[ her mouth twitches with some satisfaction when she notes hiro has pulled on the furs. good. she didn't want to have to wrestle him into them, but she would have done it. ]
I'd rather just do the fires.
[ but she obeys his request nonetheless, closing her eyes. push a ball of light from her chest through her hands: well, that was stupid. katsa cares about possibilities, but this is not real, and there seems to be little point in even attempting it.
she rolls her eyes behind their closed lids, lashes fluttering.
the trick then, she supposes, is to focus on something that she knows is real. her grace isn't a tangible thing, not a power she can latch onto, so she can't look for that like someone with a magical gift might. she has no light in her chest, nothing but her heart beating strong and air rushing in and out of her lungs. and blood. katsa knows how to make that flow. she knows how to visualize a heart pounding and spilling hot from someone's chest. it's a core, if hiro wants to call it that, the thing that beats when one is alive and stops when one isn't. the power behind life.
and she can control that—visualize it far better than she ever wants. she can push that power bubbling up through someone's body, hear it rushing in her ears as she takes a breath. she has drawn lines from the chest to the hand in blood, knowing it's hot, knowing how much blood remains or is lost is a crucial thing for knowing how well someone has a chance to surviving.
she can feel the heat in her own chest rising from her heart, warm behind her ribs—traveling beneath the scars where a mountain lion spilled that blood once and back down her arm, hot in her hands to her fingertips, constantly flowing.
she does not open her eyes, focused on the images that fascinate and appall her all at once in the blackness of her mind. is this what hiro means, the power she pools in her hands? ]
no subject
I'd rather just do the fires.
[ but she obeys his request nonetheless, closing her eyes. push a ball of light from her chest through her hands: well, that was stupid. katsa cares about possibilities, but this is not real, and there seems to be little point in even attempting it.
she rolls her eyes behind their closed lids, lashes fluttering.
the trick then, she supposes, is to focus on something that she knows is real. her grace isn't a tangible thing, not a power she can latch onto, so she can't look for that like someone with a magical gift might. she has no light in her chest, nothing but her heart beating strong and air rushing in and out of her lungs. and blood. katsa knows how to make that flow. she knows how to visualize a heart pounding and spilling hot from someone's chest. it's a core, if hiro wants to call it that, the thing that beats when one is alive and stops when one isn't. the power behind life.
and she can control that—visualize it far better than she ever wants. she can push that power bubbling up through someone's body, hear it rushing in her ears as she takes a breath. she has drawn lines from the chest to the hand in blood, knowing it's hot, knowing how much blood remains or is lost is a crucial thing for knowing how well someone has a chance to surviving.
she can feel the heat in her own chest rising from her heart, warm behind her ribs—traveling beneath the scars where a mountain lion spilled that blood once and back down her arm, hot in her hands to her fingertips, constantly flowing.
she does not open her eyes, focused on the images that fascinate and appall her all at once in the blackness of her mind. is this what hiro means, the power she pools in her hands? ]