Righteous indignation is sort of a nice word for it, really. It's what's on
top - I shouldn't be here, if someone had rolled that log rather than
lifted it nothing would have happened, kids destroyed a living tree but I'm
the one with a gun pointed at my head - but under it there's a hatred
of police regardless of magic and the nauseous, gripping memory of other,
far away stations.
This place reminds him too much of being eight years old. Begging over and
over to go home.
He clamps down on that fear, shoves it under a shell of nonchalance when he
sees someone looking at him. She's small, but her power comes off her in
waves, and though he has no idea what she's signing, it hits him with a
blast of satisfied hostility echoed in her eyes.
He stares at her, expression melting from perplexed to cold. He hasn't done
anything to her and he has no time for witches who'd rather he be
proprietous.
He gestures across the counter, shakes his head, points to his eyes and
waves in her direction. He doesn't know sign language - he's never had
anyone to learn from - but it's a mime that should be obvious. They can't
see your magic. She's one to talk.
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Date: 2015-06-18 01:58 pm (UTC)Righteous indignation is sort of a nice word for it, really. It's what's on top - I shouldn't be here, if someone had rolled that log rather than lifted it nothing would have happened, kids destroyed a living tree but I'm the one with a gun pointed at my head - but under it there's a hatred of police regardless of magic and the nauseous, gripping memory of other, far away stations.
This place reminds him too much of being eight years old. Begging over and over to go home.
He clamps down on that fear, shoves it under a shell of nonchalance when he sees someone looking at him. She's small, but her power comes off her in waves, and though he has no idea what she's signing, it hits him with a blast of satisfied hostility echoed in her eyes.
He stares at her, expression melting from perplexed to cold. He hasn't done anything to her and he has no time for witches who'd rather he be proprietous.
He gestures across the counter, shakes his head, points to his eyes and waves in her direction. He doesn't know sign language - he's never had anyone to learn from - but it's a mime that should be obvious. They can't see your magic. She's one to talk.