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[vecna]

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[velluminous]

[ if her brain is not occupied at literally all times she starts to go down crazy rabbit holes of obsession and regret. and neither of those serve her right now, so she's keeping busy. taking a moment to rake her gaze over him, obscured as he is. ]

You already harness some amount of talent. And so, we do not begin with theory and books. I want you to tell me again how you exert these powers.

[vecna]

[He clasps his hands behind his back like a good orderly, awaiting instruction. She may be able to note the pinch of his brows, though.]

I have more than one. [She knows that, by now. Delving into the mind, versus moving objects with it.] But if you mean moving things, then it's as I said before: it's all a matter of focus and knowing how to harness the energy of the mind, focusing it on a single object. In the end, it's all about willpower -- and the endurance to not break concentration.

[velluminous]

[ hm. she chews her lip, brings her thumb automatically to her mouth ]

So there is nothing you reach out to in order to exert your willpower?

[vecna]

[That gesture again -- a nervous tick of hers, he wonders?]

Reach out to? Like what?

[velluminous]

[ the thumbnail, the claw, is irreparably cracked ]

For me, it is called "Weave". Fine threads of raw magic which blanket my planet. All spells are formed by manipulating this "Weave", and it is my willpower which makes it do what I wish. However, if it is not present, then I cannot cast.

[ is what she would normally say, except this isn't Toril, and the magic yet flows ]

There is more to it than strength of will only, for me. I can know precisely what to do, but if I cannot speak, yet wish to cast spell that requires verbal component, then... poof. Nothing.

[vecna]

[Her explanation is interesting, these restrictions, this source of magic called "Weave". Henry wonders if there was ever more unearthed in Hawkins Lab that he remained oblivious to; if their little scientific machinations ever uncovered something that Sprezzatura would find interesting, but he cannot relay.]

I don't need anything like that. Neither did any of the children who I oversaw at the lab, even if some struggled with their abilities more than others.

[So, it is not as simple as he makes it say. There is practice involved; and pure natural talent.]

I suppose the main obstacle is how easily I tire in this world compared to what I'm used to. The one time I delved into your mind, I had felt so worn once I returned.

[velluminous]

Lucky you will not be doing that again, then, hm?

[vecna]

Of course.

[Lifts a brow.]

But moving heavier objects may have the same effect.

[velluminous]

[ she arches one of her own right back ] I am not having you move heavy objects. You can already do this. I am going to ask you to manipulate Weave, or whatever suffices for it here, to supplement what you can already do.

[vecna]

[Yes, but he would like to return to the proficiency he possessed before this damnable prison.

Still, accedence comes.]

If you think it’s possible. You’ll have to lead me through it.

[velluminous]

[ let's not do that. ]

I can lead. Otherwise, I haven't yet decided how I might push your potential.

[ or whether she even wants to, but she elects not to share that ]

[vecna]

[He unfolds his hands to gesture at her. Ladies first.]

I’m listening, Instructor Vaux. Tell me what to do.

[velluminous]

Hurm. [ does she like being called "instructor"? signs point hesitantly towards... yes. she likes it. ] I want you to reach for what you cannot see. Weave here—I will still call it "Weave", for simplicity—is different from at home, but I can still touch.

[ exhaling, she closes her eyes and begins to move her hands. it looks like she's playing an invisible harp. in this fog, it's difficult to see the moment her motions become more tangible, as though she has found the actual, physical strings instead of merely pantomiming at them, but it's there ]

If you can find it, instead of something physical like vase, then...

[vecna]

[Reaching for the Weave itself. Henry watches quietly, tracking the motions of her hands, and even in the fog, he can spot the minute difference in movement that implies, perhaps, that she has found something. Plucking at an invisible string.]

Then I'll try.

[He has no self-consciousness, as new as a concept this may be, reaching out with his left hand to seek this nebulous force she's described for him. Henry closes his eyes; a part of this still feels as though he's humoring her, but his effort is sincere enough.

He sharpens his focus. Seeks for that weft supposedly in the atmosphere between them, to find if anything catches in his fingers.]

[velluminous]

[ releases the thread without drawing from it—observing Henry's attempt is the more salient matter. she draws closer, her eyes on his outstretched fingers. the way he moves his hand when he uses his power—it is nothing like how a wizard plucks at the Weave, and she's not certain he can find it without that finesse.

so she reaches out a hand to try to gentle how he holds his: softening the bend of his elbow and his fingers, if he allows it ]

Do not force.

[vecna]

[She is right about there being no subtlety in his own attempt, no sign of delicacy. Henry approaches as he does most instances of utilizing his power: with an outstretched hand and tight, curled fingers, claw-like, forcible aggression in just this single gesture.

His brows furrow when she reaches out, but he allows it. Adjusts his arm and fingers as she suggests, muttering-]

Then what?

[Then what, if he cannot wrench free the results as he's so very used to? In this, he will struggle; after all, it is not a practiced trait of Henry to be gentle with his abilities.]

[velluminous]

[ if nothing else, her touch is only temporary, and she does not linger. an instructor, after all, correcting her student. ]

Then we practice. I'm sorry to say, Mister Creel, but did you expect this venture to be quick, or easy? It is trying again, and again.

[vecna]

Did I say that I expected it to be either quick or easy?

[And yet, in time, perhaps with a few more failed attempts under his belt, his declaration comes quickly-]

There is nothing there.

[He may as well be grasping at thin air — it all feels utterly counterproductive to how he operates.]

[velluminous]

[ exhales shortly through her nose, some of her own vestigial frustration. ]

There is. Look.

[ again, she crooks her fingers, catching. pulling tension into something neither of them can see. ]

[vecna]

[His pride, his own little streak of narcissism, balks at the intonation of frustration in her voice — even if it is warranted.]

For you.

[Hand extended still, his fingers tense again into something harsh and grasping.]

Have you consider that a man not from your world would have to claw at this Weave instead of gently seeking it?

[velluminous]

[ this time she makes no move to correct his grasp on the air—though her gaze does dart down to it and linger ]

As I said, this is not Weave as I know it. But this is only way I know how to show you. You are losing patience; we step away for little bit.

[vecna]

No. Give me a few minutes more.

[Ah, he is stubborn.

But if she allows it, he will continue, still not dropping his hand.]

[velluminous]

[ ........................steps back from him, gently grasping her opposite elbow ]

[vecna]

[These minutes stretch out before them, and Henry grasps at no Weave. Frustration only mounts, layering itself, in its place.

He feels as though he is one of the more talentless children in the days of the lab; or that he has a device implanted into his neck again, blunting any trace of skill. This only sparks memory, which in turn enhances the fires of his ever-hidden frustrations. His anger. But perhaps this is what he should rely upon, as he always has, instead of trying to gently pluck away at something invisible and gossamer. Turning his anger into power is an old trick, and so Henry reaches inward, finds easy, hate-forged recollections.

Twenty long years in that lab. Seven in another world of raw chaos — the violent sting of lightning and fire, and even the spread of a shotgun blast. Dumb, blind Victor Creel. Papa. Eleven. His new prison here, on top of all else.

Something snaps — but it isn’t his fingers strumming against the Weave. It is merely his own power, exploding under heavy pressure like a coiled spring unleashed, brought to the forefront after such extensive focus. And the force expands outward, hard, careening into anything that happens to be nearby.

Which includes Sprezzatura, flinging her out towards the ocean (if she is so unlucky.)]

[velluminous]

[ oh, no you don't. she's ready this time; tense and taut and waiting for—something. and there it is, the force of Henry's willpower billowing out. her eyes narrow minutely—Mammon. Just listen to me—and her lips move.

casting Shield is as reactionary as swatting a fly, and its motions nearly indistinguishable from that instinctive swat in the air. maybe a little harsher, since she already has a sense for what Henry's power can do. to his eyes, the spell is barely a shimmer in the already-dense air.

and for a moment, that's... enough.

then her heels skid in the sand, and she's pitched straight back into the water with an enraged shriek. ]