[Matthias leans forward to try to see what she is referring to, which bits of his palms she is looking at and which bits mean what. This would not be anything he would be good at, probably. It'd still be good to know. He smiles, quick, at fire--yeah, that makes sense--and so does stubborn. The compliments make his ears feel hot, but if she's only reading what's there, then it's nothing to feel embarrassed by, it must be true.
At the last bit, he gives a knowing nod.]
We had a spy. Well, a mage what acted as spy. He'd sneak around the Templars. Cut his callouses off, like peeling potatoes, in case he got caught--'cause he said they'd see 'em and they'd know him for a mage. But he was a little mad, loads of people've got callouses, and it didn't do him any good anyways.
[He tilts his head so he can look down at her hand, like maybe there's aught to be read there by novice just-had-his-palm-read him.]
Mine really says I'd make a good leader? What's yours say about you, then?
[ Contemplating their hands, side by side, Derrica gives a little shrug. ]
I don't know. It feels like it would be hard to read your own palm.
[ A little like lying to yourself, in some ways. ]
Someone read them for me a long time ago, but I don't think I'm the same person I was then. My life is very different from what I thought it was going to be.
[ And as she says this, it occurs to her that maybe that's true for Matthias too. What did Southern mages hope for, before the rebellion? \
[Very different. Does anything else need to be said about that? Matthias tilts his head so he can look at her hand more closely. His gaze darts back and forth, comparing the palms, hers and his, the light lines sketched there.]
I was going to be a Knight-Enchanter. For about twenty seconds and then I changed my mind--actually, before that, I reckon I was going to be a bloody farmer. Which of these d'you think would be the failed farmer line? [He gives her a little grin.] Would you want someone to read yours? Now, I mean?
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no subject
At the last bit, he gives a knowing nod.]
We had a spy. Well, a mage what acted as spy. He'd sneak around the Templars. Cut his callouses off, like peeling potatoes, in case he got caught--'cause he said they'd see 'em and they'd know him for a mage. But he was a little mad, loads of people've got callouses, and it didn't do him any good anyways.
[He tilts his head so he can look down at her hand, like maybe there's aught to be read there by novice just-had-his-palm-read him.]
Mine really says I'd make a good leader? What's yours say about you, then?
no subject
I don't know. It feels like it would be hard to read your own palm.
[ A little like lying to yourself, in some ways. ]
Someone read them for me a long time ago, but I don't think I'm the same person I was then. My life is very different from what I thought it was going to be.
[ And as she says this, it occurs to her that maybe that's true for Matthias too. What did Southern mages hope for, before the rebellion? \
no subject
[Very different. Does anything else need to be said about that? Matthias tilts his head so he can look at her hand more closely. His gaze darts back and forth, comparing the palms, hers and his, the light lines sketched there.]
I was going to be a Knight-Enchanter. For about twenty seconds and then I changed my mind--actually, before that, I reckon I was going to be a bloody farmer. Which of these d'you think would be the failed farmer line? [He gives her a little grin.] Would you want someone to read yours? Now, I mean?