How to Train Your Channeler

[Oriena]

His eyes were full of mistrust and unshed tears. Ori half rolled her own in the darkness. Fortunately for him her good mood bred a little patience. “I promise I’ll only bite if you ask nicely,” she said with a smirk. He was looking at her like he expected her to grow fangs, clearly ignorant of the point she was making because he didn’t even glance down at his palms. The control amused her for half a moment – the way he obeyed without knowing what she intended, even when it made him afraid. It wasn’t trust though, or curiosity, or recklessness – or anything half so pleasant: it was just a man used to being the one held over the barrel. To a world that shafted him so hard and so often he just accepted it. And that bristled her. Dug at something buried deep inside which she didn’t turn to face let alone examine.

Her expression didn’t soften. Her ferocity made no room for the edge of his fear, nor sought to reassure his trust. Yet her touch was surprisingly gentle when her fingers moved to trace the delicate flesh inside his wrists, watching his expression while she did it – just to see his reaction, and maybe to toy with it. But it was only a gesture to cup behind his hands, hold them up so he could see they were empty.

“You don’t have that jagged little piece of shit you were clutching like a lifeline, before,” she said. Her tone was a little scathing that she’d had to point it out to him. “Yet you channeled anyway. Because you don’t need it.” She paused for half a beat, but didn’t intend to give him the chance to shy back. “So if you’re cold, do something about it.”