dear_mun | reunited and it feels so gross.

[she's sure he doesn't mean it as a joke, but she laughs, and even at a quiet volume, it's a nails-on-chalkboard sound. why bother repeating herself? she knows she's sane. she has no idea why people persist in doubting it.]

Rude. [she taps her own cheek, significantly, meaning to indicate his scar.] No wonder.

[unpleasant things happen to rude people.]

[He raised an eyebrow at that, excuse you, he's not the one who's rude here.]

That's from something else. [As he says this, his own eyes didn't hold much emotion behind them. Or any indication that he was put off by her "observation".]

Want another one?

[she knows some truly memorable flesh-burning spells. he could look like he spent even longer in the blender, too. like he took another spin round. there are options. her perchant for inflicting pain has been established, and, see, tough as he might be, he's temptingly half-done. someone's unfinished masterpiece. she doesn't expect him to be put-off, not before and not now. she isn't even phrasing it as a threat (yet). it is what it seems: an offer.]

Not especially, and I don't think you could make any that can match the ones I got.

[If she knew what he's been through, what he will be going through, she won't exactly consider him half-done.

He's his own masterpiece.

She doesn't exactly strike him as someone who's far more comfortable with inflicting pain rather than receiving it. As far as he's concerned, she's the one who could use some scars.]

But that sounds so like a challenge.

[if that's how she strikes him, she's made the wrong impression. there are certain enjoyable pains in life (the feel of being summoned, for one), but not many. for the greater part, she associates pain with failure, and failure is the deepest misery known to her. the dark mark is the only scar she needs, and in its current vivid condition, he could be forgiven for thinking its a tattoo instead. at any rate: there's a difference between a devoted servant willing to accept punishment when its due, and an actual indiscriminate masochist. not all scars are physical, either. she's intimately acquainted with forms of suffering that he hasn't known. back to what he has known, though:]

Were you in a war? [something they'd have in common, if so.]

Didn't mean to.

[Then perhaps they have the wrong impressions of each other then.]

Yeah, I was. That obvious?

Call it intuition.

[if he were a mind reader—not that reading is an apt description—then he'd know how open and obvious her mind is. it's a magical thing. it's nigh upon impossible to learn occlumency (for whatever twisted purpose) without gleaning something of legilimency too. long story short, she'd be a decent judge of character if she weren't a deranged bigot. alas, people tend not to listen to deranged bigots.]

[He gave a grunt in return, of course it was obvious, just look at him.]

Who are you anyway? [Well shame on them who don't listen to her!]

A soldier, like yourself.

[she's truly beginning to enjoy the fact that few people know her here. it does mean she can answer in way she likes.]

[He looked her over for a moment longer.]

You're not a soldier. Least not one like me.

[it's the dress and the corset, isn't it? or is it her complete lack of muscle composition? she's entirely confident, regardless.]

Shall I prove it?

[All of the above and more.]

Don't know how you could.

You must lack imagination.

[she doesn't immediately draw her wand on him. she has something else in mind, to start with: throwing knives. it's a mystery where she even holsters them, but then again, there's a lot of layers to her impractical clothes.]

You must not have any documentation.

[quick, how is he at dodging knives? relevant because she just threw one at him. she truly believes he challenged her. seems perfectly reasonable to prove she's a soldier by fighting him.]

I'm well documented? [infamous. that's not what he means.]

[For how large he is, he has rather good reflexes that make fast like a cheetah. You don't get into Delta for just being big after all. He equally demonstrates this by immediately drawing his side arm at her as well after moving out of the knife's way. His vest could have easily protected him against such an attack, but he'd rather not just stand there and take it.]

Yeah? You'll have some well documented he's punched into you if you try that again.

[at first, she trembles, and it isn't fear. she's quaking with quiet laughter. ultimately, she can't resist a little cackle. she doesn't mind at all that he dodged the knife. that gives her an excuse to play unfair and use her weapon of choice. her eyes are alight with a bloodthirsty sort of amusement. he draws his sidearm, and she unsheathes her wand. it might not look especially threatening to him—it is a magic wand, after all, turned against someone who might not be familiar with real magic—but she seems so superior with it, so unthreatened.]

Ooh, will I? How positively terrifying.

[she does love to toy with people.]

[Well he doesn't exactly enjoy toying around. She might have magical stick, but he has a gun. A gun that has bullets in it. Even if he doesn't have any experience with magic she still acts like she's going to threaten him with that said, pointy stick.]

Best put that away. You might poke out your eyes.

[He's giving her a chance here an effort to descelate things. You can dodge a knife, you can probably dodge a spell, but you can't dodge or stop a bullet. If she does start anything then his finger is on the trigger and ready to fire before she can finish.]

[he might dodge certain hexes, but his faulty assumption is that she would start by aiming a spell at him. on the contrary: she'd break the gun. or else, she could disarm him with a word and send the metal thing flying out of his hand. from her perspective, he's the one with a useless projectile weapon. but his naivety about the situation is charming.]

If it doesn't threaten you, why should I put it away?

Because you're threatening me. Put it away and we can keep things civil. This isn't a proper place to fight.

[If he lets her fire first. All he has to do is flex a finger, she has to wave that thing and say a word. Milliseconds can mean the difference between life and death. Even now he's thinking about just shooting her and getting it over with.]

[would it surprise him to learn that she really only needs to think the word, or that a skilled duellist doesn't need elaborate wand-waving? he might flex a finger, she might flick a wrist. he's fooling himself if he thinks she doesn't know the difference milliseconds can make. and all of this assumes that she'll still be standing in the same place. if she disapparates, that's bound to spoil the placement of his shot. off the top of her head, she can't think of any wizard or witch ever killed by a silly gun, and she won't be the first. even if it were sensible to take him seriously, she's not a sensible woman. he can't instil fear about this. there are only two things she's capable of fearing: one is failure, the other is azkaban, and she's survived both.]

You know little of civility. Look at your manners. [she's essentially saying "is this any way to treat a lady?" and that's rich coming from crazy.]

[You know that might be because most wizards are smart enough not to tempt fate? You can't disparate if the bullet can move faster than you can react.]

And look at yours. Throwing at someone isn't the most civil. [In other words, she's not much of a lady.]

[she'd really have to start before he fired, and he's likely to fire when she starts. and indeed, a general unwillingness to tempt fate might have something to do with it. most don't go around indiscriminately harassing people, and she's done her share of that too.

she's very aware of her atrocious manners. it's just so thrilling to not be much of a lady. she's always found it liberating, that small defiance of her upbringing. but she's eccentric enough to want to have her cake and eat it too. she doesn't quite agree that how she acts should have a bearing on how she's treated.]

You practically begged me to throw something, Muggle. [by her logic. he shouldn't have said she wasn't a soldier.]

reunited and it feels so gross.

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