[ Somehow, being clapped on the side activates an automatic reflex: Harry is up and off the guy before he's even processed the shimmer of gold. (In the back of his head, thought processes nod approval: A man taps out, you move.)
While Vax adjusts to being un-crushed, Harry turns away from the bull to look at him. He takes in the last glimpse of magic, the pointed ears, the way his aches turned to clean warmth. When he touches a hand to his mustache, his fingers come away bloody, but nothing hurts.
Then he parses Go have a drink? and another, even louder reflex responds.
(YES.)
(Wait—) ]
Drink, obviously. To my victory. [ Something in his head ties itself up in a worried tremble, but there's no time to think about that. ] What did you do?
no subject
While Vax adjusts to being un-crushed, Harry turns away from the bull to look at him. He takes in the last glimpse of magic, the pointed ears, the way his aches turned to clean warmth. When he touches a hand to his mustache, his fingers come away bloody, but nothing hurts.
Then he parses Go have a drink? and another, even louder reflex responds.
(YES.)
(Wait—) ]
Drink, obviously. To my victory. [ Something in his head ties itself up in a worried tremble, but there's no time to think about that. ] What did you do?