"Papaan!"
Rakkon seems particularly excited about something or another. She's burst into the room, looking like she's met with the business end of a charcoal windstorm, but with a smile wider than anything. She scrabbles to pull herself up to her father's level, rising to stand like she's seen him stand before. Faux authoritative, hands on her hips and shoulders back.
"I wanna show you! Look!"
Already, she has abandoned emulating her much taller parent. Hands with palms facing together, fingers barely touching. She tenses, focusing hard on the space cupped between them and within a half minute, there is a crackle of magick.
It smells of brimstone and a small ball of flame manifests between her hands, much to her visible delight. Of course, with such unrefined talent, it explodes in her face with a comical pop!! It's not hard to see where she has gotten her scorched face and scent of crisped hair.
Despite being met with her own little bomb, Rakkon blinks before bursting into a broad grin. Obviously undeterred from having it go off in her face, she seems more excited that it happened at all.
"See!? I can conju--conjun-- .... conjugacate magic!"
She gets a pass there, 'conjure' is a big word for an excited six-year-old.
@sanguinesorcery
A Random Prompt from @sanguinesorcery
Ganondorf is pulled from his musings by the scuffling shuffle of his eldest. It could only be his eldest, as Pamina is still a toddler clinging to her mother's hip.
He thinks at first he should correct her to use the proper term of endearment in Gerudo rather than in Sidhe, she is destined to lead the sovereign in her future. But the thought is quickly dispelled when she finally makes it to stand next to him in his broken solitude. He is reminded of his own pride in the making of such fiery curls and firm stature, of the sharp angles of her face. Her ... burnt face, smeared in char and now that he thinks about it, there's a flavor of burnt hair in there. And he thought her hair had looked especially curly today...
Before he even has a chance to respond to his vibrating daughter, she interrupts him. Though it is not how she does so but with what she does. A familiar tingle passes through his fingertips into his left arm at about the same time as the smell of brimstone invades his nostrils. To say he is proud at such a display is an understatement, even with the small explosion that soon follows. Not that he admits he jumps a little at it; it is a surprise to both of them, it seems.
He is reminded momentarily of when his own powers manifested. It wasn't nearly so calm, the remembrance of putting a hand on a wooden fence for someone's cow coming to mind and immediately catching it alight. The chaos that ensued as his own panic surfaced and made it only worse. The shame in the aftermath of knowing he had caused undue damage without willing it or causing it with his own two hands, something the Gerudo were proud of.
He was about Rakkon's age when it happened, excited to see the birth of a new animal that would help the community he grew up in. It is little more than instinct for his golden eyes to dart around now, feeling passed him and his daughter to make sure there isn't anything she has left behind. Although, Rakkon's excitement also assures him she is not in trouble despite discovering this nature about herself.
It gives her father a moment to relax at this realization. Mostly in that he doesn't have to explain to her mother why the Gerudo would suddenly dislike their future Queen. Truth be told, they tolerate the one they have now. At least Rakkon has the grace to be born looking like her Gerudo heritage.
"Conjure," he offers matter-of-factly before bending to a knee in front of his daughter.
It is not to praise these abilities, Ganondorf always sort of knew both of his children would be magically adept. Or, he assumes with Pamina, as hers has yet to awaken. Rakkon clearly is, but it is to be expected. Not only are they his children, but their mother is a mage equal in power to himself. It was only a matter of time, but a glaring issue faces him now with his eldest. Her form is off.
He reaches slowly around the excitable six-year-old. His fingers tap on either side of her spine, right at the curve. Once, twice.
"This is your core. It is where all manner of energy is stored. Both the physical and the metaphysical," he begins before drawing the fingers up her back to her shoulderblades. "Concentrate on drawing that energy up to here--" He continues, moving down her arms to her wrists. "--To here..."
He takes her hands, so little against his own. So soft and new to the world against his own scarred and calloused fingers. Albeit, the explosions she has been making have caused the skin around her fingertips to glisten a little...
He spreads her fingers to the appropriate positions, curls the palms as they should. Holds her hands up in position so they shouldn't block the flow of her energy.
"Try concentrating on it now."
The results are frighteningly potent. He feels as her channels open unburdened, sees the ring of magenta in her eyes, and it takes all of a second to both be proud of the crackling plume of fire she manifests in her hands, bigger and brighter than any she has likely shown yet, and realizing another mistake. He forgets to tell her to block off her emotions. Her excitement at how easy it comes is palpable.
The explosion can be heard in a nearby settlement some distance from his overlook.
