#me throwing myself into the gate to claw my way into the beanie baby pile

[duunswitch]

He hasn't even summoned anything and already she's got her hands pressed to her face, eyes wide and shifting all over the place as she follows the ribbons of color–she doesn't know if he's seeing it the way she is, but with the glasses on he will see the magic in whatever form makes most sense to him.

A beat, and she yanks a pen and notebook from her bag to start scribbling.

"Anything's fine, as long as it's from inside the gate." She can see the way the colors twist together, how they tangle themselves around and through the golden circle in intricate knots. "Oh that's amazing, so it–that's the connection, you're pulling right from yourself oh, that's tragic, I hope it doesn't kill you some day–I see now where it... and that's where it reaches back to you so that one there must be to the contents inside–"

But if it were true that the inside of his gate contained multitudes of items, then for the magic to connect...? "I need to see something coming out, yeah? I have a theory but I can't be sure until I see something from inside on its way out–if the magic is connected like that but there's more than one item inside it must splinter to form all the connections–oh that's got to be fascinating to watch, do you control the threads to pick what comes out, or does your magic make the choice for you? Oh, but if the magic makes the choice, is it sentience or instinct? It's your magic, so it'd in theory be easy for you to control it but magic like this can be tricky..."

     Gilgamesh doesn’t retract his stance even as she leans close, does not so much as twitch while her features beam with enthusiasm. There is only his gaze, viciously red and unblinking. The boy tilts his head and smiles.

“Okay!”

        However this ends, he thinks, it will be a vital lesson. 

     “I’ll take up that offer on the glasses, too,” he says, palm outstretched. The spectacles, once proffered, are placed onto his nose, ever so slightly too large for his youthful features — he places his index finger on his nasal bridge to keep them aligned to his sight. The next step happens without pomp: a circular golden ripple manifests in the open air several feet away from their standing position, undulating in its ancient mysticism. “Have anything in particular you’d like to see?”