[ A trick, is it? Again, there is the offering of Rory's hand, and it is almost humorous, ironic even, that Sion should be the hesitant party now, reluctant to take the gesture of good will where he'd extended the very same to the other man, once upon a time. Trust has precious little to do with the matter, it is only that, by virtue and by nature, Sion is stubborn, determined as always to progress on his own where he may, but...

He does not overlook them, the abrasions which tell a tale of Rory's time in the Gisela Towers, no more than he fails to notice the cut of the man's frame—truly, the man is a reed, and if Sion has one regret, it is not leaving Rory with the tray of gingerbread cookies they'd received on that day in thanks for raising a snowman!—and that is why he reaches out, in the end. It is so small a thing, to take Rory's hand, and it will only help the both of them.

Closing his eyes (and suppressing a yawn which had been inspired by Rory's own!), he forges a link of mana exchange with palm pressed to palm, his fingers curled about the other man's. ]

If this trick of yours fails to impress— [ Ever so slightly, Sion's voice lilts in play: ] —I will make you regret calling me pretty.

[ But only if. ]

I should also like to know what manner of man or creature boasts hair long enough to rival your own height.