oia
“Yes.” You reply, wondering if he had some sort of hearing disorder or other ailment that made it hard for him to understand you. You pride yourself on speaking quite clearly and not mumbling. However as his jaw drops open, you filter through your mental list of images and their associated emotions, identifying this one tentatively as surprise, shock, awe, or horror. “Yes.” You confirm again, and because he hasn’t asked about how it was that meeting came to be or how often, you keep those details to yourself.
“Yes.” You agree, but then he adds another qualification to the question, and you shake your head deliberately once. “The former. There are the thirteen base forms of magic, and then mutations that extend from them. Some mutations take on the powers of the host-magic and seem to increase them, whereas others seem to be entirely novel.”
As he answers that he is in fact an Outlander, for a moment you turn to look at him with clear eyes, dispelling all previous assumptions. You don’t intentionally display expressions (other than when Kai reminds you), but there is a genuine wonder that takes over your features make them look slightly less clinical and harsh. Though you do not like to be touched, you also do not precisely understand personal space either, and so you narrow your eyes and lean forward, probably uncomfortably so, to peer at him. You note the regular characteristics most human-animals seem to present—the expected number of eyes, hair in more or less the anticipated places, regular facial features. You sniff him, noting he smells clean and importantly healthy. Reaching out, you’ll poke his shoulder if he allows, all before turning back to your notes and writing a flurry of assessments, all of which boil down roughly to: he seems normal.
“When did you arrive? Where? What magic do you posses?” You ask in a rushed voice, brows raised as your quill hovers above the page, ready to take down his account.
“Yes.” You agree, but then he adds another qualification to the question, and you shake your head deliberately once. “The former. There are the thirteen base forms of magic, and then mutations that extend from them. Some mutations take on the powers of the host-magic and seem to increase them, whereas others seem to be entirely novel.”
As he answers that he is in fact an Outlander, for a moment you turn to look at him with clear eyes, dispelling all previous assumptions. You don’t intentionally display expressions (other than when Kai reminds you), but there is a genuine wonder that takes over your features make them look slightly less clinical and harsh. Though you do not like to be touched, you also do not precisely understand personal space either, and so you narrow your eyes and lean forward, probably uncomfortably so, to peer at him. You note the regular characteristics most human-animals seem to present—the expected number of eyes, hair in more or less the anticipated places, regular facial features. You sniff him, noting he smells clean and importantly healthy. Reaching out, you’ll poke his shoulder if he allows, all before turning back to your notes and writing a flurry of assessments, all of which boil down roughly to: he seems normal.
“When did you arrive? Where? What magic do you posses?” You ask in a rushed voice, brows raised as your quill hovers above the page, ready to take down his account.
of course it's exhausting, having to reason all
the time in a universe which wasn't meant to be reasonable.
the time in a universe which wasn't meant to be reasonable.
