[Cerise is always with L. At first, her presence was smothering, insistent, as though she clung to existence with a kind of spite that was in proportion to her considerable full size. As her attachment and her security with her witch have increased, so has her willingness to shrink down to more convenient and portable sizes. At present, the tiny orca takes a break from swimming circles around L's wrist to increase in mass to the size of a large dog, floating, resting her head on the table's edge between them.
L's glass is immediately frosty when he reaches out for it; one of the benefits of being an ice witch is that he never has to drink water that's anything less than mountain spring brisk. As he regards the faun-turned-witch sitting across from him, it strikes him, as it does often, that there was a blitheness he could rely on before that has all but vanished from Myr's personality. Intelligence that was always present has sharpened to shrewdness that keeps him on his toes even when they don't interact for days at a time. Fewer things slip through the cracks; more remains to answer for.]
I've been fighting mushroom dragons and inhaling toxic spores. We'd been informed of the spores' potential effects... it was rash of me to assume that I'd somehow escaped them just because my hallucinations weren't fantastical or obvious.
[Rash of him, also, to assume that he could sit down at a table with Myr for reciprocal offers and acceptance, all desire and debt in perfect balance and reaching that point naturally enough to make him believe it. They'd been there for hours, after all, planning years into a future that was assured. Potential problems arrived to the conversation already solved; past conflicts had grown rosy in the flattering, imprecise light of a setting sun behind them.
It had felt good, anyway, like any form of deliberate escapism. L understands that he still would have held this conversation even if he'd known it wasn't real, perhaps extended it longer, inhabited it until he couldn't anymore with the mind that always strives to give him what he wants, even when it ultimately fails him.]
no subject
L's glass is immediately frosty when he reaches out for it; one of the benefits of being an ice witch is that he never has to drink water that's anything less than mountain spring brisk. As he regards the faun-turned-witch sitting across from him, it strikes him, as it does often, that there was a blitheness he could rely on before that has all but vanished from Myr's personality. Intelligence that was always present has sharpened to shrewdness that keeps him on his toes even when they don't interact for days at a time. Fewer things slip through the cracks; more remains to answer for.]
I've been fighting mushroom dragons and inhaling toxic spores. We'd been informed of the spores' potential effects... it was rash of me to assume that I'd somehow escaped them just because my hallucinations weren't fantastical or obvious.
[Rash of him, also, to assume that he could sit down at a table with Myr for reciprocal offers and acceptance, all desire and debt in perfect balance and reaching that point naturally enough to make him believe it. They'd been there for hours, after all, planning years into a future that was assured. Potential problems arrived to the conversation already solved; past conflicts had grown rosy in the flattering, imprecise light of a setting sun behind them.
It had felt good, anyway, like any form of deliberate escapism. L understands that he still would have held this conversation even if he'd known it wasn't real, perhaps extended it longer, inhabited it until he couldn't anymore with the mind that always strives to give him what he wants, even when it ultimately fails him.]
I should have known. Is... Light here, and OK?