He can feel the adrenaline spike as it happens. He's nervous - he knows exactly why, but still. Why did he bring this up? Why is he taking this risk?
...because he trusts Mark. Boy, is there a lot riding on that right now.
He keeps himself steady as best he can. "I...I know you said you like how I look. I just - where I come from, there's salons - there's alchemists who can change how you look: hair, skin, eyes, wings - so you can look like-"
He pauses, then turns his back to Mark, focusing on the disguise spell, and his wings change. For a few seconds, they're the pointed, monarch-bright wings of Lennis; a few seconds later, they're the rounded, black-tipped blues and tans from Yin's memory; and then, for mere moments, they're bright, multi-tiered and tailed, with stained glass feathers in all colors of the rainbow-
(He closes his eyes for this one. It feels like invoking her, sticking a knife into a place deep within him that started screaming when she got her hands on it and never stopped. She's the perfect example of the potential of salons - the epitome of Lasardhin beauty - and if she ever arrives here, he's dead.)
-and then he drops the spell and opens his eyes, and his wings are his own again. "But I can't do that," he continues, voice quiet. "I'm stuck the way I am. And...it is pretty plain."
It's an explanation. It's context, so Mark understands. It's definitely not a display of the low self-esteem he's had for most of his recent life. It's fine.
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He can feel the adrenaline spike as it happens. He's nervous - he knows exactly why, but still. Why did he bring this up? Why is he taking this risk?
...because he trusts Mark. Boy, is there a lot riding on that right now.
He keeps himself steady as best he can. "I...I know you said you like how I look. I just - where I come from, there's salons - there's alchemists who can change how you look: hair, skin, eyes, wings - so you can look like-"
He pauses, then turns his back to Mark, focusing on the disguise spell, and his wings change. For a few seconds, they're the pointed, monarch-bright wings of Lennis; a few seconds later, they're the rounded, black-tipped blues and tans from Yin's memory; and then, for mere moments, they're bright, multi-tiered and tailed, with stained glass feathers in all colors of the rainbow-
(He closes his eyes for this one. It feels like invoking her, sticking a knife into a place deep within him that started screaming when she got her hands on it and never stopped. She's the perfect example of the potential of salons - the epitome of Lasardhin beauty - and if she ever arrives here, he's dead.)
-and then he drops the spell and opens his eyes, and his wings are his own again. "But I can't do that," he continues, voice quiet. "I'm stuck the way I am. And...it is pretty plain."
It's an explanation. It's context, so Mark understands. It's definitely not a display of the low self-esteem he's had for most of his recent life. It's fine.