once again he's lacking in explanation. that's just one of his cards, no need to show all of them.]
That's why.
[part of why. she doesn't need to know the rest, doesn't need to know what kind of fire it is, where it's coming from, or that he's become so involved in dark magic that it's tainted him for the rest of his life.]
no subject
I show you mine, you show me yours.
[he's kind of a cliché, talking like how they do in movies or books, but it's part of his
creepycharm. his idle walk slows to a stop. he holds out his left hand - the hand not holding the whiskey, furthest from her - palm up. a blueish-orange flame begins to form, but it isn't dancing as flames would in a fireplace. its movements are violent, raging, soon licking at the rest of his hand and fingertips, engulfing skin. and it is hot. the small burst creates a wide radius of heat and power, lighting up the angles of his face. she'll feel it, too, hot dry waves pulsing around him. all gone with a flourish of his hand as quick as it appears, traces of smoke left as evidence.once again he's lacking in explanation. that's just one of his cards, no need to show all of them.]
That's why.
[part of why. she doesn't need to know the rest, doesn't need to know what kind of fire it is, where it's coming from, or that he's become so involved in dark magic that it's tainted him for the rest of his life.]