Christ, she's young. Late teens, if he had to guess, and he's immediately apprehensive, sitting up straight and doing his best to scrape together as much dignity has he can muster. But it isn't really necessary, in the end. Daine sits down and gets to business with a frankness that's both foreign and refreshing (though being called handsome throws him for a brief loop, not being a compliment he's accustomed to receiving in any form, let alone delivered in the same matter-of-fact tone as one might read a weather forecast).
He isn't blind to the way she neatly redirects Martin towards tea, and he's wondering if he ought to be worried or impressed when she actually winks at him. He huffs without quite meaning to, another human sound of amused acknowledgment, and Daine smiles.
"I'm going to try opening up a bit," she tells him, tapping the side of her head for emphasis. "See if I can reach you. It shouldn't hurt or anything, but I s'pose it might feel a bit... odd." Privately, John thinks he's heard more encouraging openers, but the possibility of actually being understood is alluring enough that he stays put, tail twitching.
He isn't sure what her 'opening up' is going to look like, but all she does is shut her eyes and take a slow breath, apparently meditating. He watches her dubiously for a few moments, then glances over at Martin, who isn't so preoccupied with the tea that he doesn't have time to dart curious looks at the both of them. John looks back to Daine, sitting there with an outward serenity that he both envies and finds almost offensive, and then he... he feels something. A sort of tentative, feather-light brush against his mind, which is shortly followed by the sound of Daine's voice.
Hullo? Can you hear me?
John half-rises, his tail puffed and his eyes wide, and a faint line appears between her brows. It's all right, she... says? Thinks? Just think what you want to say, nice and clear.
Christ, is what he thinks, before realizing how unhelpful that is. This... connection, unnerving as it is, might not last for long. He can't waste it. Can you hear me? Can you tell Martin... he pauses, not knowing how to finish that sentence, before eventually deciding, Tell him... thank you. For getting me here.
Daine blinks her eyes open, then looks up at Martin. "He wants me to thank you. For getting him here, he says."
God, it actually worked. John's eyes are still wide, but he sits back down, his gaze flicking between Daine and Martin.
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He isn't blind to the way she neatly redirects Martin towards tea, and he's wondering if he ought to be worried or impressed when she actually winks at him. He huffs without quite meaning to, another human sound of amused acknowledgment, and Daine smiles.
"I'm going to try opening up a bit," she tells him, tapping the side of her head for emphasis. "See if I can reach you. It shouldn't hurt or anything, but I s'pose it might feel a bit... odd." Privately, John thinks he's heard more encouraging openers, but the possibility of actually being understood is alluring enough that he stays put, tail twitching.
He isn't sure what her 'opening up' is going to look like, but all she does is shut her eyes and take a slow breath, apparently meditating. He watches her dubiously for a few moments, then glances over at Martin, who isn't so preoccupied with the tea that he doesn't have time to dart curious looks at the both of them. John looks back to Daine, sitting there with an outward serenity that he both envies and finds almost offensive, and then he... he feels something. A sort of tentative, feather-light brush against his mind, which is shortly followed by the sound of Daine's voice.
Hullo? Can you hear me?
John half-rises, his tail puffed and his eyes wide, and a faint line appears between her brows. It's all right, she... says? Thinks? Just think what you want to say, nice and clear.
Christ, is what he thinks, before realizing how unhelpful that is. This... connection, unnerving as it is, might not last for long. He can't waste it. Can you hear me? Can you tell Martin... he pauses, not knowing how to finish that sentence, before eventually deciding, Tell him... thank you. For getting me here.
Daine blinks her eyes open, then looks up at Martin. "He wants me to thank you. For getting him here, he says."
God, it actually worked. John's eyes are still wide, but he sits back down, his gaze flicking between Daine and Martin.