luciantallis ;
âThis is nothing. I used to set my motherâs hedges on fire for fun.â And the curtains, the occasional dust ruffle, and atrocious decorative pillow. âJust protective sigils. Nothing too extreme.â Wiping his hands on his jeans, the ash hidden against the black denim, Lucian offered a wry smile. His own apartment was like a fucking fortress and heâd admit it. Sound proofing spells, sigils etched into corners of windows, onto candles, mirrors, under carpets, fucking everywhere. That felt too far to do to a place that wasnât his without permission. âKind of a habit. Put one on the door of the bedroom but thatâs as far as I went.â His gaze moved from Mal to the notebook heâd left open on the coffee table beside him. Various runes compiled together to make the sigils as aesthetically pleasing as possible were spread across the page, a couple crossed out. They werenât anything anyone was going to see, but it was the principle of the thing. âI could soundproof the place if you want. Doesnât take too long.â He gave a casual shrug of his shoulders as he reached for the cup of coffee heâd set aside. The cup was cold to the touch and he didnât think much of tapping his fingers against the side of it to warm it up a little, the too familiar rush of warmth at his fingertips, before taking a sip from it.
           âI worry for your poor mother,â he chimed, his tone embellished with such banter set only for Lucian; a coy sense swathing every syllable. ââ Sigils? They sound bloody extreme to me, but what the hell do I know about introductory magic and the like. Iâm sure thereâs levels I could have never even dreamed about nor heard of. Though, Iâll admit,â hues flickered up in matched roguery to his perpetual grin, âIâm relentlessly intrigued. Is it possible to teach a magic dud like myself the rules of magic?â Eyes wandered in tandem to the notebook that Lucian had glanced at, soon walking over as digits near tenderly traced any visible scripture that remained, brows knit in enamored perplexity. âSoundproof the place.â It rolled off his tongue as more of a statement than a plausible inquiry, glancing up from the scribbled sigils as he watched each movement from the witch near attentively, âIâm not sure what you think Iâm up to in my spare time.â Tongue rolled to coat his bottom lip, breaking out into a near diffident smile, eyes permeating with more redolent fumes.Â
















