[Stressing the last word, calling out Yennefer's attempt to distance herself from her own questions. From her own curiosity, perhaps.
A habit he knows all too well, that has gone from halting and stuttering in his youth, to second nature these days. To rephrase his orders as suggestions and his questions as idle thoughts.
He sees it, in her. The same careful way of feeling her way through the layers of the conversation... and he watches her duck gracefully under the branching trees, the dignity in her shoulders as she passes him.] Sometimes, I wonder that myself.
[Only recently. After the well-known and comfortable had been turned on its head and his world had flipped upside down.] Potential.
What a lovely neutral word for it. [The woods grow thicker around them, the trunks of ancient trees pressing in closer as the path he decided to follow narrows in front of them.] Are you sure You're good at this. Riding.
[ It is a distancing tactic, and one that not many have picked up on; she bites back a partial smile at the thought that he's done so already, and not even simply made note of it but moved to call her out for the instinct. It drives her gaze to rise, to turn, to track him where he's saddled and make note of his position relative to her own, as they carefully wind their way around clustered trees and fallen trunks, or places where the roots have grown high above the ground. ]
Promise. [ She carefully adjusts her seat as the path narrows before them, resecuring her hands on the reins; even though this mount may not be a real one, it responds to her commands easily, which leaves little to imagine in terms of how the situation could go awry. ] Is that better?
[ His words prompt her to direct her next look back at him, mouth curving up in the beginnings of an amused grin. ]
Would you like to check my form personally, just to be certain?
[The landscape seems to go on forever, stretching out before them as dense forest and narrow pathways. A fairy tale forest, hidden in the depths of space, in the darkness between the dying stars and it still feels so real.
When a branch catches the back of his shirt, snagging on the fabric, because his eyes are locked on her. On how she answers, or how she doesn't. The casually cruel way of turning every question back around, spinning the conversation until she's free to not let anything of herself slip out around the crisp vowels. Distracting him with the red bow of her lips in a smile.]
Perfect.
[As he untangles the leaves from himself, mouth echoing her smile.] But you knew that already.
[She uses her looks the way he does. The calculation that goes in to knowing exactly what reaction to hope for, and how to best achieve it. The way he knew how to show only the carefully selected parts of himself.
[ It's a landscape that wars with her natural ability to perceive this space — knowing, instinctively, that there's no possibility it could extend for this long in any one direction, and remembering the fact that everything behind them has likely vanished up to a point as they press forward. This is the only thought that allows her to give into the illusion of it all — to pretend that she's willingly let herself become lost in this forest, with him, as dappled sunlight breaks through to illuminate the path they take.
He's likely already made note of the way she only answers questions to a certain extent, only reveals as much or little of herself as she deigns necessary. It offers the illusion that she's divulging something more honest, unless someone attempts to look more deeply at the actual sentiments — and she should have known that he would be such a person.
The only potential snare — moreso than the branch that snags upon his clothing — could come from letting him in beyond the walls that she's so carefully established around herself. She's not so naive as to think anything good would derive from being so foolishly trusting of his intent.
That aside, there's nothing wrong with a halfway-pleasant diversion, and she takes advantage of their having reached a quiet clearing to draw back on the reins, bringing her horse to a stop. ]
You did question my expertise. I'm merely suggesting the idea that you verify its presence for yourself if any doubts yet remain.
I haven't met a lot of people here who knows about horses. Or riding for that matter. They seem more at ease with the network, the ever-available food in the kitchen and that tiny robot that seems to clean the whole station on its own.
That, or there's more than one of them. All identical.
[Another careful piece of himself revealed, that he doesn't know this place. Isn't as comfortable at the station as he might seem to be, a simple weakness laid bare before them both as the clearing and the picture-perfect meadow snaps in to focus in front of them.
As perfect and dishonest as all the rest of the room.]
As promising and tempting as that might sound, I think I will take your word for it. Call it trust.
[ More among them seem to be better acquainted with the technology on the station, the advancements that her own world has yet to invent or even so much as imagine. She wouldn't be surprised if there are very few besides who have even sat on the back of a horse before or if they are just more accustomed to faster travel, like the train they recently boarded on the most recent mission — the train where they themselves had first met, coincidentally enough.
His response prompts an exhale of a laugh from her, something full of enough amusement to make the dimple in her cheek more prominent as she pivots in the saddle. ]
Then if we're taking a brief respite here, I'll permit you to help me down. [ There's no indication that either of their mounts will suddenly bolt or disappear on them, likely no need for her to tie the reins off on anything. It might be a more bold-faced attempt to allow him to put hands on her, or to see how bold he'll get when given the opportunity to do so. ]
Why not take a moment to rest here. It is a very beautiful place.
[As his eyes never leave her, doesn't stray from her face as a more honest smile melts over his lips.
Not until he slides down from his own saddle, reins tied off with quick, efficient hands - practiced hands and he stands just beside her.]
Well, since you gave me permission- [As his hand finds the edge of her hip, fingers shaping themselves around the firm roundness of it as his eyes lock on hers.] The only way now, is down.
For all its artifice, at least one or two aspects offer authenticity.
[ It's merely down to the two of them, in other words, to be the only things in this space that are real, even while everything else is deceptively palpable, from the solid mount she can feel beneath her to the whisper of a breeze moving through tree branches, rustling that could almost be convincing if she wasn't already aware of how everything here is the product of construction, of programming, of code.
Her gaze is only on his, first, as he reaches out to encircle her hip with palm and curving fingers, and she slides forward with a shift of her weight, allowing gravity to do the rest. Her hand comes down on his shoulder midway through the movement, but she has every expectation that he'll simply guide her into letting her feet hit the ground, allow her to regain the sense of internal axis. ]
[She manages to turn a move that should be fast, in to a slow glide down his front. A slip that he encourages, stopping her as they're face to face, her breath fanning over his face.]
Yes.
[Too many years lived, too many fates watched from the shadows to even think it without permission. Too many horrors visited on his people, for him to take it less than absolutely serious as he holds her, both hands on her waist and carrying her slight weight easily.]
Anyone who wouldn't- [A tightening of his jaw in lieu of an answer, eyes flashing] well. I'm sure your chaos could deal with that.
[Setting her down gently, only after a second of holding her close.]
[ It should be her first instinct to want to be placed down on her own two feet more immediately; she’d only intended the request — or demand — of his assistance as a means of positioning herself close to him for a fleeting instant, but she hadn’t expected the possibility of him bearing her weight for longer than that, keeping her half-hoisted with his own strength as her hands brace against his shoulders and his span the inward curve of her waist. ]
You haven’t yet seen what it’s even capable of.
[ Or what she is, in other words; her gaze glints with knowing, her toes skimming the ground before he finally surrenders her to the false earth, and then she withdraws from him, deftly navigating out from between where he stands and her mount has begun to idly graze as she lets her attention drift around the clearing. ]
Some focus less on needing permission over simply pleading for forgiveness after the fact.
[As with all things, there were no lows that man would not sink to. No torture they would not visit on another. No end to the cruelty that he had witnessed throughout the years...
He watches her move through the greenery with narrowed eyes.]
Some need a swift punch to the face.
[Even this place, as green and alive as it might feel- the meadow and the summer sun, the peaceful sound of leaves ruffling in the wind and the softer sound of Yennefer's dress crinkling with every step she takes- it doesn't take away the darkness that lives in all of the real worlds.
Taking a sharp breath, he smiles.]
But I do want to see it. And didn't you make me a promise, once?
[ She's rarely needed to bruise her hands with the power she possesses, chaos making it possible for her to keep her distance on many an occasion from a presumed foe; in fact, she can't remember the last time she even needed to throw a punch, even if she'd felt an overwhelming helplessness when she'd found herself without her chaos in the aftermath of Sodden, not fully realizing what it would mean to be without it until it was gone.
Here, even possessing it at half its strength is better than nothing at all; she doesn't always feel the need to draw on it so much as simply wanting it there, within reach, should she require it.
She glances back over her shoulder at him, mouth quirking slightly. ]
Was it a promise, or an inevitability? [ A pause, and then she reaches into the pocket of her dress, procuring a small bag of dried tea leaves that she's been holding onto and holding it outward in her palm; there's a slight pause, a quiet murmur under her breath, and something begins to grow upward, poking its way through the bag and unfurling itself toward the false sun, leafy greenery that has been infused with new life. ]
[He watches her chaos, the seed of life that seems to slither out of the small opening of the bag in her small hands and the green stalk of a plant growing from either the words muttered under her breath or the power that she yields.]
Inevitability.
[It is a question, but before she can answer, his eyes lift from her magic to her face. Lingering on the black dress and the gold accents on it. How well she wears it-
[ The question would never have been if she was planning to display her power to him at a certain juncture, but when; some things are inevitable, like her capacity for channeling. Sometimes she'll reach for chaos without even thinking about it intentionally, although she has required more intention since being back on the station with her abilities more stifled here. It's still improved over not being able to access them at all, as had been the case on the train.
She looks up from her hand, releasing her hold on the magic, although the newly restored plants growing out green in her palm still linger now that she's infused them with new life. ]
I believe in choice. And the capacity to change one's fate if possible. [ Her chin lifts, her gaze steady on his. ] Destiny isn't enough to bring people together. Something more is always needed.
[His own fingers twisting together, the shadows that pool in the palms of his hands, slithering across the open space between them. It flows like dark water, climbing the little life in her hands like vines of darkness until the plant is fully covered in it.]
[ She has never considered the possibility of what it could be like to draw on another's power — to use them to channel her chaos, but as his shadows lengthen, extending over the space between their bodies and assert themselves across her skin, she dwells in the thought of whether she could wield more by his hand.
She doesn't feel much, apart from that covering, the shadows themselves strong enough to blot out the sun, and when she relinquishes her grasp on the plant in her hand, it begins to shrivel in the darkness, drawing into itself — but only dying so that something else can emerge.
Light, a small flickering akin to a flame, blossoms in her palm, challenging the shadows, persisting — it's not a full-blown inferno, not when she's only sacrificed the plant's life to create it, but it lingers as definitively as a candle that has yet to be extinguished. ]
Our purpose was decided when we stepped on to this station.
[Their personal regrets. A constant knowledge that everyone on board had done or seen something so vile and so horrible, that they would trade their lives to see it undone.
He had done many, terrible thing to get what he wants most - had lived with all of it and regretted nothing because there was no point in looking back, when the future was just around the corner.
When he would find the thing to save Grisha and end the suffering.]
Is that what you want, Yennefer. Power. [But his gaze never weavers from the flicking light in the darkness of his creation. From the warm light that she makes to push at his shadows.]
[ Granted, she is not in the habit of trying to discern others' regrets, or weighing them in comparison to her own — that would ensure she becomes distracted away from what her own efforts should be in doing enough to earn the reversal of what she is seeking to undo.
On the other hand, when taking all of her past into account, she does not hold many regrets when all is said and done. It's more telling that the regret she does harbor is something recent, rather than anything that could be connected to earlier years. ]
Among other things. [ Even in this she attempts to prod him, to assert herself, to make her own presence known rather than allowing him to absorb her; he may even feel the strength of her ability, in spite of it only being at a fraction of its potential, as it presses against his. ]
[How quickly a lot of the crew lost sight of what was important. The greater good and the one goal they could all agree on. Conversations turning banal and superfluous, the drama that seethed like poison in their midsts.
But not with this one.
Intrigue and interest sparks in his dark eyes, and the push allows for tendrils of light to escape the cocoon of shadows that pulses against her palms - like a heart beating in her hand.]
[ Keen enough in his attentiveness, and she's been on the receiving end of it enough times to know that when he is looking at her he is truly studying her, looking for places to prod, to expose, to learn. It would serve her well not to lose sight of that, or to let herself become too open to the point where true vulnerabilities could unveil themselves before him.
But the touch of his power against her own makes it startlingly easy to not think about all of that, at least for a few moments, something in it more intimate than if they had simply reached for one another physically. ]
You'd respect me less if I told you everything so easily. [ Why confess so readily when she can let him earn it from her, a little piece at a time? ]
[Even if it wasn't a compliment, but a way of letting him know he's been seen. Yennefer's gaze piercing him, seeing through the masks and the clever little tricks that he uses to keep everyone at arm's length.]
Do you want my respect? [Instead of strangling the light in her hands, he pulls the shadows back, fingers twisting until the darkness crawls up her wrists, settling around them like sleeves.] Because I have to say, you're delightful, Yennefer.
A sentiment shared by absolutely no one who's ever actually met me.
[ That remark prompts a sound almost akin to a laugh in her throat, the notion of his respect suddenly giving way to the possibility that he might be favoring something altogether simpler in merely liking her.
Her own opinion of him is still too complex to be categorized with a description like that one, but she hasn't shied away from the shadows of his ability that twine and curl around the line of her arm as though he means to wrap her in them from head to toe — and yet she doesn't have the impression that it would be confining, or stifling, but something closer to being held. ]
[But he knows what she tries to do. The warning her words carry, despite the intimate setting of their rendezvous and the shadows creeping up her arms.]
You shouldn't. First impressions can be so very deceiving. [Even if he did find himself fascinated by her from that very first one. The unflinching gaze, the tilt to her head across the pool table and the rocking of her body in to his own by the train barreling down the tracks.]
Can you feel them? [And small nod towards the darkness that spreads across her dress, up her arms to twine around her chest. He's head versions of how they feel, from disembodied coolness to akin his own physical touch, only colder. He never really knew which one was the right one.
Or if it was both, at once.] I rarely use them like this, but- [catching her eyes with his] I have excellent control.
[ He doesn't seem like the type of man who would unwittingly head into a situation without first considering the potential drawbacks — and it's not as though they haven't had meetings prior to this one where he could have very well made up his mind about her already. ]
It's... interesting. [ And it is, the notion of suddenly being immersed in shadow, cloaked in it, like the darkness is taking over the place of her own clothing for him to wrap her in part of himself. In many ways, it feels significantly more intimate than if they were physically reaching for one another, and she stretches out an arm experimentally, turning it around and seeing whether the shadows follow at a gap or remain clinging to her throughout the movement. ]
Is it the same for you, in feeling another's power? [ She curves her wrist, a twitch of fingers initiating a push against the darkness itself, chaos carving a path through them and forcing the shadows apart until it feels like a column of air swirling around his wrist, the element she's manipulating to create the effect. Fire, while more of a display, is slightly unwieldy by comparison, and can grow quickly if one is distracted enough to let it. ]
The way she picks her words, the curious tilt to her head and the way his shadows cling to her black dress. Sure, it's the minut twisting of his fingers that guide them, and as she moves, so do they.
Like a second skin.
Wrapped up until they flick at the collar of her dress.]
With Grisha, I can feel their power with physical touch. [But Grisha only, yet he had kept trying - hand reaching out to brush against the more powerful ones on the station and feeling nothing reaching back.
He feels the wind against his wrist, the way it made the hairs there stand on end. The coolness against his warm skin. The careful control.
And he smiles-] Do it a few more times, and I'm sure I could pick yours out blindfolded. Light and wind. Growth. Are there any limits?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[Stressing the last word, calling out Yennefer's attempt to distance herself from her own questions. From her own curiosity, perhaps.
A habit he knows all too well, that has gone from halting and stuttering in his youth, to second nature these days. To rephrase his orders as suggestions and his questions as idle thoughts.
He sees it, in her. The same careful way of feeling her way through the layers of the conversation... and he watches her duck gracefully under the branching trees, the dignity in her shoulders as she passes him.] Sometimes, I wonder that myself.
[Only recently. After the well-known and comfortable had been turned on its head and his world had flipped upside down.] Potential.
What a lovely neutral word for it. [The woods grow thicker around them, the trunks of ancient trees pressing in closer as the path he decided to follow narrows in front of them.] Are you sure You're good at this. Riding.
no subject
Promise. [ She carefully adjusts her seat as the path narrows before them, resecuring her hands on the reins; even though this mount may not be a real one, it responds to her commands easily, which leaves little to imagine in terms of how the situation could go awry. ] Is that better?
[ His words prompt her to direct her next look back at him, mouth curving up in the beginnings of an amused grin. ]
Would you like to check my form personally, just to be certain?
no subject
When a branch catches the back of his shirt, snagging on the fabric, because his eyes are locked on her. On how she answers, or how she doesn't. The casually cruel way of turning every question back around, spinning the conversation until she's free to not let anything of herself slip out around the crisp vowels. Distracting him with the red bow of her lips in a smile.]
Perfect.
[As he untangles the leaves from himself, mouth echoing her smile.] But you knew that already.
[She uses her looks the way he does. The calculation that goes in to knowing exactly what reaction to hope for, and how to best achieve it. The way he knew how to show only the carefully selected parts of himself.
Like calls to like.]
Is that an offer?
no subject
He's likely already made note of the way she only answers questions to a certain extent, only reveals as much or little of herself as she deigns necessary. It offers the illusion that she's divulging something more honest, unless someone attempts to look more deeply at the actual sentiments — and she should have known that he would be such a person.
The only potential snare — moreso than the branch that snags upon his clothing — could come from letting him in beyond the walls that she's so carefully established around herself. She's not so naive as to think anything good would derive from being so foolishly trusting of his intent.
That aside, there's nothing wrong with a halfway-pleasant diversion, and she takes advantage of their having reached a quiet clearing to draw back on the reins, bringing her horse to a stop. ]
You did question my expertise. I'm merely suggesting the idea that you verify its presence for yourself if any doubts yet remain.
no subject
That, or there's more than one of them. All identical.
[Another careful piece of himself revealed, that he doesn't know this place. Isn't as comfortable at the station as he might seem to be, a simple weakness laid bare before them both as the clearing and the picture-perfect meadow snaps in to focus in front of them.
As perfect and dishonest as all the rest of the room.]
As promising and tempting as that might sound, I think I will take your word for it. Call it trust.
no subject
[ More among them seem to be better acquainted with the technology on the station, the advancements that her own world has yet to invent or even so much as imagine. She wouldn't be surprised if there are very few besides who have even sat on the back of a horse before or if they are just more accustomed to faster travel, like the train they recently boarded on the most recent mission — the train where they themselves had first met, coincidentally enough.
His response prompts an exhale of a laugh from her, something full of enough amusement to make the dimple in her cheek more prominent as she pivots in the saddle. ]
Then if we're taking a brief respite here, I'll permit you to help me down. [ There's no indication that either of their mounts will suddenly bolt or disappear on them, likely no need for her to tie the reins off on anything. It might be a more bold-faced attempt to allow him to put hands on her, or to see how bold he'll get when given the opportunity to do so. ]
no subject
[As his eyes never leave her, doesn't stray from her face as a more honest smile melts over his lips.
Not until he slides down from his own saddle, reins tied off with quick, efficient hands - practiced hands and he stands just beside her.]
Well, since you gave me permission- [As his hand finds the edge of her hip, fingers shaping themselves around the firm roundness of it as his eyes lock on hers.] The only way now, is down.
no subject
[ It's merely down to the two of them, in other words, to be the only things in this space that are real, even while everything else is deceptively palpable, from the solid mount she can feel beneath her to the whisper of a breeze moving through tree branches, rustling that could almost be convincing if she wasn't already aware of how everything here is the product of construction, of programming, of code.
Her gaze is only on his, first, as he reaches out to encircle her hip with palm and curving fingers, and she slides forward with a shift of her weight, allowing gravity to do the rest. Her hand comes down on his shoulder midway through the movement, but she has every expectation that he'll simply guide her into letting her feet hit the ground, allow her to regain the sense of internal axis. ]
Do you always wait for permission?
no subject
Yes.
[Too many years lived, too many fates watched from the shadows to even think it without permission. Too many horrors visited on his people, for him to take it less than absolutely serious as he holds her, both hands on her waist and carrying her slight weight easily.]
Anyone who wouldn't- [A tightening of his jaw in lieu of an answer, eyes flashing] well. I'm sure your chaos could deal with that.
[Setting her down gently, only after a second of holding her close.]
no subject
You haven’t yet seen what it’s even capable of.
[ Or what she is, in other words; her gaze glints with knowing, her toes skimming the ground before he finally surrenders her to the false earth, and then she withdraws from him, deftly navigating out from between where he stands and her mount has begun to idly graze as she lets her attention drift around the clearing. ]
Some focus less on needing permission over simply pleading for forgiveness after the fact.
cw- allusions to SA
[As with all things, there were no lows that man would not sink to. No torture they would not visit on another. No end to the cruelty that he had witnessed throughout the years...
He watches her move through the greenery with narrowed eyes.]
Some need a swift punch to the face.
[Even this place, as green and alive as it might feel- the meadow and the summer sun, the peaceful sound of leaves ruffling in the wind and the softer sound of Yennefer's dress crinkling with every step she takes- it doesn't take away the darkness that lives in all of the real worlds.
Taking a sharp breath, he smiles.]
But I do want to see it. And didn't you make me a promise, once?
no subject
[ She's rarely needed to bruise her hands with the power she possesses, chaos making it possible for her to keep her distance on many an occasion from a presumed foe; in fact, she can't remember the last time she even needed to throw a punch, even if she'd felt an overwhelming helplessness when she'd found herself without her chaos in the aftermath of Sodden, not fully realizing what it would mean to be without it until it was gone.
Here, even possessing it at half its strength is better than nothing at all; she doesn't always feel the need to draw on it so much as simply wanting it there, within reach, should she require it.
She glances back over her shoulder at him, mouth quirking slightly. ]
Was it a promise, or an inevitability? [ A pause, and then she reaches into the pocket of her dress, procuring a small bag of dried tea leaves that she's been holding onto and holding it outward in her palm; there's a slight pause, a quiet murmur under her breath, and something begins to grow upward, poking its way through the bag and unfurling itself toward the false sun, leafy greenery that has been infused with new life. ]
no subject
Inevitability.
[It is a question, but before she can answer, his eyes lift from her magic to her face. Lingering on the black dress and the gold accents on it. How well she wears it-
his color.
It would always be his]
Do you believe in fate, Yennefer?
no subject
She looks up from her hand, releasing her hold on the magic, although the newly restored plants growing out green in her palm still linger now that she's infused them with new life. ]
I believe in choice. And the capacity to change one's fate if possible. [ Her chin lifts, her gaze steady on his. ] Destiny isn't enough to bring people together. Something more is always needed.
no subject
[His own fingers twisting together, the shadows that pool in the palms of his hands, slithering across the open space between them. It flows like dark water, climbing the little life in her hands like vines of darkness until the plant is fully covered in it.]
Hmm? What might bring people together?
no subject
[ She has never considered the possibility of what it could be like to draw on another's power — to use them to channel her chaos, but as his shadows lengthen, extending over the space between their bodies and assert themselves across her skin, she dwells in the thought of whether she could wield more by his hand.
She doesn't feel much, apart from that covering, the shadows themselves strong enough to blot out the sun, and when she relinquishes her grasp on the plant in her hand, it begins to shrivel in the darkness, drawing into itself — but only dying so that something else can emerge.
Light, a small flickering akin to a flame, blossoms in her palm, challenging the shadows, persisting — it's not a full-blown inferno, not when she's only sacrificed the plant's life to create it, but it lingers as definitively as a candle that has yet to be extinguished. ]
Perhaps even power.
no subject
[Their personal regrets. A constant knowledge that everyone on board had done or seen something so vile and so horrible, that they would trade their lives to see it undone.
He had done many, terrible thing to get what he wants most - had lived with all of it and regretted nothing because there was no point in looking back, when the future was just around the corner.
When he would find the thing to save Grisha and end the suffering.]
Is that what you want, Yennefer. Power. [But his gaze never weavers from the flicking light in the darkness of his creation. From the warm light that she makes to push at his shadows.]
no subject
[ Granted, she is not in the habit of trying to discern others' regrets, or weighing them in comparison to her own — that would ensure she becomes distracted away from what her own efforts should be in doing enough to earn the reversal of what she is seeking to undo.
On the other hand, when taking all of her past into account, she does not hold many regrets when all is said and done. It's more telling that the regret she does harbor is something recent, rather than anything that could be connected to earlier years. ]
Among other things. [ Even in this she attempts to prod him, to assert herself, to make her own presence known rather than allowing him to absorb her; he may even feel the strength of her ability, in spite of it only being at a fraction of its potential, as it presses against his. ]
no subject
[How quickly a lot of the crew lost sight of what was important. The greater good and the one goal they could all agree on. Conversations turning banal and superfluous, the drama that seethed like poison in their midsts.
But not with this one.
Intrigue and interest sparks in his dark eyes, and the push allows for tendrils of light to escape the cocoon of shadows that pulses against her palms - like a heart beating in her hand.]
What other things do you want.
no subject
[ Keen enough in his attentiveness, and she's been on the receiving end of it enough times to know that when he is looking at her he is truly studying her, looking for places to prod, to expose, to learn. It would serve her well not to lose sight of that, or to let herself become too open to the point where true vulnerabilities could unveil themselves before him.
But the touch of his power against her own makes it startlingly easy to not think about all of that, at least for a few moments, something in it more intimate than if they had simply reached for one another physically. ]
You'd respect me less if I told you everything so easily. [ Why confess so readily when she can let him earn it from her, a little piece at a time? ]
no subject
[Even if it wasn't a compliment, but a way of letting him know he's been seen. Yennefer's gaze piercing him, seeing through the masks and the clever little tricks that he uses to keep everyone at arm's length.]
Do you want my respect? [Instead of strangling the light in her hands, he pulls the shadows back, fingers twisting until the darkness crawls up her wrists, settling around them like sleeves.] Because I have to say, you're delightful, Yennefer.
no subject
[ That remark prompts a sound almost akin to a laugh in her throat, the notion of his respect suddenly giving way to the possibility that he might be favoring something altogether simpler in merely liking her.
Her own opinion of him is still too complex to be categorized with a description like that one, but she hasn't shied away from the shadows of his ability that twine and curl around the line of her arm as though he means to wrap her in them from head to toe — and yet she doesn't have the impression that it would be confining, or stifling, but something closer to being held. ]
I haven't entirely made up my mind about you yet.
no subject
[But he knows what she tries to do. The warning her words carry, despite the intimate setting of their rendezvous and the shadows creeping up her arms.]
You shouldn't. First impressions can be so very deceiving. [Even if he did find himself fascinated by her from that very first one. The unflinching gaze, the tilt to her head across the pool table and the rocking of her body in to his own by the train barreling down the tracks.]
Can you feel them? [And small nod towards the darkness that spreads across her dress, up her arms to twine around her chest. He's head versions of how they feel, from disembodied coolness to akin his own physical touch, only colder. He never really knew which one was the right one.
Or if it was both, at once.] I rarely use them like this, but- [catching her eyes with his] I have excellent control.
no subject
[ He doesn't seem like the type of man who would unwittingly head into a situation without first considering the potential drawbacks — and it's not as though they haven't had meetings prior to this one where he could have very well made up his mind about her already. ]
It's... interesting. [ And it is, the notion of suddenly being immersed in shadow, cloaked in it, like the darkness is taking over the place of her own clothing for him to wrap her in part of himself. In many ways, it feels significantly more intimate than if they were physically reaching for one another, and she stretches out an arm experimentally, turning it around and seeing whether the shadows follow at a gap or remain clinging to her throughout the movement. ]
Is it the same for you, in feeling another's power? [ She curves her wrist, a twitch of fingers initiating a push against the darkness itself, chaos carving a path through them and forcing the shadows apart until it feels like a column of air swirling around his wrist, the element she's manipulating to create the effect. Fire, while more of a display, is slightly unwieldy by comparison, and can grow quickly if one is distracted enough to let it. ]
no subject
The way she picks her words, the curious tilt to her head and the way his shadows cling to her black dress. Sure, it's the minut twisting of his fingers that guide them, and as she moves, so do they.
Like a second skin.
Wrapped up until they flick at the collar of her dress.]
With Grisha, I can feel their power with physical touch. [But Grisha only, yet he had kept trying - hand reaching out to brush against the more powerful ones on the station and feeling nothing reaching back.
He feels the wind against his wrist, the way it made the hairs there stand on end. The coolness against his warm skin. The careful control.
And he smiles-] Do it a few more times, and I'm sure I could pick yours out blindfolded. Light and wind. Growth. Are there any limits?