[ 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
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?