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It burned.

It burned, like fire, like acid, like anything that didn't have a name. Ashton tried to keep her chin up and not stumble, but it was so hard not to fall; she couldn't breathe, she couldn't - it felt wrong, it felt wrong, in a way she couldn't describe -

But like anything else, the pain was over eventually; it dissipated all the way out to his fingertips, a skittering numb awareness of not-right, the way a pinched nerve might be.



If anyone knew anything about nerves, it might well have been the Senshi of the Flesh.

Aschera didn't collapse onto Axinite's hand, not quite, but her shoulders were heaving and her breath was coming in shallow pants - for a bit - and then, once she'd had just long enough to resettle herself and be mostly sure her voice wouldn't break, she said "Thank you.", quietly.

It wasn't exactly the ideal thing to say, there was so much more that could've had a place there -- but he had hurt, so badly, and all the proper words had gone on the fritz for those seconds.

Once Aschera had a moment to look down and at herself and her new outfit, she raised an eyebrow, in an impressively restrained display of emotion. (Internally, it was more on the fritz -- too obvious. Too gory. Not at all the right image he wanted to portray most of the time. But this all had different parameters, so she'd need to figure out what she could do about this too. One step per moment was the right way to go around exploring unknown territory such as this.)

It was -- good, to hear that he was special, to hear that he was something unique. It made it feel less like all this time waiting for magic and wanting hadn't been a devil's proof of options - wanting, in perpetuity, with no proof it could or couldn't be.

"Thank you," she mumbled again, much quieter and a little hoarse, and then, "and the next step from here?" There was still that sense of sparks in his veins, running rampant and bursting, not-quite-painful but something off - but that wasn't all that strange in and of itself, only that it'd become so physical here.

Taking orders from a girl over half a foot her junior in pink and bows hadn't been on any of Ashton's plans for the evening, but she was adaptable, and she was clinging to that fact. It was either that or laugh, and this was an inappropriate time for laughter, for anything but listening and agreeing; that was important.

"No pressing questions," and that wasn't quite true, he was sure he had some, but they'd blitzed straight out of his head with the pain of that transformation and awakening. Undoubtedly they'd come back after Sylvite had left, because that was how that sort of thing always went; questions she wanted to ask only returned to her when it was a little too late. "My phone number is -" and he rattled it off, one-breath, and then a second time, slower - "but you'll want to text me first with some identifying detail, or I won't answer any calls." Pause. One, two, three, give that time to sink in. "And if we - sit down," because standing was a little tiring, these were not the heels she'd expected, "I can offer you a more classic availability chart, the way some prospective employers want them. It helps to have those prepared in advance."

God, was he overachieving in a way that would have negative consequences on how they thought of him? No. No, probably not. Hopefully not. First impressions were -- so important. And it was late, it was late, so perhaps these two would excuse any coming on too strong.

"If you can take me to the corner of Amber and Laughlin, I can manage my way home from there," Aschera said, making it about halfway to effortless but not all the way. This wasn't exactly a date, of course, but god forbid she was going to give her home address to a woman she'd just met, regardless of if that woman had helped awaken her to some sort of dark magical power - and Sylvite seemed like she wasn't that much more than a girl, the way she held herself, or maybe she just wanted to be cutesy. It was too late for that kind of speculation, and Aschera was too tired.

There would be time to experiment with this later; to decipher what it meant, to skin it and turn it round on a spit. But not now. Not in front of anyone who could fully perceive a vulnerability.