The voyage of the Melusine was intended to be Theodore Blackwell's last hurrah.

Fate had been against its humble crew's survival out there in the open waters surrounding the Mariana Trench. Their mission was a catch 22: success meant the near-guarantee they were signing their own death certificates. Theo had known this, and he'd chosen to sail anyway. Perhaps it would be the man's last great heroic act, but at least he'd have that. Out of the blue and into the black.... it's better to burn out than fade away.

Nowhere in the blueprint were any contingencies for being sucked through a portal and into a world at war with itself...

Theo has very much had quite enough of making first contact. His lungs don't strain against the swirling tide pool that surrounds him. Instead it feels, at long last, like his due. Against the bright light the willowy man closes his eyes and wishes to sink deeper, even as he's yanked through, bare as a newborn and equally as displeased to find himself in the midst of yet another world he never asked to be born to.

MAGIC LESSONS

It comes as remarkably benign news to Theo that magic is real. Not because he possesses any of his own, nor because it held any place in the world he's come from. But the man has just made a name for himself as the first person on earth to definitively prove the existence of sirens. A discovery like that can only scratch the surface of what's lurking in the depths just past human exploration. Theo knows there are entire worlds he doesn't know. So why not magic?

He approaches it all like it's a new scientific puzzle: the man is methodical and reverent of this potential new power. Unfortunately, that doesn't make him very good at harnessing it. His tongue trips over the incantation and the air above his head looms thickly before wheezing out a few drops of condensation.

There was a time he trusted waves underfoot even more than the solid ground. The water was an extension of himself, a fluid partner that carried him easily. But now Theo can't find that part of his body that used to welcome the chaos of the surf. It's not long until he finds himself in a heap on the castle floor, cursing himself.

PAINTING SESSION

He can try as hard as he'd like to pretend otherwise and do a passably good job at fooling most everyone around him, but Theo will never fully expel the brine of the sea from his lungs. Beyond the tailored suits and the days spent behind a desk with a cell phone permanently pressed up against his cheek, the man is an eternal thalassophile. He'll probably never again feel the easy thrill of commanding a barreling wave and coasting through sandbars, but privately he reminds himself that he is actually, literally, functionally part jellyfish.

He wanders Borrel like he's in no rush to get anywhere in particular, taking in the sights and the smells that feel half-familiar, despite the very impossibility of this place. When he comes across the painting session, he can't help but laugh, struck by the complete anachronism of the scene. He's reticent to pick up a brush himself, but Theo might be spotted thoughtfully considering others' masterpieces or holding a piece of ice blue sea glass up to the light. It's almost a perfect match for his pale eyes.

Without a single coin to his name, Theo's presence in Nocwich is mostly exploratory. The thin man ambles among the shops and stalls with a gait that seems labored by a pain he obstinately refuses to let show in his face. He speaks in a mild, measured voice to any shopkeeper who catches his eye, seemingly without the anxiety of being spotted turning down their wares. His questions to all of them are similar: how did they learn to make their wares, where do they get their ingredients, and which of their products is the most precious?

In time he'll make his way to the hot springs, and the sirenic call of the water will be enough to overcome any hesitation at stripping bare. Clothes set aside, Theo sinks into the springs with the kind of purgative groan that can only come from a man who really, really needs all the healing they have to offer. If anyone comes to join him he'll be polite, but won't avoid eye contact simply for the sake of false propriety.

I hope this is working.

Forgive the intrusion. My name is Theodore Blackwell, and I'm one of the so-called "newly Summoned." I need to speak privately with someone who might be familiar with the pharmacological advancements of this place. I hate to say it's rather urgent.

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All right, I'm giving Theo another go. I've missed Abraxas too darn much and I feel like he'd be a fun change of pace for me.
You can find me at stickyholograms for plotting, or just chuck anything my way and I'll be glad to roll with it.