[It's strange, to be able to really see someone working something like that. Everything at the Academy just happened, pathoses that just worked. A few girls that maybe needed physical gestures to focus or direct, but most of them got trained out of it, didn't need to give an enemy sign of what they were intending. But Sirius is different, isn't contained to one set of abilities, so maybe he needs the direction and definition more. Pure power getting shaped into each specific thing he wants, and for a second, watching him and the motions he makes through the air, Taylor remembers her art instructor and all the endless classes about feeling the material.
The sudden drop in temperature wouldn't bother her normally, but now it works to wake her up slightly, pull a little more alertness into her mind, even if the alcohol still breaks her focus into splinters - the movement of his raised hand, his grin, the first snowflake drifting down.
She just stares, for a long minute. Watches several of the flakes fall, as if they'll change at some point, disappear, turn out to be something false in the same way the ghost of her father had been. But they don't. As real as everything else in the room, even as she turns her attention upwards at the ceiling, expecting to see clouds, something. There'd been a girl in another team (Jennie's team, she remembers now) who messed with the weather, but it was always shaping what was already there. Not like this.]
Where is it coming from?
[Her voice is still quiet, but stronger, and even if she doesn't realise it, all of the trouble and weight that had still lingered on her expression is gone.]
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The sudden drop in temperature wouldn't bother her normally, but now it works to wake her up slightly, pull a little more alertness into her mind, even if the alcohol still breaks her focus into splinters - the movement of his raised hand, his grin, the first snowflake drifting down.
She just stares, for a long minute. Watches several of the flakes fall, as if they'll change at some point, disappear, turn out to be something false in the same way the ghost of her father had been. But they don't. As real as everything else in the room, even as she turns her attention upwards at the ceiling, expecting to see clouds, something. There'd been a girl in another team (Jennie's team, she remembers now) who messed with the weather, but it was always shaping what was already there. Not like this.]
Where is it coming from?
[Her voice is still quiet, but stronger, and even if she doesn't realise it, all of the trouble and weight that had still lingered on her expression is gone.]