Seph McCauley - The Wizard Heir - wherever

[mm_danii]

He's having a drink, because he's here and he can. He needs one, right this moment. The reason why can be explained by the locket he's squeezing in his hand every few minutes.

Comments

[mm_azy]

If she could feel, she knows that there's something about him that would make her sad.

"Hello," she says softly.

[mm_danii]

He looks up and gives her a faint smile. No sense being antisocial.

"Hi."

[mm_azy]

She has a sketchbook clutched in one hand, and a box of pastels in the other.

"You seem sad."

[mm_danii]

He looks down at the locket.

"I am. I should be."

[mm_azy]

"Why?"

She doesn't need to ask, but it seems like the right thing to do.

[new_to_liirness]

"Because someone tried to help me and it got them killed."

[mm_azy]

"Oh. I'm sorry," she says.

She means it, as much as she's able.

[mm_danii]

"It's not your fault," he says quietly as he looks up. "But thanks.

[mm_azy]

She gives him a faint smile.

[mm_danii]

He shrugs.

"My name's Seph," he says, though he doesn't extend his hand. He knows now what it can do to people and he'd rather not have that tainting things.

[mm_azy]

"I'm Namine," she replies. Her hands are pulled tighter to her body, both of them still holding her art supplies.

[mm_danii]

He looks at her carefully.

"Nice to meet you, Namine."

He hasn't seen a girl for a while. It's oddly comforting.

[mm_azy]

"Is it all right if I sit here?"

[mm_danii]

He nods.

"Of course."

He appreciates her presence. Someone, anyway.

[mm_azy]

She smiles at him, and opens her sketchbook and pastels.

Something will come to her before long, she knows it.

[mm_danii]

He's filled to the brim with magic, magic that wants an outlet. Not just power, but words and phrases, ancient and strong bubbling up within him.

There's a heavy brow he might grow into.

There's a hand that will not be whole for long.

There is a soul that's been ripped at, torn at, damaged and not yet broken.

There's a dead guardian, a dead friend, and ravens resting on his shoulders as he watches his attacker naked in the rain, his clothing tatters in the beaks of the birds.