Perhaps it's the pull of power that comes when Prospero holds the staff just so -- perhaps it's his rising anger. The result is the same either way.
A gust of wind blasts over Matt and Prospero's table, whipping at their hair and clothes and putting Matt's magical artifacts in danger of blowing away.
And for whatever reason, it's that sound, and not the sight of an irate sorcerer clutching a magical weapon, that causes Matt to think oh, shit.
He realizes he might have just made things very, very bad for Ariel in the pursuit of an intellectual point.
(Even if he knows that's not all he's after-- still, it's that realization alone that keeps him from reacting with real anger to the allegations of boyish idealist unawareness of harshness whatever.)
"Hi," Matt says to the wind, hands darting out to grab for his herbs. They're the most susceptible to being blown away.
Matt wonders if his metaphorical hackles are rising, or if that's just the electric atmosphere.
"I think I spent all my cool points," he informs Ariel without much expression.
He reaches to rescue a white candle from the edge of the table. His hand, holding it, hovers for a moment over his bag.
In the end, he sets it down on the tabletop, but moves to put away his books, slipping them into his bag among his laptop case and a jumble of notebooks.
He keeps his voice from getting too high on the last syllable by dint of much effort, but the very solid beginnings of both panic and confusion threaten to undo his hard work.
He has one of those moments where he is acutely aware of his options, and the need to make some decision stretches more and more tautly as the seconds tick by.
He could run after Prospero, an option totally lacking in dignity. He could try to detain him or catch his attention with magic, an option totally lacking in a commitment to being alive and not embedded in a cloven pine.*
Or he could, as he so often does, sit here.
And feel-- as he so often does-- that he's made the wrong choice.
*Incidentally, does cloven refer to cleaving, or was this some kind of clove-pine hybrid? More answers he is unlikely to get from Prospero.
( ... )
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"Your principles all seem pretty personal."
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( ... )
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A gust of wind blasts over Matt and Prospero's table, whipping at their hair and clothes and putting Matt's magical artifacts in danger of blowing away.
"Master?"
Reply
He realizes he might have just made things very, very bad for Ariel in the pursuit of an intellectual point.
(Even if he knows that's not all he's after-- still, it's that realization alone that keeps him from reacting with real anger to the allegations of boyish idealist unawareness of harshness whatever.)
"Hi," Matt says to the wind, hands darting out to grab for his herbs. They're the most susceptible to being blown away.
Reply
"Master?" Ariel repeats. "Didst call your Ariel?"
Reply
( ... )
Reply
"I think I spent all my cool points," he informs Ariel without much expression.
He reaches to rescue a white candle from the edge of the table. His hand, holding it, hovers for a moment over his bag.
In the end, he sets it down on the tabletop, but moves to put away his books, slipping them into his bag among his laptop case and a jumble of notebooks.
Reply
( ... )
Reply
He keeps his voice from getting too high on the last syllable by dint of much effort, but the very solid beginnings of both panic and confusion threaten to undo his hard work.
Reply
( ... )
Reply
He has one of those moments where he is acutely aware of his options, and the need to make some decision stretches more and more tautly as the seconds tick by.
He could run after Prospero, an option totally lacking in dignity. He could try to detain him or catch his attention with magic, an option totally lacking in a commitment to being alive and not embedded in a cloven pine.*
Or he could, as he so often does, sit here.
And feel-- as he so often does-- that he's made the wrong choice.
*Incidentally, does cloven refer to cleaving, or was this some kind of clove-pine hybrid? More answers he is unlikely to get from Prospero.
Reply
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