Zatanna sat down in the chair next to Crowley's and put the book on the table. She didn't break the silence right away, though. She'd been going over and over in her head how to start; there were so many things she could say that would help explain the circumstances, her reasons for what she'd done and what she was doing now. It wasn't enough for Crowley to know, she wanted him to understand. But she didn't want to get sidetracked or bogged down with too many details.
"Bear with me, please; I've never tried to explain this to anyone before," she began tentatively, idly tracing the word "Scrapbook" embossed on the book's pasteboard cover. "There were a lot of reasons John and I didn't work. My dad didn't like him, he didn't take my work seriously, we just...wanted different things out of life." She opened the scrapbook as she spoke, to reveal a collage of fading photographs: Giovanni Zatara, a handsome moustachio'd man wearing a more dated, masculine version her own stage costume; herself as a young woman, little more than a girl, really.
And turning the page, herself again, laughing alongside a very young, smiling, and very self-assured John. These were the warmer, less unsettling photos he'd been wondering about (http://community.livejournal.com/outside_omens/11961.html?thread=99257#t99257) earlier. She actually kept her least favorite picture of him on display, preferring that these stay private.
"There were other things, though. We were too dangerous together, for one thing." She glanced up from the scrapbook, eyes somber. "I'm sure you know there's more than one form of human magic. Mine is innate, and if it has an absolute ceiling I haven't hit it yet, but it's constrained by my own psychological limitations. I can't cast an old-school ritual to save my life. The paraphernilia just gets in my way.
"John, though--like I said, he hasn't got much inherent power. What he does have is this ability to grab onto an outside source, bend it to his will--I don't have to tell you how much of that he has--and focus and amplify it. And he hasn't got those psychological barriers. He'll do crazy things I wouldn't dare try in a hundred lifetimes, just to see if he can pull it off.
She was talking too much and too fast, but now that she'd started, it was just pouring out and she didn't think she could stop if she wanted to. "Needless to say, that's a great way to attract unfriendly attention. And you usually don't find out what your limits are until you've already blown way past them.
"The worst thing, though, is that it's addictive. You can learn from your mistakes but go right back and do it again anyway, because it's such an unbelievable rush. And that's what started to happen. I was the source, he was the amplifier, and when we were fully attuned to one another, the things we could do--"
She swallowed. "The last time we cast together, we pushed it way too far, and summoned up this--thing--I still don't know what it was, but John couldn't control it, and it took everything he had to send it away. He didn't wake up for days. I've never been so scared in my life; I was sure he'd burned himself out.
"But after he recovered, he wanted to carry on like nothing had happened. There was no permanent damage, and I guess to him that was good enough, but I wasn't willing to keep taking those kinds of risks. We broke up not too long after I refused to work any more magic with him. And I was right about that, too."
She turned another page, this time to a collection of yellowing newspaper articles dated 1977. They dealt with a series of "unexplained events" in Liverpool that had resulted in the deaths of several people, including a small girl, and the arrest and incarceration of an unidentified man in Ravenscar mental institution.
"Do you know what they did to the so-called criminally insane in places like that, back in those days? And he still beats himself up over Astra. Sometimes I wonder," Zatanna said, her voice thick, "if it was just John being John, or if he felt like he had to prove something. Never had the guts to ask. ...Crap. Sorry..."
The story wasn't finished, but she had to pause to find a Kleenex.
no subject
"Bear with me, please; I've never tried to explain this to anyone before," she began tentatively, idly tracing the word "Scrapbook" embossed on the book's pasteboard cover. "There were a lot of reasons John and I didn't work. My dad didn't like him, he didn't take my work seriously, we just...wanted different things out of life." She opened the scrapbook as she spoke, to reveal a collage of fading photographs: Giovanni Zatara, a handsome moustachio'd man wearing a more dated, masculine version her own stage costume; herself as a young woman, little more than a girl, really.
And turning the page, herself again, laughing alongside a very young, smiling, and very self-assured John. These were the warmer, less unsettling photos he'd been wondering about (http://community.livejournal.com/outside_omens/11961.html?thread=99257#t99257) earlier. She actually kept her least favorite picture of him on display, preferring that these stay private.
"There were other things, though. We were too dangerous together, for one thing." She glanced up from the scrapbook, eyes somber. "I'm sure you know there's more than one form of human magic. Mine is innate, and if it has an absolute ceiling I haven't hit it yet, but it's constrained by my own psychological limitations. I can't cast an old-school ritual to save my life. The paraphernilia just gets in my way.
"John, though--like I said, he hasn't got much inherent power. What he does have is this ability to grab onto an outside source, bend it to his will--I don't have to tell you how much of that he has--and focus and amplify it. And he hasn't got those psychological barriers. He'll do crazy things I wouldn't dare try in a hundred lifetimes, just to see if he can pull it off.
She was talking too much and too fast, but now that she'd started, it was just pouring out and she didn't think she could stop if she wanted to. "Needless to say, that's a great way to attract unfriendly attention. And you usually don't find out what your limits are until you've already blown way past them.
"The worst thing, though, is that it's addictive. You can learn from your mistakes but go right back and do it again anyway, because it's such an unbelievable rush. And that's what started to happen. I was the source, he was the amplifier, and when we were fully attuned to one another, the things we could do--"
She swallowed. "The last time we cast together, we pushed it way too far, and summoned up this--thing--I still don't know what it was, but John couldn't control it, and it took everything he had to send it away. He didn't wake up for days. I've never been so scared in my life; I was sure he'd burned himself out.
"But after he recovered, he wanted to carry on like nothing had happened. There was no permanent damage, and I guess to him that was good enough, but I wasn't willing to keep taking those kinds of risks. We broke up not too long after I refused to work any more magic with him. And I was right about that, too."
She turned another page, this time to a collection of yellowing newspaper articles dated 1977. They dealt with a series of "unexplained events" in Liverpool that had resulted in the deaths of several people, including a small girl, and the arrest and incarceration of an unidentified man in Ravenscar mental institution.
"Do you know what they did to the so-called criminally insane in places like that, back in those days? And he still beats himself up over Astra. Sometimes I wonder," Zatanna said, her voice thick, "if it was just John being John, or if he felt like he had to prove something. Never had the guts to ask. ...Crap. Sorry..."
The story wasn't finished, but she had to pause to find a Kleenex.