Re: Quicklog, Ocean's 11: Lin A, Louis D, Neil D, Zatanna Z
[She wished for John then. Just once, one moment of self-doubt that pricked the skin and bellied through her veins, cold and slippery. What she wouldn't do for the irreverent, smoke-choked laugh, the faintly blasphemous remark. But John was not here, his self-preservation and the ability to drag people out of danger as often as he drew them into its nexus, was somewhere beyond doors and hotels and men who lived with magic rooted inside them until there was no room for anything else. Here there was only her.
Her eyes burned, seared of sight. But there were the runes still drawn in charcoal and in powdery residue on her bare arms and sight that went beyond the scorched-wide stretch of pupil. Looking at magic instead of at the room and she could see only the focal point of power, the dark spots the two men who should not - must not be hurt by what Zatanna was rapidly becoming aware was going to be a hell of a show.
This kind of thing was John's gig, not hers.] You're making that difficult. tou sthgil. [And another set of sigils that called for darkness, for quiet, for stillness and she groped blindly enough for the table-salt Neil had brought into the room. Salt and iron, and there was enough of the latter coiled in her pocket because magic had its own rules, and it played by them even if it burned through everyone else's.] What exactly am I meant to behold?
[And her fingers had clamped on the talisman that swung from its chain until her knuckles bled colorless. It felt wrong and it felt like a part of the whole, and judging by the light-show, gut-instinct was what she had to go on here.]