"Is that something to fear?" he asks with a small smile and a teasing tilt
of his head.
He doesn't doubt what she says about upholding her family way. Her words
belie her demeanor -- proud and a little cold. She has the skills to back
it up. He doesn't know, yet, who she really is, which parts of the
reputation of her family are actually the way of the Grimhildes, which part
of that way is actually her way -- that's what he's interested in, her
opinions and emotions, what impassions her -- not the beliefs she's
supposed to hold.
"Thank you." Auryn follows, watching the stone stairs appear elegantly. He
thinks, but doesn't say, that her policy of demanding prowess or payment
speaks of fear, a little bit. But he understands that fear. His just takes
the form of aggressively demanding recognition. "Just myself," he says. "My
abilities." He opens his hand to reveal a dogbane stem he'd plucked while
first entering the woods, pulled from his pocket, and coaxes a bloom out of
the winter-withered bud. After a moment of concentration it transforms into
its cousin: her namesake, a slightly wider whiter flower.
"And hopefully, interesting conversation," he adds as she reaches the door.
"As I think you might have all the material goods you can stand in this
place all by yourself, but maybe a lack of questions."
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Date: 2014-12-27 11:49 pm (UTC)"Is that something to fear?" he asks with a small smile and a teasing tilt of his head. He doesn't doubt what she says about upholding her family way. Her words belie her demeanor -- proud and a little cold. She has the skills to back it up. He doesn't know, yet, who she really is, which parts of the reputation of her family are actually the way of the Grimhildes, which part of that way is actually her way -- that's what he's interested in, her opinions and emotions, what impassions her -- not the beliefs she's supposed to hold.
"Thank you." Auryn follows, watching the stone stairs appear elegantly. He thinks, but doesn't say, that her policy of demanding prowess or payment speaks of fear, a little bit. But he understands that fear. His just takes the form of aggressively demanding recognition. "Just myself," he says. "My abilities." He opens his hand to reveal a dogbane stem he'd plucked while first entering the woods, pulled from his pocket, and coaxes a bloom out of the winter-withered bud. After a moment of concentration it transforms into its cousin: her namesake, a slightly wider whiter flower.
"And hopefully, interesting conversation," he adds as she reaches the door. "As I think you might have all the material goods you can stand in this place all by yourself, but maybe a lack of questions."