There's a small sting and the taste of blood, just a little, as her raking teeth shred healthy skin off her lip. Triss swallows it down while Hannibal sits, too far away for comfort, and answers for her. Normally she'd be delighted to be asked what she wants, but this is too much. It's like when Hannibal first said I've been considering approaching your social worker about fostering you, Patricia, would you like that?, with the catch that he wouldn't be able to be her therapist anymore. The choice was just too big, would change too much. She'd been too afraid to make it for weeks.
"I do," Ruth says, her mouth all twisted up and hard to read. Argus nods, but mostly he just looks embarrassed. Danae doesn't even twitch, nevermind go back to watching Patricia openly on the side. "Realize how it sounds, that is." But instead of answering the real question, she tilted a hand towards Argus, practically handing it over to him.
"The problem here is that she hasn't been using any magic for some time, that I can tell," his words are slow and thoughtful and, under other circumstances, they'd probably cheer Triss up a whole lot. She's been trying not to do anything for weeks and weeks, even though there's a warm spot in her belly that rolls around funny from time to time. "What we'd give her is, ah, a kind of fuel. If she has the predilection for the kind of magic I suspect, she could use it, but she wouldn't have to. The ability to detect it as fuel at all is its own answer, honestly."
Triss frowns at that, turning the words around to see which ones she can pick out to boil it all down to something sensible. Ruth taps her forefinger against the handle of her cup, and says, "Patricia, when you do use your magic, where does it come from?"
"Huh?"
"Is it something you feel in the air around you? Or do you draw it out of your body? From the ground?"
As Ruth lists off the possibilities, Triss' hands fall unconsciously to her stomach, palms flat against a silkscreened jellyfish. Everyone notices. Ruth nods and Argus smiles, neither of them seems at all surprised.
"Then that's where it'll be," Argus doesn't even say 'if', like 'if we're right about your magic', but maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it's different for everyone and she just works off her gut somehow. "You'll feel it, but you won't have to use it if you don't want to."
"It would be good if you did," Ruth's voice is very, very gentle, but Triss can't think past her own alarm to take offense. "If this is the right kind of fuel for you, I promise the results won't be bad. Danae and myself can stop that from happening."
Why? Why can they promise that? Ruth sounds so sure, but how? What do they know that Triss, and Hannibal, don't yet? And how badly do the two of them need to know it? Bad enough to take that risk? Bad enough to break the house?
Her breathing's gone all uneven, hot chocolate untouched. She twists the wet towel between her hands and stares at the pattern on the teacup, a geometric blue and gold she really likes. Think. Think about the 'why's and not the 'how's, that's what all her therapists have ever told her. Why do they know she's got magic? 'Cuz a kelpie wanted her. Why did the kelpie want her? 'Cuz her magic's dangerous to monsters. What kind of magic's dangerous to monsters? She doesn't know, but these people do, and they've said there are probably only a couple kinds. If they know that, maybe they can know how to stop her from being dangerous right here, right now. In her own house.
It didn't used to be a big deal. Triss can remember, fuzzily, moving stuff around in her room or her parents' kitchen. She turned the TV on once without touching it. Just reached out and pushed a button with her...she's not sure what, but she did it. A harmless use of magic. It doesn't have to be all tearing roofs apart with the simmering heat in her belly.
She says, "Okay." And they don't smile at her, but they all look a little happier. Relieved. Triss checks in with Hannibal, searching his face as Argus says, "Danae, we'll need yours for this."
no subject
"I do," Ruth says, her mouth all twisted up and hard to read. Argus nods, but mostly he just looks embarrassed. Danae doesn't even twitch, nevermind go back to watching Patricia openly on the side. "Realize how it sounds, that is." But instead of answering the real question, she tilted a hand towards Argus, practically handing it over to him.
"The problem here is that she hasn't been using any magic for some time, that I can tell," his words are slow and thoughtful and, under other circumstances, they'd probably cheer Triss up a whole lot. She's been trying not to do anything for weeks and weeks, even though there's a warm spot in her belly that rolls around funny from time to time. "What we'd give her is, ah, a kind of fuel. If she has the predilection for the kind of magic I suspect, she could use it, but she wouldn't have to. The ability to detect it as fuel at all is its own answer, honestly."
Triss frowns at that, turning the words around to see which ones she can pick out to boil it all down to something sensible. Ruth taps her forefinger against the handle of her cup, and says, "Patricia, when you do use your magic, where does it come from?"
"Huh?"
"Is it something you feel in the air around you? Or do you draw it out of your body? From the ground?"
As Ruth lists off the possibilities, Triss' hands fall unconsciously to her stomach, palms flat against a silkscreened jellyfish. Everyone notices. Ruth nods and Argus smiles, neither of them seems at all surprised.
"Then that's where it'll be," Argus doesn't even say 'if', like 'if we're right about your magic', but maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it's different for everyone and she just works off her gut somehow. "You'll feel it, but you won't have to use it if you don't want to."
"It would be good if you did," Ruth's voice is very, very gentle, but Triss can't think past her own alarm to take offense. "If this is the right kind of fuel for you, I promise the results won't be bad. Danae and myself can stop that from happening."
Why? Why can they promise that? Ruth sounds so sure, but how? What do they know that Triss, and Hannibal, don't yet? And how badly do the two of them need to know it? Bad enough to take that risk? Bad enough to break the house?
Her breathing's gone all uneven, hot chocolate untouched. She twists the wet towel between her hands and stares at the pattern on the teacup, a geometric blue and gold she really likes. Think. Think about the 'why's and not the 'how's, that's what all her therapists have ever told her. Why do they know she's got magic? 'Cuz a kelpie wanted her. Why did the kelpie want her? 'Cuz her magic's dangerous to monsters. What kind of magic's dangerous to monsters? She doesn't know, but these people do, and they've said there are probably only a couple kinds. If they know that, maybe they can know how to stop her from being dangerous right here, right now. In her own house.
It didn't used to be a big deal. Triss can remember, fuzzily, moving stuff around in her room or her parents' kitchen. She turned the TV on once without touching it. Just reached out and pushed a button with her...she's not sure what, but she did it. A harmless use of magic. It doesn't have to be all tearing roofs apart with the simmering heat in her belly.
She says, "Okay." And they don't smile at her, but they all look a little happier. Relieved. Triss checks in with Hannibal, searching his face as Argus says, "Danae, we'll need yours for this."