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portalling) wrote2022-04-02 01:17 pm
portalling) wrote2022-04-02 01:17 pm
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Gwenaëlle’s enthusiasm and excitement is contagious, endearing, and so he can feel it sinking in: some of that old magic, early mornings and reaching beneath a plastic tree, functional hands ripping into wrapping paper and tearing open boxes, eager and impatient. The Stranges hadn’t been able to afford much, so the day had been special for what little they’d scraped together for their children.
After he’d been able to afford buying himself anything he wanted anytime, he’d sort of stopped caring.
So it’s nice, it mattering again. Stephen unwraps the bundle and shakes out the long coat first thing, its arms spilling loose, and he props it up against her chest so he can see it better: the lovely dark red colour, the Research sigil at the lapels, and she can see the delight spreading across his face at the sight of it. “Oh, I can wear a stylish uniform again,” he declares; it’s not a cloak, but it’s nice to have options which aren’t just throwing a cloak on over nondescript clothing.
He goes through the rest with meticulous care: a bottle of Orlesian cologne, which he automatically daubs on, to please her.
He lingers over-long at the poetry, pressing ruined fingertips to the pane of glass, the lipstick kiss. When he shoots a look back up to her, he’s wearing a smile that can only be described as shy. “I’ve had news articles written about me, but poetry’s still new.”
But it’s the last object which takes most of his attention: the dwarven-made pocket-watch. Stephen barks a small incredulous laugh (on so many levels) once he removes it from its case, holding it up to the dawn light filtering through their windows, turning it over carefully to examine the workings and admire the craftsmanship. A flick of the stem and the front springs open; it’s been already wound to the steady tick tick tick of counting time. Had he ever told her about his watch collection? No, and she hadn’t been invited into his bedroom at the Sanctum, so how could she have known—
He’s thunderstruck into silence for a moment.
“Is this,” he says slowly, “from Orzammar? What made you think of it?”
He can sort of guess — he’s a goddamned time wizard, after all — but he’s still stuck on it, his own gears catching.
After he’d been able to afford buying himself anything he wanted anytime, he’d sort of stopped caring.
So it’s nice, it mattering again. Stephen unwraps the bundle and shakes out the long coat first thing, its arms spilling loose, and he props it up against her chest so he can see it better: the lovely dark red colour, the Research sigil at the lapels, and she can see the delight spreading across his face at the sight of it. “Oh, I can wear a stylish uniform again,” he declares; it’s not a cloak, but it’s nice to have options which aren’t just throwing a cloak on over nondescript clothing.
He goes through the rest with meticulous care: a bottle of Orlesian cologne, which he automatically daubs on, to please her.
He lingers over-long at the poetry, pressing ruined fingertips to the pane of glass, the lipstick kiss. When he shoots a look back up to her, he’s wearing a smile that can only be described as shy. “I’ve had news articles written about me, but poetry’s still new.”
But it’s the last object which takes most of his attention: the dwarven-made pocket-watch. Stephen barks a small incredulous laugh (on so many levels) once he removes it from its case, holding it up to the dawn light filtering through their windows, turning it over carefully to examine the workings and admire the craftsmanship. A flick of the stem and the front springs open; it’s been already wound to the steady tick tick tick of counting time. Had he ever told her about his watch collection? No, and she hadn’t been invited into his bedroom at the Sanctum, so how could she have known—
He’s thunderstruck into silence for a moment.
“Is this,” he says slowly, “from Orzammar? What made you think of it?”
He can sort of guess — he’s a goddamned time wizard, after all — but he’s still stuck on it, his own gears catching.
[ and the man is a habitual workaholic and insomniac, worse since sarrux, worse again with gwenaëlle temporarily away from home, and so stephen strange is not asleep. he’s reading in his study on the houseboat, a dozing cat in his lap. he leans over and reaches for his crystal after it lights up, sparking the smallest affronted noise from small yngvi. ]
I’m up. Is everything alright?
I’m up. Is everything alright?
Stephen takes another puff of elfroot and then does a thing he almost never does: he reaches out with his spare hand to lay it over hers, a grandiose gesture.
He keeps his expression straight-faced, so serious that it actually circles back around to shit-eating again, as he says with all somber gravitas: “Cosima Niehaus, with all my heart, never doubt this about me: I am always going to want to hear an objectively ridiculous counterexample involving weird clone shit.”
He keeps his expression straight-faced, so serious that it actually circles back around to shit-eating again, as he says with all somber gravitas: “Cosima Niehaus, with all my heart, never doubt this about me: I am always going to want to hear an objectively ridiculous counterexample involving weird clone shit.”
[ oh, thank goodness. she breathes a small sigh of relief, deliberately off-crystal, then opens her mouth to ask
a really strange question, now that she's thought about it and isn't working herself into an anxiety spiral about it. hmm. ]
I'm not in any immediate danger, or anything, [ hedging, trying to come up with a way to ask that won't sound fucking unhinged,. ] Merely... You know how it can be, in the middle of the night? Ruminating on the worst possible outcomes, working yourself up over things that may never come to pass.
a really strange question, now that she's thought about it and isn't working herself into an anxiety spiral about it. hmm. ]
I'm not in any immediate danger, or anything, [ hedging, trying to come up with a way to ask that won't sound fucking unhinged,. ] Merely... You know how it can be, in the middle of the night? Ruminating on the worst possible outcomes, working yourself up over things that may never come to pass.
[ A longer list than he’d expected or hoped for, either; this is the sort of secret that ought to stay on as short a leash as possible, particularly around the locals. Von Skraedder could be a problem; he doesn’t know her well enough to say. But the rest are fine: rifters all, and then Gwenaëlle. He trusts her more than himself, some days. ]
Hmm. Yeah. That’s a lot of rifters, which gives you a leg up in terms of acceptance. And Riftwatch as a whole has gotten accustomed to stranger magic than anyone else you’ll run into on the street. But we can work with that. We’ll want to get you in enough control that the list doesn’t get much longer.
[ And they start to delve into it, their training starting in earnest: forging that link and Strange counting the seconds for how long it lasts, until Ness gets tired, until the connection peters out and she slumps in her seat. Magic and telepathy is a muscle like any other; it needs practice. They work, her reserves run low, they try again. They part for food and he summons her the next day for more: straightforward, business-like, occasionally sprinkling his own insane anecdote into the conversation so she feels better and less alone about her own circumstances, but he carves out the time for her as surely as if it’s scheduled office hours.
Can’t have the locals tarring and feathering the nice young scholar from Candlekeep, after all. ]
Hmm. Yeah. That’s a lot of rifters, which gives you a leg up in terms of acceptance. And Riftwatch as a whole has gotten accustomed to stranger magic than anyone else you’ll run into on the street. But we can work with that. We’ll want to get you in enough control that the list doesn’t get much longer.
[ And they start to delve into it, their training starting in earnest: forging that link and Strange counting the seconds for how long it lasts, until Ness gets tired, until the connection peters out and she slumps in her seat. Magic and telepathy is a muscle like any other; it needs practice. They work, her reserves run low, they try again. They part for food and he summons her the next day for more: straightforward, business-like, occasionally sprinkling his own insane anecdote into the conversation so she feels better and less alone about her own circumstances, but he carves out the time for her as surely as if it’s scheduled office hours.
Can’t have the locals tarring and feathering the nice young scholar from Candlekeep, after all. ]
[ ah, anxiety, the old friend, ]
Middle-of-the-night catastrophising? Yeah, sure.
Middle-of-the-night catastrophising? Yeah, sure.
Indeed.
[ okay, that's probably enough preparation, right? any more beating around the bush and it'll be even weirder. just... out with it. let's go. come on! ]
If the worst should happen, and someone should be uncharitable about my magic, would you—that is, could I impose—
[ FRUSTRATED NOISES. ]
Could I come to you? For my anchor, and to get me out?
[ after a moment, sheepishly, ] I know it's not an easy thing to ask. You're the only one I can trust, though.
[ okay, that's probably enough preparation, right? any more beating around the bush and it'll be even weirder. just... out with it. let's go. come on! ]
If the worst should happen, and someone should be uncharitable about my magic, would you—that is, could I impose—
[ FRUSTRATED NOISES. ]
Could I come to you? For my anchor, and to get me out?
[ after a moment, sheepishly, ] I know it's not an easy thing to ask. You're the only one I can trust, though.
Edited 2024-11-25 03:24 (UTC)
[ strange is a perpetual multi-tasker, so during the conversation he’s still been scritching small yngvi under the cat’s chin as implicit apology for the disruption, but he goes still and motionless now. finally swivels and pivots all of his attention to the crystal, brow crinkled.
the man loves feeling more important than anyone else, so there’s the smallest flicker of automatic kneejerk pride — you’re the only one i can trust — but, still. ]
Define ‘get you out’?
the man loves feeling more important than anyone else, so there’s the smallest flicker of automatic kneejerk pride — you’re the only one i can trust — but, still. ]
Define ‘get you out’?
Whatever you'd be comfortable with?
[ oh, no, she asked too much, didn't she, presumed too much on their relationship— ]
Just, looking the other way, perhaps, while I fled the city. No money, or supplies. I don't...
[ this shuddering breath comes over the crystal loud and clear, and maybe that's intentional, maybe that's manipulation. ]
I don't want to die again. I don't want to lose this second chance. Better to be on the run from templars forever than lose a miracle so quickly.
[ oh, no, she asked too much, didn't she, presumed too much on their relationship— ]
Just, looking the other way, perhaps, while I fled the city. No money, or supplies. I don't...
[ this shuddering breath comes over the crystal loud and clear, and maybe that's intentional, maybe that's manipulation. ]
I don't want to die again. I don't want to lose this second chance. Better to be on the run from templars forever than lose a miracle so quickly.
I doubt it would come to that, Ennaris. Riftwatch has been headquartered in Kirkwall for years, and we’ve built up goodwill with the city. People here, specifically, already know we house a bunch of freaks and weirdos and rifters.
[ but above all, he’s pragmatic, and there was a logistical question being asked. ]
But if for some reason it was absolutely necessary— yes. Sure. I’d do it for you if I had to. Our eluvian network gives you options; it’d be practically easy to vanish to another city or country overnight. Hell, perhaps you could still work for Riftwatch but headquarter yourself elsewhere.
[ his voice is calm, hopefully steadying, straightforward: ] But my ultimate point being: don’t catastrophise. The rifter Head Healer before me did blood magic. If he wasn’t caught and run out of town, I’m sure you’ll be fine.
[ but above all, he’s pragmatic, and there was a logistical question being asked. ]
But if for some reason it was absolutely necessary— yes. Sure. I’d do it for you if I had to. Our eluvian network gives you options; it’d be practically easy to vanish to another city or country overnight. Hell, perhaps you could still work for Riftwatch but headquarter yourself elsewhere.
[ his voice is calm, hopefully steadying, straightforward: ] But my ultimate point being: don’t catastrophise. The rifter Head Healer before me did blood magic. If he wasn’t caught and run out of town, I’m sure you’ll be fine.
The answer is almost in itself endearing in how straightforward a straight line it is:
“When Wysteria was settling her arrangements before she left for Orzammar,” she reminds him, “you told her that you wanted one.” And Wysteria had told him they’d cost his eye teeth, and he’d said he’d figure it out, and Gwenaëlle had thought: well, why shouldn’t she do it? “She was happy to collude with me, although she was fairly unsubtly disappointed we weren’t colluding over anything more interesting. You could not have wanted something more boring to her if you’d tried.”
Which tickles her, a bit. Both because a dwarven-made pocketwatch seems like a perfectly fine thing to want, and because it’s— nice, a bit, to be dull. Even to be thought dull. The simple fact of it is, though:
she has been paying him a great deal of mind for as long as they’ve known each other. He had said it, but not to her, and she had been listening, and that had been plenty.
“Everything else was made particularly for you,” the coat she’d handsewn, the poetry she’d pressed her lips to, the cologne mixed to specifications to complement her favourite scent in particular, “but you were so enthusiastic about pocket-watches I didn’t think you’d mind if we just had to trust Wysteria’s taste.”
“When Wysteria was settling her arrangements before she left for Orzammar,” she reminds him, “you told her that you wanted one.” And Wysteria had told him they’d cost his eye teeth, and he’d said he’d figure it out, and Gwenaëlle had thought: well, why shouldn’t she do it? “She was happy to collude with me, although she was fairly unsubtly disappointed we weren’t colluding over anything more interesting. You could not have wanted something more boring to her if you’d tried.”
Which tickles her, a bit. Both because a dwarven-made pocketwatch seems like a perfectly fine thing to want, and because it’s— nice, a bit, to be dull. Even to be thought dull. The simple fact of it is, though:
she has been paying him a great deal of mind for as long as they’ve known each other. He had said it, but not to her, and she had been listening, and that had been plenty.
“Everything else was made particularly for you,” the coat she’d handsewn, the poetry she’d pressed her lips to, the cologne mixed to specifications to complement her favourite scent in particular, “but you were so enthusiastic about pocket-watches I didn’t think you’d mind if we just had to trust Wysteria’s taste.”
[ she suppresses a scoff, holding her crystal away from her mouth while she breathes through the flush of anger that nearly overtakes her. stephen's agreed to help her, and that should be good enough, but it's so frustrating. obtuse. dismissive.
ness is just stressed out enough, just tired enough, just hurt enough to push back, for the first time in their acquaintance. ]
That it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it won't. It only means that we have, to this point, miraculously dodged both chance and the fates, and that bill will come due. I will have to pay it, whether with my freedom, or my life, or the one and then the other.
I will be fine until I'm not. The sword over my head never disappears, Doctor, it only falls.
ness is just stressed out enough, just tired enough, just hurt enough to push back, for the first time in their acquaintance. ]
That it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it won't. It only means that we have, to this point, miraculously dodged both chance and the fates, and that bill will come due. I will have to pay it, whether with my freedom, or my life, or the one and then the other.
I will be fine until I'm not. The sword over my head never disappears, Doctor, it only falls.
orphan black spoilers but also: S3 aired 9 years ago, what have you been doing
youwonscience
2024-11-28 12:51 am (UTC)(link)
It make her laugh in spite of herself. "Alright, man, you asked for it," with a bit of a lingering grin, even if it's rueful.
"So. The partner back home I mentioned, Delphine. Let's ... OK, shit, this involved a lot of complicated parts and I gotta sort out which ones you need to understand. So. Almost all of the clones were in the general population, unaware of our origins. The people who designed this experiment, they wanted us to be exposed to a whole range of environmental factors and they wanted that exposure to be indistinguishable from how a non-clone would experience them. Close as they could get at least. But. You've probably spotted the problem with that from an experiment design point of view, right? If you've got individuals in your study all over the world and they don't know they're in your experiment, how do you get data? I assume in countries with less robust privacy laws, they were just out here harvesting stuff from routine medical appointments, but hard to do that in the U.S., Canada, the U.K., France, etc. without drawing unwanted attention."
She shifts, tucking one of her legs up and letting the other swing free. "Enter the concept of monitors. You get people involved in the experiment to insert themselves into clones' lives to get close to them. Friend, roommate, romantic partner, whatever makes sense. And once you're close enough a clone will let her guard down with you, clandestine measurements. I don't know who all of mine were but I found out at least one of my exes was." So, you know. That's fine and normal. And this is all still setup.
"So. The partner back home I mentioned, Delphine. Let's ... OK, shit, this involved a lot of complicated parts and I gotta sort out which ones you need to understand. So. Almost all of the clones were in the general population, unaware of our origins. The people who designed this experiment, they wanted us to be exposed to a whole range of environmental factors and they wanted that exposure to be indistinguishable from how a non-clone would experience them. Close as they could get at least. But. You've probably spotted the problem with that from an experiment design point of view, right? If you've got individuals in your study all over the world and they don't know they're in your experiment, how do you get data? I assume in countries with less robust privacy laws, they were just out here harvesting stuff from routine medical appointments, but hard to do that in the U.S., Canada, the U.K., France, etc. without drawing unwanted attention."
She shifts, tucking one of her legs up and letting the other swing free. "Enter the concept of monitors. You get people involved in the experiment to insert themselves into clones' lives to get close to them. Friend, roommate, romantic partner, whatever makes sense. And once you're close enough a clone will let her guard down with you, clandestine measurements. I don't know who all of mine were but I found out at least one of my exes was." So, you know. That's fine and normal. And this is all still setup.
“Oh my god. You—”
Still struck by the gesture and her thoughtfulness itself, but now there’s an edge of baffling amusement bubbling beneath the surface, Stephen’s laugh deepening as he suddenly closes the distance and kisses her: more ferocious than one might expect for a drowsy morning, now urgent, pressing. He loves her so much. He cannot express how much.
When they finally break for air, he tries to explain: “I used to collect watches. I had a sprawling collection, on display like you collect glass eyes. Luxury items, limited editions.” Should he even mention the full context? Fuck it, he’s always been honest with her: “I had a favourite from Christine, which I used to wear but— this is my new favourite. And I don’t… This is absurd, you need to see.”
He’s lost his train of thought and the sentences keep chopping themselves into pieces, not even knowing where to begin, so in the end he just leans over (almost tipping the two of them) to fumble with the drawer on his side of the alcove. Inside is his own gift, two wooden cases which he presses carefully into Gwenaëlle’s hands: one which won’t open easily, another which will.
And he’s laughing: “I also colluded with Wysteria to get you something from Orzammar, I low-key think she despised my choice—”
Still struck by the gesture and her thoughtfulness itself, but now there’s an edge of baffling amusement bubbling beneath the surface, Stephen’s laugh deepening as he suddenly closes the distance and kisses her: more ferocious than one might expect for a drowsy morning, now urgent, pressing. He loves her so much. He cannot express how much.
When they finally break for air, he tries to explain: “I used to collect watches. I had a sprawling collection, on display like you collect glass eyes. Luxury items, limited editions.” Should he even mention the full context? Fuck it, he’s always been honest with her: “I had a favourite from Christine, which I used to wear but— this is my new favourite. And I don’t… This is absurd, you need to see.”
He’s lost his train of thought and the sentences keep chopping themselves into pieces, not even knowing where to begin, so in the end he just leans over (almost tipping the two of them) to fumble with the drawer on his side of the alcove. Inside is his own gift, two wooden cases which he presses carefully into Gwenaëlle’s hands: one which won’t open easily, another which will.
And he’s laughing: “I also colluded with Wysteria to get you something from Orzammar, I low-key think she despised my choice—”
Edited 2024-11-30 02:18 (UTC)
For a variety of — no, for a few reasons, not terribly varied, it’s been weeks since she remembers kissing him quite like this, and it isn’t that in that time she forgot what it’s like to do that, just...
Even if he weren’t bouncing between thoughts borderline incoherently, she might be having trouble entirely focusing on what he’s saying immediately after— and when she nearly spills off his lap, clutching the blankets and his arm like a startled Small Yngvi with a yelp, she laughs, clinging until they’re righted. Clinging after, until she has to relinquish her grip to take the cases.
“I bet,” she says, grasping onto a handhold that allows her to swing up to her favourite topic to return to with little to no warning, “that she would be significantly more impressed with us if we had a flying boat—”
What, is she wrong. A bit of fidgeting and: “Oh,” delighted, “it’s a puzzle,” before setting one box aside for the other, determining that that one can wait. “Stephen,” when the sewing case opens with significantly more ease, “these are beautiful,”
she’s not beating the boring couple allegations. (She’s still riding the high of his favourite watch.)
“I was a little worried it’d be— I don’t know,” clutching her new sewing kit to her chest, looking back at him, “not as boring a gift as Wysteria thought, but you know, oh, a thing I was just going to get myself, anyway, ho hum—” a bigger worry than the one she might’ve stumbled into but slips past, now, about competing with his absent ex. It’s not that she’s above that kind of fretting, it’s just very difficult to look at him right now and not feel very sure about the things that he’s saying to her. What hard work she’s done, to take the man she loves at face value.
(It’s only funny because it’s true.)
Even if he weren’t bouncing between thoughts borderline incoherently, she might be having trouble entirely focusing on what he’s saying immediately after— and when she nearly spills off his lap, clutching the blankets and his arm like a startled Small Yngvi with a yelp, she laughs, clinging until they’re righted. Clinging after, until she has to relinquish her grip to take the cases.
“I bet,” she says, grasping onto a handhold that allows her to swing up to her favourite topic to return to with little to no warning, “that she would be significantly more impressed with us if we had a flying boat—”
What, is she wrong. A bit of fidgeting and: “Oh,” delighted, “it’s a puzzle,” before setting one box aside for the other, determining that that one can wait. “Stephen,” when the sewing case opens with significantly more ease, “these are beautiful,”
she’s not beating the boring couple allegations. (She’s still riding the high of his favourite watch.)
“I was a little worried it’d be— I don’t know,” clutching her new sewing kit to her chest, looking back at him, “not as boring a gift as Wysteria thought, but you know, oh, a thing I was just going to get myself, anyway, ho hum—” a bigger worry than the one she might’ve stumbled into but slips past, now, about competing with his absent ex. It’s not that she’s above that kind of fretting, it’s just very difficult to look at him right now and not feel very sure about the things that he’s saying to her. What hard work she’s done, to take the man she loves at face value.
(It’s only funny because it’s true.)
[ part of it is the way she’s pushing back at him for the first time; that firm edge of steel in her voice, a welcome surprise. part of it is her accidental choice of just the right words, striking a chord: the bill comes due.
he remembers mordo’s voice, echoing, warning. it takes him a moment, a beat to swallow it down and wrangle his tone back to being even and steady. ]
I make a habit of weaselling my way out of paying the bill, to be honest. I do, however, respect having contingency plans upon contingency plans. What’s that thing they say, there’s no such thing as luck, just good preparation—
So. Your plan: chop off the anchor, leave Kirkwall, quit Riftwatch, blend in as a local?
he remembers mordo’s voice, echoing, warning. it takes him a moment, a beat to swallow it down and wrangle his tone back to being even and steady. ]
I make a habit of weaselling my way out of paying the bill, to be honest. I do, however, respect having contingency plans upon contingency plans. What’s that thing they say, there’s no such thing as luck, just good preparation—
So. Your plan: chop off the anchor, leave Kirkwall, quit Riftwatch, blend in as a local?
[ would that ness had the option to weasel out of this bill—but she doesn't say so, because he's accepted her perspective, if not her point.
she stood her ground with someone, and the world didn't end, it's a miracle. ]
More or less. I think I can pass for a Marcher, at least, and make my way down south. Anna Keyes has never been to Fereldan, and now that her village's been laid waste by Venatori, she's got nothing keeping her from exploring.
[ she doesn't have a whole backstory in mind, or anything, nothing so prepared. but a name, and a reason to be missing an arm and far away from what's supposed to be home... she might have been thinking about that for a while. ]
she stood her ground with someone, and the world didn't end, it's a miracle. ]
More or less. I think I can pass for a Marcher, at least, and make my way down south. Anna Keyes has never been to Fereldan, and now that her village's been laid waste by Venatori, she's got nothing keeping her from exploring.
[ she doesn't have a whole backstory in mind, or anything, nothing so prepared. but a name, and a reason to be missing an arm and far away from what's supposed to be home... she might have been thinking about that for a while. ]
[ at least since one of their very first conversations, in fact. strange is remembering it, ruminative: ]
You’ve really considered this.
You’ve really considered this.
For what it’s worth, Anna Keyes, I would miss you. [ a beat, an attempt at being jovial and skirting around that sincerity, ] Who else would listen to all my stories so raptly?
And on the bright side, I have a pain-numbing enchanted cuff now, so that simplifies amputations considerably. Y’know, hypothetically —
And on the bright side, I have a pain-numbing enchanted cuff now, so that simplifies amputations considerably. Y’know, hypothetically —
Certainly not the Captain, [ drily, it's fine, she doesn't believe he'd really miss her anyway! ]
Hypothetically, that's very good to know. ...I wonder what kinds of enchantments went into it. Freezing, probably? Have you put it on to see how it feels?
[ move aside tony and bruce there's some new science bros in town. ]
Hypothetically, that's very good to know. ...I wonder what kinds of enchantments went into it. Freezing, probably? Have you put it on to see how it feels?
[ move aside tony and bruce there's some new science bros in town. ]
[ mildly scoffing, amused: ] Of course I have, who do you think I am?
If I purposefully let myself be mutated over and over, a numbing cuff’s nothing —
If I purposefully let myself be mutated over and over, a numbing cuff’s nothing —
It’s not so very different from his many late nights at the Gallows library himself, staving off sleep, for the first year-and-a-bit before he got an office of his own. And he’s already restless tonight, so it’s an easy thing for Strange to accept her invitation, get dressed for the brisk autumnal air, cross over to the tower, and climb those familiar stairs.
He’s wearing a new dark-red coat, a nighttime chill clinging to its fabric, but he unbuttons it as he enters the library, warming from the climb. Once he finds Ness’ nest at the back of the library, he pulls up a chair to join her and deposits said enchanted cuff on the table: stylish, inlaid with runes, of Tevene make.
“I’m not sleeping well anyway,” he says, skipping right past the cursory hellos, “so I don’t mind the distraction.”
He’s wearing a new dark-red coat, a nighttime chill clinging to its fabric, but he unbuttons it as he enters the library, warming from the climb. Once he finds Ness’ nest at the back of the library, he pulls up a chair to join her and deposits said enchanted cuff on the table: stylish, inlaid with runes, of Tevene make.
“I’m not sleeping well anyway,” he says, skipping right past the cursory hellos, “so I don’t mind the distraction.”
Hellos are for people who don't have better things to do—Ness reaches across the table and scoops up the cuff, looking it over with bright, curious eyes. She traces her fingers over the runes, turns it this way and that to see each side of it, holds it up to one of the bottles she's set in front of her candle for better light.
"Damn if the Tevene don't know how to enchant things, hm?"
Shame about all the slavery and imperialism and such.
Ness hands the cuff back over to Stephen and rolls up her sleeve with quick, precise movements, holding her bare wrist out to him over the library table. Her curiosity and excitement mean that she's not self-conscious at all about the state of her hands, ravaged as they've been by her compulsive skin picking in the wake of Sarrux.
"Damn if the Tevene don't know how to enchant things, hm?"
Shame about all the slavery and imperialism and such.
Ness hands the cuff back over to Stephen and rolls up her sleeve with quick, precise movements, holding her bare wrist out to him over the library table. Her curiosity and excitement mean that she's not self-conscious at all about the state of her hands, ravaged as they've been by her compulsive skin picking in the wake of Sarrux.
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