Outside, Abraham had changed out of his cold leather armor at Serah’s behest and found himself in clothing exclusively tailored from the crusty skin of beasts. He didn’t hate it - in fact, he quite enjoyed the feeling against his skin and Serah had assured him he looked like a true Longmirian as he wandered between the dilapidated buildings and out on the road. Next to him, Serah held her hands tightly clenched at her back, still wearing her seductively short skirt and that charming smile he had found so irresistibly endearing ever since they’d first met.
“H-Hey… do you think Logan’s gonna be mad I borrowed his clothes?” Abraham asked as he straightened the cap made from a string-tailed beast’s backside. She raised her hand to giggle into her worn leather glove and shook her head.
“What a funny name… Nah, Toofy won’t mind. He likes you and he can always make more. He ain’t good with the needle and thread, but there’s only one way to get better!” He found his heart melting as he stared at her profile - that wavy, irresistible hair bristling slightly in the still air as they wandered down the road.
“Hey, I wanted to ask you…” He stopped shortly before her. She turned around to lean forwards and look her bright, blue eyes into his bulbs of darkness - cocking her head back and forth with great curiosity for his next words. Ask her, Abe. ‘Do you have a lover?’ ‘Are you interested in disillusioned priests?’ ‘You come here often?’ - anything, Abe!
“Y-Your dad… said something about mind-magic? I’m… I’m a bit confused…” Her lips split apart in a wide grin and she spun about her axis in a random expression of her apparent joy at the question. He, meanwhile, was pinching his backside in a silent reprimand for his cowardice.
“Oh boy, you don’t know anythin’, do ya? Good thing you came to me!” She joyously exclaimed. For once, he didn’t mind being admonished for his ignorance and listened as she went on:
“I know that the hardlanders got weird thoughts about the mind-magic. But it doesn’t come from God or nothin’ - it comes from inside your head.” He reared his head at the implication.
“What? But-” He began, only to be cut off by her raising a finger up in front of her. Without a mime - without a word of chanting or anything, her index finger came aflame with bright-blue fire - easily the most beautiful flame he had ever seen.
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“See? I don’t believe in hardlander stuff and I can still do it. I’m pretty good too.” She touched her middle finger to the index and the fire spread to the next of her gentle digits. Next, she moved her hand to her side, where she aimed her two fingers towards the skies and again, without a sound, the small flames shot forwards - out into the still air like a bright-blue projectile.
He watched in awe as the blue projectile shot over the smoky pools, warping the mists in its wake before dissipating in the distance.
She hadn’t spoken a prayer. She hadn’t even mumbled or anything, yet she had perfectly imbued herself with a projectile-based miracle.
“It ain’t God protecting you from your own mind-stuff. It’s you. C’mon, show me what you can do.” He felt ashamed - naked as he began to mumble for the Lord’s protection and waved his arms around to make the Sacred Signs. With every deliberate movement, he could feel the power of Bravelle course through his flesh - realizing the potential of His Divine WIll. He directed the Words on his surroundings, constructing a defensive barrier that made the air crackle and spark with white-hot snaps at the insects daring to venture into his perimeter. After finishing the incantation, he glanced over to grin at her, only to find her giggle with bemusement and question:
“The fuck was that, fella?” His grin faded as he made sense of her question.
“W-what do you m-” She raised her long, delicate fingers and poked the barrier. On a simple touch, it burst as if it had been a bubble of soap, showering the dirt road with red-and-yellow sparks.
He hadn’t used this particular Miracle on his lonesome to ward off any Spawn - not alone. But Isaac had assured him that it had been that very same technique that had kept the tendrils from tearing apart the people atop Anza’s wall.
“That wouldn’ta kept ‘em away for very long, would it?” She giggled into her hand. Even if she laughed at him, he felt no maliciousness - not as if she was making fun of him in any way, shape or form. She raised her fists to her thin hips and continued to grin, promising: “We’ve got a lotta work ahead of us.” He didn’t know how to feel about the admonishment, not until he followed her fists to see the bared bellybutton… after that point, he imagined she might’ve been able to do anything to him and he’d judge it the wisest damn thing he’d ever heard.
“We’ll get ya whipped into shape.”