Gibberish

[Kit Rowan]

Day 84, Season of Summer, 507 AV

They were sitting outside in Alvadas where illusion had made the streets seem soft sand, in a narrow place where there was no traffic to see or know. Her father was holding up his jacket. "I know you can do it," he said. And Kit leaned forward, squinting at it, sighed and ruffled up her hair. She closed her eyes breathed haaaa out. It was easier to find her center now that she ahd done so much practice, easier to empty her mind. It was like clearing the table before settling down for a project, so she could turn her heart away from distractions and bring her attention on one thing.

The sand shifted beneath her body as she moved her now-short hair did not fall against her back . . . Kit drew an inverted triangle over her eyes and opened them. She stared at her father's coat, narrowed her attention through it, through it . . . The last time she had tried her mind had a hard time comprehending of 'seeing' past things. But reading an aura was not sight, precisely. It was just a matter of convincing her mind of that.

'Just.' It had taken forever and still she hadn't gotten the hang of it. Until, she thought, lips curling up into a smile, for right now; Kit felt the aura of something else in her father's jacket pocket, not the comfortable softness of the garment itself but something hard and rough. "I see it, papa."

Her father's eyes lit up, shone with a joy and pride that made Kit smile and nearly broke her concentration. She felt a pressure on her temple and the smile faded away, her brows knitting together as she struggled to hold onto the object. "Very good Kit," he said. "Can you tell me anything about it?"

It was hard, very hard to even hang on. Kit flared her nostrils, leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. It didn't help, not directly, but like gestures it helped to frame her intent, to coax her magic into working properly. The aura was a homogeneous mass, bare bones and simple compared to the near-blinding aura of a person or animal. Kit traced an inverted triangle on her palm, tried to get a better feel of the thing. Again she realized it felt rough, and in a way that was familiar. Familiar . . . Realization took Kit, and she cut off the spell, smiling wide. "It's the stone!" She sang. "The stone you used to teach me."

Her father smiled, leaned forward, tousled Kit's hair. "Lhex loves me," he said. "He could not have given me a better daughter." Kit smiled, hunched her shoulders and basked in her father's praise.

[Kit Rowan]

"Your mother was never much interested in magic," her father said, leading her town the streets, hand laid affectionately on her shoulder. Alvadas did not yet love him, and would carry his steps a long time before taking him to where he needed to go, but there was nowhere urgent to go and Kit liked walking like this, with a parent at her shoulder, she grabbed at her wrist, smiled into her chest. "How are you feeling?"

Her eyes ached. Things went a little fuzzy if she stared at them too long, but she wanted to seem smile again. "Good, papa." She grinned, stared up at her father and blinked some of the strain away. "Could do this all day."

He squeezed her shoulder. "That's my girl." It was a good day for him, today, she'd seen. His eyes never went distant, his voice never lost its focus, it seemed to Kit that her father was always watching her. Though his knuckles were swollen and his body thin, his smile was sincere and his mind still had its edge. "You're doing well with objects," he said. "I think maybe it's time you've started moving on to sentients."

Kit tilted her head to the side. "Sentients?"

"The races with higher thought functions," he said. "Like humans, Isur, Konti . . ." He trailed off, let her fill in the blanks that she knew.

Kit bit down on her lip, shifted in her stance. They were painful to look at, their auras so strong . . . it was like stepping in front of a bonfire after only ever seen candles. "Okay papa."

[Kit Rowan]

Time passed. While she had put on a brave face Kit's father seemed to sense that she was not quite alright, and they walked through the city for a while, her stretched senses slowly remembering the way they were meant to work when magic was not warping them. Kit turned her eyes toward the impossibilities of the city, saw a school of fish made of rainbow light sail through the sky. She gasped, broke free of her father's grasp and ran out in the middle of them, leaping up, trying to grab them between her fingers as they scattered, swirled around her in a circle while she stepped back, laughing, taking spinning steps on a foot.

Then she heard a deep, rasping cough, and stopped, something heavy settling over her heart. The lightfish dispersed to wherever illusions go when no one watching, left Kit alone in the street with her father. He hand a hand to his mouth, his eyes closed tight, face pinched in terrible strain as he hyuuuuck! Hyuuuuuuuck! His cough sounded wet, and terrible uncomfortable. "Papa?" Kit asked, her head tilting to the side, eyes getting wide. "Papa?!"

"I'm . . . " Hyuuuuck! He spat to the side, ran a hand over his face. ". . . I'm fine. I think, we'll stop here, Kova." He massaged his throat, blinked, breathed.

Kit bit her lip, trying to measure the merits of allowing her father's delusion. "'Course," Kit said, wandering back. She grabbed hold of his arm, led him to the side of the street and leaned him against the wall. "You don't gotta go anywhere. We can rest a while."

"Yes." He shook his head, blinked, turned eyes toward her. "Sit down here, so you can see me." He slid down the side of the wall, let himself rest on the floor. When Kit merely hovered over him, wringing her hands, he waved her away. "It's nothing. Settle down, little fox. You'll have to focus."

Kit was cheered by use of her own nickname. She planted her rear on the cobble and crossed her legs, planting her hands between them as she leaned forward, now attentive. Her father smiled. "You worry more than I'm worth," he said. "I pushed you into this. I didn't tell you what it meant, till later. And you're still going along with it."

He was right. He had. Kit would not tell him that he was wrong. She shrugged. "Too late. You can't back out now," she said. "I've already got a taste for it."

Her father reached up, rested his hand on her cheek, and though she was wary his eyes still looked sane. "You do, don't you?" His expression shifted from gladness to something both bitter and sweet that she could not decipher. "You are my daughter." Kit knew he meant it.

A few ticks later, forever later, he coughed, removed his hand and leaned back against the side of the street. "Can you read my aura?" He said, giving her a tired smile. "Tell me what you feel."

[Kit Rowan]

Kit closed her eyes again, struggled to find herself, let the world filter away. She opened her eyes and stared straight at her father, her breathing carefully even. She started to draw an inverted triangle over her eye . . . Frowned. Her hand hovered for a moment before skirting down over her heart. She bit down on her lip and traced an inverted triangle over it.

It was hard. Hard. It wasn't a gesture that Kit had practice and it took time for her to expand her sight, allow her father's aura to creep inside. At first, she barely got another. She felt silly, watching her father sitting there doing nothing and then, then she fell upon his aura and sensation overwhelmed. His aura seemed tremendous and bright, expanding to the span of a hand around his body and blurring everything. Kit made a soft, strangled sound in the back of her throat.

"Narrow your senses," her father said, ad she drew another triangle over his heart. "You can't see everything. Find something. Something . . ." His aura was red and warm like a hearthfire, with sickly green something at its edges. She drew another triangle over her chest and tried to go further, further . . . Further . . .

And then her focus broke, and Kit slumped over herself, panting, shutting her eyes and shaking her head. She let the aura slip through her fingers and was glad to see it go. "Are you alright?" A hand touched her shoulder. "Did you press too far?"

"Is fang," Kit said, rubbing vigorously at her eyes and turning her face up toward her father, strands of hair fallen in front of her face, smiling a shaky little smile. "I'm fine."

Her father stared, touched her on the shoulder. "I pushed you too far," he said, and there was no question in his voice this time. He leaned back, press a hand to his forehead and slowly shook his head. "Don't try to hide it, Kit. If you push yourself too hard you can do terrible damage to yourself. You know that."

She looked down, twiddled her thumbs. "Is sails."

[Kit Rowan]

"It's rather common in auristics overgiving," he said. "And . . . Usually not very serious."

Now they walked along the narrow, winding streets on cobbles that changed color as they stepped on them, glowed with ethereal light. Kit shuffled forward, stared at the ground, her muscles tense, eyes darting. She turned to her father, grabbed his arm and stared up at him with wide eyes. "Hap lack wack tack lake?"

"It might take a while before you get better, or just today . . . I don't know how hard you looked. I don't know what you saw." He looked away from her a moment, closed his eyes and shook his head. "I think you can still speak, though? You did earlier. Can you try your question again?"

Kit closed her eyes slowed her steps. Breathed in, breathed out. "You. Answered." She scratched her nails over her face. "Hop cawI tact yet if yet magical me for math?"

"What was that?"

Kit kept on looking up into his eyes, a faint fear set in her face before she turned away. "Nothing."

Her father stared for a moment, then let off, perhaps deciding not to pry. "You can communicate," he said, and when Kit turned she saw a man old while young. Her was perhaps forty now, but he looked older. His white hair seemed sapped of life, and the kindness of his face had drained away to make room for something empty and hollow and sad. "That's good. You should keep doing that. Remind your mind the way words ought to be said. Maybe that will help you recover faster." It sounded like a guess to Kit, but not one she was about to dispute. "What did you see? What did you perceive in my aura?"

She turned toward the road. For a while they walked along together, and Kit said nothing at all. "Fire," Kit said, carefully enunciating the word. "Warm."

"Is that all?" Her father said. "Is that all you saw?"

Kit averted her eyes then and swallowed hard. "Yes."

"Don't worry, Kit." He said. Again her used her real name! He stopped her from moving forward, grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him, knelt down so that he was on her level and pulled her into a hug. "It's alright." For a while she simply stood, frozen. Was this okay? Could she have a parent who held her? Could she have someone who would hug her and hold her? , then Her hands wrapped around her tight, tight, like they never meant to let go. She buried her head into his shoulder and cried.

"It's easier to see, now." He murmured. "Your mother would never rely on me like this. She would never open herself to me like this, Kit," he said, holding her ever closer. "My daughter, it's okay to cry. I love you."

And she did, for quite a while.

[Elysium]

Kit Rowan

Experience
Meditation +1
Auristics +3
Observation +2

Lore
Auristics: How to See Through Barriers
Auristics: Sentient Auras
Auristics: Looking Too Deeply
Overgiving: Gibberish

Notes
Oh no! Poor girl. It looks as if Kit is going to lose her Father. I for one, am very much enjoying this narrative. Good work!