"Maybe it would be a good idea to set ourselves on a trajectory. You tell me one thing you'd like to accomplish first, and I can draw you up a path of the fundamentals you'll have to get through to get there. There will be more spells like this on the way- this is foundational stuff, that thing with your thumb, you're going to have to have that skill down to do bigger stuff. But this way, there won't be a sense that you're wasting your time."
It's the best way he can think of to approach this work, given the limitations of the barge and her sense of urgency.
Nina takes a deep breath and nods, calming herself. "That makes sense," she agrees, sounding a little apologetic. She really doesn't mean to be as difficult about it as she knows she is.
She thinks for a moment, reaching out to touch the teacup lightly, feeling its heat through the ceramic. "I just want to be able to protect myself here," she murmurs. "That's still all I really want. I just don't want to be so afraid anymore."
He thinks this through, and decides the answer is probably;
"There'll be a lot of foundational work, but I think we should work you up to a fainting hex. It'll do literally almost no harm to anyone, unless they fall and hit their head funny, but it's quick and clean and it'll get you out of just about anything."
She mulls this over. It would work in a fight, in a pinch, but not all of the dangers she fears are quite like that. Not necessarily things that can be cured by knocking one person out one time -- neither in these close quarters, nor out in the world where any bid for freedom means being hunted.
"Could you make me disappear?" she asks suddenly, twisting around to look back up at him. "Or-- could I do that? Is that possible?"
"I'm sorry, no- it's one of the kinds of magic that's very dangerous. The closest thing I can do is a camouflage charm-"
And how to demonstrate that? He glances around, then picks up a sugar cube from a bowl on the table, says a few words, and then spits into his palm- and turns a glittery white, very candy man can.
"It makes a lot more sense in the woods." He supplies. "But yeah- you can actually disappear just fine, you just can never reappear without looking subtly wrong, like a painting of a human."
She doesn't even really have time to be disappointed before he turns into some kind of sugar plum fairy before her eyes -- which makes it rather difficult to concentrate on what he says next, but she does get the gist. Not that, then.
"Maybe fainting to start with, then," she concedes. "Now change back -- you're freaking me out."
She blinks owlishly. "Yes, I suppose. I hadn't thought of it that way."
She enjoys the Enclosure trips -- loves them, actually -- but she's started to keep them separate in her mind. With Quentin leading them as much as he does, they feel almost more like healing time than work; she usually comes out of them feeling happy and energized in a way she rarely does otherwise. Even with the teacup magic, the idea of doing it herself seems impossibly far away.
She nods and flashes him a taut but grateful smile. "Less danger."
She takes a breath and nods again, reaching for her teacup. "Maybe I could
have turned into a starling during the flood and hidden away somewhere,"
she mutters ruefully.
"Well, when you take a bunch of people who are used to lying and force them to tell the truth to each other, it doesn't always go very well," she says dryly, sipping her tea.
It could have been worse, really, she knows. No one got violent with her, although there are definitely a few people who know she could take that a lot better than she lets on. She doesn't think anyone will really stop speaking to her, although there are a couple of dicey cases there. But mostly...
She sighs and shakes her head, absently brushing her hair back from her face. "It was tiring," she admits. "Very tiring."
She leans her head on her hand and smiles wanly at him. Of all the wardens, it's Quentin she comes closest to forgetting herself with. She's most painfully honest with Tommy even when she's not flood-affected, but the emphasis there is on the painful; Quentin is the closest thing she has to a real friend, a real confidante, among them.
But he's her teacher, not her friend. She hasn't forgotten the difference yet.
"I'll be all right," she assures him, leaning back in her chair, crossing her legs. "I'm just not used to it. Spies -- we're not known for our non-fiction."
"An open book?" she offers, her smile widening a little, growing warmer.
"You remind me of a friend of mine," she admits, despite the shields she still holds in her mind. "He was never meant for KGB. He could handle the pressure, but not the secrecy, even working at a desk."
"I don't really know much about it," she admits. "The... sci-fi, fantasy."
"My friend was a realist, too." Like her. Very much like her. Despite everything, she still considers herself a realist, a pragmatist. She only believes in the magic because it is, quite literally, in front of her eyes. "We don't have magicians, so he was going to leave for med school."
She falls quiet for a moment, sipping her tea, though her silence is a pensive one; she's clearly thinking about something.
"I never thought about anything else," she admits eventually. "There was never any other plan for me. Always I wanted to serve my-- what used to be my country."
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It's the best way he can think of to approach this work, given the limitations of the barge and her sense of urgency.
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She thinks for a moment, reaching out to touch the teacup lightly, feeling its heat through the ceramic. "I just want to be able to protect myself here," she murmurs. "That's still all I really want. I just don't want to be so afraid anymore."
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"There'll be a lot of foundational work, but I think we should work you up to a fainting hex. It'll do literally almost no harm to anyone, unless they fall and hit their head funny, but it's quick and clean and it'll get you out of just about anything."
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"Could you make me disappear?" she asks suddenly, twisting around to look back up at him. "Or-- could I do that? Is that possible?"
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And how to demonstrate that? He glances around, then picks up a sugar cube from a bowl on the table, says a few words, and then spits into his palm- and turns a glittery white, very candy man can.
"It makes a lot more sense in the woods." He supplies. "But yeah- you can actually disappear just fine, you just can never reappear without looking subtly wrong, like a painting of a human."
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"Maybe fainting to start with, then," she concedes. "Now change back -- you're freaking me out."
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"-and we could do smaller animals, too. A starling, maybe?"
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She gestures to the cup, framing it with one of Popper's terrible positions. "This is for work."
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A threat would have to be pretty specific to be able to take her down if she were suddenly a starling.
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She enjoys the Enclosure trips -- loves them, actually -- but she's started to keep them separate in her mind. With Quentin leading them as much as he does, they feel almost more like healing time than work; she usually comes out of them feeling happy and energized in a way she rarely does otherwise. Even with the teacup magic, the idea of doing it herself seems impossibly far away.
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Then she will have a solid skillset to use.
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She nods and flashes him a taut but grateful smile. "Less danger."
She takes a breath and nods again, reaching for her teacup. "Maybe I could have turned into a starling during the flood and hidden away somewhere," she mutters ruefully.
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Quentin wonders, settling down with a small sigh, wincing on her behalf.
"What happened?"
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It could have been worse, really, she knows. No one got violent with her, although there are definitely a few people who know she could take that a lot better than she lets on. She doesn't think anyone will really stop speaking to her, although there are a couple of dicey cases there. But mostly...
She sighs and shakes her head, absently brushing her hair back from her face. "It was tiring," she admits. "Very tiring."
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He shrugs, idly.
"-if, you know. You need to vent."
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But he's her teacher, not her friend. She hasn't forgotten the difference yet.
"I'll be all right," she assures him, leaning back in her chair, crossing her legs. "I'm just not used to it. Spies -- we're not known for our non-fiction."
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He says, watching her back, and eventually nodding. Good, he trusts her assessment of that; he also believes she will be, then.
"I guess it'd be really jarring. I mean I found it unsettling, talking about the things I try not to talk about, and I'm kind of-"
What's a nice, not too self-deprecating phrase for 'not very mysterious'?
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"You remind me of a friend of mine," she admits, despite the shields she still holds in her mind. "He was never meant for KGB. He could handle the pressure, but not the secrecy, even working at a desk."
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He admits, with a shake of his head.
"It's the scifi-fantasy enthusiast in me."
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"My friend was a realist, too." Like her. Very much like her. Despite everything, she still considers herself a realist, a pragmatist. She only believes in the magic because it is, quite literally, in front of her eyes. "We don't have magicians, so he was going to leave for med school."
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He admits, with a faint nod.
"I would probably have gone into mathematics, though."
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"I never thought about anything else," she admits eventually. "There was never any other plan for me. Always I wanted to serve my-- what used to be my country."
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Quentin says.
"I mean, obviously, I wouldn't go back in time and change the outcome of the cold war, but I can imagine it must be really disorienting and weird."
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She looks up. "I told you what happened, yes? The FBI turning me, the gulag?"
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He admits, with a nod.
"Most of it, anyways. I'm really sorry, if I didn't say it then."
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