(He fully understands that his victory will not last long, but the brief thrill of satisfaction that one word earns him in this moment is well-worth it on its own.)
The new feel from the magic has Lucifer's attention sharpened. He knows they talked about it, knows Istredd is determined when he sets his mind to something, but it's intriguing nonetheless to sense the efforts made for--well, them. He's better prepared himself, to an extent. He remembers at least after the fact what the trickled-looseness of his power unchecked felt like.
There's other risks for why the spell is necessary. The physical, unyielding strength of an archangel that has little to do with his grace tank.
He chases Istredd's bruised lips but allows him to continue breathing for the moment.
He does like these particular clothes and yet they are easier to come by than their party outfits. His tunics aren't fancy, easy to replace just as the rest of his clothing. They could maybe afford the butterfly pins getting scattered...
But in a contradictory motion he claps a hand tight around Istredd's hold on him, unyielding. His gaze is intense when he uses his other hand to very carefully pluck that one specific, known pin off from where its hidden away near his collarbone, kisses it simply, and places it safely down on a table space somewhere behind him.
"By all means, Istredd," he says, releasing his grip on Istredd's hand, his tone a challenging trill, "rip them off."
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Date: 2023-09-20 10:15 pm (UTC)How to rig it in his favor.
(He fully understands that his victory will not last long, but the brief thrill of satisfaction that one word earns him in this moment is well-worth it on its own.)
The new feel from the magic has Lucifer's attention sharpened. He knows they talked about it, knows Istredd is determined when he sets his mind to something, but it's intriguing nonetheless to sense the efforts made for--well, them. He's better prepared himself, to an extent. He remembers at least after the fact what the trickled-looseness of his power unchecked felt like.
There's other risks for why the spell is necessary. The physical, unyielding strength of an archangel that has little to do with his grace tank.
He chases Istredd's bruised lips but allows him to continue breathing for the moment.
He does like these particular clothes and yet they are easier to come by than their party outfits. His tunics aren't fancy, easy to replace just as the rest of his clothing. They could maybe afford the butterfly pins getting scattered...
But in a contradictory motion he claps a hand tight around Istredd's hold on him, unyielding. His gaze is intense when he uses his other hand to very carefully pluck that one specific, known pin off from where its hidden away near his collarbone, kisses it simply, and places it safely down on a table space somewhere behind him.
"By all means, Istredd," he says, releasing his grip on Istredd's hand, his tone a challenging trill, "rip them off."