Auryn spots her and sits down; he manages a tight smile at the cappuccino
and gives her a respectful nod in thanks. His demeanor's polite, though not
exactly friendly, given that she's been an aggressor so far. He's not sure
what she wants, what's expected of him, and working that out is usually the
first thing he tries to do, whether he grants that or not.
He watches the movement of her hands, the repeated gesture. This, at least,
is something he's good at: memorizing what he's shown, learning new things.
When he looks at the text, he nods slowly and tries, clumsily to repeat it.
H, A, N, A. .
Auryn pulls out the little notebook he keeps in his coat pocket, full of
jotted notes, drawings, results -- and flips to a blank page. He isn't a
technophobe, but he dislikes the tether of cell phones and doesn't have the
cash for them besides. He has one, for work and emergencies: it's a little
flip phone paid in minute cards with a Montana area code that's a souvenir
of the last time he had someone he cared enough to be kept track of for,
but its ability to text is slow and clunky. AURYN, he writes out,
neat spaced out caps, but the only letter he knows of those are the A and
the N, and he makes an A sign back at her with a wry expression.
He reads her note, leaning over his coffee, and takes it in. He glances at
her and nods, wondering who's hurt her. He can guess it has something to do
with her speech, but that seems so foreign to him. His defense of witches
isn't exclusive of defending others who are discriminated against.
Auryn winces, a little, at the mention of the mass spell. It was never
intended as a binding spell, like some sort of game with others' lives, but
wild magic is a power much stronger than any witch has at their beck and
call and they'd intended to free it. Here, it's stronger, and it's been
repressed for a long time. What happened was the chaos of living in a
magical world. He regrets it, but he doesn't know her well enough yet to
feel responsible for a personal apology. He tried that with Davin and he
had it thrown in his face.
He scribbles, tilting the page so she's able to see as he writes.
Thank you. You don't owe me an apology. But I appreciate it. He
adds, with a curious smile, You have a lot of power. If you sense as
well as you project, I'm sure I wasn't too pleasant to be around either.
I'm sorry that you've been hurt through other's laziness and cruelty. I
can't undo that, but I understand why you're angry. He pauses, and goes
on, I hope you understand, then, how I feel about some of those without
magic. My life has been repeatedly torn apart by those who fear and hate
witchcraft or believe it to be devil's work. I don't think I'm better than
anyone, but I don't agree with laws that cast us as different, our
abilities and needs something to suppress. What I was brought in for today
did no harm. It's the fear of what I could do and my lack of shame in my
abilities that could have put me in jail.
no subject
Auryn spots her and sits down; he manages a tight smile at the cappuccino and gives her a respectful nod in thanks. His demeanor's polite, though not exactly friendly, given that she's been an aggressor so far. He's not sure what she wants, what's expected of him, and working that out is usually the first thing he tries to do, whether he grants that or not.
He watches the movement of her hands, the repeated gesture. This, at least, is something he's good at: memorizing what he's shown, learning new things. When he looks at the text, he nods slowly and tries, clumsily to repeat it. H, A, N, A. .
Auryn pulls out the little notebook he keeps in his coat pocket, full of jotted notes, drawings, results -- and flips to a blank page. He isn't a technophobe, but he dislikes the tether of cell phones and doesn't have the cash for them besides. He has one, for work and emergencies: it's a little flip phone paid in minute cards with a Montana area code that's a souvenir of the last time he had someone he cared enough to be kept track of for, but its ability to text is slow and clunky. AURYN, he writes out, neat spaced out caps, but the only letter he knows of those are the A and the N, and he makes an A sign back at her with a wry expression.
He reads her note, leaning over his coffee, and takes it in. He glances at her and nods, wondering who's hurt her. He can guess it has something to do with her speech, but that seems so foreign to him. His defense of witches isn't exclusive of defending others who are discriminated against.
Auryn winces, a little, at the mention of the mass spell. It was never intended as a binding spell, like some sort of game with others' lives, but wild magic is a power much stronger than any witch has at their beck and call and they'd intended to free it. Here, it's stronger, and it's been repressed for a long time. What happened was the chaos of living in a magical world. He regrets it, but he doesn't know her well enough yet to feel responsible for a personal apology. He tried that with Davin and he had it thrown in his face.
He scribbles, tilting the page so she's able to see as he writes. Thank you. You don't owe me an apology. But I appreciate it. He adds, with a curious smile, You have a lot of power. If you sense as well as you project, I'm sure I wasn't too pleasant to be around either.
I'm sorry that you've been hurt through other's laziness and cruelty. I can't undo that, but I understand why you're angry. He pauses, and goes on, I hope you understand, then, how I feel about some of those without magic. My life has been repeatedly torn apart by those who fear and hate witchcraft or believe it to be devil's work. I don't think I'm better than anyone, but I don't agree with laws that cast us as different, our abilities and needs something to suppress. What I was brought in for today did no harm. It's the fear of what I could do and my lack of shame in my abilities that could have put me in jail.