08-02-2018, 02:43 PM
"Such is the nature of an experiment, friend."
Ephraim's lips lifted into a winsome smile as Sören pressed a telltale finger to staunch the pain in his temple. He glowered, swirling the champagne in the far-too-delicate flute, then downed the contents, little more than a grunt offered in answer. The sharp stab of pain faded as his mechanical eye refocused. The alcohol didn't help; that was just to douse the edge of Ephraim's smirk. "Or the price of knowledge. Has your lovely doctor taken a look?"
"My doctor--"
an unmistakable edge of possession to the word "--has other concerns at the moment. As do I."
He planted the empty glass on a passing tray with a little too much force judging by the server's wide-eyed jerk as she scurried passed.
Ephraim laughed.
Little ever ruffled him. Sören had been awake when they operated, his overwhelming memory that of Morven's pinch-faced concentration as coldness flooded his limbs, and Ephraim's inquisitive stare as surgeons rooted around in his bloody eye socket. His blonde curls fanned like a halo about his face, but it was no angel that walked in his skin.
Another glass replaced the empty one.
Sören didn't mind the surroundings, or even the people, but it felt like wasted time -- even with so many brothers and sisters in one place. The latter assumed, of course; he couldn't sense them like Morven could. Truthfully he would rather have been finalising details for his imminent expedition, but the man had called in a favour. Tickets to the fundraiser were pocket change to the CEO of Paragon, as was the sizeable donation already made in the company's name. The chance such an opportunity offered was priceless though. A room full of channelers lit Ephraim's gaze like a child on Christmas morning. He hadn't shared why, and Sören didn't ask. He didn't want to know.
Sören shifted his stance, watched the rich and their smiles and their jewels. He felt naked without the talisman around his neck, which perhaps only added to his mood, but the jewellery was too out of place in such a setting. Morven had looked at it disgustedly when he dropped it in her lap with the instruction she keep it safe until his return. 'I can see why you would'nae want to wear it to a ball.' She'd held it with the pinch of finger and thumb, nose wrinkled, until his glower had prompted her to slip it over her own head with a roll of the eyes.
"Come by the office when you're in a better mood. I'll have one of my guys take a look."
Ephraim grinned, but much like Sören his attention was elsewhere, if on different delights. He'd shown a marked interest in Brandon's most obvious guard, men dressed in shades of black. Sören confirmed what they were when asked, and Ephraim's stare periodically pulled to them as they threaded through the crowds. Half contemplation, half calculation.
He did not know what he was playing with; could not sense how, seconds before the music died, each of those men billowed like wrathful storm clouds. Sören's expression darkened.
The scream certainly snared the man's attention though. Ephraim's blonde brows rose, sparked by curiosity, and he pushed his way into the gathering crowd. Sören followed, albeit at a more sedate pace. His mild gaze absorbed Nikolai Brandon, pulled mostly by the thunderous amount of power that suddenly raged to life as the man approached. Sören's fingers flexed but he did not seize the runes. The room was shadowed with it; it clawed under his skin in response like a caged demon, but he peeled his gaze away instead, hackles raised despite his best efforts to ignore the currents.
Ephraim's gaze swivelled as they led the apparent aggressor away. "Somewhere safe?"
he repeated, a murmur meant only for himself. A moment of indecision squinted his gaze, but presently he returned his attention to the chaos below. For his own part Sören watched the apprehended cop as he was removed, a memory stirred, captured, then disregarded. Recognition did not flare his expression, but he did remember the man. An irritant. But there was simply no chance that he had been the one to hurt another, let alone a woman.
His jaw flexed before he set eyes on the scene below, where the woman cowered in the arms of a man that narrowed Sören's brows in faint surprise, though he couldn't say why. Another knelt to the scene, revealing the crux of Ephraim's interest, and presently Sören's too. The last time he had witnessed a healing it had been a quick and necessary stitch in a life-thread, its nuances lost before he'd had a chance to pay attention.
Ephraim's lips lifted into a winsome smile as Sören pressed a telltale finger to staunch the pain in his temple. He glowered, swirling the champagne in the far-too-delicate flute, then downed the contents, little more than a grunt offered in answer. The sharp stab of pain faded as his mechanical eye refocused. The alcohol didn't help; that was just to douse the edge of Ephraim's smirk. "Or the price of knowledge. Has your lovely doctor taken a look?"
"My doctor--"
an unmistakable edge of possession to the word "--has other concerns at the moment. As do I."
He planted the empty glass on a passing tray with a little too much force judging by the server's wide-eyed jerk as she scurried passed.
Ephraim laughed.
Little ever ruffled him. Sören had been awake when they operated, his overwhelming memory that of Morven's pinch-faced concentration as coldness flooded his limbs, and Ephraim's inquisitive stare as surgeons rooted around in his bloody eye socket. His blonde curls fanned like a halo about his face, but it was no angel that walked in his skin.
Another glass replaced the empty one.
Sören didn't mind the surroundings, or even the people, but it felt like wasted time -- even with so many brothers and sisters in one place. The latter assumed, of course; he couldn't sense them like Morven could. Truthfully he would rather have been finalising details for his imminent expedition, but the man had called in a favour. Tickets to the fundraiser were pocket change to the CEO of Paragon, as was the sizeable donation already made in the company's name. The chance such an opportunity offered was priceless though. A room full of channelers lit Ephraim's gaze like a child on Christmas morning. He hadn't shared why, and Sören didn't ask. He didn't want to know.
Sören shifted his stance, watched the rich and their smiles and their jewels. He felt naked without the talisman around his neck, which perhaps only added to his mood, but the jewellery was too out of place in such a setting. Morven had looked at it disgustedly when he dropped it in her lap with the instruction she keep it safe until his return. 'I can see why you would'nae want to wear it to a ball.' She'd held it with the pinch of finger and thumb, nose wrinkled, until his glower had prompted her to slip it over her own head with a roll of the eyes.
"Come by the office when you're in a better mood. I'll have one of my guys take a look."
Ephraim grinned, but much like Sören his attention was elsewhere, if on different delights. He'd shown a marked interest in Brandon's most obvious guard, men dressed in shades of black. Sören confirmed what they were when asked, and Ephraim's stare periodically pulled to them as they threaded through the crowds. Half contemplation, half calculation.
He did not know what he was playing with; could not sense how, seconds before the music died, each of those men billowed like wrathful storm clouds. Sören's expression darkened.
The scream certainly snared the man's attention though. Ephraim's blonde brows rose, sparked by curiosity, and he pushed his way into the gathering crowd. Sören followed, albeit at a more sedate pace. His mild gaze absorbed Nikolai Brandon, pulled mostly by the thunderous amount of power that suddenly raged to life as the man approached. Sören's fingers flexed but he did not seize the runes. The room was shadowed with it; it clawed under his skin in response like a caged demon, but he peeled his gaze away instead, hackles raised despite his best efforts to ignore the currents.
Ephraim's gaze swivelled as they led the apparent aggressor away. "Somewhere safe?"
he repeated, a murmur meant only for himself. A moment of indecision squinted his gaze, but presently he returned his attention to the chaos below. For his own part Sören watched the apprehended cop as he was removed, a memory stirred, captured, then disregarded. Recognition did not flare his expression, but he did remember the man. An irritant. But there was simply no chance that he had been the one to hurt another, let alone a woman.
His jaw flexed before he set eyes on the scene below, where the woman cowered in the arms of a man that narrowed Sören's brows in faint surprise, though he couldn't say why. Another knelt to the scene, revealing the crux of Ephraim's interest, and presently Sören's too. The last time he had witnessed a healing it had been a quick and necessary stitch in a life-thread, its nuances lost before he'd had a chance to pay attention.
![[Image: odinraven.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/odinraven.png)