Summer sat back, startled. “What /are/ you?” Had he actually resisted her power? It /looked/ like it, though he’d put the cigarette out, as well. But still, the reaction was off — it should have been him not wanting the cigarette; instead he’d responded as if to /her/ dislike.“That depends, what exactly are you?” the Mesmer found himself asking, his voice curling the words in an annoyed way. He wasn’t really upset at the cigarette-thing, but at the fact that he knew she’s attempted to use some kind of power-of-persuasion against him. His next words fell from his mouth without a thought, “You know, it isn’t polite to use magic on strangers.”
“It’s not polite to smoke in a stranger’s house, either,” she shot back, eyes flashing. “It’s not magic, anyway.” Summer held up a hand, fingers spread and palm up, and a flame curled up from the center of it. “/That’s/ magic.” She closed her fingers, and the fire vanished. “I’ll tell you what I am if you tell me why you could resist my empathy.”