#She is always impressing him. That she woulf look to him with such awe is like

[recitedemise]

"Never content yourself with standing there and wishing. Whatever I possess, be it in skill or any secret knowledge, you should know that it's yours. You need only ask."

It feels... Close. A coveted moment. And perhaps, if one dares, a heartbeat from intimate.

Gale listens. Even in conversations one might determine banal, she's always nursed this talent at reigning his attention, bottling it up wholly and corking it up tight. Yet, when the topic would meander toward all things magic, that charm she possesses impossibly doubles, and suddenly, he's taken. Predictably, he's had. She praises him, enchanted, but there's something inthe foreground... And while Gale wears a smile with a flavor of pride, he determines it's ferocity; her eyes burn like fire.

Eve adores magic. Eve must have her taste. The wizard casts his gaze upon her to see his own self reflected: that hunger, that yearning for power and more.

The electricty crackles, and her hand finds his own.

All is — promise. Curiosity. He holds his sights on her, her expression claimed by reverence, and he feels, as he oft does by her side, equal parts pride and measured fascination. "That answer suits you. You come alive and most brilliantly when you tangle yourself with magic," Gale answers, watching as she parts, whispering ignis. Again, he discerns it, that raw and rumbling rush of power. He follows suit, somatic work perfect. "There is no greater feeling. It is... exhilarating. I would work my fingers, whisper words in a myriad of ancient tongues, and what would come over me is something of a great and powerful wave. There is nothing quite like it. It's the intimacy of being had." He speaks like it's devotion. Gale conjures an incredible flame, and embers, fierce and wild both, lend him a portait of smoldering confidence. "My favorite part is the surrendering," Gale confesses, swapping to ice. "I am but a willing servant, eager, and I aim to please."

"Perhaps easy is the wrong word, but you truly make it look EFFORTLESS sometimes. I feel tremendously proud of myself in many moments, but I watch you sometimes and I can't help but wish I knew the Weave the way that you do. I tease, but..." But as competent as she felt she was, he had more experience.

The air between them is quite literally crackling with magic and with potential, and she watches his face as he delights in this. He's so at home with magic the way she feels most of the time, and it thrills her and she wonders if he knows how truly incredible he is. He's so quick to wave a hand and say it is simply practice, but the way his eyes twinkle tell her a different story. She's certain he's just as thrilled as she is that she's delighted in his talents.

As the glow fades, Eve reaches her hand out to his, DESPERATE to feel the lick of the crackles of thunder on her own fingertips before it's gone. It's hard to contain the smile on her face now, and she steps in closer to him, wishing to reignite the crackles with her own magic to keep them there as her eyes watch her fingertips seek out his own, butterflies taking flight in her stomach. "I can..." she manages to answer, eyes moving to his.

The air is charged with promises and anticipation, and she can't stop her movements--not that she wants to. Perhaps it isn't the time nor the place, but her nerves are alive and there's still magic to be plucked around them, and she's convinced that the magic they could weave together is stronger than anything she could achieve on her own. So, she moves her hand a little plucking some magic of her own to show, her hand glowing a bit.

"My favorite part of a spell is how it feels dancing down your spine. Alive. Alert. When I reach for it, I can feel it at my core wanting to spill out until I have to unleash it," she explains, taking a step out of his comforting warmth and pulling her hand back to make a fireball. "How is it for you? What's YOUR favorite part?"