[ This outburst is different from the previous — not a literal jump for his throat to knock him backwards but rather a flash of fire, a slam of fist to table; he's offended her in some way. Mordrake sits there calmly in the face of it, though his mind is spinning, reeling, and his eyes cut sharply to watch every flicker of movement in the child as he listens to her anger; he won't miss a single beat. She's like a ticking bomb, this little devil, and as much progress has been made in sitting down and speaking to her, in slowly peeling apart even just the most surface layer of connection, she could snap back like a spring at any moment.
She is defensive about her father. Protective. Even as he watches her work herself through her anger and out of it, his eyes flitting down to stare at her hands for a moment as she flexes them, he sees that it is by force that she does so. The nature of what he is now — the carrier for a thing that feeds on secrets, for that is what is at the heart of pain and suffering and every thing that the demon salivates for — prickles at the edges, aware and alive. Sorrow, guilt, anger in this case; all are delicious emotions for it.
But he feels what the demon cannot. And it is with a visible frown that he watches her for a moment, mouth tugged down at the corners: thoughtful, and unabashedly mournful. He can't know the intimate nature of what fuels her anger, but it is an ache in him that she should feel it at all. No matter what causes it or what she has known, it is too clear that this scarred little soul is tormented, as such instability usually suggests. (And doesn't he know that too well, himself?)
He quietly files away this father of hers to explore later. For now: an untouchable subject. The demon's face whispers for more but he ignores it; now is not the time to suck truths and secrets from the girl. Mordrake is speaking with her conversationally right now. Gathering information necessary for this task at hand with which he has agreed to assist her; she is not a victim but a partner, for however long that may last.
'I don't know', she says, which suggests that she has little experience with the concept of remaining outside of her realm, which is.... worrisome. He eyes her for a moment longer, then— ]
Can you be harmed, beyond your realm? [ He continues, quickly, at risk of conjuring her ire again, ] If I am to help you, then I must know of what can harm you. Little can touch me, being what I am — but you.... are of solid flesh, are you not?
[ Beat. ]
The "Real World", as you call it, has changed much through my endless existence. Each time I visit, I encounter a land anew. If we are to traverse it together for a time, then we must be prudent and cautious.
no subject
She is defensive about her father. Protective. Even as he watches her work herself through her anger and out of it, his eyes flitting down to stare at her hands for a moment as she flexes them, he sees that it is by force that she does so. The nature of what he is now — the carrier for a thing that feeds on secrets, for that is what is at the heart of pain and suffering and every thing that the demon salivates for — prickles at the edges, aware and alive. Sorrow, guilt, anger in this case; all are delicious emotions for it.
But he feels what the demon cannot. And it is with a visible frown that he watches her for a moment, mouth tugged down at the corners: thoughtful, and unabashedly mournful. He can't know the intimate nature of what fuels her anger, but it is an ache in him that she should feel it at all. No matter what causes it or what she has known, it is too clear that this scarred little soul is tormented, as such instability usually suggests. (And doesn't he know that too well, himself?)
He quietly files away this father of hers to explore later. For now: an untouchable subject. The demon's face whispers for more but he ignores it; now is not the time to suck truths and secrets from the girl. Mordrake is speaking with her conversationally right now. Gathering information necessary for this task at hand with which he has agreed to assist her; she is not a victim but a partner, for however long that may last.
'I don't know', she says, which suggests that she has little experience with the concept of remaining outside of her realm, which is.... worrisome. He eyes her for a moment longer, then— ]
Can you be harmed, beyond your realm? [ He continues, quickly, at risk of conjuring her ire again, ] If I am to help you, then I must know of what can harm you. Little can touch me, being what I am — but you.... are of solid flesh, are you not?
[ Beat. ]
The "Real World", as you call it, has changed much through my endless existence. Each time I visit, I encounter a land anew. If we are to traverse it together for a time, then we must be prudent and cautious.