[ he finds her sitting down, fiddling with the hem of her dress — it is different than the one he saw her in, when they met in the observatory, this one dark grey and silver with fur along her neckline. it seems Darma knew well to clad her like the wolf she is, though her red hair shines all the brighter against the dark of her dress.
when he speaks, she looks up, the initial wariness in her eyes melting away as she recognizes him, his unassuming manner still the same as before, his hair just as much like a bird's nest. and yet, it seems he has fared better than her, after the landing. ]
Newt, [ she greets with a smile, glancing down at her dress and the way its hem is torn, missing a triangular piece, along with some tears in the cloth from both the landing and the rough walk over some of the scrap metal and rougher foliage. ]
I made it here in one piece, unlike my poor dress. I suppose it's rather silly, to worry about it out here. [ she brushes her hands against the front of her dress and stands up. ] And you? I hope you're unharmed.
[ though not entirely unexpected, the smile is reassuring. he has been receiving, ah, mixed reviews for his clean-up tactics (magic) and the occasional instance of clumsiness which may have tarnished perfectly good work. while newt may be accustomed to travelling alone, he normally has his creatures. this sort of...solo endeavor is new and not altogether enjoyable.
he waves a hand, dismissing any concern for his wellbeing. the landing was rough, but that was many hours ago. ]
Well, worrying means you suffer twice. [ he follows her gaze, taking in the split of the fine fabric. Then, softer: ] But that doesn't make it silly.
[ she was half-prepared for it, to hear her words confirmed, that they have bigger worries out here than her dress being ruined; when he speaks, his voice soft and quiet, she looks at him with her eyes widening almost imperceptibly — like his understanding is something that's caught her off guard, even momentarily. ]
... it reminds me of home, [ she says after a beat or two have passed, quiet reminiscence in her voice. it is what she would have worn, in Winterfell, the colours of her house and fur to mark her as a wolf, too. ] I would mend it myself, if I had needle and thread, but...
[ he has her attention, and he'd be lying if he said he knew what to do with it. at the very least, her voice sounds like loss or longing. like the way his own lowers, when he speaks of his confiscated case.
newt has spent a great deal of time observing others. it's interaction that's the tricky thing. ]
I know a trick. [ he supplies before he registers what he's saying — or what he promises. a trick. magic, that unsettled daenerys. that delighted steve. he steels himself, looking back to her, his eyes blown wide in earnest. when he speaks again, a note of confidence returns to his voice. ] I could mend it, if you like.
[ even if she dislikes the magic, she'll have her dress. ]
[ there is something that speaks of honesty in his eyes, and she wonders how a man like him would have fared, in Westeros — she finds she doesn't doubt him, can't find it in herself to doubt him or his earnest offer.
a trick, he says, which means he doesn't mean to mend it the traditional way... that much she can guess. the nature of the trick? not so much, but she nods, regardless. he means well; of that, she is certain. and sometimes, that is enough. that is plenty. ]
... Thank you. I would like that, [ she says and offers him a small smile, a nod. a go-ahead, even as she twines her hands together, her blue eyes watching his intently. ]
[ he crouches and points his wand where the damage is the worst. without a word, the fabric knits together. where the triangle piece was missing, the fabric is now thinner, somehow stretched to cover the area. the other tears do the same, though no others so noticeably. it's no bang-up tailoring job, but it's passable and clean, any dirt disappearing from the hem with a puff of air. he looks over his handiwork, humming in thought. ]
Not perfect, but better.
[ and he stands, dusting himself off the old-fashioned way. ]
[ she only gets the briefest of moments to wonder what the strange stick is in his hand before he's pointing it at her dress; she can't help the gasp that leaves her lips as she watches the fabric knit itself together, the seams combining to look like there has never been a tear at all, at least if one doesn't look too closely at the thinner fabric that it leaves behind.
she stares at the hem of her dress, then looking up, her eyes meeting his. ]
That... did you make it do that? [ how did you do that is what she means, but doesn't quite manage to ask it. ]
[ he cards a hand through his hair, suddenly very aware of her eyes on him. it takes him a moment to respond. still, this is what he signed up for, when he decided to help her in the first place. ]
Yes. [ the smallest smile, hesitantly taking in her reaction as a positive one. and quietly — ] That's one of my tricks.
[ slowly, she smiles, brushing her hand over one of the newly-repaired tears before looking at him again. ] I don't know how that is possible, to give the fabric a mind of its own... it is like nothing I've ever seen. Like a true miracle.
[ she can't help it, the light wonder in her tone. of course, she had seen it before — a ball of light, hovering above her hand, as Merlin smiled and explained about magic being real. but to see it is not only him but others, too... it's amazing. frightening, yes, as she can't help but think how it could be used wrongly... but amazing nonetheless.
(and as it is — she can't believe Newt would ever use it for something wrong. perhaps it is her naivete, once more, to want to believe the best of him... but then, this is not Westeros. should she still judge everyone in the same terms she would, back home?) ]
I won't tell a soul, if it is what you want. [ she takes it as a rule he is trying to obey, immediately trying to find a way that won't get him into trouble... and as such, her as well. ] I can hardly believe it. I knew magic was real, but to see it — you are very humble for a man with such power, ser.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
descent one. ❄ newt.
[ he finds her sitting down, fiddling with the hem of her dress — it is different than the one he saw her in, when they met in the observatory, this one dark grey and silver with fur along her neckline. it seems Darma knew well to clad her like the wolf she is, though her red hair shines all the brighter against the dark of her dress.
when he speaks, she looks up, the initial wariness in her eyes melting away as she recognizes him, his unassuming manner still the same as before, his hair just as much like a bird's nest. and yet, it seems he has fared better than her, after the landing. ]
Newt, [ she greets with a smile, glancing down at her dress and the way its hem is torn, missing a triangular piece, along with some tears in the cloth from both the landing and the rough walk over some of the scrap metal and rougher foliage. ]
I made it here in one piece, unlike my poor dress. I suppose it's rather silly, to worry about it out here. [ she brushes her hands against the front of her dress and stands up. ] And you? I hope you're unharmed.
no subject
he waves a hand, dismissing any concern for his wellbeing. the landing was rough, but that was many hours ago. ]
Well, worrying means you suffer twice. [ he follows her gaze, taking in the split of the fine fabric. Then, softer: ] But that doesn't make it silly.
no subject
... it reminds me of home, [ she says after a beat or two have passed, quiet reminiscence in her voice. it is what she would have worn, in Winterfell, the colours of her house and fur to mark her as a wolf, too. ] I would mend it myself, if I had needle and thread, but...
[ but she doesn't. ]
no subject
newt has spent a great deal of time observing others. it's interaction that's the tricky thing. ]
I know a trick. [ he supplies before he registers what he's saying — or what he promises. a trick. magic, that unsettled daenerys. that delighted steve. he steels himself, looking back to her, his eyes blown wide in earnest. when he speaks again, a note of confidence returns to his voice. ] I could mend it, if you like.
[ even if she dislikes the magic, she'll have her dress. ]
no subject
a trick, he says, which means he doesn't mean to mend it the traditional way... that much she can guess. the nature of the trick? not so much, but she nods, regardless. he means well; of that, she is certain. and sometimes, that is enough. that is plenty. ]
... Thank you. I would like that, [ she says and offers him a small smile, a nod. a go-ahead, even as she twines her hands together, her blue eyes watching his intently. ]
no subject
[ he crouches and points his wand where the damage is the worst. without a word, the fabric knits together. where the triangle piece was missing, the fabric is now thinner, somehow stretched to cover the area. the other tears do the same, though no others so noticeably. it's no bang-up tailoring job, but it's passable and clean, any dirt disappearing from the hem with a puff of air. he looks over his handiwork, humming in thought. ]
Not perfect, but better.
[ and he stands, dusting himself off the old-fashioned way. ]
no subject
she stares at the hem of her dress, then looking up, her eyes meeting his. ]
That... did you make it do that? [ how did you do that is what she means, but doesn't quite manage to ask it. ]
no subject
Yes. [ the smallest smile, hesitantly taking in her reaction as a positive one. and quietly — ] That's one of my tricks.
no subject
[ slowly, she smiles, brushing her hand over one of the newly-repaired tears before looking at him again. ] I don't know how that is possible, to give the fabric a mind of its own... it is like nothing I've ever seen. Like a true miracle.
no subject
It's magical in nature, I must confess.
[ well, it's magic itself. no ifs, ands, or buts. ]
I'm not meant to show it off.
[ in front of muggles goes unsaid. he doesn't wish to highlight any gap between them. ]
no subject
[ she can't help it, the light wonder in her tone. of course, she had seen it before — a ball of light, hovering above her hand, as Merlin smiled and explained about magic being real. but to see it is not only him but others, too... it's amazing. frightening, yes, as she can't help but think how it could be used wrongly... but amazing nonetheless.
(and as it is — she can't believe Newt would ever use it for something wrong. perhaps it is her naivete, once more, to want to believe the best of him... but then, this is not Westeros. should she still judge everyone in the same terms she would, back home?) ]
I won't tell a soul, if it is what you want. [ she takes it as a rule he is trying to obey, immediately trying to find a way that won't get him into trouble... and as such, her as well. ] I can hardly believe it. I knew magic was real, but to see it — you are very humble for a man with such power, ser.