arbitrarily instated really work for this NaNoWriMo because my writing is all over the place, and the category headers just fill in the gaps as to precisely where.





Miracle recall

It was through Hesketh Unwin that Miracle experienced true control of his recall. Unwin bestowing his boon onto him like that, the gift of pastsight, allowed Miracle to explore his own past with perfect clarity, better and realer than any memory. It was exhilarating.

Some fairies wanted to swap their own children out for purposes of better chances for them. Some fairies just really loved the taste of milk, and fae culture didn’t see it as weird at all to take the milk directly from a human source. Fairies lacked souls, and the best way to gain one would be to replace the soul with someone else’s; essentially the opposite of a demonic possession.

mothman lore
The truth around the Mothman was a hazy wasteland. Unwin was a ~~!double!!psychic!~~, a double psychic whose two abilities were able to compound off of each other. He could read minds, auras nuzzling against his sensation like bubbles of magnetic pull, slipping around him like soap bubbles penetrating into bubbles feeling the filmy layer pass over him giving in with some gentle resistance. He could also see the futures, see the past, and read the minds there, and read his own mind at these points of states. He was a ~~Gifter~~; frequently he would sow confusion and enhance the rumors surrounding his true nature and purpose by gifting carefully selected mundanes with the power of psychicness, allowing them to craft elaborate fantasies by mixing the truth with their imperfect versions of events. It was after all the truth that allowed lies to flourish the best. Back in the 70s, he had selected a Washington Post reporter and allowed him to craft a conspiracy theory with the Mothman persona at its core; he had his eye here in the 90s of going after a prominent English footballer, and had begun the grooming process on him already. [smooth out continuity errors with later “son of godhood” stuff.] A lot of these fantasies involved extraterrestrial alien beings for some reason, and over the years he had decided he rather liked that and decided to craft the legend into fitting more into that.

Unwin was a master strategist; with the ability to see the future and possible futures, and read minds, and read minds in the future and possible futures. He could see the outcome of any given decision and situation.

at the auction
Unwin frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not seeing her here. Cloud. I can’t sense this Cloud you speak of anywhere. There’s all sorts of psychic firewalls put up around reading people’s minds directly here; I’d probably be able to bruteforce my way through them given enough time, but that’s not really the point here, um. Cloud’s presence, I can’t sense it anywhere. Are you sure Cloud is here, mate? Like, absolutely positive?”

Moone searched himself for a bit. “Sure. I’d recognize her anywhere, yeah.”

Unwin sucked at his cheeks in thought, eyes dancing around the candle-lit room, taking in every corner of the grand hall. “Alright, then. Go after her.” A pause. “Just, be careful about it.”

before the heist
Unwin couldn’t read Cloud’s presence, or rather the presence of the shapeshifter presenting as Cloud, because she or he or it wasn’t presenting an aura. Was its shapeshifting ability so powerful as to encompass even that? A drop of sweat fell down Unwin’s cheek and onto his shoulder. Even Moone still had a palpable aura with Pontifex’s boon attached, at least nearby him; his sneaking into the summit with Unwin’s Mothman aura attached was more of covering up one scent (say, a sneaker) with another stronger scent (say, a stinky cheese, a bleu one. Roquefort. Roquefort was a good one. Unwin couldn’t stomach Roquefort, but it seemed like it was all his friends ever served at their house parties. He had dreams, sometimes, nightmares of drowning in rooms made entirely out of Roquefort.)

at some point also before the heist
[mothman gets a face-to-face with Spring-heeled Jack:]

“Mr Jack? Big fan of your work, really an inspiration. I crafted this whole, thing, based around, really inspired by you, see. Only I’m like this, outer-space alien instead of a sprite. You’ve got to adapt with the times, you know what I’m saying? Aliens really sell on this side of the pond. I hope I haven’t tainted your legacy or anything. There have been books, written about me…”

“Mothman? I’ve seen your stuff, yeah. Not bad, kid.”

Unwin practically wet himself.

“It’s… listen, I’ve got a contract out right now, but iffen you want, we could talk shop at some later juncture, yeh?”

It took a few moments for Unwin to compose himself. He nodded vigorously.

[this is why he leaves them alone]