[Unwell. Unwell and slowly unraveling, making "unwell" an understatement to those in the know. Not that there are very many of those, mind.
It is odd, her composure. His is reflected in a languid sort of way, curiosity stretching forth with an obviously assessing gaze. His lean on his cane becomes more pronounced, but not by way of difficulty -- merely exuding his intrigue, an almost-request for her to sate it.]
Then if that's the case, I'd like to see how.
[Like ants crawling across his skin, he can feel the thrum of anxious readiness of his familiars, ready to leap and gouge and assail the demons around them. Hissing, ugly things. Hungry for blood, fangs gnashing.]
[ It's a fair enough suggestion. Otome's perceptive enough to know skepticism when she looks for it, but at the moment, she's not looking. There's no sense of derision in his voice, just a probing stare similar to the one she'd given him only seconds ago, and she can't fault him for that.
But she is grateful that it's not concern, or outright doubt, that he's not instantly brushing past her with a brusque demand to stand aside when she likely knows nothing--
Much like the chief with civilians, a thought that comes with mild amusement. Otome had proven herself long before there had truly been a need for her expertise, an amalgamation of her medical skills as a doctor and the spiritual power required to truly tend to demon-inflicted wounds.
Again, she smiles quietly, shifting her gaze forward again as she takes precisely two steps forward. It's too soon to call completely for the aid of the ones currently residing in her phone, but it's got more uses than summoning. ]
If you stare at me too hard, you'll make me blush.
[ But that's all she says, letting the phone (an older model) flip open. The screen, strangely enough, sparks and glows, and Otome responds to the tug inside of her that calls to the power she'll need to act.
The demons she faces are unfamiliar, but the fighting is not, and as some odd, swirling mass of blackness bearing giant shears and an expressionless white mask finally spins, shrieks, and lunges for her--
The air crackles and twists itself into a sparking mass of light, violet and ivory and pale blue, descending down upon the closest group of enemies with a roar upon impact. It's blinding, but more importantly, it hits hard enough to lower some of those numbers. ]
[It’s an assumption, but one he would bet money on. There’s an assuredness to this young woman that most would not expect; in fact, most would be turning tail and running the other direction when faced with such a terrible sight. The fact that she doesn’t is telling on its own, enough to dredge up his already burgeoning curiosity into something greater.
When she takes out an older model phone, he can’t help but raise a dark brow. The demons are getting restless, limbs twitching and scuffling closer in their direction like broken insects. One of them shrieks above their heads, shaped like a dark, masked banshee with a massive pair of shears, swooping down low and lunging in her direction.
He can’t quantify exactly what comes next.
The air crackles, like the whole atmosphere is ionizing in a pressure that feels warm and heady. Then a blinding light, violet and blue and white, presses down upon the nearest group, that screeching demon, and all V can do for a moment is cover his eyes with a forearm.
When he opens them again, brow furrowed, there’s none left of that group. Maybe faint traces of disintegration, or splatterings of bodily evidence, but little else.]
A little overdone, don’t you think? [—he asks in the stead of his real question: what the actual heck was that]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It is odd, her composure. His is reflected in a languid sort of way, curiosity stretching forth with an obviously assessing gaze. His lean on his cane becomes more pronounced, but not by way of difficulty -- merely exuding his intrigue, an almost-request for her to sate it.]
Then if that's the case, I'd like to see how.
[Like ants crawling across his skin, he can feel the thrum of anxious readiness of his familiars, ready to leap and gouge and assail the demons around them. Hissing, ugly things. Hungry for blood, fangs gnashing.]
no subject
But she is grateful that it's not concern, or outright doubt, that he's not instantly brushing past her with a brusque demand to stand aside when she likely knows nothing--
Much like the chief with civilians, a thought that comes with mild amusement. Otome had proven herself long before there had truly been a need for her expertise, an amalgamation of her medical skills as a doctor and the spiritual power required to truly tend to demon-inflicted wounds.
Again, she smiles quietly, shifting her gaze forward again as she takes precisely two steps forward. It's too soon to call completely for the aid of the ones currently residing in her phone, but it's got more uses than summoning. ]
If you stare at me too hard, you'll make me blush.
[ But that's all she says, letting the phone (an older model) flip open. The screen, strangely enough, sparks and glows, and Otome responds to the tug inside of her that calls to the power she'll need to act.
The demons she faces are unfamiliar, but the fighting is not, and as some odd, swirling mass of blackness bearing giant shears and an expressionless white mask finally spins, shrieks, and lunges for her--
The air crackles and twists itself into a sparking mass of light, violet and ivory and pale blue, descending down upon the closest group of enemies with a roar upon impact. It's blinding, but more importantly, it hits hard enough to lower some of those numbers. ]
no subject
[It’s an assumption, but one he would bet money on. There’s an assuredness to this young woman that most would not expect; in fact, most would be turning tail and running the other direction when faced with such a terrible sight. The fact that she doesn’t is telling on its own, enough to dredge up his already burgeoning curiosity into something greater.
When she takes out an older model phone, he can’t help but raise a dark brow. The demons are getting restless, limbs twitching and scuffling closer in their direction like broken insects. One of them shrieks above their heads, shaped like a dark, masked banshee with a massive pair of shears, swooping down low and lunging in her direction.
He can’t quantify exactly what comes next.
The air crackles, like the whole atmosphere is ionizing in a pressure that feels warm and heady. Then a blinding light, violet and blue and white, presses down upon the nearest group, that screeching demon, and all V can do for a moment is cover his eyes with a forearm.
When he opens them again, brow furrowed, there’s none left of that group. Maybe faint traces of disintegration, or splatterings of bodily evidence, but little else.]
A little overdone, don’t you think? [—he asks in the stead of his real question: what the actual heck was that]