Kell is not even remotely aware how much of his actions are motivated by his magic, like an entity within himself, like a different being he's in constant wordless conversation with. The very reason he found Holland's opinion on magic so shocking. He's too much in tune with his own for having ever considered trying to bend it to his will, to bring it to heel like a captured and trained animal. And for that he's been called weak by the only other Antari he's ever known.
So when it reaches out now, deeply fascinated by the other creature in the room, the force it feels under its woman-shaped exterior, Kell reads the fascination as his own. So deeply it is enmeshed with his thoughts and feelings that it's sometimes difficult to tell their sources apart. He smiles at her answer and bows. Maybe too theatrically for her being his only audience. The older gentleman having left while he was ruffling through his papers. Only later on Kell will realize that the man might have gotten a wrong impression he's intruding on something private, even if the teashop is a public place. To the untrained eye one magic meeting another might an awful lot resemble flirting. Not one primordial being recognizing its faraway counterpart.
Fully oblivious to this, Kell takes both menus with him, as he goes back behind the counter to prepare his newest creation. Over time, he had elevated this practice to almost a ritual. They have people who come to the Winking Cauldron less for the tea or the company and more for the spectacle. Kell finds the structure of his work soothing. It's the reason he stayed at this job for so long. It manages to do what he struggles to achieve through formal meditation, it calms his inner turmoil down, slows the barrage of his thoughts and lets his keep his focus unfaltering on a very well defined sequence of steps. The process has its variations depending on what he's exactly brewing, but there's as much comfort in the stability of the overall structure as it's novelty in the variation that keeps him from getting bored and ditching the thing.
The resulting concoction gives of an impression of lush a jasmine bush in the full bloom on a night under starry skies. There are earthy undertone that call images of a recent rain, with drops still glistening on the leaves. It's strong without being overpowering, refreshing for a drink with a subtle kick of spice. Hard to tell how much of the impression is the tea itself, and how much magic of the person preparing it that slipped in unnoticed.
Kell brings the steaming cup to Sabine's table, puts it in front of her with gracefully practiced move. He places a silver spoon above the cup.
"Enjoy," he wishes straightening up. "Please let me know if you'd like anything else. We have a selection of pastries to go with tea."
He retreats to his place behind the counter, takes out his notes and tries not to stare at her. It's rude, but he can't help a curious glance once in a while. They are the only people here.
no subject
So when it reaches out now, deeply fascinated by the other creature in the room, the force it feels under its woman-shaped exterior, Kell reads the fascination as his own. So deeply it is enmeshed with his thoughts and feelings that it's sometimes difficult to tell their sources apart. He smiles at her answer and bows. Maybe too theatrically for her being his only audience. The older gentleman having left while he was ruffling through his papers. Only later on Kell will realize that the man might have gotten a wrong impression he's intruding on something private, even if the teashop is a public place. To the untrained eye one magic meeting another might an awful lot resemble flirting. Not one primordial being recognizing its faraway counterpart.
Fully oblivious to this, Kell takes both menus with him, as he goes back behind the counter to prepare his newest creation. Over time, he had elevated this practice to almost a ritual. They have people who come to the Winking Cauldron less for the tea or the company and more for the spectacle. Kell finds the structure of his work soothing. It's the reason he stayed at this job for so long. It manages to do what he struggles to achieve through formal meditation, it calms his inner turmoil down, slows the barrage of his thoughts and lets his keep his focus unfaltering on a very well defined sequence of steps. The process has its variations depending on what he's exactly brewing, but there's as much comfort in the stability of the overall structure as it's novelty in the variation that keeps him from getting bored and ditching the thing.
The resulting concoction gives of an impression of lush a jasmine bush in the full bloom on a night under starry skies. There are earthy undertone that call images of a recent rain, with drops still glistening on the leaves. It's strong without being overpowering, refreshing for a drink with a subtle kick of spice. Hard to tell how much of the impression is the tea itself, and how much magic of the person preparing it that slipped in unnoticed.
Kell brings the steaming cup to Sabine's table, puts it in front of her with gracefully practiced move. He places a silver spoon above the cup.
"Enjoy," he wishes straightening up. "Please let me know if you'd like anything else. We have a selection of pastries to go with tea."
He retreats to his place behind the counter, takes out his notes and tries not to stare at her. It's rude, but he can't help a curious glance once in a while. They are the only people here.