"I thought you might be." Ned may enjoy another dose of that dry humor, and the fact that his observation is absolutely correct. Given its origins and development his mutation could be a source of conflict, but Erik is in love with that ability the way some people love their childhood sweethearts: a single-minded purity nothing can change.
The ground for the greenhouse is, as mentioned, still in its natural state, but here they're not necessarily bound by that step before the frame can be built. Erik has never crafted such a structure before, but he understands enough about a building that must support its own weight to construct the frame. He stands easily in place, arms loose at his sides and certainly more serene than Ned has ever seen him, or ....probably more so than has anyone on the Cape, in fact. "We'll build it here. I'm only doing the brute labor," he shrugs, unbothered, as that falls easily within his skill set, and the world needs masons, "hands better equipped will take on the agriculture."
Aware that Ned did not come here to learn the rudiments of horticulture (he used the wrong word, slightly; fluent in English, yes, but that doesn't mean he's ever needed to say horticulture, when would that have happened), he moves swiftly along with this demonstration, kneeling next to the pile of scrap metal and sifting through it, casual in a way most people might not be about tetanus or cuts. He's careful with his hands, as they are his second best weapons, but he also knows what he's doing. If there's a rusty nail or jagged shard waiting, he'll feel it.
"The problem we face is that most of this is barely useable, at best. It could take months to gather enough metal for the necessary framework. Or," he grins, turns up his hands and shows Ned the way they hold a long piece of rebar, "it would for humans."
He twitches his fingers slightly, like a person coaxing, and the cylinder flattens in his hands, slithers out like a twisting iron snake and goes liquid before reforming itself into a much flatter piece. Once he flipped up his wrists he stopped looking at Ned; he knows the other man is still there, of course, it's just that only this matters, like that first love. "Charles calls it magnokinesis," he murmurs, the word slightly unfamiliar on his tongue but spoken gently just the same. "I just call it mine."
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The ground for the greenhouse is, as mentioned, still in its natural state, but here they're not necessarily bound by that step before the frame can be built. Erik has never crafted such a structure before, but he understands enough about a building that must support its own weight to construct the frame. He stands easily in place, arms loose at his sides and certainly more serene than Ned has ever seen him, or ....probably more so than has anyone on the Cape, in fact. "We'll build it here. I'm only doing the brute labor," he shrugs, unbothered, as that falls easily within his skill set, and the world needs masons, "hands better equipped will take on the agriculture."
Aware that Ned did not come here to learn the rudiments of horticulture (he used the wrong word, slightly; fluent in English, yes, but that doesn't mean he's ever needed to say horticulture, when would that have happened), he moves swiftly along with this demonstration, kneeling next to the pile of scrap metal and sifting through it, casual in a way most people might not be about tetanus or cuts. He's careful with his hands, as they are his second best weapons, but he also knows what he's doing. If there's a rusty nail or jagged shard waiting, he'll feel it.
"The problem we face is that most of this is barely useable, at best. It could take months to gather enough metal for the necessary framework. Or," he grins, turns up his hands and shows Ned the way they hold a long piece of rebar, "it would for humans."
He twitches his fingers slightly, like a person coaxing, and the cylinder flattens in his hands, slithers out like a twisting iron snake and goes liquid before reforming itself into a much flatter piece. Once he flipped up his wrists he stopped looking at Ned; he knows the other man is still there, of course, it's just that only this matters, like that first love. "Charles calls it magnokinesis," he murmurs, the word slightly unfamiliar on his tongue but spoken gently just the same. "I just call it mine."