That first ball of fire—the first time he had ever thrown flames, and to think that he was throwing it at his friend—sailed by harmlessly, not even singeing her right shoulder as she dove out of the way. He was very relieved that she got away unscathed, and let his focus follow the fire to the ground. It sputtered harmlessly for a second, dimming, before he snuffed it out of existence.
No point in playing with fate like that.
His expression was a bit weird when he looked up at her, something dark and slightly concerned in it; it felt like he had crossed a threshold, and like there was no turning back. That door had slammed behind him, hard, trapping him in a future where he might have to rely on throwing fire at people and actually meaning it. He swallowed, an absent nod at her praise, relief that she wanted to take control of it. It meant fewer surprises for her, so, less danger.
He breathed in, deeply, and the fire sparked to life in his hand as well. Split it in two shouldn't be too hard.. right? He took a couple of steps backwards to give himself more space to focus in, and then threw it towards her chest: it arced straight and true, fueled by intention rather than physics, and in mid-air that intention pulled it apart into two. They were rather small and unstable, and pretty much the moment Wessex would've ducked under them (or if she didn't, hit her) they fizzled out of existence as he lost his focus. He felt slightly stunned, not by what he had achieved, but by what all of this meant—some sort of soul-searching and development happening in fast-forward, with no chance to slam on the brakes and think about it.
Training post 2/4!
No point in playing with fate like that.
His expression was a bit weird when he looked up at her, something dark and slightly concerned in it; it felt like he had crossed a threshold, and like there was no turning back. That door had slammed behind him, hard, trapping him in a future where he might have to rely on throwing fire at people and actually meaning it. He swallowed, an absent nod at her praise, relief that she wanted to take control of it. It meant fewer surprises for her, so, less danger.
He breathed in, deeply, and the fire sparked to life in his hand as well. Split it in two shouldn't be too hard.. right? He took a couple of steps backwards to give himself more space to focus in, and then threw it towards her chest: it arced straight and true, fueled by intention rather than physics, and in mid-air that intention pulled it apart into two. They were rather small and unstable, and pretty much the moment Wessex would've ducked under them (or if she didn't, hit her) they fizzled out of existence as he lost his focus. He felt slightly stunned, not by what he had achieved, but by what all of this meant—some sort of soul-searching and development happening in fast-forward, with no chance to slam on the brakes and think about it.
Training post 2/4!
