With wide-eyed astonishment, October DeBorgia watches the seemingly indestructable soldier attempt to utilize her gift. Tendrils of anguine half-light issue from Genehsee's leather clad hand. Beads of perspiration highlight her sun darkened forehead, her brows knitted together in concentration. After a moment, the coil of unruly incandescence flows hesitantly into a weightless cylinder-shape.
Pressing her lips together, the Kayrith soldier begins to focus all her energy on the spinning, irresolute orb. Holes appear in the golden substance at regular intervals, a mouthpiece starting to manifest itself at one of the two thin ends.
October nods in approval, recognizing the instrument at once, and she folds her hands together in her lap. The luminous flute finishes its transformation and Genehsee clenches her hand into a fist, making her leather glove creak modestly.
"So I see you have some potential, Genehsee," October begins, but the scarred and tempered woman cuts her off with a discourteous smirk.
"No. I'm not finished."
The bards cheeks flush with what she hopes the soldier takes as anger, but holds her tongue.