Inbox - Fade Rift

[nonvenomous]

Book/crystal/correspondence/action/whatever you desire.

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[tender]

There is a sincere urge to put her hands over his. It even flutters at her fingers, shifts her body to turn more fully towards him.

But Richard likely wouldn't appreciate it. So Derrica settles for holding her place, brow pinched into a worried frown.

"What does that mean?"

[nonvenomous]

Piano wire tension flinches taut up the back of his near arm at her shift -- the surface of a defensive flare that brands bright in his eyes in a look flashed quick aside. This is the bristle of a creature coiled at the bottom of a drain, starved and hateful and ready to snip off the end of the finger being curled down the chute after it.

There and gone.

He folds it away under a spring draw of tension, haggard through his chest, hard bit into collarbones and across his shoulders.

“It isn’t Oghma,” he says, finally, measured over an ill-repressed shiver of exhaustion. “I’m sorry I mentioned it. Please let me rest.”

bow on this y/y?

[tender]

"I'm sorry."

Taking his hand would be unappreciated. Derrica knows this, and so tamps down the notion more thoroughly. The minor hesitation at the request is quickly pushed aside. She rises, reaches to give the blankets a quick tug to cover him more securely and erase the evidence of her perch.

"I'd like to talk of it again, please. When you're ready."

Based on their current track record of discussing magic related information, that might well be another year. Derrica does not point this out.