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[ Situated as he is, the rumble of her laugh vibrates against his cheek, prodding a small smile from him. She tilts her hand back and forth, an estimation of her ability to use a bow, and he's starkly reminded how different their approach to a fight is.

Because, well, he knew she used magic, since she's mentioned it before. And he knows about how she got her power—a contract with a patron, which distinguished her as a warlock, as opposed to a sorcerer or wizard. It's something different to have her describe what she uses in more detail. And then to let the image bloom across the connection; a glittering orb that pulses and flickers with magical translucence, hovering above an open palm. With the way it undulates, the shape seems to be in constant motion, like the push and pull of a tide. Once the power is released, prismatic light streaks off of the loose sphere, exploding into shimmering motes.

Honestly? Kind of cool. ]

Never felt the urge to learn a physical weapon? [ He teases lightly, curiosity piqued on what her other magic looks like. The rustle of a forest at sundown mixes with the typical whir of his own mind, an oddly pleasant layering of sound as they both turn thoughts over. ]

What's most important to you? [ Said with both a quizzical tone and a very faint amusement—this feels similar to the question she'd asked him, over the Murmur: what are you most passionate about?

Hard to believe he'd been so cagey with her, then. ]

[Amusement persists in her expression as she lifts her head to look down at Arthur, a faint arch of challenge in her eyebrows. There's no attempt at all to sound like she's not boasting.] I didn't say that. I've survived this place with a pair of kitchen knives and that crowbar I pointed out to you. [For a warlock cut off from their patron, she thinks she's managed pretty well for herself!

The exaggerated confidence calms in her elaboration.] It's just not my specialty. And in a fair match, I would never best someone for whom it was.

[In a fair match carries some further implications about Kalmiya's usual approach to a fight, though for that she offers no further explanation. Instead she ventures easily into the fuzzy white noise made up of droning electronics and and wind-shaken trees, into the thoughtfulness it represents, arriving immediately at the same recollection of conversation. She better understands the source of that prickliness now.

Her head settles back into the pillow, her words both sentimental and easy, the answer to a question that part of her has always known.] Freedom, always.

[Then a fond little rise of the shoulder, almost a shrug when paired with the slight tilt of her head and her soft, amused smile.] Love, sometimes. More often recently.

[ Meeting her arch look, he gives a small laugh, good humor lingering as he listens to her describe what weapons she can use. As well as her admittance that in a fair fight, she likely wouldn't do so well. ]

Most real fights are rarely fair. [ Says the guy who's definitely fought dudes nearly twice his size. So, that kind of combat mischief is encouraged. ] I could teach you, if you want. My preference is long range, but I do well in hand to hand or with knives, too.

[ Not that she apparently needs help wielding a knife. Or multiple. Kitchen knives count.

Cheek settling against her sternum again, he only flicks his gaze up at her answer of freedom, a kind of warm surprise sliding across the tether. It's a resonance, two bells chiming in harmony. ] Yeah, me too.

[ All he wants is to live his life on his terms. To some degree, it's what he's always wanted. After the military though, well, that had set it in concrete. ]

So, just the small stuff, got it.

[She's soothed by the surprise harmony of the bells and closes her eyes to savor the warmth that slips across the connection and seeps into her chest, comforted by the sound of easy understanding. There's affection in the little laugh that follows Arthur's quip, fed by the warmth she's been given.] You didn't ask for the smallest thing that's important to me!

[You have to be specific when dealing with fey and their obnoxious protégés!

There's a content sigh as her thumb traces lines on his shoulder blade, rustling leaves as she turns his offer over in her head and watches it bounce off of hours of similar recollections; target practice, one-on-one rehearsal of forms, cohort scrimmages on the proving grounds in front of audiences. Fond memories, exciting memories. A twinge of bittersweet nostalgia, too, reflecting on the skills she's lost.] I'd love to learn, if you really wouldn't mind. I prefer long range, myself.

[In a real fight, anyway.]

I know, I know. [ He says around a cheeky grin, having been purposely obtuse. ] What's the smallest, then? My guess would be Coconut.

[ Not to say that her familiar is an insignificant presence. But, the shared images he's gotten over the tether make it seem like the bright pink owl is simply tiny.

With the quiet hush of a breeze blowing through trees, he also gets the impressions of other bits of her life, of the party she travels with and fights alongside. Practice scuffles, feats of martial and magical prowess with a rapt audience. ] I don't mind; just a few weeks ago, I showed Sharon how to use a rifle and hit a moving target. She's pretty sharp.

[She is tiny, as far as owls go, and Kalmiya can't help but return the grin like she's in on the joke.] She's pretty high on the list! But the smallest thing that's important to me...

[She trails off as if contemplative, but truthfully she doesn't have to think about it at all. What she does have to think about, even if only for a moment, is how much she wants to reveal. She hasn't quite gotten used to being able to let go of that second-nature risk assessment when she's with Arthur yet. As comfortable as this is, it's still new.

She unwinds the arm from the side that Arthur isn't laying on and reaches under the blanket to pat at a spot on her person, one of many concealed pockets. With closed fist she retrieves the object inside and then settles her hand atop the covers at chest height, allowing him to see without moving from his comfortable sprawl too much.

It's a polished stainless steel ring, clearly fitted for one of Kalmiya's fingers. It's so unremarkable on the outside that it could be mistaken for a missing piece of machinery. However, as she tilts her palm, the bare light allowed into the room catches on a brilliant gold interior and highlights part of an engraving, though the full message can't be seen from this angle.

As she tilts the ring meditatively in her hand, a soft laugh leaves her.] That doesn't surprise me. Sharon is one of the sharpest people I've met here.

[ High on the list but not at the top of it; interesting. She doesn't answer right away though, the familiar sway of leaves filling in the space as she goes quiet, contemplative. He doesn't press further, just lets the silence lapse, idly listening to the steady sound of her breathing, of the muffled beat of her heart under his cheek. It's possible he's asked something too personal, so he'd understand if she ultimately passed on sharing it. The question had been borne from a bit of cheek, as well as genuine curiosity, but it didn't mean she was beholden to answer.

Eventually, she shifts a bit, holding a ring in the middle of her palm. The circle of it is small enough to clearly be fitted for her. Stainless steel loops the outer edge, unremarkable as jewelry goes. What's lined on the inside, however, catches in the bare light, a flowing script etched in with gold. None of the characters are recognizable; a language she knows, maybe, from her own world. ]

Yeah, she'd give most of the people I work with a run for their money. [ Fucking Nash. ] What language is it, on the inner part?

[There's a huff of fond amusement in acknowledgement of Arthur's endorsement of Sharon—and his indictment of some of his coworkers. Considering what she's already heard about the ones who are apparently good, she can't imagine how bad the bad ones must be.

What language is it is a fun place to start, but she couldn't expect something as nonspecific as "what is it" from Arthur. Carefully she slides it down from her palm into her curled fingers so that she can pinch it between forefinger and thumb, giving her a more precise range of motion to show off the golden interior.

Both her voice and heart soften with bittersweet nostalgia.] Celestial. The language of the angels.

It's my first language...sort of. [She doesn't need to read off the inscription; it's as engraved upon her memory as on the metal. Out loud, the syllables on her tongue are utterly alien. Short but not sharp, pleasant even where the usual fun lilt of her voice gives way to something more elegant, more ancient. While musical, it is less like a song and more like the clear ringing of glass.

Over the tether, Arthur can understand the meaning as he hears the words: Protect what matters by hiding what doesn't.]

[ Pinched between her fingers as it is, the edges of the inscription catch in the dim light. She explains it's the language of angels—something he never even considered. For one, he'd pretty certain they don't exist in his world. And for two, it's still startling to think there's enough of them where she's from to warrant a whole tongue.

Something about it, though, matches the flowing engraving. Even if it sounds less like words and is closer to the sound of wind chimes. Or the clear ring of a finger being drawn along the lip of a fine glass. The meaning fills in automatically, over their tether, and he both understands the message and doesn't.

On a practical level, he gets it: hide in plain sight. Sometimes, that was easier than trying to formulate a whole story or keep something important from falling into nefarious hands.

How it fits in with Kalmiya, though, he isn't sure. ]

Sort of?

[Having anticipated needing to clarify that, the answering thoughtful wind blows more in the direction of deciding how much of his unspoken curiosity to indulge. In the meantime, she focuses on the actual question.] Well, I'm mortal as far as I know, so I still had to be raised like a mortal child. Taught speech and language, and all that.

I had to learn speech as normal, and Common the way most mortals do, accumulating knowledge of what words go with what concepts. But I never had to be told what the word for a concept was in Celestial; it came to me as soon as I understood the concept being described.

So, I look at this... [She tilts the ring a few times in indication.] ...and my caretakers would tell me that in Common, it's called a "ring." A small piece of round jewelry for a finger. And then I would just know— in Celestial, it's a (ring.) Like I already knew the word, I just needed the thing it went to. I still had to practice saying it, but the mouth movements came much more naturally to me than speaking Common.

[This all feels like something that most people would consider incredibly boring. Thankfully, Arthur is not most people. Still, she decides to volunteer the main point of interest in this object. For her, anyway. Nostalgia and a pang of yearning underscore the wistful candor of her explanation.] My first partner had this made for me. He's an aasimar too— the first other I'd ever met.

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