I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
Snorting at the idea of him killing her buzz, he shot her a look that read plainly: same here, princess. Pretty little thing she might be, but Eloise had already proven to be far more of a pain in his ass than he had ever anticipated. This latest development (still so new that he felt twitchy just considering it, paranoia and secrecy demanding he put right this wrong sooner rather than later) hardly made her more likely to end up tumbling in his sheets. Unless it was to stroke his hair when he had a headache, apparently.
Her questions were the special sort of personal, and he waited until she stepped into the cabin where he could shut the door before responding. Because silence would get them precisely nowhere, and really... what the fuck was there to lose now? "It's always on," he said, sounding awkward in a way entirely foreign to the man he presented to the world. Jack did not talk about his magic - that much must already be clear.
"I can block it, if I need to. Shut people out, let people in. But it's always on, like something passive."
Her questions were the special sort of personal, and he waited until she stepped into the cabin where he could shut the door before responding. Because silence would get them precisely nowhere, and really... what the fuck was there to lose now? "It's always on," he said, sounding awkward in a way entirely foreign to the man he presented to the world. Jack did not talk about his magic - that much must already be clear.
"I can block it, if I need to. Shut people out, let people in. But it's always on, like something passive."
