Headcanon (with Minor Evidence?): Rhian's Nervous Energy Translates Into Physical Movements Such As Pacing

Headcanon (with minor evidence?): Rhian's nervous energy translates into physical movements such as pacing when he's anxious while Rafal does the opposite. He goes still and shuts down, utterly paralyzed, like how he was sort of immobilized without his sorcery under the sea in Rise, more vulnerable than usual—enough so, that it could've been a form of analysis paralysis?

It’s probable that the most pathetic, Rafal-core thing one can do is pack one’s black and navy shirts in a suitcase before leaving because one has to let a small, open wound breathe without a bandage and can’t visibly seep blood all over the sleeves of good, white shirts. 0/10. Would not recommend.

It’s THEM.

THEY'RE ALL HERE.

For clarification, I view Adela Sader as the "witch" and the Storian as the "parent," the authoritarian "household" structure, or the magic "life token," even if it has a will of its own and functions differently than a passive object or sign would.

If anyone would like to interpret any of this themselves, have me interpret anything further, or ask a question, you can comment, reblog, or send me an ask, and I'll respond or add more commentary if I have any!

Book: The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales by Bruno Bettelheim.

(This question is for modern AU!Rafal.) Rafal, how does it feel to know that you won't eventually look like melted shoe leather like Rhian because you don't tan/stay out of the sun? You're also much less at risk for developing skin cancer. How does that feel? (I did a bunch of research on tanning out of curiosity and learned that a tan is always evidence of skin damage, and that everyone should be wearing sunscreen regardless of skin color, and now I'm too afraid to tan even slightly in the sun. I hate it here!!!!!)

Rafal: It feels... just grand. Superior even, to know I'll retain my youth while my vanity-obsessed, modish brother won't. [He grins.] And I expend far less effort on looks than he does. The irony will be unparalleled and I'm keen on preserving the moment he realizes it for himself for as long as humanly possible.

For a lark, I may order a brass plaque for Rhian's favorite, gilded mirror, to commemorate the day he's bound to have spent weeping inconsolably over his first grey hair— [He pauses in the midst of his rapturous planning.]

Wait. Did you say skin cancer? That's it. I've just about had it up to here with that arse. [He makes a throat-slitting motion across his neck to illustrate his point, and starts to shout in the direction of another room.] RHIAN, YOU MAY AS WELL BE DEAD, YOU LOON! YOU'RE NOT SETTING ONE FOOT OUT THAT DOOR WITHOUT SUNCREAM FOR THE REST OF YOUR DAYS OR YOU'LL NEVER SEE DAYLIGHT AGAIN!

Part 2:

See the reblog for the second poll.