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Tommy walks down the sidewalk in the decrepit part of town he's found himself in, kicking at a crumpled aluminum can, the label long weathered away from the summer storms that ravaged L'manburg a couple months ago now. A cold wind whips up, sending the crunchy autumn leaves into a dance that sends Tommy's instincts into a stalking sort of mood.
Tommy's tail lashes as he tries to ignore the leaves as they swirl, a rattling hush following as they blow down the pavement. His irises slit and grow again, and he shakes his head into order. He looks around at the cracked, crumbling buildings and mutters softly to himself, "Fuck…" There's no one around but some raccoons Tommy spies in one of the clean (It's fucking unsettling how clean it is, while everything else crumbles.) alleyways, wisps of neutral magic idling in the air.
Tommy shivers, pulling up his soft, threadbare grey hoodie and searching the streets for his favorite place to feed. It's a bookstore, with dusty tomes and lots of old magic. It's stale, it's not like people just use their magic willy nilly, but it's the place with the most stagnant magic he knows of and nobody's gonna kill him for snacking.
Ah! There's the bitch.
It sits on a corner street, a singular spindly tree planted in a small plot next to it, and Tommy grins, walking over. Neutral magic covers the thing in grey swatches, like sheer silk fluttering in the air. It's tasteless, like all neutral magic, but Tommy drinks it in as if he's dehydrated, or maybe starving.
Might as fucking well be both, he basically is from magic deprivation.
Pondering, Tommy considers if he should try and go into the shoppe to try and get some more potent magic, and he squints at the building. What sort of magic would those in it have? Purples, for Intelligence, maybe Burnt Sienna for Creativity? Tommy flicks his tail, walking towards the shoppe's door without even glancing up.
He pulls the door open in tandem with someone strong pushing it, and he falls onto his butt, spitting curses at whoever knocked him onto his ass and hissing. Tommy looks up in a glare, and— he's flash banged with warm, filling colour.
There's sweet pinks like candyfloss melting on his tongue and firey, assertive reds filling him with a spunk and Determination, green Patience threading through it all like mint. Tommy's eyes glitter with hunger, and he licks his lips, finally paying attention to what the awkward man above him is saying. He's got his left hand out, pushed up granny glasses (Tommy snickers,) resting on his prominent, scarred nose, almost jittering as he rambles.
"Look, I'm sorry, kid. I didn't mean to knock you over, I swear. Please just take my hand, stop ignorin' me-" The sentence tips up, strangled and higher than Tommy thought big men like this one could go. He grins, taking the hand and pulling himself up, pretending to dust himself off. Oh, yeah, this fucker is his now. No damn contest, no takesies backsies.
For good measure, Tommy decides to temporarily stash away his complete Big Man persona, instead chirping a tame, "No problem, Big Man! Guess I shoulda been looking where I was going, ay?" and subtly blocking the guy's path. "I'm Tommy Innit, Big Man extraordinaire! You?"
The guy squints at Tommy critically, his golden eyes seemingly digging into Tommy's soul before he grunts out, "Technoblade." His magic swirls around like watercolour, or maybe like ink, dappling the air in colourful, contained streaks. It reminds Tommy of writing on a page, he thinks as he takes a sip of it.
"Tech-no-blade?" Tommy draws out the consonants and snickers internally. Who names their kid 'Technoblade'? "Poggers name," Tommy lies without batting an eye, stepping aside now that he's started the conversation. Yes! He is just the most pog.
Technoblade strides away quickly, like he's trying to get away, and Tommy trails behind him, subtly picking off pieces of magic to eat. He's starting to feel off, fuzzy, and too-much in the way that means he's probably borrowed a lot, the red Determination making him feel, well, determined to have and to keep.
Tommy hums, glancing at Technoblade, who's paying no attention to Tommy, his molten gold eyes roaming the empty streets, "So, Big Man, any favorite magical tomes to read?" he wiggles his fingers to illustrate his point and chuckles a bit, kicking at the leaves. They crunch, skittering. His ears twitch in excitement.
Technoblade remains silent until they round a corner, then he replies, "The Art of War by Sun Tzu is good enough to count."
Tommy wrinkles his brow. "Is that really a magical tome? I remember it being this stuffy book about old people and stuff." -But isn't that all magic tomes anyway?
With a flick of a tufted tail that presumably goes with his large tusks, Technoblade sharply stares at Tommy like he's surprised or upset at Tommy's lack of understanding about his old, stuffy war book. He sighs, brows pinching, "No, it's not a magical tome. Sun Tzu won his wars without the use of magic."
"Wow! That's cool as shi- fu- That's cool." Tommy stammers over curses, this clean shit is difficult! But he didn't know that this Sun guy was strong enough to get by in a fucking war without magic! Sure, Tommy can go without magic for a bit, but he still needs it.
"Yup. Guess so." Technoblade really isn't making this whole 'you're my witch now' thing easy! Luckily, Tommy is simply better than that, breathing in the magic Determination and letting it settle, manipulating his emotions as it sees fit.
The silence is so fucking awkward.
"Uh, so. Tech-no-blade! Do you happen to dabble in magic?" Technoblade's eyes widen and Tommy almost regrets his abrupt word choice, but he figures they might as well rip off the bandaid early. He shrugs at Technoblade's questioning look, picking some lint off a sleeve. "Just seem the type, you know? Not like I'll tell, I promise! Big Men like myself never break promises."
Technoblade scrutinises Tommy, his tufted tail obviously lashing in unsettlement, and Tommy feels almost like Technoblade's peeling back his skin to look inside him. It's unsettling, and Tommy's ears pin, a discontent sound unwillingly leaving Tommy's throat.
Then, someone bumps into Tommy and he's pushed into Technoblade with an 'oof!', a strong arm wrapping around him. He looks up to curse out the bitch who took advantage of him while he was distracted, but he sees Technoblade's surprised face and he just looks away with a glare. Ugh.
He pushes away from Technoblade, the man's arms having stiffened once the shock wore off and wasn't very comfortable to lean on anymore. But how comforting his arms were! Tommy grins and pats Technoblade's arm. He picked the best Witch!
People have started walking past them, into the new, very ob-vi-ous-ly used shops that have sprung up beside the sidewalk, a few slow cars meandering down the cracked street, and Tommy pulls up his hood to hide his ears. There's a reason the Magic District was left to rot. Only the magic and a very select few maintain the district now, keeping things clean but even they can't stop time for as long as it's been abandoned.
Someone very obviously and purposefully shoulder checks Tommy, and with his heart sinking, Tommy knows it's time to dip. He takes a deep breath, and flicks his tail tip in almost contained irritation.
"So, Tech-no-blade," Tommy starts with mostly forced pep, "It was nice meeting you, but I've got things and people to do, so many women to see— they love me, you know,— and so I'm gonna get out of here!" Tommy shoots Technoblade finger guns, the bigger guy's face confused and dare Tommy say, slightly disappointed and intrigued. "See you later!"
Tommy turns to run off before he can second guess himself, and as he goes he knows he'll see his witch again. Maybe follow the guy home a few times, keep him safe… He's got the best pair of binoculars and he knows they'll be perfect.