Contemplatin', beg your pardon
It takes a moment to realize that Charlie hasn't genuinely combusted on the spot, although the blinding smile and exploding energy are a close second. Both make Thal wonder if she's going to regret this decision, but she follows regardless, skirting the familiar slab of obsidian to enter an alcove she's never noticed before. It turns into a corridor that leads to a wooden door acting as a barrier to contain the warm air and fatty scents.
She steps cautiously inside, eyes scanning the space with open interest, snagging hungrily on the deer in the same way she might admire a delicious looking cake. The rest of the materials are foreign and less intriguing to her, although she takes in the waxy substance in a vat and vials of things she couldn't even guess at. Candle-making isn't a process she's wondered about, making it all the more overwhelming to see so much she doesn't understand, not even sure where to stand in the space.
Watching Charlie's tendril of flame, Thal's feet are already moving towards the blood, not even hesitating in her response. "Bones." She doesn't add that she has no idea how to keep something at a 'boiling simmer.' Instead, she pulls out a wickedly sharp dagger, slicing into the joint of the deer's hind leg to expose the straighter bones. Her slender fingers slip between blood and muscle to clutch at the bone, twisting it in a savage motion that echoes of cartilage and ripping tendons. "What are you making so many for?"
She steps cautiously inside, eyes scanning the space with open interest, snagging hungrily on the deer in the same way she might admire a delicious looking cake. The rest of the materials are foreign and less intriguing to her, although she takes in the waxy substance in a vat and vials of things she couldn't even guess at. Candle-making isn't a process she's wondered about, making it all the more overwhelming to see so much she doesn't understand, not even sure where to stand in the space.
Watching Charlie's tendril of flame, Thal's feet are already moving towards the blood, not even hesitating in her response. "Bones." She doesn't add that she has no idea how to keep something at a 'boiling simmer.' Instead, she pulls out a wickedly sharp dagger, slicing into the joint of the deer's hind leg to expose the straighter bones. Her slender fingers slip between blood and muscle to clutch at the bone, twisting it in a savage motion that echoes of cartilage and ripping tendons. "What are you making so many for?"
Thalassa
But there's a part of me that recognizes you
