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[ 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. ]

[It is a failure, but at least it is a satisfying failure; a sort of cathartic release of his energy that demonstrates something more than grasping at what cannot be seen and touched. Henry barely notes the shimmer in the air that heralds her casting of a shield, but he does note the flicker of her wrist, which must imply something, especially given that she is not flying out and away—

Oh. Nevermind.

Off she goes, devoured by the fog, then landing with a splash in what he assumes is the nearby ocean. A good thing that she cannot see the grin spreading across his features—perhaps not sharply cruel, but certainly amused—and equally good that he can banish it away, twisting it into a frown instead as he moves towards the sound of her shrieking/splashing.]

Sprezzatura! [A few steps is all it takes, really, before the waves are lapping at his shoes and the wet sand forms footprints beneath.]

[ c-c-c-c-cold! it's cold! she surfaces with a pitchy gasp, spluttering and coughing, raking her hair from her eyes and her mouth. it's all fog out on the water, and she can't see the shore—

at least, not until Henry's milky shape emerges somewhere to her far right.

stupid. arrogant! preternaturally frustrating! what is wrong with him! ]

Get out here!

[There she is, splashing about and slightly obscured by fog — she looks like a drowned rat in that water, and she wants him to join her?

She looks upset. Maybe understandably. Laughably. Henry stops just short of the water proper.]

I got overzealous.

[no shit]

Come out, we’ll dry you off.

[ the thing she is noticing is that he doesn't apologize, certainly not right away; she has to convince him to. ]

No, what we are doing is cooling your stupid coiffed head!

[ she claws a hand up from the water, spurring that same compulsion through his body from the day before. get out there. ]

[He has been called a lot of things in his life, but insulting his “coiffed head” is a new one, disarming enough that he doesn’t have an immediate reply.

And when he decides on one, whatever it is, she casts that damn compulsion on him again so it never leaves his mouth, and his body moves on its own — rushing towards the water as though it were the heat of summer, and he were a beachgoer trying to stave off the rays of the sun.

The reality is less exciting: a few ugly splashes and he’s dove in next to her, lost beneath the foggy surface and bobbing back up seconds later. His perfectly coiffed hair, as she might describe it, appears much longer when it’s wet. It sticks to the side of his face, clinging to his cheekbones, falling across his eyes as he gasps for air.

Cold—]

[ there. now she feels better.

panting, she halfheartedly splashes him with one hand ]

S-Stupid.

Why did you—

[Oh, he should just push her back under with his powers. Let her linger there for a full minute. Instead, Henry holds up his arm to block her haphazard splash, then lowers it to—

Splash her back. As spitefully as one can manage.]

Are you a child?

[Why is the water so cold— every muscle feels taut in reaction to the temperature.]

[ splutters ]

Perhaps if I were, you would like me better! [ mister orderly. ] Haa. [ she growls in the back of her throat, just from the sheer chill, and splashes him again ] We are both here now.

[Sputters back. He’s lost his layer of affability, as though it’s sloughed off in the water like a dead thing. Seen in the sharp displeasure of a red and blue gaze.]

I would like you better if your pride wasn’t so easily wounded.

[He’s not going to stand around here splashing her like a child— is what he thinks as he splashes her again, then pushing his hair out of his eyes, beginning to slosh towards the shore.]

[ her veins run a little icy, but she simply cannot stop herself from barking after him, ] My pride??

[Not even turning to call back-]

It wasn’t mine that landed me in the water with you.

[ BUT WHOSE PRIDE IS THE REASON SHE'S IN THE WATER??? ]

It— [ you know what? forget it. she seethes, lashing her tail in the water. after a moment or two, a boot thunks into the wet sand at the shore, followed by the other. fucking fine. ]

[He’s drenched when he pulls himself back to shore. His hair clings to his face, his clothes cling to his body, his shoes squelch wetly as he trudges though the sand.

Only now does he turn to face her, drowned rat to drowned rat.]

Is this what you do to all your students?

[ while the catharsis of dragging him in had felt good, for a moment, it doesn't last long. seeing him wet and furious on the shore just makes her stomach sink. ] Yes, I am unfit professor and I ruin everything, thank you!

[Caught between trying to reel his amiable nature back in from the bottom of the ocean, versus letting the rest show through. The end result is half-and-half, a cobbled-together attempt at not just tossing her back into the sea.]

You're putting words in my mouth.

Mammon! Would you just--they are my words in my mouth!

No, they're not.

I never said you were a terrible "professor", but it's hard not to think that whatever personal bias you still hold against me makes itself known in moments such as these.

[Tossing him into the ocean when he said, expressly, he does not enjoy being controlled against his will.]

[ there's the armour-piercing comment: oh, Mammon. she's becoming a worse person.

he might see her clench a hand briefly in her hair before she embarks upon the slog back to shore. depositing herself in the shallows, soaked, her clothes clinging uncomfortably ]

You're right. I have been unpleasant woman. Forgive me.

[His own hand comes up again to run fingers through his hair, sweeping it back and wringing out what excess water he can. The chill is settling in, now, he can feel it. He'll need a change of clothes -- that's a foregone conclusion.]

What do we need to do to clear the air?

[A clean slate would be so much easier at this point; otherwise, he wonders if the effort is at all worth it.

(Of course, he should probably apologize about launching her into the ocean in the first place.)]

Haa. What am I doing? There is nothing you've done which needs amends. [ pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, hard ] I am just being—petty.

[He's silent for a moment. Deciding again how gracious he wishes to feel about the whole ordeal, even if her words shift the blame -- makes it easier for him to lessen his frustrations. Makes it easier to find his politeness, too.]

Do you want to talk about it?

[A beat.]

After we fetch a few towels.

[ there should be towels on the beach shack... painstakingly getting to her feet ]

I am not sure if there is anything to say. [ rather than a hard stop, this is just... confession, as she begins to walk ] Something is wrong with me.

[The beach shack has more than enough to towel off two people if they can find it in the fog. Henry trails behind her. Their magic session may as well be done with for the day.]

Wrong with you? What do you mean?

[ fortunately,,

with the softest mutter, a tiny spectral hand appears, crooking its finger at them both ]

I am... not nice. But nicer than this.

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