[If anything, Rowena's expression seems to sparkle all the more now that it's clear Merton's not terribly happy about her being here. There's nothing Rowena appreciates more than- well, shiatsu massages, filet mignon and young Sean Connery, now that she thinks about it- there's no type of information Rowena appreciates more than leverage, even against people who have only ever been good to her. Rowena doesn't trust anyone's goodness to last very long; when you live nearly four hundred years, you have plenty of time to see that there isn't a person alive for whom cooperation is a certain constant. Merton's basically telegraphing Come Get Some Free Dirt on Me: Limited Time Offer.
She puts two and two together very quickly. Not only is the memory itself fairly self-explanatory, but Rowena's from a world where werewolves are, if not commonplace, certainly a part of the supernatural veil in which she spends time. Monsters and beasties aren't typically her area of affairs, but a witch must consort with people from all walks of life if she's to gain the knowledge necessary to master all the forces of magic.]
You know, when someone first called me a witch, I tried to prove her wrong. [She raises her eyebrows and smirks. It's close to camaraderie. She's apologizing, almost, for Tommy and his defensiveness, as if to tell Merton it's not anything personal that Tommy lashed out so cruelly and so unnecessarily at someone trying to do him a kindness.] Somehow I convinced myself that if I set her on fire with my mind, that would prove that everything she was saying was bollocks.
[She idly pets her ponytail as she watches, all but giggling to herself, smug in what she believes to be unimpeachable observation prowess.]
no subject
[If anything, Rowena's expression seems to sparkle all the more now that it's clear Merton's not terribly happy about her being here. There's nothing Rowena appreciates more than- well, shiatsu massages, filet mignon and young Sean Connery, now that she thinks about it- there's no type of information Rowena appreciates more than leverage, even against people who have only ever been good to her. Rowena doesn't trust anyone's goodness to last very long; when you live nearly four hundred years, you have plenty of time to see that there isn't a person alive for whom cooperation is a certain constant. Merton's basically telegraphing Come Get Some Free Dirt on Me: Limited Time Offer.
She puts two and two together very quickly. Not only is the memory itself fairly self-explanatory, but Rowena's from a world where werewolves are, if not commonplace, certainly a part of the supernatural veil in which she spends time. Monsters and beasties aren't typically her area of affairs, but a witch must consort with people from all walks of life if she's to gain the knowledge necessary to master all the forces of magic.]
You know, when someone first called me a witch, I tried to prove her wrong. [She raises her eyebrows and smirks. It's close to camaraderie. She's apologizing, almost, for Tommy and his defensiveness, as if to tell Merton it's not anything personal that Tommy lashed out so cruelly and so unnecessarily at someone trying to do him a kindness.] Somehow I convinced myself that if I set her on fire with my mind, that would prove that everything she was saying was bollocks.
[She idly pets her ponytail as she watches, all but giggling to herself, smug in what she believes to be unimpeachable observation prowess.]
You fancy him, don't you?