He mimics it back at her, a little more messily than her neat spelling,
twice. Names are powerful, and he'd rather be able to have control of his
in any language. The silent gesturing makes him think of his father, a
little, in a vague way that has more to do with things he thinks he knows
about Marines than things he actually remembers. The way most of the blanks
in his memories are filled in with supposition.
He can tell she's annoyed and fidgety as he writes and lets her read, but
it's not his fault that everyone in this town comes with the newest iPhone
and he doesn't, and he doesn't allow himself to feel bad about the fact
that he can write in his mismatch of cursive faster than he can text.
He reads her text back, carefully, pen still resting on the page. You
should try not having a phone, he jokes, and gives her a halfsmile to
let her know he's joking, reading on.
We have historically been forced to hide by humans. But covens
and ruling houses aren't any better than humans who try to throw money at a
problem. Magic isn't something meant for our beck and call, a technology or
a lifestyle. It's a gift we have access to, beyond our being. It's a
mistake to . . . He shakes his head and waves a hand, drawing a
frustrated line to indicate his dissatisfaction with his own communication
and tries to rephrase, thinking.
He looks up when she pauses, and furrows his brow a little, reading when
she shows him. He's sure if she's trying, the flare of confusion and then
indignance that floods him will be evident. That’s not what magic’s
for. Sure, he does little stupid things like light his cigarettes
with fire. But that’s not innate change. So your parents throw both
magic and money at problems?
That's awful he adds.
Auryn owes her more honesty after that admission, and he chews on the
inside of his lip. I was taken away from my parents when I was eight.
Babysitter found ritual knives in our home, pagan symbols. Finally had
something they could do about our being different. Destroy it. He wraps
his right hand around his necklace as he writes, pressing the edges of the
tags into his palm unthinking. One set of fosters tried to Save me.
Taught me what would happen come judgement...I don't think it worked.
His jaw is set. I can't imagine parents willingly pushing away their
child, no matter how many times I see it, he admits.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-06-22 11:33 pm (UTC)He mimics it back at her, a little more messily than her neat spelling, twice. Names are powerful, and he'd rather be able to have control of his in any language. The silent gesturing makes him think of his father, a little, in a vague way that has more to do with things he thinks he knows about Marines than things he actually remembers. The way most of the blanks in his memories are filled in with supposition.
He can tell she's annoyed and fidgety as he writes and lets her read, but it's not his fault that everyone in this town comes with the newest iPhone and he doesn't, and he doesn't allow himself to feel bad about the fact that he can write in his mismatch of cursive faster than he can text.
He reads her text back, carefully, pen still resting on the page. You should try not having a phone, he jokes, and gives her a halfsmile to let her know he's joking, reading on.
We have historically been forced to hide by humans. But covens and ruling houses aren't any better than humans who try to throw money at a problem. Magic isn't something meant for our beck and call, a technology or a lifestyle. It's a gift we have access to, beyond our being. It's a mistake to . . . He shakes his head and waves a hand, drawing a frustrated line to indicate his dissatisfaction with his own communication and tries to rephrase, thinking.
He looks up when she pauses, and furrows his brow a little, reading when she shows him. He's sure if she's trying, the flare of confusion and then indignance that floods him will be evident. That’s not what magic’s for. Sure, he does little stupid things like light his cigarettes with fire. But that’s not innate change. So your parents throw both magic and money at problems?
That's awful he adds.
Auryn owes her more honesty after that admission, and he chews on the inside of his lip. I was taken away from my parents when I was eight. Babysitter found ritual knives in our home, pagan symbols. Finally had something they could do about our being different. Destroy it. He wraps his right hand around his necklace as he writes, pressing the edges of the tags into his palm unthinking. One set of fosters tried to Save me. Taught me what would happen come judgement...I don't think it worked.
His jaw is set. I can't imagine parents willingly pushing away their child, no matter how many times I see it, he admits.