The Sanctuary was an institution that was many things to many to many different people. Having originally been donated by a church of dwindling membership for discount or ‘affordable’ housing it had initially been hailed as a prime example of the charitable efforts of the then local mayor for the unfortunate and destitute.

That had lasted for perhaps a year until it was discovered to be little more than an elaborate embezzlement scheme for the aforesaid mayor and the federal government obliged itself to step in and foreclose the property before then putting it up for auction, at which point it been quietly acquired by one Dorian King who had proceeded to renovate the premises with modern conveniences before renewing its lease on life as a government sponsored homeless shelter though it had been a tad more selective about who it accepted until it quickly became known that those who were truly ‘gifted’ were all but guaranteed a residence.

Of course gathering a large number of mutants in one place tended to have rather predictable effects, primarily property damage, akin to collecting lit matches and gasoline in warehouses across the city. That had been the start of the Order and even though the organization had fallen from recent memory Sanctuary itself still stood as a promised a home to all mutants practically free of charge.

Which was why, when he’d abruptly found himself homeless and facing an invitation to live with his sister and the manifestly awkward reunion that would entail, Simon had felt little to no hesitation in stepping through the iconic golden doors and acquiring his own free quarters with all costs covered by the generous American tax payer.

The fact that Isabel had been, to say the least, immensely displeased to learn that she was not only sharing a roof but also dealing with him on daily basis had not factored into his plans in the slightest.

It had merely been a happy bonus, not to mention an adroit lesson in unintended consequences for the all too blunt brunette, one that was proving rather cathartic all told.

Still, awkward family reunions could only be postponed so long and while Maya had been relieved to learn that he hadn’t been present when his building had been bombed she had eventually insisted on seeing him which was how he’d come to find himself waiting in the Sanctuary’s foyer, tablet in hand as he browsed through various property reviews.

To paraphrase a certain axiom, America might be a land of opportunity, but that by no means meant said land was cheap.

Simon was a hobo.

It'd be funny if she and Isabel hadn't so recently been in the very spot that got blown to smithereens. And what if Simon had been home? Would that have prevented the event? Or would he now be worse than homeless if he'd been there? Because homeless was bad enough...

Maya, with a little prompting from Cafas, decided she had to check in on her brother. More than a phone call. More than a text. She had to see him face to face. Because, well, she had to see if he was still shaving.

If he was still shaving, he still cared to some degree. If he wasn't shaving, he might go full hermit. There were plenty of things for Zephyr to mourn when he lost his apartment, not the least of which was the illusion of his home being a safe haven.

So, she prepared her usual bribe of food and was fully prepared to snoop around until she found Simon's hobo accommodations. Only, as usual, he was smart enough to head her off at the door.

"Simon." Maya ignored Lisa in favor of tapping the top of her brother's tablet with a small paper box. The window facing Simon showed off the 4 small confections inside, each bite sized and decorated like adorable animals. Because, who didn't love adorable animals?

"Long time no see." Her sisterly inspection was well under way: anything, no matter how minor, that was amiss would not go unnoticed by her!

Maya was a gentle soul.

Perhaps it came from being raised by genuinely compassionate parents or being brought up in an eastern culture so dissimilar to the west or simply a byproduct of the freedom her powers gave her. Whatever the case his sister had always been slow to anger, quick to forgive and forever willing to see the best in others, even giving them a slight nudge in what she felt was the right direction, especially for those she cared about.

Consequently,as her brother, Simon had found himself on the receiving end of said nudges with more frequency than he’d cared for, and while they had dropped off somewhat after a certain mid air collision they’d never truly stopped; he’d simply become better at managing her meddlesome maternal instincts.

All of which was a somewhat verbose of vague manner of explaining why he was waiting for his snow haired sister in the lobby rather than a cafe or his room. While the former would likely dissuade Maya from discussing certain sensitive subjects but would then only encourage her to try and broach them at a likely less than convenient time. The latter meanwhile would run the risk of her getting sidetracked by other residents or, worse asking Lisa questions directly. He’d been discrete in his dealing with the Order and Isabel in the past but he’d been around long enough that he couldn’t claim to be unknown entity at Sanctuary and the last thing he needed was for Ghost to get the wrong idea about all the time he’d been spending with city’s resident bone manipulator to try and keep her out of trouble.

And what did it say about his life that he was more worried about his sister learning that he’d spent the better part of a year keeping a homicidal poster girl off the streets then his other, less legal or ethical pursuits?

”Simon.”

Shaking such thoughts from his head as he felt Maya’s ethereal essence approach Simon shifted his gaze to his sylph of a sister just as she proffered her collection of confitures, gaining a bemused look from the hessian as he tucked his tablet away before accepting the package and slowly rising to his feet.

“Long time no see.” Her words were friendly as always but he didn’t miss the way her eyes skipped over his clothes before she fully focused on him and he couldn’t help but quirk a questioning eyebrow. Granted his attire was somewhat more casual than usual, consisting simply of jeans and a dark hooded sweatshirt but then again he’d lost most of his wardrobe after the bombing on his apartment and he’d long ago learned that you didn’t keep anything at Sanctuary unless it could be easily and cheaply replaced.

“Indeed, have you been keeping well?” The question was innocent enough but hopefully it would move the conversation towards her less than solid condition and let him focus on what he could do to help her instead of other potential topics.

Gesturing for her to follow him as he began to make his way into Sanctuary proper Simon continued. “Would you care for a cup of tea? I’m afraid it might not be quite up to snuff; I only managed to get a proper pot yesterday but I daresay I can make something passable.”

He'd shaved, thank goodness, though his stubble level indicated that his shave may have been a day or so past.

There wasn't even a pizza stain or any unseemly odors. She was half disappointed, half proud. Disappointed because he didn't need anything from her, then. She could never pay him back. Proud because maybe, just maybe, Isabel was a good influence on him just like he was a good influence on her. Well, as much of a good influence as he could be— being who and how he was.

He stood. Should she have hugged him? Maya's hands naturally found each other in front of her body, fingers fiddling now that she had no tasty treats to keep them busy.

"I'm not really keeping it together as well as I'd hoped." To anyone who didn't know about her condition, she could have been talking about anything. But Simon would know. Because they shared a power. Because he was her brother. And because it was why they were here.

> “Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"Yes. Please. If you've got a teapot, I guess that means you're doing okay for yourself." She lagged a good step behind, distracted by the doorways and what she did and did not feel going on behind them. It was nosy. She was feeling nosy, though. "I mean, you seem to be settled in okay. Are you maybe thinking about staying?"

To her dissatisfaction, they were not going toward Isabel's room. Well. That would have to be because Simon was polite. Certainly he wouldn't just move in with a girl because it was suddenly convenient for him. Maybe Isabel wasn't ready...

Afternoon tea, a tradition older as time immemorial, specifically 1832, or 1189 if one wanted to be truly technical. Regardless it was a practice of reflection and contemplation as much as it was a social activity and though he had fallen out of the habit in recent years, he’d never abandoned it completely. It was something that needed to be shared, after all, it was solemn duty of the British to try and better those less fortunate than themselves.

Even if they did drink coffee, the wretches.

If you've got a teapot, I guess that means you're doing okay for yourself

“That’s.. one way of looking at it I suppose.” The words were accompanied by a quirked eyebrow before the elemental shook his head and lead his sister through the haphazard twists that were the halls of Sanctuary, quickly passing through the foyer and bypassing the kitchens as he made his way towards the dormitories.

"I mean, you seem to be settled in okay. Are you maybe thinking about staying?"

“Not in the long term no. The free lodging is nice but it tends to lack in… security, civility, reliability privacy.” It took him a moment to settle on the right word, he knew Maya was friendly with at least a handful of individuals who were permanent Sanctuary residents including Isabel and so implying anything untoward about their home could potentially set things off on the wrong foot and this meeting was meant to let them reconnect.

“That and the NYPD’s new toys are starting to become more common in the area and I’d rather not be around when they experience another glitch.” The NYPD had been gradually getting bolder about conducting raids in the area ever since they got their new toys and while they weren’t quite confident enough to try a direct assault on the Sanctuary yet it would probably happen eventually and Simon had no intention of being present when it happened.

It was also why he’d chosen a room as far as possible from Isabel’s while still keeping it in range of his abilities. If anything did ever happen at Sanctuary odds were that Duskmoor would be one of the first to start a fight if he didn’t put a leash on her, metaphorically or literally. That and there was a certain satisfaction in dumping her out of her own bed without lifting a finger when she ignored his 5:00am wake up calls.

He’d really come to the treasure the glares of impotent rage she gave him each morning.

Arriving at his own room he deftly opened the door and motioned for Ghost to follow him inside. The accommodations themselves were bland but functional, reminiscent of a university dorm or perhaps a motel room. Bathroom and bedroom hidden behind a living area that doubled as dining room and kitchen, if a microwave, mini fridge and sink could be called such.

Still it left enough room for a kettle and a teapot, even if the latter rested on a collection of cardboard boxes which had been used to extend the counter space. It took but a moment to get the kettle started and as he waited for it to boil he gestured Maya into one of the few chairs in the room while he leaned against the counter.

“So, where would you like to begin?”

Privacy. Maya pressed her lips together. Yes. This place was government subsidised wasn't it? Did that mean Zephyr traded drug tests for free housing? For some reason that... bothered her. But not as much as the hotel-like living quarters bothered her. Did Zephyr invest in his personal life? Ever?

Maya sighed. "I should have insisted you come to live with us." It would have been awkward, but Simon was insisting that this was temporary. He was motivated to move out. So it wasn't like they would have been stuck living in close quarters forever.

If Simon lived with them, perhaps then Maya could have Isabel over.

Ugh. No. There were often cameras camped out to catch a shot of whatever Cafas was wearing that day. Having Isabel in those photos would be yet another reason for Cafas' publicist to hate her.

> “So, where would you like to begin?”

"Uh- as I'll be unable to promise I can hold the cup, can we jump right into a tune up?" Maya shifted her shoulders and made sure to pull her shirt out from her body. She really wanted that tea. She cleared her throat self-consciously.

"Or you could tell me about how things are going... you know. With Isabel." Shameless? No. It took quite a bit of courage to get that out considering her life was in Simon's hands.

Resting with his back against the kitchen counter by the gradually heating kettle Simon couldn’t help quirk an eyebrow as he watched Maya take in his quarters with pursed lips. So sister dearest didn’t approve of his humble abode, what a pity, however would he live with the disappointment? Truly the weight of her disapprobation was simply crushing, as was her resigned remark that he should have lived with her.

“As I told your beau, I appreciate the sentiment but I am far from destitute.” Turning back to the kitchen proper as he rummaged through his sparse collection to retrieve the necessary items; cups, saucer, strainer and, of course, tea. “Besides, I don’t believe either of us were ready to talk at that point, and I dread to think what the paparazzi response would have been.”

He’d seen what they’d written about Cafas in his earlier days, when his preferences had been more… Open? Ambiguous? Whatever the term, the amount of drivel that had been written when the pink haired ponce had been seen with his sister didn’t bear repeating. Even if his ‘profession’ didn’t require discretion he wouldn’t strayed within a mile of such a circus.

It wasn’t worth the headache.

Speaking of which, Simon glanced at his wristwatch; it was a trifle early to take retake his medication, but given the delicate work he was about to, probably best to play it safe. Removing a small medicinal jar from the cupboards from which he palmed and swallowed and pair of pills just as the kettle whistle broke the air.

"Uh- as I'll be unable to promise I can hold the cup, can we jump right into a tune up?"[/font]

Pausing as he he added the water and team to the pot Zephyr couldn’t help the slight frown which crossed his features, he’d known her condition was bad, only 50% at best but she shouldn’t be quite that far gone. “Well we can’t have that now can we?” He kept his tone light as he stirred the various ceramics to a tray and carried back to the living area before setting them aside, the tea would need to steep for a little while before it was worth drinking, more than enough time to set his sister to rights.

Hopefully

"Or you could tell me about how things are going... you know. With Isabel."[/font]

“...”

Having taken a seat beside her the hessians gaze narrowed as he allowed his silence to speak for him. He supposed it was unavoidable that his sister would jump to the naive conclusion given what she’d seen and where he currently lived and while he’d dearly love to disabuse her of the notion he a) doubted she’d believe and b) it provided an annoyingly good cover story for all the time he spent with Duskmoor as opposed to admitting he’d placed a compulsion on her that didn’t quite rob the soubrette of free will.

In the end he opted for the safety of discretion “I suppose things can’t too bad if you’re trying to pry into my love life.” He said with a resigned sigh before he held out his palm waiting for her to grasp it, “Still let’s try and return to the matter at hand, hmm?”

Whatever the paparazzi thought, they could stuff it. Simon was her brother and one of the few blood relatives she still had. She opened her mouth to say so, but... well, he wasn't going to listen. He was busy making do with what he had. Maya glanced around again. Even before it'd been blown up, his apartment had been spartan. This place was different, but it felt like a weird echo of where he'd lived before.

Far from destitute? There were so many ways to be rich or to be poor that had nothing to do with money.

Maya took her seat when offered. He couldn't really blame her for asking, could he?

> “I suppose things can’t too bad if you’re trying to pry into my love life.”

So, he at least admitted to having a love life! Chagrined, Maya ducked beneath the eye contact to inspect her twisting fingers. GUILTY may as well have been written on her forehead, but Simon didn't seem that mad. He offered his hand down to pull her up out of the mental circles she'd started spinning.

He'd figured out a part of their power that she just couldn't seem to grasp. But if she payed attention, maybe this time she'd get the process down and she wouldn't have to burden him like this any more. He would like that, surely.

Maya put her hand into Simon's and chanced a look up at him. She knew his eyes were blue even if they didn't look like anything at the moment. She knew his hair was brown. With her free hand, Maya plucked at the shoulders of her shirt which had begun to sink in again. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time, it would stick.

Despite her hopeful thoughts, she tried to keep her expectations in check. He was her brother. Not some miracle worker.

Maya cleared her throat. "Ready."

Rolling his eyes as Maya abashedly ducked her head at his evident annoyance Simon closed hins fingers around her hand as he focused on his goal and allowed his power to course through her arm. Precision was the key here, and that would take time.

The human body is one of the most complex mechanisms in existence, an intricate framework of flesh, chemicals and physics it was simultaneously robust and fragile. It grew constantly from infancy to adolescence, maturity and then decrepitcy. It could heal an astounding amount of damage over it’s lifetime and even adapt to its surroundings. Yet even with the height of modern medicine mankind wasn’t even close to achieving full understanding of the human body.

It was for this reason that most medical professionals referred to mutant healers as “bullshit”.

As he watched his sister disperse gradually like a dune before the wind, Simon found he couldn’t help but echo the sentiment. He had no knowledge of biology, chemistry, barely any first aid, and yet, because he possessed a quirk of genetic code he could render a sentient being into its component parts, treat as them puzzle pieces and reconstruct them without losing a single part.

It was that last piece which was important, shifting someone into air was easy, in much the same way it was easy to break a lego sculpture. If you were careless or rushed though it was far too easy to misplace a piece here or a part there, and after enough times you eventually realized that you had only a hollow reflection of what you started with.

That was his sister. She’d not realized the risks that came with this aspect of this power until she was too far gone, lacking the mass to truly even carry things anymore. He couldn’t replace what she’d lost, not by himself at least and not without a great deal more practice, but he could alter what was left, effectively ‘tweak’ her internal schematics to make her more stable and anchor those parts of her that were beginning to fray.

Granted he didn’t have much leeway in how far he could stretch things without putting undue stress on her. As the tenth minute of the transformation came to an end though he could see the difference he’d made as Maya became solid once again; her clothes hung off her, rather than through her skin had changed from alabaster to merely albino pale and he could no longer see shadows cast by the blades of the ceiling fan through her shadow.

Releasing her hand Simon lay back in his seat and took a slow breath as he gathered his thoughts and a small knot of anxiety that he hadn’t noticed before slowly relaxed. Opening his eyes he met Ghosts gaze with a tired countenance “Well it’s not what I’d hoped,” he began before a slight smile tugged at his lips “but then I’ve always been something of an overachiever”.

Reaching for the tea set he set out the cups and saucers. “You’re at maybe half, perhaps a little more after my ‘renovations’, but overall you’ve remained stable which I would call a success by any measure.”

He offered her a cup.

“Sugar?”

It didn't feel like anything. It certainly didn't feel like the miracle it was. And when Simon let her hand go, she had to quash an overwhelming sense of disappointment.

She'd been intently watching him the entire time, waiting for that magical moment when she crossed 50% and could see color and light again. To read a book. See graffiti. Watch a movie...?

Nada.

This was the first time he hadn't been able to bring her back to a high enough corporeality for her to actually see.

"No. I- thank you for your help." She didn't want to be ungrateful. He thought she was at half. More than half. She must have been right at the edge then. Maya put a greater effort into packing herself together which really just meant she tensed up.

> “Sugar?”

"Please." And she was more than happy to accept the cup and stare down at it. It was just a thing. No heat. No color. No light. She was lucky that she could still smell and taste, otherwise there might not be much of any joy left in this world.

"You took your pills." She'd noticed, but it only now struck her as interesting that Zephyr sought to dull his world while she wished to sharpen hers. "Why does everything about what we do make you hurt and make me feel less?"

A good cup of tea, it could be said, was like a work of art; it required time, care and dedication to concoct a truly tasteful blend that could be enjoyed, savoured and remembered.

Or at least, that’s what the overpriced charlatans wanted you to believe before they took an arm, leg and possibly soul. Personally Simon considered tea to be a beverage like any other, if one steeped in history, culture and taste and any who bothered to make an effort could have a good a cuppa.

He knew this with the certainty of one who had been boiling over priced leaf juice for almost half his life and would likely continue to do so for the rest of it. Yet, as he watched his sister’s expression fall he found himself unable to enjoy the cup in his hand.

“No. I- thank you for your help."

Masking a frown, Simon set his cup down and watched Maya as she seemed to curl around her own drink. In their previous sessions she had always been, well, not elated precisely but certainly cheered, which given that she was being put back together was understandable.

The fact that such enthusiasm was missing now was… notable.

“Why does everything about what we do make you hurt and make me feel less?"

Tilting his head Simon considered the question, it was something he wondered about over the years ever since he’d met Maya, even before he knew she was his sister. “I believe it comes down to how we think about our powers; you, from what I can tell treat your gift instinctively, like an extra limb you hardly have to think about it before it happens but it’s a limb without sensation so you don’t know when you strain it.”

“When I think about how I use my power, I see it more as an instrument, whose condition I always have to be conscious of to the point where sometimes I can’t focus on anything else, hence my medication.”

He paused for a moment, giving Maya a contemplative expression. “Have you ever tried to count every fiber in your shirt or every atom in your drink? No? Why don’t you try?”

They hadn't grown up together, so it was funny to Maya that his explanation made her feel like a child. These were the conversations they should have had as children. She sipped her tea and bobbed her head in agreement of his assessment. When she had tried to teach him, it'd been nearly impossible to articulate what she did. She just did it.

"Is this some kind of zen buddhist thing? Count the hairs on your head and know enlightenment?" The atoms in her drink? Really? Maya took a sip just in case he was serious so that there'd be fewer atoms to count.

Because he was looking pretty dang serious.

And seriouser. Maya ducked under that gaze. Count the fibers in her shirt? What did that have to do with air? How was she supposed to count fibers let alone atoms?

Every. fiber.

She could feel them now that she was paying attention. But they were all touching and long and going in at least two different directions.

Maya frowned. 1... 2... Some were shorter in the collar; it was cut on the bias. Then the arms. Those were different threads from the body, too. She might stubbornly sit there counting all day just because he'd given her that look that said without words that she was stupid for never having tried.

"A lot of threads." She didn't feel like she had the mental acuity to keep all those numbers in her head so she resorted to using her fingers to help. That meant that after a while she had to set her tea aside. Maya chugged a parting sip while her eyes focused nowhere in particular. "Do you count the ones that are used in construction? The sewing threads? Or just the cloth?" Because she was gonna get them all, dangit, even if it took all day.

She didn’t think he was serious, he could read the disbelief cast upon her features as clearly as a wayward breeze in autumn. He supposed the idea must have be preposterous to her, why pay attention to the details of something that simply happens? Programming knowledge wasn’t needed to use a computer, nor mechanical engineering to drive a car, how could a mutation be so different?

And yet the answer stared her in the face every morning.

"Is this some kind of zen buddhist thing? Count the hairs on your head and know enlightenment?"

“If you like.” Noncommittal, unjudging; she had enough pressure on her already without thinking he looked down her. At the same time he couldn’t quite prevent the amused grin which tugged at his lips as he watched her take a somewhat larger sip than necessary. And as he watched she ducked her snow haired head, amber eyes losing focus as the surrounding air became unnaturally still.

She was taking it seriously, good.

The following minutes passed in silence, Maya with her head bowed and lips moving in silent murmurs as she focused intently on her task and Simon merely watching as he enjoyed his tea, more than content to give her the time she needed. When her fingers began to worry at the sleeves of her shirt however he placed his cup aside and waited.

He did not wait long.

“...Do you count the ones that are used in construction? The sewing threads? Or just the cloth?


”Yes.”

The look of annoyance Ghost shot him made the jejune comment far more satisfying than it should have been. Unwilling to let her determination go to waste though he swiftly raised his hand in mock surrender, even if he couldn’t keep the smirk off his face.

“I’m not just saying that to aggravate, though I could argue I have over a decade's worth of teasing to catch up on.” Such an explanation was clearly less than convincing gong by Ghost’s expression and so he quickly moved on. “The stitches, the cloth, even the buttons and the tag; they’re all part of the garment and you have to know how they all fit together.”

Given her words a few moments to sink in he reached behind him and drew a small checkered tea towel from the kitchen counter and unfolding on the arm of Maya’s chair to show the Yale logo in the center.

“Let’s start with something easier to conceptualize, forget about counting the threads for now, just focus on how they connect to each other and how that connection becomes more fluid when you shift them.”

So saying he placed two fingers on a corner of the towel which slowly lost colour until became nothing but a slight haze. “They still have a natural attraction to each other but it’s far easier to disrupt.” He spread his two finger apart and the wisp of cloth between them separated along a checkered edge with less effort than tissue paper before regaining colour and solidity.

“Like puzzle pieces though, if you keep track of them, you can put them back in their proper place.” Again the corner of the tower faded into a slight fog and Simon slowly brought his two fingers together until the strip of cloth was back with the original piece before ever so gradually seeking of the strands that had been separated and joining them into one whole.

Lifting his fingers from the towel he examined it for a moment before lifting it by the corner he’d tested, letting it hold the full weight of the cloth before setting it back down.

“That is what you need to practice, not only will it make your transitions safer, but it’s also how I heal.”

"I know how they fit together, Simon. I've seen How It's Made." Well, back when she could see she had seen it. And she could feel herself slipping into a petulant mood. Maya shook her head and looked at the convoluted number keeping system on her fingers.

Every atom? He kept track of every atom?

How? She was never going to count every atom on her fingers. And if she had to use her fingers for just the fibers, that didn't bode well for atoms.

Okay. Forget that. Sure. Maya was more than okay with forgetting that. She shook her hands out and settled in for an easier conceptual lesson.

--Aaaabout the bonds between things.

Maya ran her thumb across her upper lip as she thought.

"I don't feel the in between parts, the bond or whatever." She grabbed the towel and turned her hand instantaneously incorporeal. The towel changed where it touched her and perhaps an inch out from there. For the rest of it, she had to push her power down through it.

Huh. Maybe she did feel it a little when she pushed. It felt almost as if her power was a wedge and she drove it through whatever she wanted to change over. Beyond that... "It's like soup." It really did look like floating soup. "Or maybe like how things float underwater. Anti-gravity."

And now her hand was incorporeal. Had Simon not made his hand incorporeal to do the dish towel trick? Maya examined him. He seemed pretty whole. "How did you change it... and not you?"

Practice makes perfect, an axiom that felt as old as time, and with good reason, as it was oh so rarely followed. There was a reason the little known follow up was “practice promises pall”. Afterall, as his father so often reminded him; if perfection was achievable it wouldn’t be worth striving for.

Watching Maya as she lost both her arm and hand in a sudden haze of mist he had to concede that the aphorism was still all too true. Still if she couldn’t yet detect the bonds between in the matter she transformed there was little point in her taking things slowly at this stage, she’d learn it soon enough.

And she did, it took a few moments of silent contemplation as the strangely severed stump of her arm hovered over the table but once she focused Maya was able to feel something, even if the picture she painted wasn’t one Simon would have come up with himself, he found he couldn’t quite fault it’s description.

“That’s... a graphic analogy which aids understanding wonderfully while being, strictly speaking, wrong in every possible way.”

Had he mentioned he was long overdue on his teasing quota?

“That said you do seem to be getting a feel for it, what you need to notice is that when you try to move the towel in that state it tries to stay connected. When you break those connections though you should be able to feel something like a frayed rope or jagged edge indicating that something has gone missing.”

Putting the experience into words wasn’t the simplest of tasks. The english language, nor any language really, had never been designed to convey the sensations of the six sense he and Maya shared. Still vague though the analogies were they he hoped they would get the point across.

"How did you change it... and not you?"

Or, she could miss the point entirely, that worked too.

Tilting his head Simon couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow at the odd question as he tried for a moment to connect the question to his comment before realizing they were unconnected and giving a slight shrug and raising an open hand towards his sister.

“Technically, I didn’t.” His hand began to grow hazy as it phased from blood and bone to air. “You know we’re able to ghost only part of our bodies and I’m not too keen on the process to begin with.” The slight haze above his wrist started to condense and reform from the bottom up. “But it’s still a useful skill so I worked to see how little of myself I could change while still extending the effect beyond me.” He flexed his reform fingers and took a moment to examine the empty patches of skin where his fingers normally were before they too completed the transformation.

“As it turns out a fingertip is more than enough to spread the change, provided you have solid contact, liquids are proving to be something of a problem though.”