In answer: a low rumble of assent, the last turning of the crystal between the fingertips. And he might snip the connection shut here, but instead says, "Good luck with your charges, Rowntree," first.
And then, some of the heat in him having faded to a more manageable simmer, he does twist to cut the line between them. The stone's color fades promptly, leaving him alone in the room with his lamp and his papers, and the twinging sensation of something unsatisfied paired with the flush quality of something (less easy to name) that is.
Rather than take up the discarded pages immediately, he fumbles for a moment more with the stone between his fingers. Unwinds the cord, wrapping it loosely about his fingers instead. Lays his fingernails on its binding knot and contemplated the flexion of it. Considers, distantly, picking it free. Ultimately lets it be.
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And then, some of the heat in him having faded to a more manageable simmer, he does twist to cut the line between them. The stone's color fades promptly, leaving him alone in the room with his lamp and his papers, and the twinging sensation of something unsatisfied paired with the flush quality of something (less easy to name) that is.
Rather than take up the discarded pages immediately, he fumbles for a moment more with the stone between his fingers. Unwinds the cord, wrapping it loosely about his fingers instead. Lays his fingernails on its binding knot and contemplated the flexion of it. Considers, distantly, picking it free. Ultimately lets it be.
Later.