YOUR LIPS ARE THIN BUT MINE ARE OPEN-
He seems uncomfortable, and distant.
Really, that is probably his fault; he still hasn’t decided if he minds. At his question, he shakes his head, and the gesture is nearly contemptuous. I think there are people much more in need of it than I, he says, and his gaze flickers down to meet Septimus’s bright green eyes. There is no warmth in his stare, nor in his narrowed eyes. He strays closer, but he feels more distant-
Septimus offers no response. (He isn’t entirely sure what to say; there is more to his comment, he thinks, than what he knows of him, or of this land, though it has no impact on his scientific curiosity.) Instead, he lets his eyes linger on Elchanan’s (though the other man does not meet his gaze) as he looks down, towards the pool. It is only when his eyes widen, shot through with a look of surprise, that Septimus follows his gaze to the water. His shock is likely mirrored in the bay’s own features; Septimus feels himself stiffen, eyes growing large as saucers, though they are filled with anticipation more than anything.
There is a flash of scales, and he scolds himself for missing it earlier. (He is supposed to be a biologist, and this fish is no small creature; he should have been paying more attention.) It flashes closer and closer, and then, like a cleaver, its long, whiskered head splits the surface with a dull splash.
He stares at the creature – is it a koi? (No. The whiskers are far, far too long, and the body shape isn’t quite right.) It seems to him a little bit a fish and a little bit a dragon, with those long, serpentine whiskers and a surprising intelligence gleaming in those dark pits of eyes. Water drips off his elongated form like a translucent carpet. The fish is pale gold, so shiny that he might as well be made of metal, but dark-eyed. It crosses Septimus’s mind that he would like to sketch it. Are those the points of teeth, extending just beyond the ridges of its lips?
He realizes, abruptly, that the fish is staring at him.
That bright turquoise spot on its forehead begins to glow with some ethereal, burning light. It is a mirror of the light which begins to radiate from the stone in the bottom of the pool, and it begins to glow brighter and brighter, like a newborn flame – the light grows bright enough to illuminate the clearing, and so hot that he can feel it on his face, as though he stood too close to a flame.
The fish cries out – cries out! – and jolts from the pool, body convulsing in midair before it splashes back into the pool. At the bottom, the stone is growing brighter and brighter, and the light seems – somehow – strangely inviting. The fish swims slow loops around the stone, and the water, as though stirred by its movement (or something else entirely) begins to ripple. There is something tantalizing about the motion, like a well-choreographed dance.
Septimus licks his lips, already shedding his satchel; he has to investigate the stone, obviously, but he can’t let his notebooks get wet. The leather bag has just fallen to the ground when Elchanan catches his eyes again, and somehow he feels…
wrong.
There is a smile on his lips, now, soft and warm and alluring in a way that makes his thoughts (excitable, intrigued, and, most importantly, purely scientific) come screeching to a halt. His words drip off his lips with the texture of fine silk - You want to go in. - and, somehow, with his mind still addled and his heart pounding to some unfamiliar, fluttering beat inside of his ribs, Septimus agrees.
Of course, he did already, but the idea seems all the more appealing now that he knows that he wants him to. Why wouldn’t he want to please him? Of course he wants to please him, to see him smile at him like that again, to feel that smile again – it has all the warmth, the beautiful warmth, of summer sun, and he wants him to keep looking at him with those dark, gleaming eyes, couldn’t he just melt into them? And his voice, his beautiful voice, he wants it, wants it in a way that borders on the possessive, in a way that burns -
He is already in the water when his mind pieces itself together again. Perhaps it is the cold that snaps him out of it.
Septimus realizes, abruptly, that he was subject to some form of manipulation. (He suspects that it would be entirely unnoticeable if Elchanan were more powerful, a thought that sends a shiver running up his spine.) He is not sure, yet, how he should feel about it, though the revelation is accompanied by the swipe of his tongue along his lips, then the carnivorous points of his teeth.
Nevermind that. The stone is what matters, with its strange light – and, though his feathers hinder the movement, almost painfully, he pushes himself towards the bottom of the pool.
@Elchanan || <3
"Speech!"
He seems uncomfortable, and distant.
Really, that is probably his fault; he still hasn’t decided if he minds. At his question, he shakes his head, and the gesture is nearly contemptuous. I think there are people much more in need of it than I, he says, and his gaze flickers down to meet Septimus’s bright green eyes. There is no warmth in his stare, nor in his narrowed eyes. He strays closer, but he feels more distant-
Septimus offers no response. (He isn’t entirely sure what to say; there is more to his comment, he thinks, than what he knows of him, or of this land, though it has no impact on his scientific curiosity.) Instead, he lets his eyes linger on Elchanan’s (though the other man does not meet his gaze) as he looks down, towards the pool. It is only when his eyes widen, shot through with a look of surprise, that Septimus follows his gaze to the water. His shock is likely mirrored in the bay’s own features; Septimus feels himself stiffen, eyes growing large as saucers, though they are filled with anticipation more than anything.
There is a flash of scales, and he scolds himself for missing it earlier. (He is supposed to be a biologist, and this fish is no small creature; he should have been paying more attention.) It flashes closer and closer, and then, like a cleaver, its long, whiskered head splits the surface with a dull splash.
He stares at the creature – is it a koi? (No. The whiskers are far, far too long, and the body shape isn’t quite right.) It seems to him a little bit a fish and a little bit a dragon, with those long, serpentine whiskers and a surprising intelligence gleaming in those dark pits of eyes. Water drips off his elongated form like a translucent carpet. The fish is pale gold, so shiny that he might as well be made of metal, but dark-eyed. It crosses Septimus’s mind that he would like to sketch it. Are those the points of teeth, extending just beyond the ridges of its lips?
He realizes, abruptly, that the fish is staring at him.
That bright turquoise spot on its forehead begins to glow with some ethereal, burning light. It is a mirror of the light which begins to radiate from the stone in the bottom of the pool, and it begins to glow brighter and brighter, like a newborn flame – the light grows bright enough to illuminate the clearing, and so hot that he can feel it on his face, as though he stood too close to a flame.
The fish cries out – cries out! – and jolts from the pool, body convulsing in midair before it splashes back into the pool. At the bottom, the stone is growing brighter and brighter, and the light seems – somehow – strangely inviting. The fish swims slow loops around the stone, and the water, as though stirred by its movement (or something else entirely) begins to ripple. There is something tantalizing about the motion, like a well-choreographed dance.
Septimus licks his lips, already shedding his satchel; he has to investigate the stone, obviously, but he can’t let his notebooks get wet. The leather bag has just fallen to the ground when Elchanan catches his eyes again, and somehow he feels…
wrong.
There is a smile on his lips, now, soft and warm and alluring in a way that makes his thoughts (excitable, intrigued, and, most importantly, purely scientific) come screeching to a halt. His words drip off his lips with the texture of fine silk - You want to go in. - and, somehow, with his mind still addled and his heart pounding to some unfamiliar, fluttering beat inside of his ribs, Septimus agrees.
Of course, he did already, but the idea seems all the more appealing now that he knows that he wants him to. Why wouldn’t he want to please him? Of course he wants to please him, to see him smile at him like that again, to feel that smile again – it has all the warmth, the beautiful warmth, of summer sun, and he wants him to keep looking at him with those dark, gleaming eyes, couldn’t he just melt into them? And his voice, his beautiful voice, he wants it, wants it in a way that borders on the possessive, in a way that burns -
He is already in the water when his mind pieces itself together again. Perhaps it is the cold that snaps him out of it.
Septimus realizes, abruptly, that he was subject to some form of manipulation. (He suspects that it would be entirely unnoticeable if Elchanan were more powerful, a thought that sends a shiver running up his spine.) He is not sure, yet, how he should feel about it, though the revelation is accompanied by the swipe of his tongue along his lips, then the carnivorous points of his teeth.
Nevermind that. The stone is what matters, with its strange light – and, though his feathers hinder the movement, almost painfully, he pushes himself towards the bottom of the pool.
@Elchanan || <3
"Speech!"
AND RARELY, IF THE WOOD ACCEPTS THE BLADE WITHOUT CONDITIONSthe two pieces keep their balance in spite of the blow❃please tag Septimus! contact is encouraged, short of violence
