His face twists into a quick snarl. "I'm nothing like--" Only to stop, cutting himself off as he remembers that for all his distaste of Justin, it's not all differences between them.
He speaks calmer, if still tense. "I don't know what kind of weapon Justin is. I barely know him. But to put it plainly... yes, a weapon is some portion of what I am. Among other things. I think I've mentioned my state of being is unique." Which people around here seems to think he's so thrilled about, like it's not a pain at best.
"I can't tell you how your weird nose power works, but if I had to guess, that might be a factor."
That snarl doesn't go unnoticed, though she's not quick to step back, either. It surprises her more that he stops himself from whatever outburst he was about to have--if only because she doesn't have a clue as to why.
But she's also not going to question it.
"Yeah, you've mentioned the unique thing." She just didn't know that he meant like this. "So... The wish that you're trying to ask for is to... let you be a sword again? Do you turn into a sword? Or do you manifest it somehow? Or is it a metaphorical thing?" She might be getting a little off track here...
He was braced for questions but he wasn't quite expecting the barrage that comes. A lot of those questions have complicated answers in and of themselves.
"Are you gonna let me answer or do you want to keep playing one-sided twenty questions?" He says with an annoyed huff. When he's sure she's actually going to let him speak he starts a lot slower than someone who was willing to part with the answers would.
"I'm a manifestation of power. The spirit of it you could say. I would be the source of the energy that makes the mostly physical sword exist and in that sense, it is me. I can use "myself" but only under particular circumstances in which I, as you more or less sense me, am also able to physically manifest." There are, he thinks, too many complicated aspects to this. He scowls at the earth underfoot and kinfe he turns over in his hands.
"But because it's not all I am, in my normal state, I have a fractured consciousness with multiple possible forms and levels of manifestation. I'm not just a sword. But having the power that should be mine, that I technically am, would mean having that blade back."
For what it's worth, he chides her into silence. She presses her lips together, biting back any more questions until he's gotten his chance to give an answer. But that doesn't mean that she's not listening to it.
It's just... really difficult to wrap her head around. "So you're... like someone's abilities? Personified?" She's really not sure if she understands that or not. It's not like anything she's hear of before--then again, maybe that's why she gets those weird scents off of him. Like the strawberries that he claims belong to someone else.
Her thoughts linger on the part about the wish, though, and her mouth scrunches up to one side as she thinks. "Can I ask a different question? ...How have you been wording this wish you've been asking for?"
"Pretty much," he says, arms rising up and falling back down again. His hands go to his pockets, one tucked in and one half out with the knife. Maybe he'll remember that way of putting things for later.
He bobs his head to give the okay even as he doesn't much want to. Then makes a face.
"What am I supposed to say please or something? Pray?" He Huff's. "I just say I want my power back, my sword, the rest of me. I've tried a few times."
"I don't think you have to do anything fancy when making wishes. It's just... They're a kid. Maybe they don't understand what you're talking about. Hell, I am arguably an expert on Weird Shit, and I still barely understand it." Emphasis on the barely. And even then, she fully expects him to scoff at that, and maybe rightly so.
But she does cross her arms over her chest, leaning on one foot and then the other. "Or maybe it's like you said and they don't have the power to do it yet. You're not exactly a social butterfly, as far as I can tell."
"I explained it before, didn't I?" she asks, lifting her brows a little again. If he didn't get it before, then he's probably not going to like hearing it now. But he should know nonetheless.
"We were talking about where Zephyr gets their power from... And it's from the people here coming together, right? Well, just extrapolate that to the wishes we ask for. Where do you think the power to grant those is coming from?"
She gives it a second for him to fill in the blanks before gesturing between the two of them. "It's right here."
He hadn't thought about it. He has no excuse, no reason not to have connected the dots beyond foolishness and hope. Already looking unhappy, his face still manages to fall.
"The rest of you can't connect enough to make up for me," he says, tone dull with the revelation. "It has to be me." No collective pool to dip into.
He looks to the space between them, expression closing off again. There's nothing. With her or anybody. He should have known.
"No short cuts then. I'll have to find a way myself," he mutters. And then he scrubs at his face with a hand, letting it run back through his hair.
"I'm not giving up," He says firm, hand dropping. He's never going to give up on his power and proper existence. That's not a lack he's going to stand again.
Her attempt at what might be reassurance earns only a quick side glance her way. He's not giving her the details. But he supposes he has to give her something.
"If I've understood this, and I think I do now, there's not any amount of socializing I can do that's going to help." And he's not good at socializing anyway. "I'm going to find a different way. I know it's possible. It's just not going to be as easy as throwing a rock in a pond."
Not giving up on his wish, but giving up on Zephyr's help. That's what she hears, and that's what she takes issue with. Even if he's really bad at this, there's no reason to think that he would be an exception.
He frowns at her. "I tried helping out with that museum thing. But it wasn't for me. And other people made the wish too. If I even managed to do anything at all, it's because it wasn't anything to do with me."
But other than that... no. Which he doesn't say but might well be implied.
She snorts a breath through her nose. "That's not small. That's still a building." There's a little bit of scathing dryness to her tone, but she manages to exhale that out in one breath, talking a more understanding tone with him.
"Look. Wish for something small. Something for yourself. A nonmagical item that fits in your hands. If that doesn't work? Yeah, the kid probably can't help you. But don't write them off before you've given them a chance. It's not fair to them, and it would suck for you, if you had an answer right there and weren't willing to stick with it."
It's small to him. That building is totally inconsequential compared to how badly he wants his power and how much he could do with it. So her scoff is met with a flat look.
And then a frown follows.
"I'm not writing them off. They've already helped plenty and I've got no doubt they can do more. But this wish thing? If it's based off connection then it's just not going to work with me." He huffs. "Besides, I don't even know what I'd ask for." Material items don't mean anything to him anymore.
"Sounds to me like you're just assuming that," she points out. "You say it won't work, but you don't actually know if that's because of your connection issue, because of Zephyr's inability to understand what you want, or because it's just a really damn big wish."
She shifts, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can't make the wish to prove you right or wrong, so you'll have to do it yourself. It doesn't actually matter what it is. Just wish for your favorite food for all it matters. The point is, how much is it going to hurt you to make really sure?"
His eyes narrow at her, far too stubborn to suggest she might be right. But she might be. He doesn't actually know.
Would it hurt to make sure? Probably not.
"Chh. I'll look into it," He says. One thing's certain and that's that his earlier brief lift in mood has met its end. "Either way, this is going to have to do for now." He lifts the knife up, letting it turn over in his fingers before lowering it back down.
Which gets him to notice the holes in his sleeves left from her blade. He's not concerned about the cuts themselves, but rather the marks of color showing through. He tries to tug the small holes back together and smear some of the open cuts to cover. He'll have to change this.
He says he'll look into it, and that's all it takes for her to back off again. It doesn't particularly matter to her if this guy gets back the things that he wants--but it seems silly for him to arbitrarily decide that something's not going to work.
And maybe there's a part of her that wouldn't mind facing off against another swordsman for once.
He starts fussing with his clothing, and it's only then that she notices the colored bits of skin peeking out from the cuts in his clothes. She tilts her head at that, confused and curious in equal parts.
"...What's that? On your skin?" She'd thought that he'd be entirely white from head to toe... but apparently not.
The first thing he does is stiffen and still. Then, quickly, he tries to recover himself.
"Blood?" He says, being deliberately obtuse and not looking up at her. He kids fidgeting and fussing where he is. Maybe she'll believe it and he'll have thrown her off the literal scent. Or maybe she just won't want to bother with him. That's two thirds a chance isn't it?
"That's not blood." She's not exactly sure what it is, but it's too colorful to be blood. It almost looks like it is his skin--which would mean...
"Is that... some kind of drawing?" She tilts her head the other way, trying to catch a different scent angle. He's being defensive about it, but she really doesn't understand why. "Why are you trying to hide it?"
He sighs. The dubious "jig" is up. He stops with his fussing and pushes a sleeve up. He reveals a colorful collage of images, wrapped around and interlocked all around his arm but for one waving black stripe that works it's way down. The images don't seem to stop where his sleeve does.
"They're tattoos. And not supposed to be there. The world I came from gave them to me. And no, far as I am aware, I was not in a gang." But he still doesn't really know.
She sniffs fervently at his exposed arm, and while she just barely bites back any exclamations of how cool those tattoos are, the impression is clear on her face. They are, indeed, cool as fuck.
The mention of gangs gets him a small look--What would gangs have to do with any of that? But it's easily brushed aside. "Man, lucky you. All I got from my world is a bunch of lousy scars." Among other things...
"You still didn't mention why you were hiding it. If I had arms like that, I'd rip the sleeves off every shirt I own and charge people money to stare." She comes a little closer, trying to get a better sniff, then pauses a moment.
"Can I lick it? Or do you want to just pretend I didn't ask that?"
She seems to love the tattoos and the more she expresses as much the more his frown deepens. It is clear they are on a very, very different page. But he can at least answer her. Just one thing to get out of the way first.
"We're going to pretend very hard you didn't just ask that," He says with a wry, bracing grin. He starts tugging his sleeve down.
"I'd rather scars than this," He says, honestly. "For one, they make me look like a street thug, and a tool at that. For two..." He hesitates, debating on saying it when it might just get him even more questions. Finally, he goes on, "I don't like what some of them represent. They're not things I'd get tattoos of even if I were that kind of person."
He takes it well, but she's clearly not allowed to partake of the decadent buffet stretched across his biceps... Spoil sport. She shrugs a little at his wry grin, as if to say 'your loss'... even if it's not.
"Well, I can promise that you don't smell like a tool, so you're good there," she informs him, trying to keep things somewhat light. She's a little more curious about that second part, though. So, just as casually, she adds another question: "What sort of things do they represent?"
His mouth presses to a line. This is the real reason he wouldn't get tattoos like this. Questions. Assumptions. Looking too close at what it all means.
But he can't pretend he hasn't looked.
"It's a bunch of metaphors," He says. "Things I've said. Things I had and lost. Little reminders about the crappier parts of what I am." A pause. "A few markings I had already. I think, whoever or whatever was in control of the world I came from, they wanted some way to highlight who and what I am, even while trying to force me into their new story." He frowns. "If you're that curious, I'll tell you a few at a time, but I don't really want to go into all of them and definitely not at once."
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pythianjudgment) wrote2013-11-02 10:30 pm
no subject
He speaks calmer, if still tense. "I don't know what kind of weapon Justin is. I barely know him. But to put it plainly... yes, a weapon is some portion of what I am. Among other things. I think I've mentioned my state of being is unique." Which people around here seems to think he's so thrilled about, like it's not a pain at best.
"I can't tell you how your weird nose power works, but if I had to guess, that might be a factor."
no subject
But she's also not going to question it.
"Yeah, you've mentioned the unique thing." She just didn't know that he meant like this. "So... The wish that you're trying to ask for is to... let you be a sword again? Do you turn into a sword? Or do you manifest it somehow? Or is it a metaphorical thing?" She might be getting a little off track here...
no subject
"Are you gonna let me answer or do you want to keep playing one-sided twenty questions?" He says with an annoyed huff. When he's sure she's actually going to let him speak he starts a lot slower than someone who was willing to part with the answers would.
"I'm a manifestation of power. The spirit of it you could say. I would be the source of the energy that makes the mostly physical sword exist and in that sense, it is me. I can use "myself" but only under particular circumstances in which I, as you more or less sense me, am also able to physically manifest." There are, he thinks, too many complicated aspects to this. He scowls at the earth underfoot and kinfe he turns over in his hands.
"But because it's not all I am, in my normal state, I have a fractured consciousness with multiple possible forms and levels of manifestation. I'm not just a sword. But having the power that should be mine, that I technically am, would mean having that blade back."
no subject
It's just... really difficult to wrap her head around. "So you're... like someone's abilities? Personified?" She's really not sure if she understands that or not. It's not like anything she's hear of before--then again, maybe that's why she gets those weird scents off of him. Like the strawberries that he claims belong to someone else.
Her thoughts linger on the part about the wish, though, and her mouth scrunches up to one side as she thinks. "Can I ask a different question? ...How have you been wording this wish you've been asking for?"
no subject
He bobs his head to give the okay even as he doesn't much want to. Then makes a face.
"What am I supposed to say please or something? Pray?" He Huff's. "I just say I want my power back, my sword, the rest of me. I've tried a few times."
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But she does cross her arms over her chest, leaning on one foot and then the other. "Or maybe it's like you said and they don't have the power to do it yet. You're not exactly a social butterfly, as far as I can tell."
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But the confusion is quickly turned around on him.
"What does that have to do with anything?" This is the first he's heard anything like this.
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"We were talking about where Zephyr gets their power from... And it's from the people here coming together, right? Well, just extrapolate that to the wishes we ask for. Where do you think the power to grant those is coming from?"
She gives it a second for him to fill in the blanks before gesturing between the two of them. "It's right here."
no subject
"The rest of you can't connect enough to make up for me," he says, tone dull with the revelation. "It has to be me." No collective pool to dip into.
He looks to the space between them, expression closing off again. There's nothing. With her or anybody. He should have known.
"No short cuts then. I'll have to find a way myself," he mutters. And then he scrubs at his face with a hand, letting it run back through his hair.
no subject
"You're giving up?" she asks with no small amount of surprise--or confusion, to be honest. "...You're not that bad at socializing, you know?"
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Her attempt at what might be reassurance earns only a quick side glance her way. He's not giving her the details. But he supposes he has to give her something.
"If I've understood this, and I think I do now, there's not any amount of socializing I can do that's going to help." And he's not good at socializing anyway. "I'm going to find a different way. I know it's possible. It's just not going to be as easy as throwing a rock in a pond."
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"Have you tried a smaller wish?"
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But other than that... no. Which he doesn't say but might well be implied.
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"Look. Wish for something small. Something for yourself. A nonmagical item that fits in your hands. If that doesn't work? Yeah, the kid probably can't help you. But don't write them off before you've given them a chance. It's not fair to them, and it would suck for you, if you had an answer right there and weren't willing to stick with it."
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And then a frown follows.
"I'm not writing them off. They've already helped plenty and I've got no doubt they can do more. But this wish thing? If it's based off connection then it's just not going to work with me." He huffs. "Besides, I don't even know what I'd ask for." Material items don't mean anything to him anymore.
no subject
She shifts, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can't make the wish to prove you right or wrong, so you'll have to do it yourself. It doesn't actually matter what it is. Just wish for your favorite food for all it matters. The point is, how much is it going to hurt you to make really sure?"
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Would it hurt to make sure? Probably not.
"Chh. I'll look into it," He says. One thing's certain and that's that his earlier brief lift in mood has met its end. "Either way, this is going to have to do for now." He lifts the knife up, letting it turn over in his fingers before lowering it back down.
Which gets him to notice the holes in his sleeves left from her blade. He's not concerned about the cuts themselves, but rather the marks of color showing through. He tries to tug the small holes back together and smear some of the open cuts to cover. He'll have to change this.
no subject
And maybe there's a part of her that wouldn't mind facing off against another swordsman for once.
He starts fussing with his clothing, and it's only then that she notices the colored bits of skin peeking out from the cuts in his clothes. She tilts her head at that, confused and curious in equal parts.
"...What's that? On your skin?" She'd thought that he'd be entirely white from head to toe... but apparently not.
no subject
"Blood?" He says, being deliberately obtuse and not looking up at her. He kids fidgeting and fussing where he is. Maybe she'll believe it and he'll have thrown her off the literal scent. Or maybe she just won't want to bother with him. That's two thirds a chance isn't it?
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"Is that... some kind of drawing?" She tilts her head the other way, trying to catch a different scent angle. He's being defensive about it, but she really doesn't understand why. "Why are you trying to hide it?"
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"They're tattoos. And not supposed to be there. The world I came from gave them to me. And no, far as I am aware, I was not in a gang." But he still doesn't really know.
no subject
The mention of gangs gets him a small look--What would gangs have to do with any of that? But it's easily brushed aside. "Man, lucky you. All I got from my world is a bunch of lousy scars." Among other things...
"You still didn't mention why you were hiding it. If I had arms like that, I'd rip the sleeves off every shirt I own and charge people money to stare." She comes a little closer, trying to get a better sniff, then pauses a moment.
"Can I lick it? Or do you want to just pretend I didn't ask that?"
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"We're going to pretend very hard you didn't just ask that," He says with a wry, bracing grin. He starts tugging his sleeve down.
"I'd rather scars than this," He says, honestly. "For one, they make me look like a street thug, and a tool at that. For two..." He hesitates, debating on saying it when it might just get him even more questions. Finally, he goes on, "I don't like what some of them represent. They're not things I'd get tattoos of even if I were that kind of person."
no subject
"Well, I can promise that you don't smell like a tool, so you're good there," she informs him, trying to keep things somewhat light. She's a little more curious about that second part, though. So, just as casually, she adds another question: "What sort of things do they represent?"
no subject
But he can't pretend he hasn't looked.
"It's a bunch of metaphors," He says. "Things I've said. Things I had and lost. Little reminders about the crappier parts of what I am." A pause. "A few markings I had already. I think, whoever or whatever was in control of the world I came from, they wanted some way to highlight who and what I am, even while trying to force me into their new story." He frowns. "If you're that curious, I'll tell you a few at a time, but I don't really want to go into all of them and definitely not at once."