[The terminology may fail him, but he's earnest in his curiosity. Wrench pauses with an eyeball between his fingers and halfway to his lips when something sparks to life and a shaped, glowing orb appears in her outstretched palm. His eyes go wide and he mercifully abandons the plate of food to watch in earnest amazement as the energy of her life seems to stoke it, until it's extinguished. He's not sure he'll ever get tired of seeing this kind of thing in action. Watching with wonder as the people around him perform things he can barely imagine: teleportation, manipulating their bodies, moving faster than any human possibly could.
He can't help but think about culture. About being among people who understand you. It leaves Wrench with the bitter taste of nostalgia in his throat, though it's something he's only barely experienced himself.]
Your magic is innate? You're either born with it or not?
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He can't help but think about culture. About being among people who understand you. It leaves Wrench with the bitter taste of nostalgia in his throat, though it's something he's only barely experienced himself.]
Your magic is innate? You're either born with it or not?