Every time Pheres gets agitated, his glands make the sparks increase until there's little trickles of light cracking across his horns, like ribbons in the breeze. Now that you're not in the danger zone, you have to admit: it's entertaining as hell to watch.
Usually you have to hit someone to get this sort of lightshow started.
It only gets better when he jabs a button on his shitty little device and Sipara's rough-ass voice comes pouring out. For a moirail, she's doing a real shit job of calming him down: the way he flinches when she mentions nooks sends a spark shooting all the way across the porch and towards you, and you pull back with an amused snort.
Little fucker's slow as anything, though, and dragging more with every inch it passes. You're out of the way just in case, 'cause you're not into getting zapped, painful or fucking not, but the spark fades and sizzles before it's even hit the ground. Whatever Pheres's psionics are, they're obviously not made for distance.
"Whoa, Nzinga," you say, amused, "keep it in your fucking pants. Your boy's present." You waggle your eyebrows at him, but Pheres doesn't seem game for the joke: he averts his eyes without even a flash of teeth, holding out the phone like it's his last line of defense. (Wicked rude, and you could call him out on it - but nah, the cowering's funny, too.) "So baby boy here's been huffing honey. Alright. Schoolfeed me: is this shit gonna wear off?"
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Usually you have to hit someone to get this sort of lightshow started.
It only gets better when he jabs a button on his shitty little device and Sipara's rough-ass voice comes pouring out. For a moirail, she's doing a real shit job of calming him down: the way he flinches when she mentions nooks sends a spark shooting all the way across the porch and towards you, and you pull back with an amused snort.
Little fucker's slow as anything, though, and dragging more with every inch it passes. You're out of the way just in case, 'cause you're not into getting zapped, painful or fucking not, but the spark fades and sizzles before it's even hit the ground. Whatever Pheres's psionics are, they're obviously not made for distance.
"Whoa, Nzinga," you say, amused, "keep it in your fucking pants. Your boy's present." You waggle your eyebrows at him, but Pheres doesn't seem game for the joke: he averts his eyes without even a flash of teeth, holding out the phone like it's his last line of defense. (Wicked rude, and you could call him out on it - but nah, the cowering's funny, too.) "So baby boy here's been huffing honey. Alright. Schoolfeed me: is this shit gonna wear off?"