WHEN I RISE UP, LET ME RISE JOYFUL, LIKE A BIRD--
A smug smirk pulls at the corners of his lips when he looks up at her. How could it not? She looks like a deer in the headlights, blinking big green eyes at him with something that is almost desperation – a mouse in a trap, so shocked to be caught by her tail. She seems to hesitate, taking a nervous step back, and her eyes – such big, green things! – dart from his dangling earrings (Were they what she was after? Well, she was lucky that she hadn’t managed to take them, for he most certainly would have hunted her down over it, and he wouldn’t have been as lenient as he is being now.) to his teeth, and finally to his eyes. She seems to consider, and he allows her to do it, his stare never leaving her birdlike form. He wonders how old she is – he’s never been good at guessing mortal ages, and he’s not entirely sure how mortals age in this world anyways. Best he can guess is that she’s barely still a girl, rather than any numerical value; an adolescent on the verge of adulthood, still dressed in the trappings of youth. (He wonders, oftentimes, how old most mortals think that he is. If he wore his age on his skin, he is sure that he wouldn’t find himself in such troubling situations so frequently, but Septimus’s fae influences have always been a more subtle thing, all but outweighed by the presence of his mortal blood.)
She seems to come to some sort of decision, a smile working its way across her pale lips; under the circumstances, it strikes him as surprisingly effortless. Who said anything about stealing? Her voice is light and soft, even airy – as though she is entirely unconcerned by the circumstances. He isn’t sure, yet, if she thinks that she is clever or that he is foolish. (Perhaps it is some mixture thereof.) She settles on the roots alongside him, a dainty and doll-like creature, and he wonders what she’s playing at by lingering; perhaps she thinks that she can still get what she wants, if only she’s charming enough. Septimus, unfortunately, is not particularly susceptible to charm. He is several thousands of years too old for that. She leans forward to stare him right in the eyes, and he has to give her something for her shamelessness, or her boldness, whichever it might be; most petty thieves would have dashed off the moment they were caught, particularly after he flashed his teeth at them (with the suggestion that he might just be able to use them), but this little girl, perhaps as a result of her youthful naivete, decided to remain. He inclines his head at her, unwilling to break her stare.
I would’ve asked, she says, but then you fell asleep. He considers his response for a moment, his expression plainly disbelieving; the look in his eyes suggests that he is wondering if she really thinks that he is so easily fooled, though he doesn’t say it aloud. Instead, he just allows the silence to drag out between them, speaking volumes that he isn’t willing to put into words.
Finally, he speaks. “Like you tried to ask earlier?” Septimus inquires, arching his brows at her; amusement plays at the corners of his lips, a ghost of a smile. If she were any older, he would be far less entertained by the situation. However, she is still a girl, and she reminds him of his sisters, so he opts to treat her a bit more softly than he would otherwise. (She should be quite thankful, he thinks, that he has a soft spot for people who remind him of his relatives, particularly his younger siblings. She even looks similar to some of them, with those bright green eyes – as green as his own, but a few shades paler.)
He debates, for a moment, if he should reward her for her boldness. It probably isn’t a good idea – he shouldn’t be rewarding her efforts to commit a crime. However, he also doesn’t care much for the green gems that line his antlers, and his mother, he thinks, would say that the fae reward the tactfully bold. (With the key word, of course, being tactfully.) He unhooks one of the green stones from his antlers with a flourish of his telekinesis, and flings it in her direction; he knows that it won’t chip or break, even if it hits the ground. “Catch. For persistence’s sake.”
He can’t give her the earrings, of course, though he knows that they are what she’s really after. His mother would hardly be pleased, and, once he regained his magic, he knew that he’d need them as a conduit if he ever hoped to escape this land and commence his travels.
(He wonders, then, what her response to his offering will be – knowing that it is not what she wants.)
@Aghavni || I love her, and I had so much fun with this response???
"Speech!"
A smug smirk pulls at the corners of his lips when he looks up at her. How could it not? She looks like a deer in the headlights, blinking big green eyes at him with something that is almost desperation – a mouse in a trap, so shocked to be caught by her tail. She seems to hesitate, taking a nervous step back, and her eyes – such big, green things! – dart from his dangling earrings (Were they what she was after? Well, she was lucky that she hadn’t managed to take them, for he most certainly would have hunted her down over it, and he wouldn’t have been as lenient as he is being now.) to his teeth, and finally to his eyes. She seems to consider, and he allows her to do it, his stare never leaving her birdlike form. He wonders how old she is – he’s never been good at guessing mortal ages, and he’s not entirely sure how mortals age in this world anyways. Best he can guess is that she’s barely still a girl, rather than any numerical value; an adolescent on the verge of adulthood, still dressed in the trappings of youth. (He wonders, oftentimes, how old most mortals think that he is. If he wore his age on his skin, he is sure that he wouldn’t find himself in such troubling situations so frequently, but Septimus’s fae influences have always been a more subtle thing, all but outweighed by the presence of his mortal blood.)
She seems to come to some sort of decision, a smile working its way across her pale lips; under the circumstances, it strikes him as surprisingly effortless. Who said anything about stealing? Her voice is light and soft, even airy – as though she is entirely unconcerned by the circumstances. He isn’t sure, yet, if she thinks that she is clever or that he is foolish. (Perhaps it is some mixture thereof.) She settles on the roots alongside him, a dainty and doll-like creature, and he wonders what she’s playing at by lingering; perhaps she thinks that she can still get what she wants, if only she’s charming enough. Septimus, unfortunately, is not particularly susceptible to charm. He is several thousands of years too old for that. She leans forward to stare him right in the eyes, and he has to give her something for her shamelessness, or her boldness, whichever it might be; most petty thieves would have dashed off the moment they were caught, particularly after he flashed his teeth at them (with the suggestion that he might just be able to use them), but this little girl, perhaps as a result of her youthful naivete, decided to remain. He inclines his head at her, unwilling to break her stare.
I would’ve asked, she says, but then you fell asleep. He considers his response for a moment, his expression plainly disbelieving; the look in his eyes suggests that he is wondering if she really thinks that he is so easily fooled, though he doesn’t say it aloud. Instead, he just allows the silence to drag out between them, speaking volumes that he isn’t willing to put into words.
Finally, he speaks. “Like you tried to ask earlier?” Septimus inquires, arching his brows at her; amusement plays at the corners of his lips, a ghost of a smile. If she were any older, he would be far less entertained by the situation. However, she is still a girl, and she reminds him of his sisters, so he opts to treat her a bit more softly than he would otherwise. (She should be quite thankful, he thinks, that he has a soft spot for people who remind him of his relatives, particularly his younger siblings. She even looks similar to some of them, with those bright green eyes – as green as his own, but a few shades paler.)
He debates, for a moment, if he should reward her for her boldness. It probably isn’t a good idea – he shouldn’t be rewarding her efforts to commit a crime. However, he also doesn’t care much for the green gems that line his antlers, and his mother, he thinks, would say that the fae reward the tactfully bold. (With the key word, of course, being tactfully.) He unhooks one of the green stones from his antlers with a flourish of his telekinesis, and flings it in her direction; he knows that it won’t chip or break, even if it hits the ground. “Catch. For persistence’s sake.”
He can’t give her the earrings, of course, though he knows that they are what she’s really after. His mother would hardly be pleased, and, once he regained his magic, he knew that he’d need them as a conduit if he ever hoped to escape this land and commence his travels.
(He wonders, then, what her response to his offering will be – knowing that it is not what she wants.)
@Aghavni || I love her, and I had so much fun with this response???
"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
