yousei-san (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flair) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
metamorphosis2012-07-31 09:42 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2012-07-31 09:42 pm
Entry tags:
431;
Title: who ever said it was witches and warlocks?
Characters: F. Mage, M. Mage
Rating: G
153/365.
"Is your Abyss where your heart used to be?" She asks, laying a hand on his chest; he groans and pushes it away, not letting her touch linger for a moment longer. "There's nothing there."
"But there has to be." He wishes she'd stop already. How did becoming an archmage suddenly pique one's interest in everything you are not supposed to be interested in? Idly, he wonders if Sharan's one of them too - she was nosy enough, after all, and liked playing with him more than she should've - and only turns his attention back to the younger-looking mage in front of him when she calmly lays her hand on his chest again. He slaps it away this time. "Hey!"
"There is nothing there." Maybe he should've followed in the Kashpa Glacial Master's footsteps, instead of the Warlock's. "Why do you ask so many questions?"
"Because you never answer!"
"Maybe that should clue you in to that I don't want to talk about it!"
Out of everyone he's met, she's the only one he raises his voice to; she used to quake at it, grimacing and an angry apology on her lips - one that'd come later, when they were setting up camp for the night and there was little else to say -, but now she stands with her shoulders squared and her feet set apart, looking up at him. Her hands plant themselves on her hips, completing a picture not of defiance, but of a little kid who hasn't got her way. That's what she is, in the end, power be damned -- and he was more powerful than her, if they had to compare. She couldn't boss him around, no matter how mad she was.
Instead of berating him, she pushes him back against the wall and unclasps every button she can get her fingers on; his eyes widen and her hand lays flat against his chest, before her ear joins it. She's the perfect height to do it, not having to hunch down or stand on her tiptoes, and he waits for her to finish (because maybe if he complied this one time, she'd stop trying). It doesn't take long - there's not much to hear or feel or anything -, and she buttons his shirt back up as soon as she's done. She huffs, drawing her lips into a pout, but she doesn't look at him; just stares at the angular black shapes on his necklace.
"Are you finished?" A nod. "Good." He lightly pushes her away, pausing when he feels her hand clap around his wrist.
"Where is it?" He tries not to groan. "It has to be somewhere, right? You sung to it, so --"
"Does your magic come from your heart?" She squeezes his wrist and doesn't reply, embarrassed; he remembers faintly that girls were taught to draw on empathy to access their power. Everyone was, really -- except for people who never had anyone to teach them. Maybe she, more than other mages, drew on it from there. She had mentioned something about astral harmony (words whispered, never spoken, on Pandemonium; too many questions for those unlucky souls who had no answers, but were turned to anyway) and a smart remark about it being different for everyone (like some dumb romance book) before, but he had given it little notice and even littler thought. It tugs on the edge of his mind now, and he turns his head to ask her, but she's already letting go and shuffling her way to the door. She grins back at him when she reaches it, thumbing out.
"We have some things to finish up for the Bantus, right? Let's get to it."
Characters: F. Mage, M. Mage
Rating: G
153/365.
"Is your Abyss where your heart used to be?" She asks, laying a hand on his chest; he groans and pushes it away, not letting her touch linger for a moment longer. "There's nothing there."
"But there has to be." He wishes she'd stop already. How did becoming an archmage suddenly pique one's interest in everything you are not supposed to be interested in? Idly, he wonders if Sharan's one of them too - she was nosy enough, after all, and liked playing with him more than she should've - and only turns his attention back to the younger-looking mage in front of him when she calmly lays her hand on his chest again. He slaps it away this time. "Hey!"
"There is nothing there." Maybe he should've followed in the Kashpa Glacial Master's footsteps, instead of the Warlock's. "Why do you ask so many questions?"
"Because you never answer!"
"Maybe that should clue you in to that I don't want to talk about it!"
Out of everyone he's met, she's the only one he raises his voice to; she used to quake at it, grimacing and an angry apology on her lips - one that'd come later, when they were setting up camp for the night and there was little else to say -, but now she stands with her shoulders squared and her feet set apart, looking up at him. Her hands plant themselves on her hips, completing a picture not of defiance, but of a little kid who hasn't got her way. That's what she is, in the end, power be damned -- and he was more powerful than her, if they had to compare. She couldn't boss him around, no matter how mad she was.
Instead of berating him, she pushes him back against the wall and unclasps every button she can get her fingers on; his eyes widen and her hand lays flat against his chest, before her ear joins it. She's the perfect height to do it, not having to hunch down or stand on her tiptoes, and he waits for her to finish (because maybe if he complied this one time, she'd stop trying). It doesn't take long - there's not much to hear or feel or anything -, and she buttons his shirt back up as soon as she's done. She huffs, drawing her lips into a pout, but she doesn't look at him; just stares at the angular black shapes on his necklace.
"Are you finished?" A nod. "Good." He lightly pushes her away, pausing when he feels her hand clap around his wrist.
"Where is it?" He tries not to groan. "It has to be somewhere, right? You sung to it, so --"
"Does your magic come from your heart?" She squeezes his wrist and doesn't reply, embarrassed; he remembers faintly that girls were taught to draw on empathy to access their power. Everyone was, really -- except for people who never had anyone to teach them. Maybe she, more than other mages, drew on it from there. She had mentioned something about astral harmony (words whispered, never spoken, on Pandemonium; too many questions for those unlucky souls who had no answers, but were turned to anyway) and a smart remark about it being different for everyone (like some dumb romance book) before, but he had given it little notice and even littler thought. It tugs on the edge of his mind now, and he turns his head to ask her, but she's already letting go and shuffling her way to the door. She grins back at him when she reaches it, thumbing out.
"We have some things to finish up for the Bantus, right? Let's get to it."