For a full ten seconds Jack appears to have completely shut down, and looking at him makes Eliot feel guilty. He's been through enough already, being taken here. Eliot himself had a hard enough time adjusting when he first arrived, and he had a reasonable foundation of dimensional travel under his belt. But now he's gone and tried too hard to be impressive, again, and to what end? He frowns a little, and keeps eating. The pastry is exactly as flaky and delicious as it always is, but Eliot enjoys it a little less as he sits and waits for this man to, probably, have some kind of meltdown.
But then he doesn't; Jack seems to pull himself together, and Eliot wonders if that's simply what he looks like when he's thinking. And it's a very good question he's raised.
"Aren't you shrewd," says Eliot, feeling less guilty and much more impressed. "And unfortunately it depends. Back home, the systems I learned, there were limits to one person's capability, variables dependent on when and where you're working a spell and some rather nasty consequences if you pushed yourself too far and fucked it up." That's putting it lightly, makes it sound like a joke, but Eliot doesn't have the wherewithal to get deep into theory and personal tragedy here. He sighs.
"Here, though? I'm not certain what the limits are, and I haven't tried too hard to find out. There are people here from different worlds whose abilities seem limitless to my understanding. Perhaps they're operating on a different scale, but," he shrugs and sips his coffee. "For myself it's a convenience. Minor mendings, finding lost objects, lifting heavy boxes, that sort of thing. Bit of crime," Eliot adds, because if anyone's going to refrain from judgement on that score it's a known criminal, "and there's battle magic, of course, but I dislike personal violence and so far there hasn't been a need."
That's downplaying it by a fair margin, but he doesn't want to leave Jack completely overwhelmed. Eliot nudges the halved tart toward him, slightly annoyed that he hadn't taken the hint. "Here, this is for you," he says gently. "Try it."
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But then he doesn't; Jack seems to pull himself together, and Eliot wonders if that's simply what he looks like when he's thinking. And it's a very good question he's raised.
"Aren't you shrewd," says Eliot, feeling less guilty and much more impressed. "And unfortunately it depends. Back home, the systems I learned, there were limits to one person's capability, variables dependent on when and where you're working a spell and some rather nasty consequences if you pushed yourself too far and fucked it up." That's putting it lightly, makes it sound like a joke, but Eliot doesn't have the wherewithal to get deep into theory and personal tragedy here. He sighs.
"Here, though? I'm not certain what the limits are, and I haven't tried too hard to find out. There are people here from different worlds whose abilities seem limitless to my understanding. Perhaps they're operating on a different scale, but," he shrugs and sips his coffee. "For myself it's a convenience. Minor mendings, finding lost objects, lifting heavy boxes, that sort of thing. Bit of crime," Eliot adds, because if anyone's going to refrain from judgement on that score it's a known criminal, "and there's battle magic, of course, but I dislike personal violence and so far there hasn't been a need."
That's downplaying it by a fair margin, but he doesn't want to leave Jack completely overwhelmed. Eliot nudges the halved tart toward him, slightly annoyed that he hadn't taken the hint. "Here, this is for you," he says gently. "Try it."