[ She snorts quietly at that. Truthfully, she has no idea what kinds of things Seishirou enjoys doing—if he enjoys anything at all. Some days, she catches herself wondering if there's anything inside him beyond the surface.
Her eyes follow Subaru's every movement, attentive in a way she doesn't bother to hide. There's something elegant about him, as if each motion is born from pure intention. Her expression tightens thoughtfully at his question, brows pinching as she considers it. ] As much as I have to be. [ Her gaze flicks back to him, curious despite herself. ] Are you?
[ Subaru looks like a man shaped for magic, for the swift, graceful swish of his fingers as he works through a spell, not for the weight and edge of a blade. ]
[ Which seems like a stupid thing to say, something anyone sane would respond to with Who does? — but he figures he doesn't have to lean so explicit. Her answer reflects clearly enough, his interest in the soul of it balancing out her catching on its physicality, light shattered by so many facets. Rust and fire, memory, love. ]
And, as you can see, I'm not of much use swinging a sword or throwing a punch. [ He sets the knife down on a talisman and positions it in millimeter increments until he seems satisfied; the blade points cardinal west. ] But I can fight. I spent my life learning.
[ The dry rasp of the paper sounds softly, its inky fulu script darkening and bleeding the magnetized garnet of his spellwork. ]
[ Sharon knows plenty of people who enjoy a fight, people she's watched disappear into the heat of it like they were born for it. She's seen the way violence can become something intoxicating. But she'd known what kind of person Subaru was long before he'd answered. He could fight, but he took no pleasure in it. She couldn't say the same for herself.
He sets the blade down, adjusting it with deliberate precision until it's angled exactly the way he wants it. By now, she's learned enough to know none of his movements are thoughtless. There's reason behind every small action, some quiet meaning woven into each choice, even if she can't begin to unravel what it is.
Her gaze lingers on the careful placement before drifting back to him, thoughtful, curious. ] Why'd you have to learn? Because of what you can do? [ His magic? ]
It's my job. [ He answers with so little fanfare in the soft sweep if his voice it almost sounds like a joke. ] And I'm paid well to do it.
[ Leaning back in his seat, he folds his arms loosely and glimpses upwards from the blade and the ink reverberating on the table to meet her eyes. There's almost something like an apology in the set of his expression, in the half-light of his right eye blinded, the same as Seishirou. ]
That's likely a less interesting answer than you'd hoped for, but it's the truth.
A job that pays well to fight...? Where I come from, that's pretty interesting. [ In her world, fighting monsters or demons or preserving some fragile balance belonged more to fantasy stories. She leans forward slightly, blue eyes fixed on him over the rim of her steaming mug, both hands wrapped around the warmth of it. ] Tell me about it. Is the pay the only reason you do it?
[ Hesitation briefly crosses his brow, but he doesn't avert his gaze when squared against the calm intensity of hers. It'll be a while before the blade's energy runs clean... ]
Before, when I told you about onmyoudo — it's my professional trade. It's an art that's been used to protect Japan for thousands of years, and the one my family found its legacy in. I was just the next in line.
[ In a word: the pay aligns with the clout. He doesn't look especially gratified by this. ]
Combat is part of the training. It began when I was eight.
[ He says it pays well—it's a job. Does that make it worth it? ]
Was it what you wanted? [ Sharon knows all too well what families with legacies can be like. She'd, as Alessa, had grown up aware of the expectations, if only because her mother was the family failure. The pressure—and for him to start training so young. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Her eyes follow Subaru's every movement, attentive in a way she doesn't bother to hide. There's something elegant about him, as if each motion is born from pure intention. Her expression tightens thoughtfully at his question, brows pinching as she considers it. ] As much as I have to be. [ Her gaze flicks back to him, curious despite herself. ] Are you?
[ Subaru looks like a man shaped for magic, for the swift, graceful swish of his fingers as he works through a spell, not for the weight and edge of a blade. ]
no subject
[ Which seems like a stupid thing to say, something anyone sane would respond to with Who does? — but he figures he doesn't have to lean so explicit. Her answer reflects clearly enough, his interest in the soul of it balancing out her catching on its physicality, light shattered by so many facets. Rust and fire, memory, love. ]
And, as you can see, I'm not of much use swinging a sword or throwing a punch. [ He sets the knife down on a talisman and positions it in millimeter increments until he seems satisfied; the blade points cardinal west. ] But I can fight. I spent my life learning.
[ The dry rasp of the paper sounds softly, its inky fulu script darkening and bleeding the magnetized garnet of his spellwork. ]
no subject
He sets the blade down, adjusting it with deliberate precision until it's angled exactly the way he wants it. By now, she's learned enough to know none of his movements are thoughtless. There's reason behind every small action, some quiet meaning woven into each choice, even if she can't begin to unravel what it is.
Her gaze lingers on the careful placement before drifting back to him, thoughtful, curious. ] Why'd you have to learn? Because of what you can do? [ His magic? ]
no subject
[ Leaning back in his seat, he folds his arms loosely and glimpses upwards from the blade and the ink reverberating on the table to meet her eyes. There's almost something like an apology in the set of his expression, in the half-light of his right eye blinded, the same as Seishirou. ]
That's likely a less interesting answer than you'd hoped for, but it's the truth.
no subject
[ She's already assumed it's not. ]
no subject
Before, when I told you about onmyoudo — it's my professional trade. It's an art that's been used to protect Japan for thousands of years, and the one my family found its legacy in. I was just the next in line.
[ In a word: the pay aligns with the clout. He doesn't look especially gratified by this. ]
Combat is part of the training. It began when I was eight.
no subject
Was it what you wanted? [ Sharon knows all too well what families with legacies can be like. She'd, as Alessa, had grown up aware of the expectations, if only because her mother was the family failure. The pressure—and for him to start training so young. ]