"Do you mean..." Llyr murmured while he listened to Doran explain that he could make a broken blade whole again. He frowned slightly, then said, "You remember what I taught you about faults and flaws, yes? That whatever you might place your magic on... it could decay from such force unless you place it with similar attention from time to time."
For Llyr, his reshaping often came in the form of desperate need - having to escape or require something. As he considered Doran some more, and enjoyed that laugh (for he enjoyed Doran's laugh a great deal), he realized that much of his relation to Transmutation came from immediate danger, or challenge, or that which - if he failed, it could result in death.
In this way, he envied his initiate somewhat. It felt slightly bittersweet to him, as he collected the tinderbox and lit the candle. His eyes widened, violet in hue, when he saw the man simply place his hand over the flame without even a flinch of pain. Llyr's lips parted in a silent gasp, about to tell Doran to stop until he realized that the Sesser wasn't feeling any pain in the slightest. Trills passed, and then finally, Doran withdrew the hand.
He was glad to hear of the journal, and that Doran was following instruction, but something felt like it was brewing in his mind. Like tea on the stovetop, he felt his thoughts condense and start to rise into steam.
Past the mention of mutations, and of shaping ether, and Doran's inquiry as to how to shape ether into form (which he found incredibly attractive with the deep pitch and curious tone from his Sesser lover), it continued to bother him until...
Llyr stared at the other man, still holding the candle and ignoring how the wax pooled around his fingers. "That's... That's amazing, Doran! I wonder if that's because the first quality you learned was of heat! And that we were in the kitchen too, if you're eating different foods now, and... Remember? The tea... perhaps the spark recalls. What if, oh... OH DORAN!"
The blond blew out the candle, then set it to the side. He moved away from the alchemist somewhat, opened one of the desk drawers and searched about until he found some blank papers. He tossed them onto the desk surface, making clear some room, then hurriedly got a quill and dipped it in a fresh inkwell. Despite the intricate actions, Llyr moved fast and with agile familiarity.
He started to write on the vellum, in scrawled tiny penmanship and said, "What if sparks have the ability to remember such things? What if... so imagine like a sponge? Yes? What is the commonality between anything new, Doran? After that point, it is never the same again! No matter what it is, something new can never be what it was at the very beginning. It can pretend, or put on a veneer, but it is impossible. The environment shapes it, what happens to it, what occurs to it, around it... it all impacts it!"
"If a porcelain cup were to sit on a shelf and a quake occurs, it might still crack due to the tremors. Somewhere, that crack influences it, even if it is fixed later... or in the case of Transmutation, reshaped like you call it." Llyr continued to write while he talked.
The blond glanced up at Doran, though the quill didn't stop moving while he wrote. "Fates, Doran, do you realize what this could mean? It could mean that spark mutations could be controlled, planned... even... engineered!"
He returned his gaze as he pressed the completely filled paper, from edge to edge with no margins, away and started on a new one. "If you contained a sponge and introduced things to it, like your blood, you say you purify it and are able to isolate it. If one were to isolate a mage, isolate a spark during its formation... Wounded Lord, help me..."
Llyr stopped writing in mid-word. His voice had gone breathless. He lifted up from the leaning that he'd been doing while writing. His hands shook as he felt excitement and anxiousness course through his sensitive body. The biqaj lowered the quill slowly, looked at Doran again, and quietly gasped. He took a few trills, his eyes vivid white and then iridescent in a glowing light that drifted around his dark brows.
The young mage tossed the quill aside. He half-jumped, half-climbed - and wrapped his legs around Doran's hips while he hugged the other around the neck. Up against Doran, he kissed the alchemist passionately. It wasn't a long kiss, but it was fierce. He broke it soon though and said, "My love, you have no idea what you have helped me realize! Not yet! Fates, Doran... I want to have you again, and again, and again..."
"Alas!" said Llyr in a cheerful jest. He leaned away from Doran, though his legs and arms remained wrapped around the broader-built man while he did so. His dragonfly wings fluttered to help him balance. The rainbow-like tattoos that curved in swirls around his waist seemed to move in spirals. "We cannot waste our time like this anymore! We must focus on our work! Yours and mine, and both of our's. For the sake of Idalos and all within it!"
He moved to slide onto the desk, instead, and added, "Shaping ether is quite simple... I learned while in combat, but Doran, you have the luxury of learning in such safety... with all the time you need... I feel so jealous about this, I must say, but it also makes me happy. It is an odd feeling. Anyway, ether. Shaping. Form."
Llyr lifted a hand and gathered observable ether in the palm in the shape of an orb. "I like to gather it in my hand first, like this, and then like clay, mold it with my heart... or mind... depending on how you feel... it sometimes is a blend of both, or feels like it. There are... discs," he brought his other hand over and flattened the orb into a flat disc shape. "Poles and spears," he lengthened the disc out into a small mockery of a spear. "And as many shapes as you could possibly think of."
He swiftly changed the shape of the ether into an open fan. The effeminate biqaj fluttered the ether fan beside him, and a faint breeze was created that lifted his pale blond hair away from his face. He closed the fan with a snap, and the ether dissipated and vanished.
"You try, or whenever you wish to. For now, I must write more, before I forget my thoughts, and then you can show me more of your prototype... and take my blood, if you desire it from me."