stillplaying | Appointment Post!

[Nothing more is said between them, but nothing needs to be said. He doesn’t let himself make the mistake of attempting to hold her gaze or search her face for any discernible emotion. And with a swirl of his cloak as he twists around, he refuses to give himself the smallest chance, striding towards the portal and stepping with her into the center of the column of light.

From there it’s all automatic, years of devoted practice and honing of a strange power innate to him boiling down to a few seconds of easy effort. He brings his focus to a sharp point and draws magic from the core of his being to feed into the portal, willing solid flesh and bone to dissolve little by little until they’re gone and the light with them, swallowed up by the night to anyone who might have seen it. The perfect, snow-dampened hush settles anew.

Hundreds and hundreds of feet away and deep under layers of frost and snow and rock, their bodies reassemble amidst Isaac’s bedroom, a fire already crackling at the hearth. Abel tears through the fabric of reality before long, filling the space with a similar flash of white light as it does. But in a place far from the sun’s reach, darkness descends quickly and heavily.

Isaac is accustomed to this, spending weeks and months and years of his life in dimly lit places. But he thinks to relight the candle on his desk.]

Light it.

[He says, inviting her to draw upon Eferin’s magic and carefully control it.]

[The portal is unlike anything she's experienced before and it makes her panic just for a second before they reappear in a dark room. Even before he says anything, she's already almost instinctively reaching for the magic, for the light. It's not so much the dark that worries her but the unknown. Because right now, it's far too easy to imagine being deep underground, trapped in a mine the way her father was the day he died.

The light comes to her cupped palms instantly, a bright and steady flame that casts a glow on her face. She's not afraid of being burned by the fire anymore. Nor does she seem nervous about what's going to happen. Instead, she looks proud. Pleased with herself and her abilities.

Without hesitation, she walks to the candle to the desk and does just that. Then, Katniss turns to smile at him.]

[A flame catches the candle's wick, wavering gently, and though he catches her triumphantly smile on the edge of his vision he doesn’t look to her.

He can’t think of a time when he has seen her so pleased, and coming from Katniss, he’s fairly certain it’d only fade or twist into a scowl were he to remark on it. The smile, for all its rarity, holds no meaning to him though, and while the corners of his own lips curl upwards, it’s a crooked, mirthless sort of smirk that he gives in turn.]

I am most impressed that you have managed not to burn the table to ashes. So you have learned something after all.

[She is not undeserving of praise, more so given that she was not born with an inclination for practicing magic. But her drive and ambition to improve was best fueled by her own determination to succeed than by the approval of anyone else.

His smile falls and he turns away, moving towards a basket of chopped wood and bending to toss a log into the hungry fire. There is no greater source of heat available for all the fur blankets he has heaped over the bed, but for a hole underground (albeit a clean, elegantly furnished one) in the dead of winter, the room's a surprisingly comfortable place to be so long as the door is shut against the cool air from the hallway.]

Power is nothing if one knows not how to control it. [But she knows; of course she knows. He's sure she'll tell him so.]

[Sure enough, the smile quickly fades into an annoyed scowl. She should be used to it by now, that backhanded compliment that Haymitch had always been so good at. But it still eats at her. She has learned something. And at a rate that impressed even herself. It's been weeks since she last burnt something she didn't mean to burn. But then, he hasn't seen her since those first few lessons, has he?

The scowl fades and she looks back at him, watching as he begins to feed the fire with logs. It makes the room a little more homey, a little warmer and more comfortable. But there's no mistaking the bed that takes up a lot of the space. And that reminds her of just why she's here again.

She starts to tear her eyes away from him when he speaks again, speaks of a lesson that she learned again and again during the past few years of her life. A lesson that cost her her sister's life. Nearly cost her so much more.]

I know. [There's steely fierceness behind the comment and a flame flickers in her hand again, something to play with, to remind herself of the power she's learned to control.] That's why I came to you in the first place.

[He flicks a glance sideways, catching her scowl before it dissolves.]

Then you should know not to expect that which you wish to hear. If it is honeyed praises that you want, then go –- [he gives a dismissive sweep of his arm] -- and find yourself one of many others all too eager to feed you to complacency.

[Dusting his gloves of wood chips, he rises smoothly from his crouch, tugging his thick, snow-dusted cape loose at the throat. He drifts towards his desk chair, drapes it neatly over the back to dry, and then stands a moment, thinking, before he glances over his shoulder and regards her neutrally.]

Edited 2014-01-13 00:45 (UTC)

[Again the words make her scowl. But scowling does tend to be a perpetual state of being for Katniss, especially around those who mentor her. Especially when said people are right in their statements. It's always grated on her a little, being put in her place. And given what she's here for, it just irritates Katniss even more.]

I'm not going anywhere. [Arms cross over her chest and she looks stubbornly at him, rooted where she stands. She has a bargain to fulfill. And she's always worked to keep her word.] Unless you've changed your mind.

[He stares back flatly for a beat, unimpressed by the look he had earned.]

But one man escaped his debt when he disappeared one morning and never returned.

[Turning his attention to his feet, he stoops over to loosen the long column of belts along the side of each of his boot and it’s slow work even for his clever fingers. Abel keeps a critical eye on her all the while, fangs gleaming behind its curling upper lip. But for all its dislike of strangers, especially, it hasn’t any choice but to grimly tolerate the company she shares with its master. Isaac’s control is unyielding and its own irresistible compulsion to obey allows for no accidents. And so, as a savage devil forged and lusting for battle, it can only wait restlessly until given reason to draw blood however it can.]

I have no intentions of making the same mistake twice... be it with a man or a woman.

[She keeps her eyes on him the whole time, never once looking away. The bravado's returned and in full force. Though she's aware that she's being watched by something - probably that creature of his she's spied around him before - she doesn't pay any attention of it. Her entire attention is on his every action. Because the longer she's here, the more she's starting to feel nervous again.

She's going to do this. Fill her debt to him. Like a prostitute. Brought and paid with services rendered. She hates herself for it. But then, she hates herself for a lot of things. What's a little more if it'll prove to protect Prim in the long run?]

I understand. [Finally, she tears her eyes away to bend down and begin to unlace her own boots. They're not anything nearly as complicated as his own. But the sooner they do this, the sooner she'll be able to leave.] Debts are meant to be fulfilled.

[As accustomed as he is to walking, running, and doing battle in heels - the latter requiring an impeccable sense balance when he resorted to handspringing and other evasive maneuvers -, it’s nothing short of a relief to shuck them off at the end of a long day. He lets them drop, his leather, short-sleeved jerkin and shirt following. But his trousers are left clinging to his hips.

He moves past her, not stopping to watch her undress. There’s nothing to see that he won’t in a moment, nothing that makes hot lust twist deep in his belly.

He tips back-first onto the bed, arms spread, lids falling shut. The mattress bounces beneath him. It has always been too large for him alone, and it almost brings a wry smile to his lips to remember why he had chosen something of this size in the first place.

He takes the time to pull in what feels like the first deep breath in days as he lays there, cold and unreachable, dull-pink stripes and patches of scar tissue almost lost amongst the patterns of ink sprawling down his chest and stomach.

His gauntlets stay on.]

[Her own body is just as littered with scar tissue, remainders of the burns and the skin grafts that never fully healed before she had damaged them again. It's not, in her opinion, an attractive body. Even if it's a slim body, well-toned and curvy, she can't see past the scars. She can't see what others find so attractive.

But for once, she doesn't care what her partner thinks. She has no desire to please him. Only to fulfill that debt. But that touch of bashfulness is still there when she finishes stripping, clothes messily piled on top of each other on the floor. The sooner they do this, the sooner she can try to forget how she's sold herself. So she doesn't hesitate to get on her hands and knees on the bed, crawling close to start kiss a trail along the patterns of his tattoos.]