[What he missed most about magic was the ability to reach out - to tap into the energy felt sliding through the air: coursing after it like a hound after a fox. And now, here he is - the meat of the damned animal just beyond the grasp of his teeth (on top of everything else that's horribly off with this place). But it doesn't mean he can't feel it, can't sense it like breath on the back of his neck where he sits at his corner table--
--'his corner table', though he's only been in the city, the world even, for a few months time. He's never been the sort of man to leave things untaken--
--Or that he can't feel it when another magician (though he's learning that's not the proper term here, not for everyone) arrives at the small coffee house. It's not unlike what he thinks it must feel like to be a marginally pretty girl in a dance hall when the town's beauty arrives: all eyes turn elsewhere and there's simply nothing to be done about it. The woman with her blonde hair and her fine mouth is handsome enough to play the part; Michael finds himself hating her immediately.]
[ Larissa has no such internal grasp of the presence of magic - she can generally feel another magic user when they're quite close, or when it's being actively used, but her magic has never been terribly strong and she's not put a great deal of effort into the awareness that many mages do. It's never been her first priority, or even really her second.
But she can feel someone's eyes on her like a touch of fingers, glances behind her and meets his gaze. There's a moment of hesitation and then she ducks her head nervously, picks up her coffee and turns to survey the room. There are no empty chairs not near him, but he looks so - uninviting.
She can't have done anything to him, she's never met him. So she carefully doesn't look at him when she makes her way to a table close by and sits down, sips at her coffee. When she pulls her deck of cards out into her lap it's almost not to her full knowledge. ]
[He makes no secret of tracking her progress through the cafe to a table near his own - indeed, he doesn't lift his eyes from her once or go to drink from the cup over which his hand is hovering. She's a magician, he's sure of it. --Or an enchantress or a witch or mage or whatever it is that people like the pair of them call themselves in this world. Though it isn't until he catches some sight of her cards that he says or does anything at all.
Which is to say: the cards make him snort. Of course.]
Are they a trick prop or is that really your Talent?
[ That's getting really creepy there, Michael, just saying. But she answers his question regardless, even if she looks fairly nervous as she does so, shoulders hunching forward a little in clear discomfort. ]
I don't - I can use them, if that's what you mean. They're not a prop.
[It's not creepy! Its...excessively observant... --Alright, so it's a touch unsettling. Which may actually be his intention as there's something pleasantly satisfying about the curl of her shoulders. That's right, girl. Be intimidated.
Michael shifts his leg under the table, toe of his leather shoe catching against the edge of the chair opposite him. He shoves it out by a few degrees and inclines his head toward it.]
Then you won't mind doing a reading for me. I'll buy your lunch.
[ It's creepy, Michael. That's just how it is, okay. It feels creepy. Not that it's terribly difficult to intimidate Larissa, in the end, but he's still something that she feels rather uncomfortable about right now.
But it's not - you don't just say no, to people who want their future read. It's a gift. It has to be used as such. Her hesitation is long and her glance around slightly trapped looking, but then she stands up and moves over regardless, bringing her things and coffee with her.
Besides, why turn down a free meal here? ]
If you'd like. People don't always like the answers they get.
[He offers her a taut smile, eyes all sharp as he carefully rearranges the tabletop - pushing the nonsense decor aside and gently relocating his cup and saucer well off.]
[ Meaningless small talk. She doesn't obscure her readings, if she knows what is meant. People always say they can handle it. She shuffles, slowly and carefully. ]
Yes. [ The lie is smooth and practiced, but she still can't quite meet his eyes. ] Do you have a gift?
[Which is equally a lie, equally smooth, practice to the point of being rote. His hand hovers at the handle of his cup like he might take it and lift it to his mouth, but Michael's eyes remain locked on her face as she avoids looking at him; he doesn't bother with tracking the motion of her fingers or the gentle 'whsk' of the cards as she shuffles.]
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slides in you know who this is for
wow this prompt more accurate than u even know ps setting this somewhere in ex or w/e because time??
--'his corner table', though he's only been in the city, the world even, for a few months time. He's never been the sort of man to leave things untaken--
--Or that he can't feel it when another magician (though he's learning that's not the proper term here, not for everyone) arrives at the small coffee house. It's not unlike what he thinks it must feel like to be a marginally pretty girl in a dance hall when the town's beauty arrives: all eyes turn elsewhere and there's simply nothing to be done about it. The woman with her blonde hair and her fine mouth is handsome enough to play the part; Michael finds himself hating her immediately.]
aw yeaaah to both of these things
But she can feel someone's eyes on her like a touch of fingers, glances behind her and meets his gaze. There's a moment of hesitation and then she ducks her head nervously, picks up her coffee and turns to survey the room. There are no empty chairs not near him, but he looks so - uninviting.
She can't have done anything to him, she's never met him. So she carefully doesn't look at him when she makes her way to a table close by and sits down, sips at her coffee. When she pulls her deck of cards out into her lap it's almost not to her full knowledge. ]
no subject
Which is to say: the cards make him snort. Of course.]
Are they a trick prop or is that really your Talent?
no subject
I don't - I can use them, if that's what you mean. They're not a prop.
no subject
Michael shifts his leg under the table, toe of his leather shoe catching against the edge of the chair opposite him. He shoves it out by a few degrees and inclines his head toward it.]
Then you won't mind doing a reading for me. I'll buy your lunch.
no subject
But it's not - you don't just say no, to people who want their future read. It's a gift. It has to be used as such. Her hesitation is long and her glance around slightly trapped looking, but then she stands up and moves over regardless, bringing her things and coffee with her.
Besides, why turn down a free meal here? ]
If you'd like. People don't always like the answers they get.
no subject
[He offers her a taut smile, eyes all sharp as he carefully rearranges the tabletop - pushing the nonsense decor aside and gently relocating his cup and saucer well off.]
Is reading cards the only thing you can do?
[It's dreadfully conversational.]
no subject
[ Meaningless small talk. She doesn't obscure her readings, if she knows what is meant. People always say they can handle it. She shuffles, slowly and carefully. ]
Yes. [ The lie is smooth and practiced, but she still can't quite meet his eyes. ] Do you have a gift?
no subject
[Which is equally a lie, equally smooth, practice to the point of being rote. His hand hovers at the handle of his cup like he might take it and lift it to his mouth, but Michael's eyes remain locked on her face as she avoids looking at him; he doesn't bother with tracking the motion of her fingers or the gentle 'whsk' of the cards as she shuffles.]
Where did you get your education?