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Post by moralhazard on Feb 8, 2019 19:05:29 GMT
Thea had woken early that morning, a sudden abrupt shift from deep sleep to full wakefulness, lying curled up on her side in the soft sheets of her room. She still wasn’t entirely comfortable in this place, a room on the top floor of Jhalassan Thond’s family estate. It wasn’t even yet sunrise, but Thea could just see the beginning of a pre-dawn haze, barely visible in the north-facing room. There was no noise – no scrape at the door, no thudding bootsteps outside or yelling in the yard. As far as Thea could tell, there was no reason at all for her to be awake.
And yet – she was.
Thea slid out of bed, wriggling her toes in the rug on the stoor floor, and wrapped the shawl she’d discarded the night before around herself, stepping across the room to her window. She preferred to leave it a crack open, even in the dead of winter. There was nothing worse than a still room, not even the cold that seeped in through the corner of the glass. She pushed the window open further, and breathed deep, tasting the wind that whistled and danced into the room.
A storm. Thea swore she could taste it on the wind, the sharp tang of distant lightning. She grasped the sil and leaned forward, shivering almost immediately with the rush of air against her skin. Yes, it was definitely a storm; the skies over Waterdeep were still clear, the brightest stars still visible overhead, but, leaning, she could see distant clouds swirling out at sea. The wind, rushing southeast, brought the taste of them to her, and Thea smiled.
It was a split second decision. Before Thea had even entirely registered it, she was bundling up – first, the warmest long-sleeved shirt and tights she owned, close and tight to the skin. A warmer shirt on top, thick woolen material, and loose fitting pants to cover the close ones. Over that, a deep blue tunic, belt tightened around her waist, a woolen scarf Jhalassan’s wife had loaned her, and a hat under which she crammed her thick, curly white hair. Gloves too – two pairs, thin liners and a heavier pair she jammed into the pocket of her tunic. Two pairs of socks, thick enough that it was hard to cram her feet into her heaviest brown boots.
Then she was moving, almost flying down the stairs. Thea exited through the kitchen, snatching two of the fresh rolls meant for the household staff and winking at the cook as she fled through the yard, out onto the street. Her pace never slowed; she all but flew up the High Road, then across Delzorin Street to the Street of the Singing Dolphi, past the villa where Jhalassan had taken her for a reception. He’d told her that north was the Trolltower, the North Tower exit from the city, and Thea followed his directions confidently.
It felt like barely a moment before she was out of the city. Thea stopped on the first hill she saw, breathing deeply. In the city, she’d almost lost purposes for a few moments. The early morning smells of fresh baking bread and fires turning over had nearly driven out the storm. But here, even just a few steps outside the city, Thea could smell it again, that sharp tang on the wind that meant a big storm. She could even see it now, massive black clouds swirling out at sea, still far to the north of her. Thea thought she even saw a flash of lighting in the distant clouds; it called to her.
It was nearly dawn now, the pink light tempered by the heavy clouds starting to gather overhead. Thea glanced up, relieved to still see a few patches of sky amidst gathering gray, and kept walking.
Dawn crept over the horizon behind her as Thea walked, the light steadily strengthening. The path north of the city curved inland, and Thea left it, tromping along sparsely thicketed cliffsides, unafraid of the waves crashing into the rocks below. Hills rose to the right, separating Thea from the road. In the distance, she could see the edge of a circular bay, a long stretch of cliff that teetered out over the sea, as if stretching into the horizon. She focused on it, picking up the pace again.
It was a bit of an odd spot. The long point out didn’t quite start from the land; it was as if the cliff at the top had crumbled down, leaving a long scramble down some rocks to the side of the cliffs. From there, this point of land stretched out in the sea, wide enough for a cart at first before thinning to just a few feet towards the far end. Thea scrambled down the rocky face, noticing a little cave tucked into the cliff just off to the side of it, and set off towards the sea.
Her feet truly ached by the time she reached the end of it – she hadn’t walked so much in one day since coming to Waterdeep – but she picked her way along it, sitting among the roots of a bare, scraggly tree at the end of the path. From here, finally, she could watch the storm. Black clouds in the distance danced and roiled, and Thea could see sparks of lightning dancing between them. She watched, utterly lost to the slow dimming of the light or the creeping in of the feeling of frost; something in the sea-storm called to her, deep in a place that nothing in the human world could reach.
Years ago, one of the sailors on her mother’s ship had taught Thea about something called meditation. It had seemed silly to her at the time – who would want to just sit still and think for ages? Thea had never truly “practiced” it, as the sailor called it. All the same, a few times in her life she had found herself nearly in a trance, much like what he described. This was one of those. Her breath was like the wind in the clouds, responding to its rhythm rather than her own. Her mind cleared, swirling and ebbing with the pulsing thunderheads rather than her own thoughts, her worries and carries lost in the roar of the storm.
It wasn’t until Thea felt the first flakes of snow on her face that she realized she might have made a mistake. The world was no longer bathed in a pretty, pink dawn glow; instead, the air that whipped at her face was cold and icy, the sky above nearly as dark as that above the sea. Thea tried to rise and found her arms and legs cramped with cold. She shivered, gripping the broken tree to stay on her feet. Beneath the cliff’s edge, the sea pounded at the cliffs, swollen with the storm’s fury.
The storm broke with a vengeance; suddenly the air was all swirling white, and Thea was running back along the precipice point, trying to keep her footing on suddenly slippery rocks as snow swirled around her. There was a flash from behind her, and a muffled boom not even half a heartbeat later, the sound of thunder tampered down by the storm. The rock pile she’d scrambled down so easily was already blanketed with snow by the time she reached it. Thea hesitated, barely half a heartbeat, then made for the little cave carved into the cliff next to it, already barely able to find it through the haze of snow. She was shivering with cold by the time she reached the entrance, happy to find that it seemed to stretch back into the cliff. Thea didn’t hesitate, plunging deeper into the cliffside, trying to get away from the snow driving into the entrance. Maybe here, she could wait out the storm - she hoped.
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Citrine
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6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328 
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Post by Citrine on Feb 8, 2019 19:29:27 GMT
The criers were shouting in the streets, the clerics and the divination gifted saw it coming – the storm. A huge cyclone of a winter storm, promising ice, wind, snow, cold… deep, marrow-freezing cold. People were warned to seal their doors, the cost of firewood and coal were being vigilantly and lawfully kept an eye on – there was rising prices for the winter, sure, but they would not allow price gouging. Not for a life-threatening storm like this. Most everyone was taking heed of the warning, seamstress shops and fur traders welcoming the influx of buyers.
But there was one lil bird who couldn’t help but laugh at the antics and worry. What they all called winter here? A chilled breeze with dustings of snow. Nothing like the winter she’d once survived. The storm was due to arrive in the early morning, but even the threat of the winter hurricane did nothing to dissuade the phoenix from her morning ritual of praising the sun and offering a song to her Father celestial. The ritual started and began just as it always did, with her singing in the rising sun… even though this time there was barely proof of the morning light. Clouds were growing heavy on the horizon, the dark evening twilight coming back with a vengence. The ocean still looked black even as it ripped and crashed in on itself from the twisting tides.
Wind howled, making her flight to the higher coastal alcove shaky and more of a thrill than usual. Words from her friend, Malakbel, whispered in her ear. “Most people would be thrilled to go out of the city. That's a huge adventure on it's own. But not you. You would need to freefall a hundred kilometers from the sky to the point of almost plummeting into the ocean to feel a thrill, because anything else is such a bore. And you need to feel alive, so you'd do it. And every time you will be called to even greater heights. And people will look at you as if you're crazy for doing so, because they can't understand you… He hadn’t been wrong. In fact, he had hit the nail dead center. She needed risk. She needed the rush. She needed to freefall – what else was there to live for, especially here? In Waterdeep? This world of Faerun? The only other two who could share her style of multiple lifetimes were planes away, and as far as she knew? There was no way back. She was stuck here. There was nothing to lose. A dangerous game, indeed.
Concluding her morning ritual and re-tying her scarf around her, trinkets of ink, candle, feather, water, and ring tucked safe on her person Citrine decided that today would be the worst day ever if she were to return to town. Everyone was staying inside due to the oncoming storm. No one would be out and about, the stuffiness of being stuck inside would snuff her flame faster than a winter witch. She wasn’t someone who could stand being locked in.
How bad could the storm really be, after all? She’d sailed around a hurricane before! The Eye of her home world had been unforgiving, and yet she’d sailed -and even flown!- the vast circumference just to say she had. A little winter storm like this would be something she’d fly in, she decided. With her wings alight with oil-lit flame the phoenix dead dropped from her coastal perch and angled out to sea. The pre-storm winds beat against her limbs, straining against her wing joints. Skreeing loudly, an osprey’s scream, roared back to the storm. The challenge was on!
Ice fractals built up on her skin where she was sweating, the snow and sweat melting from the fire on her wings but then freezing due to the wind chill. Her dreads included icicles now, small ones, but they’d grow soon enough. Her bare skin open to the elements around her green chest wrap felt no cold despite the chill – still, this wasn’t cold. Not like it’d been then. Steadily her skin turned pink, then red, as the sensitive flesh reacted physically despite the head-strong willpower of its owner. Only the fire that surrounded her wings kept her from truly entering dangerous freezing hyperthermia.
Her vision began to cloud as the snow began to whip and build. The storm arrived with the grace and beauty of a minotaur. Lightening was her dance partner. Suddenly she lost altitude, dropping several feet, then tens, then even more before she could snap her wings back open to keep herself aloft. A shiver of death-dropping induced panic shook her blood before the adrenaline took over and she screed again. She was the firebird’s daughter – she wouldn’t be bested by the wind, or lightening! And certainty not from a hurricane![/i] There was only one hurricane that was allowed to subdue her – and this storm wasn’t it.
Her desire to stay alive, however, finally got a foothold in her mind – stating bluntly (sounding a lot like Holly) that if she wanted to see another day, or another lifetime, she’d return closer to shore. The storm was building quicker than expected and it would be easier surviving a fall onto land than to be consumed by the unforgiving depths of Umberlee. It was clear the Goddess was in charge here, throwing a temper that could have rivaled her own true dual-faced deity. No amount of fire would keep her from drowning. She’d been pulled through those inky depths enough times before to know there was no fighting the numbing snuff of the sea when it was in a temper.
Returning closer to shore, using only her avian instincts to lead her to the coast, the firebird -wings still alight with their mythical burning flames- obeyed her nature and fought the ever growing winds until the ground below her turned from water ink-black to lighter snow-covered tones. She’d reached the shore and cliffs. She had no idea how far down the coast she was, or how long she’d been flying over the sea, but one thing she did know? This still beat being stuck cooped up and caged inside somewhere. She was becoming numb, comfortably numb. She hadn’t felt the escapism like levels of cold which caused her to shut-down since that night in the showers, when Orin had turned the water colder than ice, and just sat there with her under the stream to forget everything. It was a numbness more exquisite, seductive, and refined than what whiskey could give. It was a numbness only a supernatural event could have ever even first caused in someone – and made anything else ‘cold’ pale in comparison.
The snowflake scar on her chest was burning cold as memories of being captive by the winter court clouded her mind. The wind was the only one to scent the spearmint coming from her wings.
Her flight slowed, wings shaking as she lost focus on keeping steady, and she dropped altitude again. The flames in her wings snuffed out before she could get a grip on the cantrip that insured her inner flame came outwards and stayed lit. She was close to the ground – or were those the cliffs? Screeching, this time in shock at how close she’d gotten without realizing, Citrine covered her face with her arms and tried to snap herself into a hover. It was ungraceful, a disgrace to all bards and dancers. Her collision with the cliffside was made worse from the wind pushing her into the crevasse. Only her taloned feet gave her purchase on the icy slick surface. Her palms busted open from the force of going many miles per hour to nothing.
The litenely of swears in a multitude of languages, some never spoken on this plane, streamed out of her mouth like a raging demon. She could feel a heavy buildup of icing water building in her wings. Even ospreys couldn’t withstand this much water. Feeling around, storm blind, the phoenix wall stepped the edges of the cliff she’d stubbed herself on in hopes of finding a crack leading into a cave or alcove. There were tons dotting the coast – there had to be something!
Shivering, starting to regret the face she’d worn only her wrap, pants, and hip scarf, Citrine scurried as well as she could. Lightning laughed at her as the wind tried to pull her into dancing yet again. The Fates were on her side though, when the ledge grew wider and the darker splotch signifying a cave came into her line of sight. A weak coo of relief followed by bird hopping from the ledge to the entrance had Citrine entering the escape from the storm.
It didn’t occur to her that something or someone else would be inside. Maybe, if she’d gave it a thought, she would have considered a coastal nest of some type of creature. But to see the dim shadow outline of a bipedal figure? Had her wings not had a layer of ice on them, the scent of alchemist fire would have flooded the small area. Instantly she called for her magic, not having the ability to see in the dark, and summoned fire in between her hands, the cantrip as natural as breathing, so she could see.
“Thea?” She whistle questioned, head cocking to the side, despite the shivers through her body. “What siren brought ye out ‘ere Lass?” It was even more surprising that she knew the person inside. Thea, the glassblower she’d met during her opening showcase. It was an embarrassing way to meet again, shivering and coated in frost, reddening skin, and ice in her hair and wings. Not anything a vain peacock like her appreciated. ".... an' how? Unless ye're hiding wings, ye're ah long way ferm teh city." Her accent was even more difficult to understand due to the shiver in her voice.
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 8, 2019 19:43:44 GMT
Thea had found what she thought was the warmest spot in the cave, tucked in close between two rocks, her back against the wall. The front rock was tall enough to block most of the wind coming up, and with her knees pulled up to her chest, Thea fit nearly entirely behind it. She rested her chin on her knees, shivering, grateful at least that the chattering of her teeth was slowly stopping.
It was hard to think; her mind was still half-outside, lost in the swirls of the storm. Thea closed her eyes. It was cold – so cold – and it was easier to let her mind drift and wander back into the eddies of clouds and snow, the brutal strength of the wind and the flashes of lighting and heat. She could still feel the storm pulsing at the edges of her consciousness, singing to her; she knew better than to try to rejoin it physically, but it lulled her deeper and deeper –
The sudden clattering of rocks was enough to startle Thea’s eyes open. Her name snapped her back to herself, and she started to shake, violently. She stared at the barely visible figure in front of her, feeling like she was trying to think through a cloud, until – finally – the memories settled back in. The exhibition, the glass - it had barely been a few days, not nearly long enough for her mind to be so hazy.
“… Citrine?” Thea’s eyes widened. She unfolded half-frozen limbs, lurching to her feet. She, like Citrine, was short enough to stand fully upright in the cave.
“I – “ Thea glanced around the cave, then back at the figure in front of her. She shivered again, not quite with cold this time. “The storm, it – “ Thea wrapped her arms around herself, as if somehow that would be enough to keep her together. “It called to me,” the explanation didn’t make much sense, not even to her, but there wasn’t a better one. Thea shivered again; what little skin was exposed on her face was red and chapped with the cold. “I walked,” she blinked, looking at Citrine, hardly able to believe it herself. The last few hours felt like a dream, like she’d never fully awoken until now.
“The storm called to me,” Thea said again, blinking. “I woke up and I – I could smell it, I could taste it, I – “ she closed her mouth, turning away, uncomfortable. She swallowed, hard, and turned back to Citrine, blinking. For the first time, the other woman's appearance registered.
“Oh – you must be freezing,” Thea stripped her cloak off with clumsy gloved hands, beckoning Citrine closer. “Come here, the cloak’s big, it’ll fit around us both. What are you doing here?”
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Feb 8, 2019 20:07:05 GMT
Cracking the ice on her wings wasn't an enjoyable experience. It was almost a first - she'd never been this ice-drenched in this form before. Shattering in deep slow efforts the phoenix forced her wings to move, no matter how unpleasant. In order to not freeze you had to move. Pieces of ice rained down to the cave floor as Thea described being sung out to sea by an unknown force.
"Aye understan' tha' all tae well." She tried to sound cheerful, but it was hard to do when it was clear the situation was anything but cheerful itself. "Sea's ah siren, tha's fer sure. But et's bound tae be stronger fer ye, et's en ye blood, aye?" She hadn't spoken of her assumptions in the glass shop, but here? She couldn't help herself. "We're alike, ye an' Aye. We've ah force en our blood tha' nae many else understand." Finally, with a final shrug of her shoulders and a quick step back to crack the rest against the wall, the ice around her wings broke enough that she could reach up and around to feel feathers. The fire in her hands licked at the feathers like a hungry candle being fed secret midnight oil wishes.
The rest of the ice began to melt, slowly, until they were helped along by Citrine flexing her wings gently to shed the rest of their prison. The fire grew, licking in a slow haze across each freed feather. Melted water felt burning hot against her numbed skin as it melted down her back and into the waistband of her pants. "Keep et Thea, ye need et mar than me. Wouldn't 'ave left teh city dressed like this ef et bothered me." She was touched by the offer through. It was clear the air genasi was just as frozen as she was, if not worse.
The small cave was lit nicely now from their own personal phoenix fire. It would take a while to truly become warm, but at least it wasn't windy in here. "Aye've fire en me blood, et even lets me coax et outward at time." She tiredly gestured a nod up to her wings as she stretched her shoulders. Now that she was still? The stiffness caused by flying the winds was setting in. If she sat now she'd never stand up again. So Citrine began to walk the small circumference, cracking her fingers, toes, shoulders, hips. Anything to keep moving.
Her mind was suddenly struck to the ground, a slap of memories so far buried and forgotten it would take being in almost the same location, in the same deep cold temperatures, to necromance them out of their graves. A very human Citrine sat huddled in the corner leaning against the wall, shivering and slightly blue. The walls were dirt. The floor was dirt. The ceiling was dirt. All frozen hard dirt. She’d already tried (and failed) to dig up any kind of rock – the earth was as if stone. Didn’t mean she hadn’t tried, and as a result had bloodied and sore fingernails. The only thing in here besides the roots that poked out of the ground was a stone basin that sat in the center of the room. The only light source was from a sloping path that lead to above ground. Snow and frost had no problem entering the hole.
Her scar clenched through to her heart, a piercing phantom pain making her gasp as she walked… or had been walking. During her brief flashback? Citrine had frozen still. Memory fog almost had her forgetting the question asked. "Aye flew enta teh cliffside." She admitted, embarrassed. " 'Ated the thought o' being caged inside ah tavern o' inn, sae Aye thoughted aye'd fly teh storm." She rubbed her arms with her palms, breath a little tight as she tried to push away the cold induced memories. "Umberlee proved tae 'ave teh upper 'and today though, didn't think teh storm would truly be this strong."
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 8, 2019 20:25:24 GMT
Thea hesitated a long moment, holding the cloak, until the barest edge of the warmth licking out from Citrine reached her, tangible enough proof of the bird-woman’s honesty. She wrapped the cloak back around herself, shivering again despite the new heat.
She hadn’t responded to Citrine’s mention of the force in her blood. It was easy enough to say that she’d just been distracted by the flicker of flames erupting from the ice across Citrine’s wings – it hadn’t been just a distracting sight so much as a gorgeous one, as beautiful in its own way as the storm was. It sung to the craftsman in her, and Thea hugged that feeling close, grateful for a reminder of her true self. She was a glassblower, not a storm. She was not a storm.
Sea storms were always the most powerful lure. Thea had never experienced anything quite like this before. Before today, she would have said she was familiar with the powerful tug they created inside her, the ache to join with them. At first, she’d resisted, quite thoroughly. Lightning had sung in her veins, but it had also terrified her after – after.
Dom was the one who’d coaxed her into her first thunderstorm. Whatever had come after, she owed him a certain gratitude for that. More than once, it had occurred to Thea to wonder how he’d known what had happened to her. At first, she’d been ashamed to think that the gossip was so widespread that an errandboy for the keep knew her life’s story. Later, she’d made peace with it; it wasn’t her that they were discussing, not really. She was more than just the shipwreck.
Thea’s legs ached. It was almost a welcome pain; it was better than the numb coldness which had slowly been encasing her. At least an ache in her muscles meant she felt something. Slowly, giving into it, Thea settled back down between the rocks, drawing her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, chin resting again on her knees.
She watched Citrine pace the cave, stopping then moving again. A few strands of white hair had escaped the thick woolen cap on her head. Like Citrine’s feathers, they’d been frozen over with ice outside; now, with the steady warming of the cave water dripped from them, landing with a soft plink on the stony ground. As if freed from a heavy burden, they twitched, ever so faintly, just barely stirring before lying still across Thea’s shoulders once more.
“It must be wonderful to fly,” Thea offered, wistfully, looking up at the woman. “I think all air genasi secretly wish we could. Have you flown other storms before?” Thea’s smile felt like it cracked her frozen cheeks.
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Citrine
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6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Feb 8, 2019 20:41:53 GMT
A perceptive golden raptor eye surveyed the blue woman as she settled back down to sit against the wall…. And make no comment to the observation of the power singing in their respective veins. Fire needed air to live. Without it? It snuffed out. The fire in her wanted the air in Thea to move, breathe, live. She let it slide for now, not dwelling on the misdirection the comment on flying had been, mainly due to them only meeting twice now. And the fact Thea was about to kill herself by staying still.
Stepping up, and without asking, Citrine invaded the genasi's personal space to grab at her wrists and forearms - even her mage hand winked into existence to help force her up by pressing up on the middle of her back to force her to stand up. "Lass, ef ye stay still like tha' ye'll die." There was no joke or teasing in her voice - the phoenix was dead serious. The look in her eyes was intent on surveying both of their shivers, her hands refused to let go unless Thea worked at pulling away.
"Get up. Move. Walk around. Teh needles en ye legs will paralyze ye if ye keep as ye were." The command in her voice rang clear and allowed for no argument. It was the voice of a ship's captain commanding her crew, keeping them safe despite how unsavory or nagging the commands were.
Citrine wrapped her wings to surround the two of them, pressing close (personal space? What personal space?) only keeping enough space to not catch any of Thea's possessions on fire. Her own garments were fire proof, spun of metal and treated leather that resisted her phoenix fire. She doubted her companion had such measure of protection. The cave would heat soon enough, but not enough for the two of them if they stayed apart. "Walk with me nae Lass. There ye go." She took a step backward, despite their height difference, and kept her hands clasped around Thea's forearms, fingers rubbing small circles to keep the blood flowing. Together, as if dancing, she took the lead role and moved Thea around the room.
Since the glassblower wanted to be distracted? Citrine indulged it… for now. "Et es, flyin's perhaps on' o' teh grandest things Aye've experienced." She looked up then, and grinned one of her sassiest smiles. "O' course Aye've flown other storms!" She preened, the feathers on the side of her head and in her crest puffing in pride. "Hurricanes, tropical storms, pop-up thunderstorms. Aye've challenged 'em all! Can't 'elp meself ye see. Aye'm partical tae hurricanes… sae Aye couldn't resist steppin' out enta this one."
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 8, 2019 21:03:10 GMT
Thea was too frozen to react much to Citrine’s sudden appearance well, well inside her personal space – it felt like she could barely blink before Citrine’s hands were wrapped around hers, honey-amber eyes boring into Thea’s pale blue ones. There was something in her voice that struck a chord in Thea, a brooking no argument tone that brought back reminders of – well, other storms, and one particularly memorable pirate attack.
Thea nodded, not bothering to argue. She wasn’t sure if she could stand; between Citrine’s pulling and a gentle pressure at her back, she managed to get vertical. Her eyes widened as Citrine’s wings closed around them, and she took a sharp, deep breath, the first that didn’t feel like it was freezing her lungs. Standing, she was half a foot taller than Citrine, but it didn’t do much to diminish the other woman’s authority.
Citrine took a step back, and Thea followed her, instinctively. There were pins and needles in her legs; they were already half numb, and she clutched at Citrine’s hands to keep upright for the first few moments until – slowly – the tingling began to recede, leaving just discomfort behind. She didn’t think, just followed, at first with a shuffling stride that slowly became more and more like walking.
Thea realized her teeth were chattering again. Citrine started to speak about flying, and Thea looked down at her, grateful. At this distance she could see every detail of the raptor woman’s hair, a mass of brown-red threaded through with feathers – some growing from the skull and others braided in. Thea’s eyes picked out bits of other things, even metal glinting in the firelight. Not enough glass, Thea decided; when they made it through the storm, she’d be happy to gift Citrine a string of beads for her hair. Glass would catch the light differently than metal. Better than metal, Thea felt. Metal reflected; glass caught the light and sent it shining all around. From the collection already in Citrine's hair, Thea thought an argument for variety might work well.
“Hurricanes?” Thea was more than happy to focus on Citrine’s tales of flying. Her legs were feeling less and less crumbly, the distance she was able to move her feet increasing steadily. “I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never – never seen one. From the tales I know, the wind must be incredibly strong. What does it – what does it feel like?”
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Feb 8, 2019 21:37:15 GMT
Cooing and trilling encouragement every step of the way the two shuffled around the small cave, her wings burning even brighter now that the ice had not only fell off, but the feathers themselves were drying and fluffing out. The cave of feathers helped keep the heat in and the two would feel like they had their own personal little sun wrapped around them. "There ye go, won't 'ave ye freezin' tae death when Aye'd been able tae dae somethin' about et." It was clear, from how she treated someone ice-struck? She'd experienced working through being frozen before.
"Aye. Hurricanes." She parroted back, only now lessening her grip on Thea's arms when she was sure she wouldn't be shaking from the cold. It wasn't brilliantly warm in here, least not yet. Wind still snuck in from the opening, snow dusting in. But if they stayed away and Citrine kept her wings to act as a sort of curtain? They would be able to beat out the storm. "Massive twirlin' forces o' nature. Power. Strength. Stubborness…" A strange word to describe a hurricane, to be sure, but it brought a ghost of a smile to her lips to use it. "Mighty feats o' teh gods an' natural world. Spirlin' clouds that form ah funnel, and an 'eye' en teh center where et's teh most pleasant eerily still an' sunny day ye could imagine. Naethin' moves enside teh eye o' ah hurricane - tehre's only silence."
Stepping back Citrine surveyed the space in the center of the cave with a thoughtful look. "Teh winds themselves are as mighy as ah dragon pullin' on me wing joints. One wrong move? Et'd plummet ye like ah rock tae teh waters below. An' tha' nae swim anyone, even ah water genasi, could 'ope tae pull outta." They'd need more fire than what her wings could offer…
She began kicking a few stray pieces of debris that'd collected in the cave to the center - there wasn't much, but she didn't need a whole firepit full. Just a few to give the fire something to eat to start. Stepping so she was now crouched over the meager twigs and leaves? Citrine whistled sharply, a command that brought to mind lightning crashing. A bolt of fire appeared from her hands to strike violently the offerings. Immediately after Citrine switched from her sharp whistle to a trill of song, a coaxing playful song, that seemed to reach out to the fire and control it. She was singing to the flames, and the flames listened. Firebird's child indeed.
"Tha'll last about an hour before needin' tae be refreshed. So'long as Aye don't let et snuff out completely? Aye'll be able tae keep et goin'. We'll survive teh storm, nae worries about tha'." Movement, heat, and ensuring survival - now that those three things had been accomplished? Citrine started to pat herself down, checking her belt for her vials and ritual materials. The ring was still around her neck, and bless the gods, her vials were fine as well. Taking each item out, minus the ring, she set them down at the edge of wall and floor. The heat, flames, and symbols of her ritual were keeping the winter memories at bay once more.
"Sae Lass." She began nonchalantly, as if talking about the weather. "Why dane ye like teh power en ye veins?" It was a 50/50 shot. She wasn't perfectly sure, but had enough of a guess. How Thea answered would prove to her just how perceptive she'd really been, or if she was making assumptions that were insulting.
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 8, 2019 21:53:36 GMT
It was warmer and warmer. Thea’s clothing was mostly dry beneath the cloak – she hadn’t been out in the snow nearly as long as Citrine – and she could hear the cloak hissing as the water trapped inside it steamed and dried. With how close Citrine’s wings were it worked quickly. Thea could feel her body relaxing, releasing tension she hadn’t known she held.
Citrine released her, slowly. Thea hadn’t been resting much weight on her, towards the end, but all the same she felt panicked for a moment, as if she’d fall without the other woman supporting her. She didn’t, though – her legs didn’t tremble any worse than usual.
Citrine pulled away, and Thea shivered with the sudden cold, taking a deep breath. She got a sense of what Citrine was doing immediately, and joined her, crossing to the back of the cave to contribute a few extra twigs and leaves. She kept up the movement as Citrine crouched to start the fire, at least shifting from foot to foot.
Pockets. Thea glanced down at herself, reaching the one in her tunic; the fabric of her gloves scraped on the rolls still tucked inside. “Are you hungry?” She asked Citrine, pulling out the two rolls she’d stashed away. It wasn’t hot and fresh, like it had been a few hours ago, but neither was it soggy, thanks to several layers of fabric keeping the snow off.
Before long, Thea was nibbling at some of the roll herself, grateful for the fire. Citrine’s question snapped through her, and Thea stiffened again, looking at the smaller woman with wide eyes. “I – I don’t – “ Thea faltered, not even sure what she’d been trying to say.
The power in her veins. It was a good description of it. Thea scuffed one foot against the ground, rubbing the flat of her boot against the stone, bread half-forgotten in one gloved hand. “It was the orb, wasn’t it?” Thea glanced back up at Citrine, suddenly grateful for the space between them. “And – if you weren’t sure, what I said about the storm must’ve…” she sighed a little.
“It’s not a secret, I just...” Thea trailed off. “Do you like it? Being a – a sorcerer?”
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Feb 9, 2019 4:13:45 GMT
Carefully Citrine watched Thea digest the question she asked. She didn't force an answer, letting the genasi stumble and pace herself as she saw fit. The cave growing in warmth with the fire and the wings she felt safe enough to sit down - so she did. Moving only when she'd asked the question of if she enjoyed being a sorcerer. Stepping closer to where the other woman stood she sat by her feet, folded her legs underneath her, clasping her talons together in a sort of folded fist… but with her feet… and patted the ground down next to her, asking silently for Thea to sit next to her. It would be both for warmth and personal contact.
Citrine was big on personal contact. She didn't really care one whit about personal space, greedy as she was for the constant reminder of life around her, that she wasn't alone. She hated being alone. Feared it… even. It's why she frequented festhalls, taverns, and was quite open in her quick approval for taking things to a physical level with near anyone she found interesting enough. It was how she showed affection, support, and friendship too - the physical contact not always meaning sexual. Far from it, really, most of her touches and contacts with others were more often for support and platonic reasons than anything more. And as she'd thought earlier, fire and air were natural companions.
Wrapping a wing, snuffed of fire but no less warm still, around Thea's shoulders, the near 6 foot length easily acting as a cloak. The other stretched across their laps. They would definitely not freeze now. Citrine waited a moment before speaking - something she was able to do when the situation called for it - to be sure Thea had said all she could bare for right now.
"Aye, Aye do. Aye love et even." She began. "Et suits me. Teh power, teh strength. Aye won't lie Lass, Aye am quite attracted tae power an' powerful forces. Somethin' about et draws me like ah moth tae flame." She grinned a bit, but didn't turn as playful as she might have been. Not for something serious like this. What was it about being trapped somewhere that made one feel they could open up quicker than normal?
"Aye got teh sense nae just ferom teh orbs, but how ye kinda shut down an' evaded against me comment on teh sea callin' tae ye blood ah bit ago." She turned her head to stare at the blue haired woman, silently taking her own stock and insight of her. It was harder to pick up on the subtle nuances of someone you'd just met and to get an accurate reading. But she'd met enough people with a huge range of personalities, she was pretty apt at surveying and getting a gyst of the person. She was wrong still, at times, but more often? She was right.
"But ye… ye aren't talkin' about how Aye like bein' a sorcerer… right nae. Are ye?" She slowly inquired, like a druid cooing to a frightened animal. "Sorcerers like us are rarely born after all. Et's usually something traumatic an' frightenin' tha' awakens teh force en our blood." She spoke to 'a group' instead of calling out Thea personally. Making it seem more disassociated than a personal attack or accusation.
Bluntly, and without preamble, Citrine shared one of her deeper points of history. "Aye came entae me fire an' phoenix self through bein' killed, o'er an' o'er again, by teh Winter Court o' teh fae. Teh Court en me world? They wanted ah secret Aye knae, an were ruthless en' obtain' et." Her fingers curled underneath her wing blanket, but she didn't look down in shame or fear. It was part of her she had lived through, survived, and came out better for in the end. She looked at Thea's face without flinching, opening up about her past in a way she rarely ever did to someone else. "Sorcerers, folk's look at us an' see magical showoffs. We command magic like ah wizard, but without any of teh study. We twist powerful spells like ah warlock, but we owe nae loyalty tae ah pateron." There was a slight twitch to her eye then, and her blood boiled under her skin as warning.
"But we 'ave ah chaos en us, ah wildness, tha' just exploded entae our lives, an nae we need tae learn tae command et. Else et commands us en turn. An tha'? Tha' can be terrifyin' ef ye 'ave nae support." She kept a snug wrap of her wing around Thea's shoulders, like a sibling would. Support, understanding, protection.
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 9, 2019 5:01:07 GMT
Thea felt jittery – anxious. She was only half-aware that she was trembling again, this time not thanks to the cold. Citrine patted the ground next to her, and it was a long moment of hesitation before Thea accepted the offer. Slowly, she sat, legs stretched forward and half bent, feet flat on the ground. Citrine’s wing wrapped around her, and Thea slowly, slowly relaxed, the lingering heat seeping into her and warming her from the inside. She scooted a little closer to Citrine, their shoulders nearly touching.
Thea didn’t have more to say; she was glad to listen, watching the fire dance before them as Citrine spoke. She could feel Citrine looking at her, but she – she couldn’t quite bring herself to look back – especially not when Citrine noted that most sorcerers were rarely born so.
She did look when Citrine told her own story, eyes widening. It was a horrifying one; Thea knew a little of the fae, enough to be well-afraid, but she had never imagined anything like what Citrine had suffered. Citrine met her eyes, unflinching and unafraid. For once, Thea couldn’t bring herself to fill her face with compassion or understanding, any of the tricks she’d learned as a saleswoman; she could only watch and listen, her own pain and empathy raw on her face.
It felt like Citrine saw straight through her. Thea knew – she knew – that she wasn’t the only sorcerer to struggle. She knew that others had suffered as much as she had, maybe worse, and that many, like Citrine, looked past it or never minded, but – for herself, she couldn’t manage it. At first, she had fought the powers, rejected them whole-heartedly. These days, she thought of it as a truce, an uneasy alliance; she had accepted them, although she didn’t think she could bring herself to say she liked them.
“… My mother was a captain,” Thea looked back at the fire. Citrine’s bravery called for her own, but she didn’t think she could stand to look at the other girl while she spoke. “A merchant vessel. I didn’t spend much time with her, as a girl, and I never knew my father, but when I was twelve, she took me with her to sea,” a soft smile spread over Thea’s face, the good memories still there despite what had come since.
And they were good memories. She was lucky, Thea thought, to have them. She remembered her mother’s bravery, her courage, her foolhardiness – her love of adventure. Thea had heard that wind genasi were known for loving to travel, for being drifters, but for herself she doubted she would ever know which parent it was from. And either way – she was grateful to have that part of her mother reflected in herself. She was grateful for memories of climbing the rig on warm sunny days, of the cold shipboard nights when she’d curled up with her mother, of the wonderful magic of seeing a new place for the first time.
“It was our third voyage when it – we were at sea. Not far from home – Urmlaspyr. There was a storm, a big one. It came out of nowhere; the horizon was clear, and then it was – it – lightning struck the ship. More than once. The waves were…” Thea was quiet, watching the fire dance against the ground. “I was the only survivor.” She curled forward, legs pulling up and out from under Citrine’s wing, letting her hide her face against her knees.
“I was the only survivor,” Thea’s voice rasped. “The whole crew, my mother – gone.” Thea was quiet. It had been gossip, among her family in Urmlaspyr, common knowledge. Her whole life – her mother’s strange choices and stranger choices in men, the tragedy of the shipwreck – common knowledge. Thea had never before realized how grateful she was for not having to discuss it. It hurt - but she could acknowledge that it was a good hurt, more like a bone healing than the miserable deep aching pain of infection.
There was more Thea could say – so much more. The way the pain of learning to come to terms with her mother’s loss had mingled with an increasing inability to suppress her powers. The fact that she’d been scared of all lightning at first, even her own. The time she’d woken screaming from a nightmare of a storm to find her room ripped apart as if by a whirlwind. The soft, sweet memory of the first thunderstorm she’d not been too scared to go to, with Dominic at her side.
But no matter how cleansing the pain was, there was only so much Thea felt she could manage at once.
“I hated it, at first,” Thea said, finally. “Like a reminder of what I’d lost. I don’t anymore but I can’t like it either. Sometimes I think I’ve tamed it and then something like today happens and I… it’s hard not to feel as lost as I did then.” She felt tears rise up in her throat and firmly clamped them down, squeezing her knees with her arms and keeping her eyes shut as tightly as possible, as if that meant the tears couldn't escape.
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Feb 12, 2019 15:51:09 GMT
Even as Thea keep her focus on the fire just beyond their feet, Citrine kept an eye on the genasi. As her knees shifted the firebird simply adjusted her wings to match, a few of the longer flight feathers poking up to act as a fan she'd known women, pretty, small wisps who painted their faces and wore wonderful robes with intricates sashes, in Minkai do to help hide emotion and other 'unsightly' facial tells. She herself had never gotten the hang of it - but she understood the reasoning behind it. And though Citrine could be quite confrontational and in your face? She understood social graces to know when to simply sit back and listen. Survivor's guilt. A soft anguished kree of intimate understanding stirred somewhere in the back of Citrine's throat, her wings perfuming the air with smells associated with rain, thunder, and spearmint. But still the redhead didn't interrupt, she knew first hand how hard it could be to speak of sensitive subjects - especially with a practical stranger! Of course, there was a freedom in speaking with someone new. They didn't know you, didn't know your quirks or strengths or weaknesses that would seem strange or false if presented with hidden secrets. Worse case? You never saw the stranger again - and who would that stranger talk to about this? No one in your personal circle. So it didn't matter. Words weren't always needed. Actions spoke louder, and the comfort and shelter of someone else wrapping their limbs around you was preferred. Using her mage hand to help scoot her from being beside the glassblower Citrine now was behind the knee hunched woman. Her legs unfurled and now snugged around Thea's shins, her arms tucked and weaved to sit between the torso and upper arms to clasp securely over her sternum, cheek rested against shoulder blade, and her wings? They stretched around to make a security blanket of warmth, heat, gold, and scarlet. An otherworldly sound quietly murmured and sang in the background, with deep beats that could be almost recognized as the background of a sea shanty, but growing with it? Was mixed the fierce sounds of survival, of skreeing in the face of danger, of defeat, and swearing that you'd bravely live on. It was the phoenix song of her Father, the ancient fire celestial that offered her the potency of her sorcerer blood, a song of fire and ice, of battle and survival, of defiance and life. A song that intimately knew and understood loss, and doubt, and dejection, and pain - but gave hope that there was a path through to the end where victory and self assurance came out from it. It was a song that would save face to anyone who happened to perhaps need to cry, to let out emotions to a stranger without feeling foolish for doing so. The whole time Citrine kept her little tent of shelter around Thea. At various points of her song a touch of celestial would alight in gold down the quills of her feathers, the blood-red lines as well as the barding and speckles on her feathers would shimmer in liquid gold. There was magic in music. But all good things must come to an end, and after several minutes of weaving a tale of personal strength and survival Citrine came back to herself, the slip into drawing upon her bloodline leaving a tingle of power in her fingers - which she flexed lightly against Thea's stomach. It was like when she sang the rising of the sun. The crackling of the fire was the background now as the phoenix regained more of her own mental baring, her legs adjusting to keep from going numb and her wing joints shifting and jostling - ending with Citrine picking up her head from Thea's shoulders and giving a quick shake and stretch. It was always a sort of out of body experience she had, when drowning in the fire of her own blood. Re-adjusting again to reassume a proper sitting up big spoon the firebird gave a little squeeze around Thea's middle. "Didn' mean tae slipp enta ah song like tha' Lass… but Aye 'ope et helped." She spoke softly, not a whisper, but something akin to it. "Et took me years tae become accosutomed tae teh fire en me blood. Teh anger, teh rage, teh defiance me Father , teh Firebird, 'as tha' he passed on tae me. Et still can get teh best o' me at times. Anger especially." She released her hold across Thea's middle so she could run her hands up the woman's arms and shoulder, teasing into the dip of the back of her neck and back down again in comforting passes. "Even nae teh fire does as et wishes still - draws me enta teh dance an' refuses tae let me go until ets satisfied. Aye've found, teh best solution? Es tae find ah way tae give back tae ye blood, almost like ah ritual o' sacrifice o' sorts, tae appease et. Me? Aye sing tae teh sun ever mornin' rain o' shine, hungover o' sober."Needing to stretch out her legs Citrine's taloned toes curled just out of reach of the fire - she'd still burn afterall, even though the fire was her own creation. "Ye can look at ye power as a cause an' reminder o' what ye lost - o' ye can look at et as what ye survived tae keep thrivin'. Teh Sea saw somethin' en ye that et liked, an' wanted tae keep alive." She called the sea by name, honoring it in such a simple way it might have seemed odd for a being so drenched in fire. "Ef ye keep teh power boxed en? O' course et's gonna get angry. Et's a gifted power, et wants tae be used. Et's why Aye use magic on ah daily basis as much as Aye dae. Me blood burns and makes me limbs ache ef Aye dan't."Then, as if to bring a bit more 'lightness' to their conversation and draw away some of the heaviness, Citrine pressed her thumbs into the lower part of Thea's neck, continuing the impromptu massage, a grin clear in her voice. "Aye'm usually ah much more carefree big spoon." She quipped. "Thae et was much easier tae when Aye was taller - near 6 feet! Nae et's expected tha' just cause Aye'm sae short tha' Aye'm destined tae be ah lil' spoon..." Citrine was hoping for a laugh to break up the fog of memories that threatened to keep them both down in this winter sea storm cold. |
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 12, 2019 17:51:14 GMT
Citrine wrapped herself and her music around Thea. Through all the layers of her clothing, it took a few moments for Thea to be aware of the gentle pressure of the smaller woman’s body against hers. When she lifted her head, however slightly, she could see the phoenix-woman’s wings shimmering in the fire, like a shield between Thea and the cold, miserable world outside. The music started slowly, a resonant humming that Thea felt in her bones, interspersed with deep beats that seemed to pulse through her body.
Then the music soared and took Thea with it, utterly demolishing her resolve. Thea sobbed. There was no other word for it; crying didn’t come close to describing the way the tears took her. This was no ladylike tracking of tears down her cheeks, no half-stifled, dignified weeping, but full-body sobs that seemed to well up from a place deep inside her, like a storm itself.
Thea had cried like this, after the shipwreck. Not while floating in the sea, clinging to a piece of wreckage; not immediately after she was rescued, sunburnt and scarred by lightning, barely strong enough to sip broth from a spoon. It was during her recovery, when the full weight of the accident settled on her, when she woke screaming in the night, that Thea had wept. Maude, her nurse, was the only one who had ever seen; she’d used to sit in Thea’s room during the night, and she had held the little genasi while she wept, powerful sobs that shook her entire body.
Then, at some point, Thea had stopped. She had been far from healed, then, but the tears had stopped coming, even though the nightmares had lasted a while longer. And since? Since, perhaps tears had pricked her eyes, but to lose control like this, this ugly, miserable weeping – Thea couldn’t remember doing that since.
And to do it in front of someone else? Normally, Thea wouldn’t have been able to bear the thought; she liked to stay comfortably self-contained, having long since learned to hide the emotions churning beneath behind whatever mask she wished. Most of the time, she even hid them from herself. But after the storm, the deep, miserable, life-threatening cold, she’d let her guard down and told her story, and it had shattered the last vestiges of her self-control, leaving her sobbing uncontrollably.
And yet, like the storm they were – the tears passed.
Thea shuddered, gulping a deep breath of warm air. Citrine’s fingers stroked her stomach, and she shivered, letting go of her knees and wiping her eyes on one wet arm. It didn’t help, really, but there was something comforting about the motion nonetheless. She felt exhausted, drained, but as Citrine pulled away and stretched, Thea also had to admit that she felt – better.
Citrine’s words were as much of a balm as her song had been. Thea wasn’t quite ready to speak again, not yet, and so she just cuddled back against the phoenix woman, content to listen. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for the sorcerer’s words, but she could feel them soaking into her nonetheless, as if her usually thick skin was thin and porous, ready to let in what was around her. She could feel Citrine’s hands sliding up and down her back, slow and smooth, a welcome pressure through her clothing; she was more attuned to the feeling of the phoenix woman, now.
There were several long heartbeats after the end of Citrine’s joke, and then Thea began to giggle, shaking again, her whole body relaxing against Citrine and her hands. She laughed so hard that a few more tears leaked from her corners of her eyes, but she managed to stop, not crossing that too-thin line into hysteria. Thea let out a last giggle, rubbing her eyes on her wet sleeve once more, and sighed.
“You’re doing an excellent job,” Thea said, tone very serious. She broke and giggled again, still soft and relaxed against Citrine. “If I couldn’t see you, I’d never know you were so short.”
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Feb 12, 2019 18:26:18 GMT
Trilling, pleased at being able to help, Citrine kept up the physical contact. "As Aye said, 'aven't always been this short. Me best height was shy above 6, as an elf. But Aye started human back then, an was just under 6… an' Aye kept me height as Aye traveled through teh races, stayin' tall an' graceful as ah kitsune. But ah phoenix?" She shrugged her wings, which were now settling back to their un-glowed selves, "Tall an' heavy doesn't fly nae does et?" She had the sense that Thea meant more of, her personality was 'taller' than her statue would have someone assume, but she couldn't pass on the blunt and obvious interpretation either.
She brought up no comment to Thea's crying, mess, or dissolving of composure. There was no judgement by Citrine, and thought nothing of it. She'd helped many a people through heartbreak, destruction, and a loss of direction. And she'd continue to do it. The mythos of phoenixes having healing powers usually translated to magical potion-like tears… but the pirate knew better. Hugs, coos, and skin-on-skin contact was just a balm to the soul and wounds as the best alchemical elixir. So yes, as a phoenix, Citrine did have the power to heal. Just... perhaps... not in the way most would assume.
"Glad Aye could 'elp Lass. Ye'll 'ave quite teh memory fer another Storm Orb at this rate!" She teased the taller woman after she'd reigned in the fit of laughter that Citrine had been hoping for. "An' Aye've found, tha' through life, ef ye present yeself one way o'er an' o'er again? Ye become what ye want tae be. As ah ship Captain, ye need tae 'ave ah commanding presence. Nae one will take ye seriously, sign their name ta ye Code, o' sail under ye protection ef they don't believe in ye an' ye abilities."
Not wanting to push the boundaries too much further beyond than what she already had, Citrine gave a final sweep of her fingers across and down Thea's shoulders before bending her knees and standing up. At her full height she could just see over the genasi's sitting form. Stretching, as was her habit before doing any sort of movement - just like a cat or dog did - the firebird popped her joints and back while shaking out her feathers. The bits that might have been soiled and made wet? The sheen of oil that coated them lit and burned away any mess. No harm done.
Stepping in front of Thea now, outline becoming a black shape and lined in fire, Citrine held out both hands and made a sort of twist and flick motion, scrunching her fingers together before 'tossing' them as if shaking off water. The soil on Thea's sleeves cleaned themselves, the magic of her copper and gold sparks dancing on her fingers erasing any proof of what had happened.
"Sae, we can start lessons right nae, ef ye want." She offered, in a sort of fake 'you have a choice' sort of way. And, because Citrine was secretly a seven year old in disguise? She didn't expand on her question. Hands on her hips, wings smelling like candlesmoke, clove, and ash paired with a hint of wax and ozone, she waited for Thea to ask what was up.
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 12, 2019 18:50:15 GMT
Thea wasn’t exactly sure she understood what Citrine meant. Yes, Citrine had said she became a phoenix from being killed by the fae; from that and her more-recent comment about how she used to be taller, it was obvious to Thea that she had once been something else, a human or an elf, Thea would have guessed. But – elf, then human, then… kitsune? That was something beyond what Thea had ever imagined, and well-beyond anything resembling her own experiences. It left her with a healthy sense of respect for the phoenix-woman and her knowledge.
“True of all captains,” Thea agreed, feeling warm and sleepy. “And I’m sure it’d be even more true for pirates,” She added, cheekily, peeking half back over her shoulder at Citrine. No, Citrine hadn’t outright said that she was a pirate, but from two years at sea? Thea knew something about merchant captains, and she knew something about pirates, and she had a pretty good guess at where the phoenix-woman fell. If she was wrong – if Citrine took offense – she’d apologize, but Thea was pretty sure it wouldn’t be necessary.
Thea was surprised at how starkly she felt it when Citrine pulled away, the abrupt loss of contact disconcerting. But, Thea had to admit she was cramping up again, and Citrine’s movement gave her the freedom to stretch as well, rolling out her shoulders and shifting her legs, stretching them back out on the warmer ground.
Thea looked up at Citrine when she stepped in front of her, blinking, and watched the motion of the phoenix-woman’s hands. “Oh,” Thea glanced down at her sleeves with a pleased smile, looking back up at Citrine. This was the sort of thing she had always imagined of magic as a child – and rather different from how her own experience had actually been. “That’s nice!” She said, cheerfully, holding up her sleeves and examining them in the firelight.
The offer for lessons was unexpected. Thea had just been feeling warm and comfortable, relaxed, and at the thought of needing to actually do magic herself – right now, so close to the storm – she felt the tension rise back up in her chest. A few deep breaths soothed her again; Thea put conscious effort in relaxing herself, shaking off her initial reaction. Citrine was still just standing, waiting for her.
Thea wanted to say no, I’m cold, there’s a storm. Maybe another time, I’ll find you, don’t worry about it. She wanted to say that she didn’t need lessons, she was fine, it was her magic and she would handle it how she wanted to.
“All right,” Thea found herself saying instead. She stayed sitting, more comfortable looking up at the firebird than down. “… What did you have in mind?”
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