That's enough to make her smile, although she shakes her head in fond resignation. "And here I thought you'd aim to put me to shame the first chance you get, show off." But her's will take more work, and she holds out her hand again, brow furrowed in focus.

What curls up from her hand isn't exactly a firework. Not yet, at least -- just twinning branches of purple light like the horns of halla that branch off into vines like Mythal's vallaslin before each point rockets into the air, exploding in miniature versions of the larger ones above them both, and fall like glittering rain.

"Better?"