Oh, well, [Sypha shrugs - her most intrinsic magic is instinctual, outside of the gestures she was taught to harness it. Sometimes conjuring up flames and waves feels like nothing so much as slathering paint across a canvass with a palette knife. Pure, gut-deep, expression.] Instinct I can do.
[She gnaws at her lip for a moment.] We could find somewhere else? Or set up a tent, or...
[Truthfully, she feels safe in her little room, with its locking door, and the scrap-piece-quilt spread over the bed. That coverlet had been her first real purchase here, dug out of a bin at some secondhand store, because the salvage feel of it reminded her of home. It's a silly thing to draw comfort from, she knows, but she's been alone here in a way she's never really had to square with before.]
no subject
[She gnaws at her lip for a moment.] We could find somewhere else? Or set up a tent, or...
[Truthfully, she feels safe in her little room, with its locking door, and the scrap-piece-quilt spread over the bed. That coverlet had been her first real purchase here, dug out of a bin at some secondhand store, because the salvage feel of it reminded her of home. It's a silly thing to draw comfort from, she knows, but she's been alone here in a way she's never really had to square with before.]