05-11-2014, 09:07 PM
Jon reeled as his sliced weaves recoiled. The sensation was like paper cuts to his brain and he would likely never get used to it. Jon's grasp on the power rocked, but he drew in more and clawed his way back on top of that violent, surging balance.
Jon would not have expected the man to have known how to slice away a weave. That meant Dane had been around another man who could wield the Great Spirit before. The only reason Jon knew how to sever another weave was because he'd seen Nick Trano do it.
Dane stood and was doing something with his own connection. Drawing more and -- was he poised to strike out?
"You're playing with fire, Jon."
The man's voice echoed like a brass cymbal against the power that Jon could feel surging in the other man. He was holding a lot. Probably more than Jon safely could.
Playing with fire? He didn't know a thing about Jon. Jon chuckled at the man and narrowed his eyes. "You don't know the half of it."
He prepared weaves of his own. Essence of spirit, to slice, and the delicate web of his mind medicine. At the next sign of hostility, he'd strike back and sedate the man. In the meantime, if he didn't show any further aggression, Jon would leave the man alone.
He turned to Nimeda and the other young girl. They were seating, and neither of them looked well at all. The young blonde looked ready to fall over -- but it was Nimeda whose behavior most puzzled him. She had pulled back into her seat, legs drawn up, the color drained from what Jon could see of her face. As if she'd seen a ghost.
Or like they'd both been poisoned.
"Nimeda, you remember me, right? What happened?"
He strode toward her.
Jon would not have expected the man to have known how to slice away a weave. That meant Dane had been around another man who could wield the Great Spirit before. The only reason Jon knew how to sever another weave was because he'd seen Nick Trano do it.
Dane stood and was doing something with his own connection. Drawing more and -- was he poised to strike out?
"You're playing with fire, Jon."
The man's voice echoed like a brass cymbal against the power that Jon could feel surging in the other man. He was holding a lot. Probably more than Jon safely could.
Playing with fire? He didn't know a thing about Jon. Jon chuckled at the man and narrowed his eyes. "You don't know the half of it."
He prepared weaves of his own. Essence of spirit, to slice, and the delicate web of his mind medicine. At the next sign of hostility, he'd strike back and sedate the man. In the meantime, if he didn't show any further aggression, Jon would leave the man alone.
He turned to Nimeda and the other young girl. They were seating, and neither of them looked well at all. The young blonde looked ready to fall over -- but it was Nimeda whose behavior most puzzled him. She had pulled back into her seat, legs drawn up, the color drained from what Jon could see of her face. As if she'd seen a ghost.
Or like they'd both been poisoned.
"Nimeda, you remember me, right? What happened?"
He strode toward her.