Re: [PM to Join] Feel my Bloodstream
Posted: Sun Mar 01, 2020 2:51 pm
Evening, 21 Roalis, 2719
Oiler's Rest, off the Wharf
Oiler's Rest, off the Wharf
Can’t, the human said, in that rough, scraping voice of his. Niccolette stared at him, through the throbbing pulse of her headache. She was breathing a little harder than she wanted to be; it was harder and harder to stay upright. She couldn’t hold the count of her breath; it slipped away from her. The numbers bled into one another; they tumbled around one another in her head, and she was breathing again before she meant to, her eyelids fluttering.
Trying, the human added. He flinched; his fingers spasmed against her wrist, tightening again. Niccolette tightened too, inhaling deeply through her nose. It was only pain, she told herself, feeling the dull ache of the grasp and the vicious, sharp press of nails against her skin. It was only pain; it would pass.
Trying, the human had said.
Niccolette stared at him. His face was like a dark bruise in the low light; there were faint pops of red in the sclera as well. Not enough sleep, Niccolette thought, clinically. She looked down at the hand clenched around her wrist, the long large fingers with their dirty nails. Niccolette took a deep breath.
A spell, she thought. The easiest thing to do with a control spell would be to bent the wrist forward; the tendons along the back of the hand could not sustain their tension in such a position, and would inevitably relax. Niccolette breathed in deep, trying to center herself; she could not find the count of her breath, she could not – panic welled up in her chest. The galdor shuddered, and relaxed her grip on her field; she released the sigiling, and even the flex, so that it hung loose and indectal in the air around them.
She could not come to the mona like this, Niccolette thought, clear and throbbing in her mind. She closed her eyes; tears sparkled on her lashes. It was only pain. She sniffled, taking a deep breath, and opened her eyes, looking down at her wrist once more. Slowly, she shifted; she knelt more fully on the floor, feeling a prickle of pain as one knee brushed glass.
Niccolette let go of the stool with her other hand. She wobbled; she set it down on the floor, for a moment, catching her breath and her balance. Her head throbbed, and she took a deep breath, opening her eyes. Carefully, she brought her free hand to the human’s wrist. She grasped it, firmly; she set her thumb on the back of his hand.
"Do not fight me," Niccolette said, lifting her gaze to his. Her voice was softer, now, but still with the sharp ring of command. She did not ask; she never asked. She demanded, with all the strength and iron will that she might, another time, have brought to the mona.
Niccolette pressed; she bent his wrist forward, her fingers digging in to his forearm to provide something to push against. She did not have a lot of strength in her wrists and fingers; she did not know if she could do it, physically, what would be so very easy with the mona. But she knew better than to ask them, here, tonight, and so she would try her hands instead. Her gaze flicked up to the human; her jaw clenched, and she pressed a little harder.
Trying, the human added. He flinched; his fingers spasmed against her wrist, tightening again. Niccolette tightened too, inhaling deeply through her nose. It was only pain, she told herself, feeling the dull ache of the grasp and the vicious, sharp press of nails against her skin. It was only pain; it would pass.
Trying, the human had said.
Niccolette stared at him. His face was like a dark bruise in the low light; there were faint pops of red in the sclera as well. Not enough sleep, Niccolette thought, clinically. She looked down at the hand clenched around her wrist, the long large fingers with their dirty nails. Niccolette took a deep breath.
A spell, she thought. The easiest thing to do with a control spell would be to bent the wrist forward; the tendons along the back of the hand could not sustain their tension in such a position, and would inevitably relax. Niccolette breathed in deep, trying to center herself; she could not find the count of her breath, she could not – panic welled up in her chest. The galdor shuddered, and relaxed her grip on her field; she released the sigiling, and even the flex, so that it hung loose and indectal in the air around them.
She could not come to the mona like this, Niccolette thought, clear and throbbing in her mind. She closed her eyes; tears sparkled on her lashes. It was only pain. She sniffled, taking a deep breath, and opened her eyes, looking down at her wrist once more. Slowly, she shifted; she knelt more fully on the floor, feeling a prickle of pain as one knee brushed glass.
Niccolette let go of the stool with her other hand. She wobbled; she set it down on the floor, for a moment, catching her breath and her balance. Her head throbbed, and she took a deep breath, opening her eyes. Carefully, she brought her free hand to the human’s wrist. She grasped it, firmly; she set her thumb on the back of his hand.
"Do not fight me," Niccolette said, lifting her gaze to his. Her voice was softer, now, but still with the sharp ring of command. She did not ask; she never asked. She demanded, with all the strength and iron will that she might, another time, have brought to the mona.
Niccolette pressed; she bent his wrist forward, her fingers digging in to his forearm to provide something to push against. She did not have a lot of strength in her wrists and fingers; she did not know if she could do it, physically, what would be so very easy with the mona. But she knew better than to ask them, here, tonight, and so she would try her hands instead. Her gaze flicked up to the human; her jaw clenched, and she pressed a little harder.