[Space isn't the only thing Bigby needs, but it's the only thing that's easily attainable right now. And with the way he looks as he stalks through the castle, nobody seems to be in any hurry to deprive him — especially the servants, who try their hardest to not make eye contact with him as he brushes past them, clenching his hands open and closed, the gesture too deliberate and consistent to be unconscious.
The Emperor said that the only way he'd be able to get an audience with the traveler deities is if he proved himself to them in some way, and given the form they seem to be predisposed to, it's not hard to imagine what that may entail. They might not take him seriously in this shape, but if he were to approach them in a different one, one they could identify with—
Well, the odds are better then, aren't they?
Bigby raises his right hand, opens his palm as he turns it over. The bruises from his losing fight with the tree from a few days ago haven't just healed — it's like they were never there to begin with. There are faint lines in the skin around the knuckles where he'd cut himself on the bark that weren't there yesterday, and the area itself looks lightly red from all his clenching and unclenching but not swollen or discolored. He discovered this in the morning after waking up, and up until the Emperor had spoken to him, it had been the only confirmation he could get that there was still magic in him, slowly working its way back to the surface.
Slowly isn't good enough. It's not like he has time to just sit around and wait.
Taking a deep, controlled breath, Bigby closes his hand again, clenching it into a tight ball as he concentrates. What he's trying to force should come to him as smoothly and as effortlessly as flicking a switch, but it doesn't. He draws deep, trying to funnel every vestige of strength he can grasp onto into his palm, into each digit and muscle.
And, slowly but surely, it starts working. His nails tingle as they darken and lengthen into points, the hair on his palms and arms thickening. He can feel the change in his mouth as it takes root in his teeth, and he can taste it just as strongly: pine trees in the winter, warm fur, hot blood splashed over new snow. After having gone without it even for a couple of days, it's almost overwhelming to feel it again like this.
Just as he's about to take it a step further, a flash of white light shines out from the open balcony door across from him. Focus broken, hold relinquished, Bigby turns in its direction. What he sees is both expected and unexpected.
Expected because... well, isn't this the same balcony he met her at the other night? It sure looks like it. Unexpected because Aqua, for as unique a first impression as she had made, hadn't seemed quite this magical when he first met her. (Then again, neither did he.)]
Aqua?
[He's definitely staring, not in shock or disbelief, just simple surprise and a lack of knowing what to say. If he knew what he really looked like right now, he wouldn't look so mild about it.
Bigby's eyes, once a dark shade of brown, are now a bright, glowing yellow.]
no subject
The Emperor said that the only way he'd be able to get an audience with the traveler deities is if he proved himself to them in some way, and given the form they seem to be predisposed to, it's not hard to imagine what that may entail. They might not take him seriously in this shape, but if he were to approach them in a different one, one they could identify with—
Well, the odds are better then, aren't they?
Bigby raises his right hand, opens his palm as he turns it over. The bruises from his losing fight with the tree from a few days ago haven't just healed — it's like they were never there to begin with. There are faint lines in the skin around the knuckles where he'd cut himself on the bark that weren't there yesterday, and the area itself looks lightly red from all his clenching and unclenching but not swollen or discolored. He discovered this in the morning after waking up, and up until the Emperor had spoken to him, it had been the only confirmation he could get that there was still magic in him, slowly working its way back to the surface.
Slowly isn't good enough. It's not like he has time to just sit around and wait.
Taking a deep, controlled breath, Bigby closes his hand again, clenching it into a tight ball as he concentrates. What he's trying to force should come to him as smoothly and as effortlessly as flicking a switch, but it doesn't. He draws deep, trying to funnel every vestige of strength he can grasp onto into his palm, into each digit and muscle.
And, slowly but surely, it starts working. His nails tingle as they darken and lengthen into points, the hair on his palms and arms thickening. He can feel the change in his mouth as it takes root in his teeth, and he can taste it just as strongly: pine trees in the winter, warm fur, hot blood splashed over new snow. After having gone without it even for a couple of days, it's almost overwhelming to feel it again like this.
Just as he's about to take it a step further, a flash of white light shines out from the open balcony door across from him. Focus broken, hold relinquished, Bigby turns in its direction. What he sees is both expected and unexpected.
Expected because... well, isn't this the same balcony he met her at the other night? It sure looks like it. Unexpected because Aqua, for as unique a first impression as she had made, hadn't seemed quite this magical when he first met her. (Then again, neither did he.)]
Aqua?
[He's definitely staring, not in shock or disbelief, just simple surprise and a lack of knowing what to say. If he knew what he really looked like right now, he wouldn't look so mild about it.
Bigby's eyes, once a dark shade of brown, are now a bright, glowing yellow.]