Yennefer, simply, isn’t great with gratitude. Doc might have noticed.
There were plenty of times when people had done things for her without her asking them to. But there had always been things at play then. She’s still taken aback by this one - he’s done plenty already, and this seemed a troublesome step for someone he met a short while ago. Certainly, there were more important things to be doing other than playing seamstress...
But - imperfect and real is everything that magic isn’t, and while she may not show it, this means something, passing along her fingertips. It will hang in the closet, unsuitable for the harsh weather. A reminder.
Does she remember her home fondly? Are there things she misses? She misses her power, for all that it mattered. She itches to see the result of that ruined war, of what destiny had decided as outcome. But a part of her doesn't want to know. A part of her thinks that was the end of her chapter.
But here she was, stuck in another.
“Well,” she muses, teasingly thoughtful in her inspection. “Your needlework remains as impressive as before.” Yennefer was a difficult woman. Fickle as summer rain, and used to projecting walls. But, for this brief moment, she allows herself to feel the warmth of satisfaction that she can't explain, the curve of a wide smile. Probably one of the first genuine ones since she's arrived. "Thank you."
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There were plenty of times when people had done things for her without her asking them to. But there had always been things at play then. She’s still taken aback by this one - he’s done plenty already, and this seemed a troublesome step for someone he met a short while ago. Certainly, there were more important things to be doing other than playing seamstress...
But - imperfect and real is everything that magic isn’t, and while she may not show it, this means something, passing along her fingertips. It will hang in the closet, unsuitable for the harsh weather. A reminder.
Does she remember her home fondly? Are there things she misses? She misses her power, for all that it mattered. She itches to see the result of that ruined war, of what destiny had decided as outcome. But a part of her doesn't want to know. A part of her thinks that was the end of her chapter.
But here she was, stuck in another.
“Well,” she muses, teasingly thoughtful in her inspection. “Your needlework remains as impressive as before.” Yennefer was a difficult woman. Fickle as summer rain, and used to projecting walls. But, for this brief moment, she allows herself to feel the warmth of satisfaction that she can't explain, the curve of a wide smile. Probably one of the first genuine ones since she's arrived. "Thank you."