This isn't fair, her inner teenager whines, to lose him to awkwardness in the same conversation in which she'd just won him back. How can she possibly explain that whatever she, in her deepest and most self-indulgent of thoughts, may want, she knows what the boundaries of their relationship are? She'd never ask for more, she's lucky enough to have what she does, he doesn't need to give her any more—
"America?" She pounces eagerly on the change in focus, happy not to linger on her unknowing mistake. "That's where you lived before this, isn't it?"
He's mentioned his former country in passing, sometimes, explained the basics of it, its name and the major cities he's made reference to. Her curiosity has induced him, even, to explain if there is a New York, is there an Old York? But that doesn't explain how a slip of the tongue could have had him calling her—oh!
"Wait, America Chavez was one of the witches from that dream! You..."
are using her to get a re-do on mistakes made with America and Wanda. Right.
Ness slumps in her seat a little, disheartened at the reminder, but she doesn't allow herself to mope.
"Are we very alike? America and I, I mean."
Edited (it's not perfect but IT'S DONE) 2025-08-19 18:40 (UTC)
“No,” is the automatic answer, without even having to stop to think about it, almost smiling in the response. Stephen hasn’t mentioned the girl much to anyone in detail, besides marvelling at America’s abilities and their implications, what it might mean to be able to open your own personal rifts in Thedas or be able to go home, but— there’s still a fondness in his voice when he speaks of her.
“Dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin, the two of you don’t look at all alike. And in personality, she’s… well, ruder. Impatient. Punchy, literally and figuratively. But in other ways…”
He trails off, trying to figure out what drew the line between them besides the fact that they’re his mentees. There had to be something else which didn’t have anything to do with him.
In the end, he settles on: “She was initially afraid of her powers, too. And she’s curious and determined and independent. So, in some ways, I suppose you’re alike.”
Rude, impatient, punchy–Stephen is right, Ness certainly isn't any of those things. It occurs to her to ask which he prefers, to offer to be more "punchy", if he would like that better–
She closes her mouth before the question is even fully formed in her own mind.
"You're nothing like Vazeiros," she offers in return, "physically, of course, but also..."
Ness trails off, brow furrowed and gaze turned inward, considering. She's never described her father to anyone in any sort of depth; either the Avowed in Candlekeep knew him and thus required no description, or a stranger wasn't interested in what kind of person he was. It's difficult to put words to the observations she made over a decade and a half, the traits and preferences she noted in an effort to make sense of the man who made her, and it takes her a moment to find a place to begin.
"He has no taste for excess," she tests the sentence–and immediately shakes her head, no, that's not quite it– "No, not excess–not material excess. Waste."
That she lets sit a moment, then nods.
"He can see the straight line from action to result, and will always choose the most economic route between the two. Energy and effort are finite resources, which must not be expended beyond what is required; to do otherwise would be wasteful. And the result is what matters, all other considerations are tertiary."
If the calculus is beautiful, that is irrelevant. It is.
"It's how he survived Menzoberranzan," she concludes, "but it made him cold. Have you missed America?"
Once upon a time, perhaps he’d have skittishly backed off from admitting that he had any sentimental attachments back home, but he’s loosened up over the course of his time in Thedas. So: “Of course,” he says, “but at least I’ve no end of people here to kick me down a few pegs. I didn’t actually know her that well yet, so maybe I’m missing more— what could have been. I’ve already known you longer.”
And then Stephen absentmindedly drums his fingers against his knee, considering that description of Vazeiros. “I think I’m fairly results-driven,” he points out, mulling it over.
"They're sometimes worse, I think," she says, quietly wistful, "the could-have-beens."
The apprentice America could have been, the father Vazeiros could have—one never really stops worrying at the possibilities, much as one might try. Like a loose tooth, you keep pushing at it with your tongue, just to feel it wiggle.
The silence between them draws out, interrupted only by the drumming of Stephen's fingers while Ness nearly falls into melancholy next to him. She hums in agreement when he speaks, distracted—he is very results-driven, she's thought so herself—
and then stops.
"What, you mean like Vazeiros? That's entirely different."
Obviously. But then, perhaps it's not quite as obvious to someone who's only met a facsimile of the real elf. Ness shifts in her seat, facing Stephen more full-on.
"The results you pursue are always about people. Not individuals, necessarily, but as a collective—how can you benefit the most people, what will do the most good with the least cost. And you're not cold at all, not really. You do a good impression when you need to, but that's not who you are. You don't have to hug people all the time to be warm."
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no subject
"America?" She pounces eagerly on the change in focus, happy not to linger on her unknowing mistake. "That's where you lived before this, isn't it?"
He's mentioned his former country in passing, sometimes, explained the basics of it, its name and the major cities he's made reference to. Her curiosity has induced him, even, to explain if there is a New York, is there an Old York? But that doesn't explain how a slip of the tongue could have had him calling her—oh!
"Wait, America Chavez was one of the witches from that dream! You..."
are using her to get a re-do on mistakes made with America and Wanda. Right.
Ness slumps in her seat a little, disheartened at the reminder, but she doesn't allow herself to mope.
"Are we very alike? America and I, I mean."
no subject
“Dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin, the two of you don’t look at all alike. And in personality, she’s… well, ruder. Impatient. Punchy, literally and figuratively. But in other ways…”
He trails off, trying to figure out what drew the line between them besides the fact that they’re his mentees. There had to be something else which didn’t have anything to do with him.
In the end, he settles on: “She was initially afraid of her powers, too. And she’s curious and determined and independent. So, in some ways, I suppose you’re alike.”
no subject
She closes her mouth before the question is even fully formed in her own mind.
"You're nothing like Vazeiros," she offers in return, "physically, of course, but also..."
Ness trails off, brow furrowed and gaze turned inward, considering. She's never described her father to anyone in any sort of depth; either the Avowed in Candlekeep knew him and thus required no description, or a stranger wasn't interested in what kind of person he was. It's difficult to put words to the observations she made over a decade and a half, the traits and preferences she noted in an effort to make sense of the man who made her, and it takes her a moment to find a place to begin.
"He has no taste for excess," she tests the sentence–and immediately shakes her head, no, that's not quite it– "No, not excess–not material excess. Waste."
That she lets sit a moment, then nods.
"He can see the straight line from action to result, and will always choose the most economic route between the two. Energy and effort are finite resources, which must not be expended beyond what is required; to do otherwise would be wasteful. And the result is what matters, all other considerations are tertiary."
If the calculus is beautiful, that is irrelevant. It is.
"It's how he survived Menzoberranzan," she concludes, "but it made him cold. Have you missed America?"
no subject
And then Stephen absentmindedly drums his fingers against his knee, considering that description of Vazeiros. “I think I’m fairly results-driven,” he points out, mulling it over.
no subject
The apprentice America could have been, the father Vazeiros could have—one never really stops worrying at the possibilities, much as one might try. Like a loose tooth, you keep pushing at it with your tongue, just to feel it wiggle.
The silence between them draws out, interrupted only by the drumming of Stephen's fingers while Ness nearly falls into melancholy next to him. She hums in agreement when he speaks, distracted—he is very results-driven, she's thought so herself—
and then stops.
"What, you mean like Vazeiros? That's entirely different."
Obviously. But then, perhaps it's not quite as obvious to someone who's only met a facsimile of the real elf. Ness shifts in her seat, facing Stephen more full-on.
"The results you pursue are always about people. Not individuals, necessarily, but as a collective—how can you benefit the most people, what will do the most good with the least cost. And you're not cold at all, not really. You do a good impression when you need to, but that's not who you are. You don't have to hug people all the time to be warm."