[ He flexes his hand and the claws retract back into nails. Her slight steps backward, her uneasy expression, the way Stephen's perception still slides in along her aura without hitting any walls or any sudden, violent ejection from her space. This is an unfocused energy, an undeveloped one. No illusions here, or manipulation of the matter around her.
He also now, after the initial shock and assessment, notes the jumpsuit on her person. His mind ticks back – to a time far removed from this one, but still vivid in his memory due to the space and circumstances surrounding it. Lengthy tomes and exercises on the grounds of Kamar Taj, the pursuit of exhaustion to fill the emptiness inside him. Letters drafted in email form to a woman who'd never read them, apologies in pixelated text. News headlines, seen in passing during navigation – "Sokovia Accords," "Rogers Infighting," "Avengers Apprehended." There's no lettering on the uniform – no guarantee this Maximoff comes from that time, or even a universe in which those events occurred. But it's a lead. It's consistent with the inexperience. The apprehension. ]
I'm aware of you. Your powers. [ An influence on magic so strong it survived even death, in the particular ignominious timeline he harnessed. He realizes, at a delay, how he must look to her. The clothing, the aura, the... everything. There's no telling what she's sensed, what she's grasped. He raises his hands in an attempt at a disarmed motion. ]
I'm a sorcerer, from a world similar to yours – I think, anyway. Just want to talk, that's all.
no subject
[ He flexes his hand and the claws retract back into nails. Her slight steps backward, her uneasy expression, the way Stephen's perception still slides in along her aura without hitting any walls or any sudden, violent ejection from her space. This is an unfocused energy, an undeveloped one. No illusions here, or manipulation of the matter around her.
He also now, after the initial shock and assessment, notes the jumpsuit on her person. His mind ticks back – to a time far removed from this one, but still vivid in his memory due to the space and circumstances surrounding it. Lengthy tomes and exercises on the grounds of Kamar Taj, the pursuit of exhaustion to fill the emptiness inside him. Letters drafted in email form to a woman who'd never read them, apologies in pixelated text. News headlines, seen in passing during navigation – "Sokovia Accords," "Rogers Infighting," "Avengers Apprehended." There's no lettering on the uniform – no guarantee this Maximoff comes from that time, or even a universe in which those events occurred. But it's a lead. It's consistent with the inexperience. The apprehension. ]
I'm aware of you. Your powers. [ An influence on magic so strong it survived even death, in the particular ignominious timeline he harnessed. He realizes, at a delay, how he must look to her. The clothing, the aura, the... everything. There's no telling what she's sensed, what she's grasped. He raises his hands in an attempt at a disarmed motion. ]
I'm a sorcerer, from a world similar to yours – I think, anyway. Just want to talk, that's all.