Topic: 14.01.27 - Skin & Bones

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 00:55 EST
January 27th

Crispin sits at the foot of the bed, his back to the wall. Right leg curled beneath him while his left hugged the side of the bed, his knee bouncing with unrestrained agitation. Though with most of his concentration put on his task, the subtle, nagging desire to smoke only simmered at the base of his skull. He had made it three days so far with only errant thoughts of how empty his hand felt without a cigarette smoldering in it. "From an early age, Nephilim are given a copy of the Grey Book to study from, along with a Codex, such as this." Lofts the leather bound book in his hands for Lenore's benefit. While the cover was faded with age, it was not damaged. The only decoration was a large chalice gracing the front, covered in gold filigree. He licks his fingertips and flips through the pages. "We memorize the runes for our future use. This one is not one I've had to use previously, though I do remember it. I only want to check---" Trailing off, he tilts his head. "There."

Lenore can't contain herself quite like Cris can. She's pacing the room in a silent prowl, from one side to the other in slow steps with fingertips getting nervously tangled in blue locks. Barefeet, her own black jeans, but the black v-neck t-shirt is all his and it hangs off her thin frame with the hem hitting her thighs like a tunic. "Grey Book." She repeats the words and casts golden eyes at the book capturing its movement. "But this one is safe." More of a question in her inflection than a statement, the same question she has asked repeatedly even if it seemed rather benign on the surface. "What's the point of having a Rune remove your ability to speak?" She wants to be clear on the details before they go diving head first into this. It's not the first time she has tried this and that with her own abilities, but it's the first time she has ever drawn someone else into her experimentation. The last thing she wants is for this to have a poor outcome for Cris because she overlooked something.

Glancing up. For a moment, he thought she'd meant the book, and that didn't make any sense---books were always, mostly, safe. Depending upon where you got them. "Yes, this one is safe." Squinting down at the table of runes before him, he traces the outline of Quietude with the tip of his thumb. Shaped similar to a lyre, with a thick U border and dozens of smaller lines bisecting in the empty space, a prominent stroke that coincidentally resembled a capital S slanted in the very center. "I presume its original intention was less than pleasant. To silence prisoners or perhaps even children when they were being rowdy. The Silent Brothers are a particular sect of Nephilim that dedicate their lives to the pursuit of knowledge and higher thinking---they are, mostly, the sole bearers of these runes now. They speak not with their tongues but with their thoughts. They're rather incredible to behold."

Her non-stop steps carry her over to his side, turning to settle her back against the wall so she's not squirming from one foot to the other while looking at the book over his shoulder. She watches the trace of his thumb along the page, squinting like if she stares at it long enough some new information will arise about the mess of intricate swirling and swooping black lines. His examples of possible uses make her frown, though she does find one silver lining from it. "People wouldn't put it on a child if it wasn't safe." He had just told her it was safe but she'll gladly take any additional confirmation that she can. Her gaze slides from the book to him, his crown of wet chestnut hair. "They sound... interesting." Intimidating, really. Wise men as silent at the grave thinking at you.

The rune itself was one of nine on the page. Nine others rode the next page. Of the eighteen: Soundless, Talent, Strength and Stamina were as familiar to him as they were no doubt to any who spent a great deal of time looking at his skin. He made sure to put his fingers across the rune that was a smaller version of the one he'd Marked across his heart. "We'd do nothing to our children that we felt unsafe. There's a few sections concerning the Silent Brothers in this book if you'd like to read it." He did not seem overly concerned with sharing. "I'm to draw this on the back of my neck," informing her. "I've a small mirror in the shaving kit Izumi gifted me for Christmas, and it's not a difficult rune. I put Night-Vision here." Touching the back of his neck, closer to his right ear than his left, where a network of silver scars spoke of the faded touch of a stele.

"Maybe I will. I'm getting better and better at this research stuff and it seems everyone loves writing about every creature you can imagine aside from Shape-shifters. Might as well continue brushing up on everything I'm not." The comment doesn't sound as bitter as it once might have been. It's much more accepting but wry, aware of the challenge ahead of her but not giving up so easily. She follows his fingers to his neck even if she can't see the remains of the Rune from where she stands. "You can apply it and just as easily you can remove it, yes?" Another question she has asked again and again, wanting that last confirmation before she goes fetching a mirror and accidentally dooming him to a life of no speech. At least she's aware of her repetitions. "Humor me, please."

"I only ask that if you're to make interaction with Talon a habit, and I don't mean to sound displeased about that, by all means, speak to him if you'd like. But I'd like for you not to mention that I've given you access to this book." Lifting the Codex and promptly closing it. "It's a tome meant only for Nephilim, or Mundanes on the path to Ascension." Prepared, his stele had been resting against his right thigh, waiting for him to take it. When he does, he stands, offering her a kind smile of reassurance. "Of course. I swear to you, you'll hear my voice again."

His mention of Talon draws her attention from the back of his neck to his face and then the book. "What you tell me and the access you grant me is not for him to know. The only reason I did not come out sooner to peg him to his face as Nephilim is because that automatically turns to questions of how do you know and who do you know." There's something a little proud in her smile that gets lost in the darkness but the thump of the closing book makes her heart beat faster and washes her face of all expression and any color she might have had. He stands and she pushes off the wall bringing her to her full height even if it?s slight. A deep inhale, a slow exhale in an attempt to calm her nerves. "I believe you." Her smile begins weak but she makes a point to brighten it just a little, to not let her uncertainty of the situation show.

"They all seem to know of me. I doubt that even he would have a hard time figuring it out." Half smiling at her over his shoulder. He leaves the Codex on the desk, next to a large pad of paper and a thin pen, on his way to the bathroom. "Thank you." He flips on the light, squinting at the shift from witchlight to electricity. The lacquered wooden box that holds all of Izumi's gifted tools sits at an angle on the miniscule counter next to the sink, pristine atop the dingy tile. Setting his stele down, he digs his thumbnail beneath the clasp and pries the wooden lid open. "There's still time to stop this if you'd rather not go through with it," says as he pulls the small mirror from its strap. Light plays off the razor's sharp edges.

((Thank you to Crispin))

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 00:57 EST
"I don't like to assume with such things, it's not my place. The same way you did not give me up when someone came looking for me." Not wanting to say the name, as if that happened so long ago. It does feel like a time worlds away, but not because of the passing of days but mostly due to the events that spiraled out of control since then and now. She follows only far enough to stop near the desk and look down at the Codex, a hand reaching out threatening to touch the chalice on the front of the cover. His call from the bathroom stops her, fingers hanging mid-aid curling in on themselves before pulling the hand back and allowing it to hang at her side. "No." Turning too bright eyes towards the bathroom but staying where she is paces away. "I want to. It's the best chance I have of learning and it's better here and now, in the safety of our room between us rather than when I'm somewhere I need it." She has been thinking a lot about how Cris had her write down her symptoms, take care in thinking them over and how they came on. Even with a pen nearby she doesn't want to write them down but she can at least voice them. "I don't feel sick. No hotter than usual, I don't think. No nausea, unless you count butterflies. I'm fine so there's no reason not to... Unless you would rather not?" She realizes it's only fair to offer him the same out, just in case.

A smile curls at the corner of his mouth, easing his thoughtful frown. Base of his spine to the edge of the sink puts him before the mirror, facing the empty bathtub. He looks over to find her still some distance away. "That's very kind of you, thank you." He hadn't spoken of any ramifications because he did not feel he had to. They would add nothing but another thick layer of anxiety to any further interaction they had in town. He waves off her query, light flashing over the mirror in his hand. "How is it that you change into an animal? Do you visualize it first...?"

Step by step, little by little barefeet carry her towards him. She knows what he's about to do but the smoke and smell of creating Runes has long lost its ability to make her queasy even if ages ago she said she would never get used to it. If he could tenderly wipe blood from her face and hands she could watch him mark himself for her cause. The offer is silently denied and he's moving on not giving her a chance to confirm. She'll take him at his word and focus on explaining her shifts. "I call it a catalog because that is the most accurate way of describing what is in my head. They're all up there, filed away. But instead of alphabetical the ones I use more often are at the very front, ones I collected and rarely use towards the back. I... think of what I want, I picture it loosely in my head, and then I shift. When I was a child it was more difficult. I did not understand how to focus on my intended target, so if you combine the intense emotions of a child and a lack of concentration... well, you never really knew what you were going to get."

The analogy was perfect. He could visualize a rolodex with pictures of animals. A cat, a dog, a tiger. Gaze tracks her as she moves. He palms the small mirror in his grasp. His intention was to talk this out with her before he hadn't the ability to talk at all. To give her at least an idea to work off of while he had the chance. "Perhaps shifting into another individual will work the same exact way. You simply need to visualize who it is that you'd like to become instead of what it is. You said that touch plays a part, yes?"

"Touch is what allows me to build my catalog, yes. I have never had an animal react to it before, it can be as simple as a lingering touch of my finger to them." Lifting her oh so innocent looking pointer finger into the air. "That is all I need. But I have never had to recatalog an animal for a newer version. A white cat is a white cat. So... after you place your mark I will touch you again. I will gather the... newer version of you. I am not sure if that's how it works but... trial and error is all we have." She nods in agreement. "Then I will focus. Not on a human shape, or Nephilim, but on you."

"Ahh." Stiffening from his lean, he runs his fingertips across the back of his neck even though there are no errant locks of hair to get in his way. His mouth quickly spreads into a smile. "In that case, I feel rather confident that you've touched me enough to give me pages in this mental catalog of yours. ...Are you ready?"

His movement says that it has begun before his question does. She tries hanging onto his jest so the icy fist of worry stops tightening within her chest. "You're in a catalog all your own. My treasure map." She realizes she's not even entirely worried about herself in all of this, not as much as she possibly should be. It's him, his upcoming inability to speak, not being able to hear his voice even if he can be a man of few words on a normal basis. But he's promised her time and time again the Rune will come off and she told him she believes him, that's what she has to remember. She has to keep calm and clear or this could all be for nothing. Or worse. She finally sinks her head in a solemn nod, fingers curling into fists at her sides. "I'm ready."

"I never thought of myself to be unfurled as a map, but...I suppose it's not the most awkward thing I've been called." Turning his stele over in his hand, he lifts the smaller mirror in his hand. He'd the thought of offering her this task, but he kept it to himself in the end. Even if she did have promising ability to follow a runic pattern to a T. "Remember all that you've told me. If it helps you, try to think of something upsetting. Only, something upsetting that involves me. As awful a thing as that sounds like." His eyes on the small mirror, he tilts his head so that he can still see and begins to draw. A tightness comes into his expression, the spare muscles in his arm shifting beneath his skin. He had never drawn this rune before, and he did not know what to expect when it was finished. Black lines bleed from the white-blue tip of his stele, thin coils of smoke rising from the fissures of briefly broken flesh.

Unfurled, the word causes one corner of her lips to draw upward but she doesn't comment on it. She won't have their last words, for now, concern such silliness no matter how enjoyable. While his tip could prove to be helpful he pegs it rather accurately in calling it awful. She couldn't imagine thinking of such things by choice. "Okay." Quiet confirmation that she heard him, that she would at least take it into consideration. When his muscles tighten hers do as well, shoulders and neck lurching backwards in a recoil but she manages to keep her feet planted. She watches him intently, owes him that much, golden eyes following the movement of the tip of the Stele and waiting for the sign that they were into phase two of their plan.

The home stretch, the stroke that resembles the S, and once he finishes, he closes his eyes, dropping the stele from his neck and the mirror from his sight. He exhales, and while the ice-hot sting of the initial Marking process fades, the entire rune continues to burn as if a thick piece of hot coal rested on the back of his neck. He gives himself a moment. If this worked, she would no doubt feel it in a second. Lips part to speak, he means to say Ow, but trusts the rune's ability to keep that a secret. And true to its name, nothing comes from his mouth but a weak hiss of air. Swallowing, he puts the mirror and stele aside and he offers her his hand.

((Thank you to Crispin))

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 00:59 EST
An exhale, that's all she hears and although it's chilling she knows it means their plan is moving along perfectly. She allows him his moment, as long as he needs, and it's not until he offers his hand that she walks closer to him. They have touched so many times since that night of blood and confusion but now it's for a whole different reason and that weight makes her hand heavy when she brings it up to linger mid-air before sinking her palm into his. Nothing. There's nothing different about it, nothing he can takeaway from the exchange like she is, should be if this is working. Her touch lingers on him so much longer than needed, more for comfort than collecting and she's watching their hands all the while like maybe sparks would jump off their skin showing something is happening even if that's never been the case before. Finally, she pulls her hand back, fingertips the last to leave his palm and when they do her eyes lift back to his face. "... ready?" Echoing his question to her from earlier.

Fingers wrap comfortably around her hand. He does not know how long she needs, if she feels anything when she does this. If he should stay still or move. If he had the ability to speak, that would be another curiosity. But he did not. The lingering sting on the back of his neck took care of that. When he feels her draw away, his gaze lifts from their hand. And that single word makes him open his mouth, the feeling of another breath leaking without voice a bit odd to live through again. Lowering his hand, he nods.

She worries when he opens his mouth that she'll hear that same wordless exhale and the thought alone manages to set goosebumps rising over her arms and up the back of her neck. It doesn't come and she nods in reply, thankful. She takes a few steps back, not really needed like she did when she shifted into a tiger in their room, but it felt right. She stares straight ahead, bottom lip thoughtfully caught between her teeth. Either she's concentrating or she's worrying about when all the ill side effects of this sort of shift will kick in. It's unclear for a long while until...

The ripple of skin comes first, shadows caused by witchlight and a strip of light from the bathroom streaming down on her show the displacement of pure white skin. The cracks of bone come next, sudden at first and causing a muffled scream through grinding teeth. She sinks down to her knees, fists bracing against the floor so she doesn't collapse entirely. Snapping and popping, a shoulder jutting here, a femur extending there. With every hard breath the inhale manages to add layers and another fine line of muscle beneath barely darkening skin. Marks bleed onto her skin from the inside out, undefined like a rorschach test then taking shape into the familiar Runes from the Codex on the desk. Her head whips back, blue hair moving in a wave and retreating into her scalp to be replaced with short, dark locks putting his face and his features on display. When the sounds of shifting have come to a halt her head, his head, hangs forward panting from her crumpled position on the floor fists tight and still set against the floorboards beneath her.

The shift into an animal still seems like the more painful of the two processes. Humans, as a species, were roughly the same shape with drastic differences rarely making an appearance. He did not understand how the idea of turning into, say, an elephant would not be more uncomfortable than simply changing gender. ...Though that was a weird thought. What must it feel like for body parts you'd known the look and feel of all your life to suddenly retract, to change...

It was not something he himself wanted to experience. Locked in a limbo between darting forward and staying where he is, he watches the entire shift with rapt attention, each breath she takes sticking in his own throat like it was he who took them in. Pain, as an experience, did little to nothing to him negatively. But it was not something he'd ever felt comfortable with witnessing firsthand. He turns away from the sink when she drops her head, his head, blocking the sound of his own breaths from his ears. Crouching before her, he gently puts his fingertips against the back of her neck to inspect the flesh there.

He can?t speak but she can hear his approach and knows he's right in front of her. She's taking inventory of herself while she gets her bearings. Still no nausea, no wave of heat, no blood, the pain was there during the shift but that was to be expected if this was her relearning or extending her abilities. She feels his fingers on the back of her neck and she takes comfort in that even if she knows exactly what he's really doing. He's looking for the Quietude mark and he would find it, identical to the one he just placed on the back of his neck in the same spot. She keeps her head down for what she considers to be long enough to look at the spot then she tips her head back bringing her face, identical to his, directly in front of him. Silence reigns between them and her lips part, a wordless exhale, hesitation to brace for that moment when the sound that escapes her, if there is a sound, isn't one she's used to. "... ... Did it work?" The moment the words leave her the corners of thick lips pull downward sharply into a frown.

((Thank you to Crispin))

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 01:00 EST
Shoots of dark hair, nearly black in the lacking light, feels the same against his hand. He can feel the sandpaper scratch of stubble on her jaw when he slides his palm around to her face. He hadn't gotten any more used to seeing this, the sight of his own face looking back at him from outside of a mirror unsettling, startling. She speaks and he hears his own voice and even though she frowns, he smiles. Speech is a luxury to him, for the most part. He says very little, but he'd always had the option. Now, without it, he feels words rise like a tide on the back of his tongue with nowhere to escape. Darting a look up at the counter where he'd left his stele and the shave kit, he looks back at her and motions for her to close her eyes.

He smiles and it only adds to her confusion. "I don't get it." His reaction or what happened. The words are just a little petulant, humorous in his voice, eyes darting side to side like she can search the air between them to find the answer but leaving her head still within his grasp. Frosted green eyes follow their matches to the counter, to the Stele she assumes, then back to him. A pinch of brows at the direction but it's not like questioning him is going to get her any answers. It's with a sigh that she pushes off the floor with his balled fists to sit back onto the ankles of the legs folded beneath her, jeans too short but his black t-shirt filled out just as it should be. "Alright, alright." Eyes closing with a huff.

There was little more than that he could do to hide it from her. It was true that take a rune off was a quick process, but it was not a painless one. He reaches first for his stele but secondly for the razor resting in the open wooden box. He had only used this set once before and did not doubt its sharpness. Taking the razor in his hand, three swift slices in varying directions render the rune unusable and it's with the first catch of his vocal chords that he grunts his discomfort. The white-blue tip of his stele scrapes through rivers of blood that catch in the collar of his shirt and stain it. Once the iratze is finished, he sighs with more than a little relief and leans against the edge of the sink to wait the precious few moments for it to finish its work. "Damnation, but that was awkward..." hissing.

She hadn't put it together. The moment the pieces come together she would feel stupid for not figuring it out sooner but it's not until his grunt causes her to open her eyes that it all crushes inward at the sight of blood. "Crispin!" Worry and scolding all coming out in his voice the replica rises to its feet to cross the distance between them. "That's how the Rune is removed?" Not even entirely sure of the process since her eyes were closed but Cris' features are twisted disapprovingly at the blood soaking his collar. She knows he's already healing himself, she knows how powerful that Mark is considering what she has seen it heal firsthand plenty of times before, but she's still shaking her head sharply. "I wouldn't have agreed to that if I had known."

No, he had lied. Hearing himself scold---himself---over something he himself had decided to do. That was awkward. Sliding his fingertips across the back of his neck, through sticky crimson, the silver scars of the ruined Quietude rune shine like pearls next to the ebon iratze. Nothing but the leftover blood, as little as had run, was evidence to what had happened. He turns the handles of the faucet and the bathroom fills with the sound of running water. "That is how any rune is removed. I know you would not have agreed, thus why I chose not to tell you. It's over now, I was not in pain for more than a moment."

Within the frame of the bathroom door arms fold over her chest putting the Marks wrapping his arms on display over the flexing of faint muscle. "I did not want you to be in pain at all for this is the point." Features weigh down with a frown but eventually she gives in with a curt nod. "It's over now. Now I know in the future how a rune is removed should it arise again." The words are tight then green eyes turn down on her arms, the black Runes bringing the whole point of this to the front of her mind. "Did I shift with Quietude or not?"

"It is as much a part of me as the pain of shifting into another is for you. Natural." Hooking his wet fingers into the collar of his shirt, he pulls it to see just how much blood had been caught. Enough to warrant a frown, at least. For now, he busied himself with scrubbing at the back of his neck with a washrag. "You did. Which tells me that the shift is only superficial. Beneath my flesh and whatever it takes for your body to make the illusion real, you are still you on the inside. It's---actually, a very handy skill. I'm rather impressed with it."

Lips thin when he makes the connection between his pain and her pain. It's not something she can deny. "Point made." The words come out more gruff than she would have wanted, clear by the way her expression shifts uncomfortably and a hand lifts to rub at her throat still getting used to such a deep voice coming from her lips... his lips. "I guess it makes sense for the shift to only go so far. I'm in much better shape than I was that first night and because it wasn't driven strictly by emotion. That said, it still hurts like my shifts used to, moreso even. I can't imagine how much it would hurt if everything was realigned to compensate for new abilities. Not to mention it could be troublesome. If I shifted to Constance for example, I wouldn't have the first clue how to control her abilities so I could hurt myself or someone else." Pondering and stretching arms out in front of her to look them over. "I can take a moment to be impressed now that I'm not doubled over in pain but I still don't understand why I'm able to do this now."

((Thank you to Crispin))

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 01:02 EST
Nodding, grateful that she understood. When he'd run out of things to clean: the razor dried and set back into the box, his stele cleared of all traces of blood, he switched the water to cold. "It would take more than a simple shift, I think... Your body would need to realign everything about itself that made you you and turn you completely into something else." Taking hold of the hem of his shirt, he drew it over his head. A double to her appearance, with a sheath of Marks down his left arm, most of his torso, his ribs, covered in them and the duo on his back. Shoulder blades move with ease beneath a layer of muscle and networks of smooth scarring. He puts the collar of his shirt under the cold water and rubs in soap from the pale yellow bar the inn's room came with. "Will I find you changed into my body on a frequent basis to allow you to inspect me at your leisure?" smiling as he scrubbed.

"Exactly. That's far more than I would ever want. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with this ability." With his shirt off she does take the opportunity to turn and stand at his side if a step or two back. The easier to look at him then at herself, to compare and contrast. There were no differences she could see. His question made a similar smile spread across her lips. "If I want to inspect your body at my leisure I don't need a new ability to accomplish that. You've never told me no before." The sweet smile, the sly words, Cris heavily flirting with himself. "Now this is awkward." Realizing just a little too late and dropping her arms. "To answer your question more seriously, no. This feels very invasive. Besides, I like your body, but I don't want to wear your body."

Scrubbing naturally required vigor and stamina, but he seemed to take it to a completely different level. The curve of muscle beneath flesh filled out his flyweight frame, tension around his collarbones, his arms, in his chest beneath the two largest Marks on his front. Lines of definition followed the bones of his forearms, and the stretch of his throat. For once, they looked promising, on their way to steady growth, and not the remnants of a lifestyle fueled by liquor, cigarettes and an overwhelming lack of food. "I agree," about the awkwardness. "I've met Nephilim and others this self-centered, so I know it's a practice that exists. But to be a part of it, for once in my life, is rather strange." He puts the collar of his shirt beneath the water and rinses it clean. "What did you think you were supposed to do with your ability when first discovered it in childhood?"

"Oh, that's quite the nasty thought. Someone who would be interested in a date with him or herself." Nose wrinkling, tongue poking out from between her teeth. She seems to remember too late that it's his face making the expression so she actually holds it and leans aside to look in the mirror across from the real Cris over his shoulder. It's too tempting to see what he looks like with his face screwed up like this. Once she's satisfied with the look she gets she relaxes her features. "Well, at first I thought it was meant to make my life a living hell." Her dry smile lacking humor. "Eventually it felt like it was so that I could... fit in someplace. Like I was better suited with animals than people and that's why I had the ability to blend in with them. It gave me understanding of creatures that became very important to me. But this...?" Poking again at his face on her features, pushing up an eyebrow and indenting a cheek. "I don't know."

Snorting as he rings out the collar of his shirt. He has worn worse, soiled clothing. With blood and sweat and others, both his and not. He does not see her peeking around him with his own face until he has the shirt halfway over his head and he laughs, putting his palm in front of her face. "Stop. It feels like I've grown another head out of my ribs." The only evidence that anything had happened was the black zigzag of a freshly Marked irazte across the back of his neck. Chin lift to indicate the open door, to let her know his intention to exit while she dents her own face. "Let's talk in comfort, yes?"

"I'm sorry." Her smile says otherwise. "It's... well, when it's not trying to rip my insides apart this isn't the worst sort of shift ever. It's almost a little fun." With his intentions clear light footfalls carry her out of the doorway so he can pass by her. "That's fine, I think I want to slip into something else anyway." Not that she has stopped inspecting this new form. Although she's out of the way of the door she's still close enough where an easy stretch allows her to touch the top of the doorframe, an impossible task at her own height. She stares up at where her fingers rest against the wood. "Unless you had any other theories to test while I'm like this?"

"I'm pleased to know you're enjoying your time in my body." Half turn of his head. His smile, rakish as it was, nearly matches hers. He takes note of the ease of her stretch, having never put much thought into his own height before. Even if he was more than likely the tallest of those fair few individuals he spent time with. "I don't. None are readily springing to mind, anyway. Would you like me to stay with you, or---" looking aside to the bed. For all he knew, she'd like to take a minute to use the bathroom. Hopefully, with her own body.

"While I'm in here I might as well, though I still say I prefer experiencing your body the good old fashioned way." Wriggling fingers play along the doorframe a little longer then sink to her side. "I can't think of anything either." Glancing over to him she shakes her head. "You don't have to leave. It's only a shift, so long as the sound doesn't bother you." Not that he's really given much time to say yes or no one way or another. There is no readying this time around, no taking center stage in the room. The sharp crack of bone signals the start followed by deflating muscle and flesh. Hair moves in a wave, dark locks changing to a spill of bright blue. Her skin ripples, turning pale and causing the few visible Runes on her arms to stand out starkly before they sink downward like being submerged into water. Features soften in some places, sharpen in others and with a fluttering of lashes frosty green eyes return to bright warm amber. It almost seems like she'll manage this shift on her feet but the few final cracks prove to be too much sending her to her knees again and doubling over, a pile of black and blue sounding a few more uncomfortable snaps until all that can be heard is her heavy panting.

((Thank you to Crispin))

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 01:03 EST
While she wore his face and spoke in his voice, seeing it this time did not put the same kind of unease in him as it had the first time. He could hear his own accent, where it failed and where it clung. Any time spent round either Nephilim or individuals hailing from near Britain seemed to rekindle it, stoking a fire that was too stubborn to completely die. He isn't given much time, and he does not seem to mind witnessing the change from man to woman. Bones crack and muscles shrink, but it's the sound of her knees hitting the ground that cause the dart of concern across his face. He does not step forward until he's sure that she won't convulse into another erupting change. Kneeling before her, he reaches for her shoulders to steady her while she caught her breath.

"I'm okay." The words are quiet and forced but come right when he puts his hands on her shoulders. "I'm okay." Assuring him again even though the way she's breathing and how she's hunched into a pile of her own limbs gives her the look of an injured animal. "It's no different than my first shifts when I was young. It's the same. It just takes time to get used to it." She lifts her hands, only a slight shake to them holding them up between them and looking them over in the light coming from the bathroom behind her. "I'm all me, yes? Nothing out of place?" She can't believe she has to ask if a shift went well but this is the first time these have been of her doing and not thrust upon her by emotion alone. Hands poke and prod at her face, her thin cheeks and sharp nose, then comb through her hair. She looks to be all there.

Two little words and he draws his hands away, sitting back on his heels to wait. In this same situation, he doubted he'd want to be touched. No matter whose hands they were. Brows rise when she presents her hands and he makes the same sort of visual checklist she does. "Unless you've kept one of my feet or another rather embarrassing part of my anatomy...I'd say you did very well."

Usually him drawing back like that would have wounded her but she's too busy focusing on herself and that she's all in one piece to think anything of it. At his mention of his feet she rocks back to sink her bony bottom on the floor so both legs could be extended onto either side of him before her, thinner like his but lacking that height she enjoyed. "Feet are a check." Glance down, back up. "No, I didn't keep that. See? It's so invasive. Turning into a cat, a dog, a bird is one thing. Turning into a Cris is different." After her little rant she takes the time to exhale, finally managing some calm before she smiles faintly. "It was a successful shift, to and from." Patting her mouth, throat, tugging at the neck of his shirt. "And no blood."

Presses his lips together, but his eyes show the laughter he restrains. Clearing his throat, he sends his gaze down first one leg, and then the other. "It seems like you've made it back completely. I don't see it as quite so invasive as another would. After all, you're not sinking your mind into another's, you're merely borrowing their skin for a moment. Though, true, there's hardly anything of mine you've not seen or even touched. I think were I to be offended at this point, that would be cause for discussion." Drawing to his feet, he offers her his open hands, the silver lines of a faded Mark across his right palm. "Were you expecting there to be blood?"

"Borrowing their skin for a moment, and you manage to make it sound so casual. Between you and I there are no secrets and you are fully aware of what I'm doing with your skin. You've been present each time." She takes his hand and uses it to pull her slight frame up to her feet and automatically she's frowning. She misses being tall. With a slight shake of her head she brushes away the distraction. "Imagine though, someone else in my catalog. Christopher, perhaps. Unfamiliar, unaware. Invasive." Her palm lingers in his, fingers turning so they can lace between his as she takes a step closer to him. It's easier to remove distance when she doesn't look like him. "I attempted to mentally prepare myself for the unknown since I didn't know what to expect. That included the possibility of blood."

Blinking. "It is rather casual... Now, to me, in any case. The first time---" Content to take those memories and dump them somewhere where they would never resurface. Hands go lax within hers, letting her maneuver between his fingers in whatever way she liked. "I suppose I shouldn't try to redefine your description. The blood came from me, and it was spilled after you'd changed. But you were preparing to be sick, yes...?" Tightening his grip on her hands. "But you weren't. You did well, Lenore."

"Then it's good to know if I come up with anymore experiments who is more than willing to offer their skin up in the name of science." He doesn't have to finish his statement about that first time. It's not really something she wants to remember either so instead she gives his hand a squeeze before settling into his tighter grip and nudges her nose against his chest. "I prepared for that, too, possibly. Everything and nothing. Gaining new abilities after all these years, I can't pretend like there is method to the mayhem as much as I try to pretend there is one. Or hope for one." Her nudging nose lifts so she can flash a little smile up at him. "Thank you, Crispin. I appreciate you saying that. You making sure I know that."

Chuckles, something easily felt through the tiny point of contact. "That will not change." Pads of thumbs idly circle what knuckles of hers they can reach. "You'd not have gained this ability were you unable to handle it. Likely, it was always there. We've only the need to figure out what caused it to show itself now as opposed to earlier." She smiles and so does he, broad and lingering. She may prefer the height she'd gained, but he enjoys this, and how small she appears to be against him. "You're welcome."

((Thank you to Crispin))

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 01:05 EST
"Lucky for you and your skin you both will get some rest. This ability has been at the front of my mind because it is the most alarming but I also need to focus my attention, no assistance needed, on the other skill that emerged that night." Her hand squeezes his, not wanting to say more on it than she already did, the hand of claws that sank itself into her cousin's throat. "You keep saying that. That I would not have gained this skill if I couldn't handle it. You don't think that the universe sometimes gives us more than we can bear? Pushes us to bite off more than we can chew?" Her teeth click through her softening smile.

She may want to keep it to herself, but even his curiosity has its limits before words force themselves from mind to mouth. "The other skill...?" prompting, a bit hopeful. Her latter questions bring a curl to his mouth. "Certainly, I do. But this did not come from the universe, it came from within you. I do not know why I believe that. Perhaps because I'd like for you to to be able to handle your hardships with much more ease than I do. You've already shown progress, yes...? It's not impossible to control."

Lips wilt into a small frown. "Shifting only parts of myself rather than a full shift." An uncomfortable shrug. "I'll work on it at some point." The more she thinks about it the less inclined she is. Instead she focuses on his pep talk with gently knit brows. "Yes, there has been some progress." The answer is obvious though distracted. "You don't think your handle your hardships well?"

Brows rise, blinking in near astonishment. "You were able to do that...? I recall asking if you'd the ability to, and you said no." Though his intentions for asking were much darker than he'd care to admit. Small grin is meant to counteract her frown. "I do not think, I know. But---I'm beginning to take steps to correct that. It feels good to do so... Like who I know I am, who I can be, is rising from beneath a mound of dust and dirt."

"You did ask and I answered you honestly when I told you I could not. I had tried years and years ago, a passing idea, but I assumed I could not and gave up. But when..." For someone who claims to not feel guilt over what she had done it's getting harder for her to speak the closer they get to the heart of that evening. "It was in defense. I didn't even really put any thought into it. I tried so hard to think of what I could, what could help me without having him simply turn his anger on you afterward. The next thing I knew... claws. A hand of claws." She faintly remembers telling him of this that night but the entire evening was a mess with a mixture of dead bodies, blood, body snatching, and a laundry list of other issues. She can't fault him for it blurring in with everything else. Her frown remains even if her words are a little more uplifting. "You have made progress. You know what direction you want to go in. That is all we can ask of ourselves and we must give ourselves the patience we so often give each other." She realizes she really should take note of her own words to follow just as she hopes he will.

Bits and pieces of what she explains settle in in his mind. He remembers, but that night he was not of the mind to press her for details. Appreciative of her reassurance, his own shortcomings weren't the topic of discussion. Squeezing her hands, he steps back, intent on leading them to the bed behind them. Comfort rarely meant sitting to him, but he had nothing to lean against. "I vaguely remember discussing something with you..." Backs of his knees hit the bed and he sits, finding himself looking up to meet her eyes. "I asked if you'd fight, or kill, for me. I don't recall which, and you said yes." He smiles. "It warms me to know I was in your thoughts, if even for a moment."

She follows to the bed preparing herself to climb into his lap and greedily claim the space as her own with a curl of lanky limbs. But after he sits his eyes seek out hers she stands before him, gnawing her bottom lip in thought. "Whichever it was I'm sure I would have said yes, but..." Brows knit. "I suppose I thought it would not be now, it would not have been like that, it would not have been him." He smiles again and she still finds it just as difficult to match the expression although her hand unwraps from his to reach up and brush the backs of her fingers against his cheek. "But I do not want anything to happen to you. I have accepted that danger is part of your life and who you are, I am coming to terms with that. But it does not mean I accept ever being the cause of such things, so of course you would be in my thoughts."

"I didn't think it would be now, either. Thinking on it, life is a great thing to take away. When you aren't used to it, when you've lived a life outside of the need to be prepared to do just that---" leaning his face against her gentle touch. "It sounds rather morbid to say that it gets easier, but it does. Depending on why you do such things, it becomes easier to reconcile the feelings afterward." Lifting his gaze back to hers from where it had come to rest on her shoulder. "Is it a great deal to accept...?"

((Thank you to Crispin))

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 01:06 EST
"It is an immense thing to take away." She almost sounds mystified that he would have to think on it much to reach such an obvious conclusion. "We are never going to be able to see Nicholas again or hold him. He will not meow. He will not eat or drink. That grumpy cat could have eventually stumbled upon another cat who finds yowling and hissing appealing and they could have had kittens. But he will never do any of those things again. That was done to him and in turn I did that to..." Her struggle with the name is interrupted by a laugh, though it lacks humor and contains more frustration than anything. Frustration that she can feel tears brimming over her eyes even if they're not accompanied by any sort of sobs. Too much emotion finding a place to escape. "How stupid." At herself and the tears. The hand at his cheek pulls back to wipe harshly beneath her eyes. "Is what a great deal to accept, Cris?" She should be able to follow the conversation easy enough to answer but either her thoughts became briefly muddled or she wanted him to talk to give her the extra time to pull herself back together again.

They were talking about the cat. He didn't know that. Covers his surprise with another touch of his cheek against her hand until she draws it back. Silent for a moment, he lets her query linger as he watches the little furious motions she uses to dry her eyes. He lifts his hand, letting it hover outside hers as if asking for permission, waiting for her own fingers to move so he can touch her cheek. "The danger," nearly a murmur.

Really they had not been talking about the cat at all but to Lenore it was easier for her to speak of the things that Nicholas would not be able to do in death then to think of all the things Andrew would not be able to do in death. All he would miss out on, all because of her. It's a hard conversation to follow with Lenore trying to dance and dodge her way around speaking of or thinking too much about her deceased cousin. She continues rubbing at her eyes until she notes his questioning gesture and it's with a soft sigh at herself that she lowers her hand to make way for his, even inclining her head towards his fingers in welcome. "The danger." She repeats the words just as quietly, considering. "You are Nephilim, Cris. You are a Shadowhunter, retired or not. Those things attract danger," Head tilt. "And you are also attracted to running headfirst into danger with your sword drawn. I accept you because I care for you and all of those things come with it. Besides, how could I not?" Her cheek turns to brush lips to his fingertips. "You came upon me at my worst, Cris. My absolute worst. Blood on my hands, a mess inside and out." Amber eyes slide back over to him. "You tended to me, wiped the blood from my face and palms. You stayed by side through all of that and even now. Whatever may ever come your way, whatever danger, I intend to do the same for you."

One witchlight stone is not enough to light up the room. It throws harshness into the colors that are there, deepening the shadows. Her hair looks unreal in it, like a Faerie's, slicked in glamour and shine. The light turns his skin white, Marks like pitch along his reaching arm. He puts his hand to her face, the tip of his thumb following the gentle curve of her cheekbone. Long lashes feel damp and cool. She calls him what he is and he can't stop the twist of his mouth into a smile. Pride like the first rays of the sun lighting up in a gaze leached of color. It had not been that easy to feel that way in months. As she speaks, he switches his touch to her other cheek. She'd done well enough on her own, but it was a simple excuse to continue touching her if he pretended like he had a purpose. He'd posed the question, but he did not know what to say about her answer. So he merely smiles that same proud, warm smile, listening to the silence creep back in.

As difficult as it had been for a smile to reach her lips throughout the conversation it comes now, small and soft at his touch and his expression. It's an evening of progress for both of them although she leaves it unsaid, not wanting to chase the feeling away by stating the obvious. Her cheek tips again into his touch on the other side then she does as she had first intended and slinks her way into his lap, legs curling in on themselves and arms wrapping around his torso with her head burrowing into the crook of his neck giving him little choice other than simply accepting the black, blue, and white form against him. She says nothing to interrupt the quiet and calm between them. So familiar, warm, and welcome. A nice change when compared to all the danger they were just speaking of, the sort that always lingers just at the edges of their lives waiting to strike.

((Thank you to Crispin))