akbartheolder:
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
The concept was so high-level to Emre, that he spent a few blinking moments carefully taking the sentence apart in his head, then rebuilding it in pieces.
you don’t need to replicate the emotion to replicate the effect
Except Emre did, didn’t he? Or rather, he had to drum himself up into some sort of panic or anger or hurt or intense emotion, in order to get his water-magic to even surface. Even then it wasn’t always predictable. No control, which was what Emre practiced and practiced, with little effect (in his exacting, demanding opinion).
But Emre been thrown into so many unfamiliar, intimidating, unknowable situations before, so Emre did what he always did: faked it till he made it. Watch, listen, and learn. Figure out his environment, then copy it.
And when Gabe inevitably simplified it for Emre, comparing the potential force of water-magic to the same energy gathered for an effective punch, Emre tilted his head at Gabe.
That analogy, Emre understood. That analogy was also an interesting choice for Gabe to pick, so easily plucked for comparison.
“Was you a boxer or something, back in merry old?” Emre asked, already guessing that Gabe was not a boxer. “What year did you get on Meridium anyway?”
The comparison was apt, if a little disappointing in how well Emre related to it. Emre was never big on gym-life, but he grasped the difference. Like shooting a rifle on the range, versus shooting it directly at a man begging to be spared. “Right. So here I’ve been learning water-magic all backwards. Here I thought it would be…” peaceful. Emre’s sweat had begun to lightly frost over, and Emre pulled his fingers into fists, cracking the frosty sheen. “It always comes down to violence in the end, don’t it, Gabe.”
For men like us. But Emre wouldn’t dare make that comparison aloud. He didn’t think Gabe’s ego could handle it.
x.
“1984. Very Orwellian.”
A slight hike of brow with that. No clue whether Akbar knew of the book. No clue whether the book was still relevant in whatever present he had existed in.
“No. Not a boxer.”
He doesn’t elaborate on what he ‘was’ (because that would be more of the close-to-truth fiction that had been spun over the last almost four decades).
It always comes down to violence in the end, don’t it, Gabe.
“No.”
“That was a metaphor.”
A comparison, but not necessarily a literal one. Something that might relay the notion of actions taken with different intents behind them... The exact same action that could be taken regardless of emotion...
“Think of the world in terms of violence, then violence is all you’ll ever see.”
There’s something of a sigh... a slightly dissappointed sound, as though the point had been missed completely.
“You asked to learn about how I control my attunement. That is how. I replicate the effect. I remember the sensations - I remember the emotion. Then I practice, one without the other. For me - it’s possible. But how you go about controlling yours - and the attempts you make to do so - are entirely up to you. No one thing works for all people.”
But he’s not done with the boy yet. Surely the potential was there. If he could just stop leaping to conclusions, or hyperfixating on specific terms then perhaps that metaphor might become more meaningful than it might at first seem.
“Has there not been a single instance when you’ve used your attunement without intent to harm, without sensing fear, without a thrum in your blood - heart pounding, adrenalin rushing?”
