HARPER
Magic is familiar, yes, but you also don't usually get to ask questions of those trying to kill you with it. Admittedly there had been the odd few narcissists willing, but none as demonstrative and blase about it as Deimos. Harper watches, enchanted, as items surface from seemingly nothing. Desperately trying to scientifically explain that which he knows defies the entire basis of the genre. "Amazing!" he breathes, never so intrigued by a mop before but finding himself stroking the handle like it was made of gold. "What are the limitations?" Was a source material required, like alchemy?
He grins sheepishly at the man's definitely-not-a-pout, though he ogles at the waterworks for a long moment before forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Gently picking up the offerings to clean each one individually, dunking those that can be submerged into the water and sadly discarding what is withered or cannot be saved. Then it is only a matter of cleaning the alter beneath, which he does reverently by hand, humming a nonsensical tune while Deimos powerblasts everything inches away, completely outshining his meager efforts without breaking a sweat (or his cool guy aura).
He grins sheepishly at the man's definitely-not-a-pout, though he ogles at the waterworks for a long moment before forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Gently picking up the offerings to clean each one individually, dunking those that can be submerged into the water and sadly discarding what is withered or cannot be saved. Then it is only a matter of cleaning the alter beneath, which he does reverently by hand, humming a nonsensical tune while Deimos powerblasts everything inches away, completely outshining his meager efforts without breaking a sweat (or his cool guy aura).
