Auryn can tell that she's not just humoring his speech and it soothes the
impulse to keep his secrets safe. He follows her down to the corridor,
darker and plainer but all lit by the floating candles.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he says, looking at her with more understanding,
knowing all too well how earth-shattering that loss can feel when you're
young. Or later, maybe, but he's never had the opportunity to find that
out. "Anyone to do that intentionally would have to have great power
themselves, to contend with someone that powerful." Before he finishes
saying it, he realizes that's a possibility -- from what has been said
about the Grimhildes in town, from what Nerium has said. Witch communities
are so small now that the idea of warring within one seems nonsensical to
him, but there are many reasons to vie for power, and he can imagine not
everyone shares their beliefs.
Her words as she ignites the fire in front of him bolster him, but he turns
to her with a raised eyebrow as she finishes. "My mother was what you call
a mundane," he reminds her, his voice going very slightly hard with
defense. If she presses him, Auryn has to admit that his mother is the
exception, rather than the rule to humans. Those that he's socialized with
or been forced to have called him a freak, been afraid of him and his
parents, or prized, fetishized him only for the novelty and the chance at
rebellion. He's certainly not going to make generalizations about the
kindness of humans. But he remembers their house. His mother loved him and
his father and was in no way subservient to their needs. And his father
respected and honored her beliefs, though he could have mocked them or
handwaved them for his own tangible power. They worked together as a
family. Auryn doesn't remember much of them, but he remembers that.
"You're right," he concedes, sitting down, "humans are guided by fear. They
chain themselves with it as much as they do us. We could all live freely
--" he shakes his head and looks up at her. "You value my honesty," he
says. "Then believe, in honesty, I want our freedom. I don't think that
requires we dismiss anyone else. I don't think it would be wise. But
they've dismissed us for too long."
He shows her his powers and watches her eyes fix on the flame, go wide
with uncontrolled excitement, and it makes him smile a little, relaxing as
he prompts a good response. "Perhaps," he agrees. He doesn't believe in
great deities as much as some others, but who can say what fate has in
store. "Is that something you can teach me?" he raises an eyebrow.
[OOC: SO MUCH OVERLAP, hope this made sense to you!]
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Date: 2015-01-05 08:17 pm (UTC)Auryn can tell that she's not just humoring his speech and it soothes the impulse to keep his secrets safe. He follows her down to the corridor, darker and plainer but all lit by the floating candles.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he says, looking at her with more understanding, knowing all too well how earth-shattering that loss can feel when you're young. Or later, maybe, but he's never had the opportunity to find that out. "Anyone to do that intentionally would have to have great power themselves, to contend with someone that powerful." Before he finishes saying it, he realizes that's a possibility -- from what has been said about the Grimhildes in town, from what Nerium has said. Witch communities are so small now that the idea of warring within one seems nonsensical to him, but there are many reasons to vie for power, and he can imagine not everyone shares their beliefs.
Her words as she ignites the fire in front of him bolster him, but he turns to her with a raised eyebrow as she finishes. "My mother was what you call a mundane," he reminds her, his voice going very slightly hard with defense. If she presses him, Auryn has to admit that his mother is the exception, rather than the rule to humans. Those that he's socialized with or been forced to have called him a freak, been afraid of him and his parents, or prized, fetishized him only for the novelty and the chance at rebellion. He's certainly not going to make generalizations about the kindness of humans. But he remembers their house. His mother loved him and his father and was in no way subservient to their needs. And his father respected and honored her beliefs, though he could have mocked them or handwaved them for his own tangible power. They worked together as a family. Auryn doesn't remember much of them, but he remembers that.
"You're right," he concedes, sitting down, "humans are guided by fear. They chain themselves with it as much as they do us. We could all live freely --" he shakes his head and looks up at her. "You value my honesty," he says. "Then believe, in honesty, I want our freedom. I don't think that requires we dismiss anyone else. I don't think it would be wise. But they've dismissed us for too long."
He shows her his powers and watches her eyes fix on the flame, go wide with uncontrolled excitement, and it makes him smile a little, relaxing as he prompts a good response. "Perhaps," he agrees. He doesn't believe in great deities as much as some others, but who can say what fate has in store. "Is that something you can teach me?" he raises an eyebrow.
[OOC: SO MUCH OVERLAP, hope this made sense to you!]