Private Tales Everything is Going Great

[Marcia]

She was in a box.

Not a metaphorical box that might have signified particular walls or barriers put in place that might have reflected poorly on her as a person, but an actual fucking metal box, locked with a padlock and located in one of the Academy's storage rooms alongside training dummies and target boards.

Marcia had been blindsided, caught unaware in the corridor on her way to bed by two mystery assailants or one mystery assailant with more than two arms, but the former seemed more likely. The girl hadn't caught sight of them, having been cracked in the back of the head and immediately blindfolded. Still, she had a solid idea of the culprits' identities—a pair of arrogant, ostentatious egos who, while begrudgingly talented, were also wholly loathsome pricks. The twat team, as she called them.

Then again, she wasn't the most popular Initiate and her existence was antagonistic enough to relegate her from scrappy underdog to obnoxious menace amongst her peers. It could have been anybody.

She needed to rectify this as a marker of self-improvement; working well with others was an unfortunate trait of a well-rounded Dreadlord. There hadn't been much success, but she was approaching camaraderie with the determination and grace of an Anirian Pit Dog. Perhaps she needed to change the approach, but that wasn't something she could do while locked inside a bloody box.

Having already tried to punch and kick her way out furiously, Marcia had deduced with each enraged clang that it was a metal box, the lid of which was now stained with the blood of her unrelenting fists. When brute force hadn't worked, the Initiate shifted onto her back and tried to force the lid open with her boots, but since she weighed as much as a wet cat, it was unsuccessful.

It was becoming inevitable that the box would be her bed for the night, granted it wasn't airtight. The thought of being the Academy student who suffocated in a box was suddenly very real and very horrifying.

"Fuck!"

New plan. Loud noises.

So the box, or rather the student inside the box, began to scream, holler, and swear, with threats of profanity-laden violence peppered in for good measure. Surely, somebody was going to come along and help her.

Then again, it was quite late at night.

 

[Saderzaine Vult]

Sader was in his room, unable to fall asleep. This happened sometimes, but it was never too big of a deal when it did. He usually just got up and tried to busy himself with something like writing or reading until his rebellious mind succumbed to the fatigue brought on by keeping one's eyes open in pitch black. However, strangely, such a strategy failed to set him back to rest on this very night. He had a feeling behind his eyes that no matter what he tried, he was somehow too awake to slumber.

Now having accepted his fate, the studious initiate decided the best thing to do was likely be productive. All of his paper work was completed so he slowly opened his door and looked out, taking some time to allow his eyes to adapt to the darkened hallway. Going back in to grab his spear, he stumbled across the threshold of the doorway and out into said hallway, praying to the king that he was going the right way to the training arena. By some miracle, he actually managed to make it to the huge room.

It was quiet, mostly, and the first thing the boy noticed was the lack of targets around the arena. Well, that would have to be rectified. Half sighing, half yawning, Sader began to make his way over to the closet where most of the dummies were kept. About halfway there, he began to hear a rather unpleasant sound ahead of him, like someone violently screaming but muffled by a pillow. He picked up the pace, a little bit creeped out now, and quickly got to the closet. The sound had become louder.

Finally, he slowly opened the door and the voice gained volume. As furious words hit his ears, he realized exactly who was speaking, for only one he had heard of was quite so famous and despised for their rage: Initiate Marcia. Known as Marci the Menace in the school's grapevine, Sader had never quite understood why everyone was so pissed off by her. People, however awful, need a reason to be angry, and Sader guessed there was a reason in this case as well.

Finally opening the door all the way, he understood what the problem was. She appeared to be locked in a metal box secured by a padlock. As little as he understood about the situation, he knew it was probably not a great idea to let someone stay locked up in a tiny box without much exposure to oxygen. Even for something like revenge, this method was cruel. "Hello, Marcia. Let me introduce myself after you're out of this box, actually." he said, hefting his spear and poking at the lock before thrusting the weapon directly at the thin metal part that actually locks into place. A clang resounded out and the lock emerged slightly damaged.

"While I do this, mind telling me why you find yourself in a box? I'm not making fun of you, just curious."

Marcia

(If you're not good with my nickname for her I can remove lol)

 

[Marcia]

She would have heard somebody enter the room had she not been in the midst of an admirable one-woman ruckus. It wasn't until the person on the other side of the box spoke that Marcia ceased her feral racket and settled down somewhat.

Before she could answer, she heard and felt the clang of metal on metal reverberating through the container and into the back of her teeth. As she was still inside the box, the girl could only assume that the first attempt hadn't been successful, but she gave the lid another kick for good measure, snarling when it didn't grant her freedom.

Perhaps it might have behoved Marcia to exercise a modicum of politeness to the mystery person trying actively free her; however, maybe it would have behoved this person not to ask such stupid fucking questions.

"I thought it would be hilarious if I suffocated in a box. So I climbed in and got real comfy," the Initiate snapped back, doing her poor reputation little favours. "What do you fucking think?! I got jumped by a pair of gutless arseholes who crammed me in here!"

Maybe it wasn't the twat team; indeed, they would have lingered around for a chance to gloat before throwing the box into a river. Was she really that despised that it could have been anybody? A sobering thought that stopped her ungrateful outburst for the time being.

Perhaps berating the person trying to help her wasn't the way forward.

"...sorry," she muttered, "it's not your fault."

 

[Saderzaine Vult]

Sader was momentarily taken aback by the outburst but regained his composure just as fast. In asking the question he had, the assumption was that a feeling of even minuscule gratitude would cause Marcia to cooperate with his attempt to get caught up. However, having looking back, he had to admit that perhaps expecting a positive response from someone that was trapped in an air-starved metal box was optimistic at best and stupid at worst.

Well, at least he had a grasp on what had occurred. Two people had attacked Initiate Marcia and stuffed her in a metal box. This was far eviler than what one might call a prank, so the way to narrow down culprits in this case was obvious: Identify who would have the guts to not only pull it off, but risk revenge.

He imagined by rumor that many people wanted a piece of Marcia, but those same stories told of the danger of challenging her. He paused for a moment as his mind registered her apology and he began to feel a little bad. “No, I’m sorry as well. My question was genuine, but it was insensitive. Luckily, it gets us closer to figuring out who did this.” In truth, he had seen Marcia out of the corner of his eye many a time and she seemed as studious and determined as he was. He imagined then that if he was perhaps a bit more surly he would find himself in quite the same situation as her.

With that, he stabbed the spear directly at the wounded part of the lock once again and paused. “If you’re wondering why I decided to help and not just leave you here, by chance, Sneak attacks just aren’t cool. People who use them are weak and fearful of the consequences of fighting head on.” After about six more hits, the spear finally pierced the metal and broke the lock. He removed it and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

“Awright. Try the door again, friend!”

Marcia

 

[Marcia]

There was a small sigh of relief on Marcia's part when the person on the other side continued to talk instead of abandoning her following the small outburst.

What great fortune it was that she had been found by one of the few people within these walls who seemed to value kindness, a rare quality in the Academy. Most of the other students, she feared, might have left her to rot. Even some of the more traditional Proctors might have turned it into a ruthless test as a lesson for getting into the situation in the first place.

The lock was hit again, and indeed, before she could ask, he explained. What a helpful soul. "Well, it's appreciated," she replied, not entirely in agreement with his opinion on sneak attacks but willing to wait until she was free to explain.

Six more teeth rattling clangs, and the sound of freedom came in the heavy thunk of a padlock hitting the floor. Marcia didn't need to be told twice and did not hesitate, both feet kicking again against the lid that finally opened and brought freedom and, more importantly, air. Relaxing for a moment, she observed the violent smear of blood from her knuckles on the inside of the lid like a work of angry art.

"...thank fuck," she sighed before finally sitting up to face her saviour; the girl's face had turned red from all the yelling in an oxygen-poor environment, "...or I guess, thank you. Initiate Vult, right?"

Somewhat embarrassingly, she didn't even know his first name because she was an unpleasant loner. Everybody had her at a disadvantage on that front, she was just Marcia, named by the Academy on account of being here since before she could register memory. They hadn't thought to give her a surname. What was the point? She wasn't from some noble house.

That wasn't to say she didn't know of him; she knew enough. He was one of the stronger Initiates. He kept to himself but worked noticeably hard. It was no surprise what he was doing in the storage at this time of night. Training. Always seeking to improve. She had him pegged as one to watch, as competition, but never realised he was kind.

"But agree to disagree on the merit of sneak attacks," Marcia followed up with, inspecting the wreckage of her knuckles. It shouldn't have been a surprising opinion on her part; the art of the ambush was necessary for those not so well-endowed in strength and stature. "I should've been paying attention. Fucking sloppy on my part."

 

[Saderzaine Vult]

Sader chuckled a little bit, amused at the disparity between what he had heard and the reality of the situation concerning Initiate Marcia’s temper. She was a perfectly fine lass, given the opportunity. “Oh, yes, that’s me.” He paused for a moment, debating to himself whether any further information was necessary. He quickly decided harm was unlikely and chose to reveal his first name.

“My first name is Sader, if that’s any quicker to say.”

Sader looked down at Marcia’s prison cell and noticed the blood on the now open door, whistling a bit. It was a sound meant to describe a very specific reaction: Half concerned, half impressed. “Are you quite alright? You should talk to a doctor about that tomorrow.” It was obviously hers, likely the result of a more violent tactic than yelling for help. Well, at least there would be no more of that tonight.

He then waited as she advocated for sneak attacks and he realized what he had said was more general than what he meant. “Oh, yes, about that. I was being a tad too broad when I should have been specific.” His morals were a bit hard to explain, but it could be done: “Someone willing to risk another’s wrath should not then play tricks and hide. However, such tactics being used solely to make up the difference between a weaker and stronger fighter as a way to fight head-on is something I find neat. It’s all about intention.”

Sader grinned a little after finishing his tirade and rested some of his weight on his spear. Perhaps because he was tired, his next line came out a bit less professionally than intended. “Howeverrr…there is the possibility I’m just a bit of a prick, too.” His ears perked up at Marcia’s self-scolding and guessed such a thing might not have happened to her before. “Well, I couldn’t sleep much and so before this whole thing I was going to train,” he explained, patting the head of a wooden dummy as a way of demonstration.

“However, you seem like more of an entertaining opponent if you’re up for it. If not, though…that would probably make more sense.”

 

[Marcia]

First name basis, and who said she couldn't be amicable? Well, mostly everybody, but fuck the lot of them.

"Nah, it's fine," Marcia responded, almost puzzled by his concern for her health, before flexing her hands to check for broken bones. They were bleeding and already bruising, but that was pretty standard for her. "Just split, nothing to cry over."

At last, the girl stood up, having had quite enough of sitting in the confines of her temporary accommodation and stretching out limbs that felt the ache of cramp from being confined in a small space. She nodded as Sader elaborated on his position, setting him out as more honourable than most of their peers, certainly more honourable than her.

"You? A prick?" The Initiate scoffed, finding it hard to believe that the diligent young man who had freed her had a single improper bone in his entire body. "I find that one hard to swallow."

Marcia stepped out of the box and craned her neck to look up at him, very clearly giving him more thorough consideration than she had ever done prior. He dressed modestly, which she could appreciate in the sense of form over function, but the way he spoke and his posture betrayed that spartan wrapping. Nobility. Usually, the kind she had the most friction with as a no-name ward of the Academy.

"I'll never turn down a chance to spar," Marcia finally said with a shrug of the shoulders. "Hand-to-hand or armed? Saviour's choice."

An incredulous smirk suddenly crested upon her face, her arms folding across her chest in diminutive judgment.

"And while you're mulling it over, tell me the worst thing you've ever done to another Initiate. I'll be the one to decide if you're a prick or not, Sader."

 

[Saderzaine Vult]

Sader rolled his eyes in surrender, realizing further argument was ineffective at best and likely futile. She had dealt with such punishment long enough to deal with it how she wanted anyway. “If you say so, friend. Just a suggestion on my part, though.” Sader sighed and picked up his spear without much ceremony, rotating it in his hands in a manner that was clearly fidgeting.

He grinned a little as his new acquaintance finally stood. Just now taking the time to appreciate what being trapped in a metal box must feel like, he was actually a bit uncomfortable at the idea someone would force such a thing on anyone, let alone a fellow initiate.

“I appreciate that very much. May be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me, in fact.” He fought the urge to laugh when he noticed that Marcia had to crane her neck to look at him, the odd scenario something he had only thought possible in tales of comedy. However, there was also another odd feeling as he watched the shorter initiate appraise him: embarrassment?

Nobody had ever really looked at him like this before and it was strangely confusing. Her eyes moved from his face to his clothes, an action that had him unconsciously smoothing the side of his shirt. Luckily, before he could read into it at all, Marcia finally spoke. That broke his haze and all of the feelings disappeared, at least for now.

Befor he could respond, however, he was given another query that caught his attention. What exactly was the worst thing he had ever done to an initiate? Suddenly, though it was an embarrassing answer, the words popped into his mind. “Feel free to laugh at how pretentious this is, but…I simply worked hard. I played my given hand well enough that my only rivals are other overachievers such as yourself, King and The Queen, etc. I fear I’m disliked by some for my performance.”

When he finally ceased his rambling, he noticed a spare spear in the closet and quickly stabbed his own spear into a dummy’s chest to keep it in one place before picking up the practice wooden one. “So, what’s the verdict, oh judge? By the way, I choose armed. You use a shield, right? That’s pretty interesting.”

With slight flourish he stepped back and gestured at the closet as though to say get your stuff. In truth, sparring rather excited him. It was a clash of skill and a marker of progress for both the winner and the loser. What more was there to appreciate?

Marcia

 

[Marcia]

Marcia did laugh, a large snort ripping through her nose as Initiate Vult revealed that he believed himself to be somewhat of a prick by simply excelling. However, the hilarity was slightly dampened by the mention of the twat brigade; just hearing them in passing conversation was enough to boil the girl's piss, and so a scowl capped off the hilarity.

"The verdict?" She repeated, searching through the training equipment when prompted until she found a standard metal buckler, which lacked the flesh-rending spikes that her real weapon had. "You're a fucking saint."

She spat on the back of the shield, buffing the metal with her elbow to better see her reflection. Even just looking at her mirror image, she could feel a part of herself siphoned away temporarily. Much to her chagrin, it wasn't something she could turn off, but she decided not to mention it in case Sader offered counselling or something sickeningly wholesome.

"Fuck people that don't like you for working hard. They should be less worried about you and more worried about themselves," she added, the beginning of her tirade a source of obvious annoyance given how much the girl bared her teeth when she spoke. Marcia went through the rest of her options for something more offensive to compliment the shield, opting for a wooden training dagger in the end, affectionately known as 'children's cutlery'. "It pisses me off, Sader. We don't go through all this to be happy with being average. We're training to be fucking spine of the Anirian Guard. We should be the best."

Of course, they couldn't all be the best, but the spirit of competition would drive one of them to the top.

Having gathered her gear, the Initiate marched off, expecting him to follow as she wordlessly dictated their arena for sparring. "Yeah, the shield works for me. Reflection and protection." Marcia explained over her shoulder as she led the way to one of the more spartan rooms. "Makes a great sound when you smash it into somebody's face too."

Initiate Jarnac's nose had never been the same.

The room she led them to was for the express purpose of sparring, which lacked the mirrors that other rooms held to check one's form. It was a room for the confident, which demanded no errors, less you found yourself battered on the cobbled floor. The Academy didn't pull punches there, and there was no padding or frills; it was just bare utility made to hone skills and focus.

"Can't believe being told you're probably not a prick is one of the nicest things you've been told. Rough. Figured a guy like you would be swimming in pals," Marcia finally brought up; whether it was a genuine curiosity or a mind game before the fight was yet to be seen.

 

[Saderzaine Vult]

Sader grinned at his new friend's laughter, as he was mostly sure it was safe to declare them friends, and only wiped off his goofy smile when he spotted a scowl on Marcia's face. Quickly racing though what he had said, he assumed it was likely because of his positive appraisal of Vittoria and King. Those two were, while exceedingly powerful, also an extremely acquired taste. They were a prideful pair who seemingly took their heritage and magic as an excuse to be superior, and people like that would likely have clashed with a firebrand like his fellow initiate.

His smile returned with a bit of an added snicker at Marcia's appraisal at his prickiness. "You know what, I think I'll take that." It wasn't as though he had been fishing for a compliment, of course, but in hearing such a comment he couldn't possibly refrain from feeling good. As much as he shoved it down to work quietly and efficiently at improving while avoiding trouble, his pride was always present. His work ethic was a result of honing such an emotion into a helpful habit, much like melting and forming an ingot into a shiny spearhead or blade.

Marcia's next words caught his attention once again and he nodded in agreement. His opinion was not so strongly worded but came out to the same: The time people wasted glaring at him was time they could be using to become better and stronger and faster, so it was their loss. Such a thought had continued to allow him to push through worries and only focus on his own progress, so that was good in the long run. As he began to walk behind Marcia towards the chosen sparring chamber, he couldn't help but explain: "That's what I aim to be. The best, if I can. It'll put me in a position to be worthy of my legacy, a son and successor of my father." It was true, after all. "I figure if I have to break a few bones or forgo friends to get to a better place, so be it. Good luck to those who don't do the same."

His tone was a bit raw, a bit more emotion-wrought than he had intended, but whatever. Marcia of all people could surely handle it. "Well, as far as the shield thing goes, I'll take your word for it. As for what I said before, don't think you're off the hook either, except for the friends part." he teased a bit before going silent for the rest of the trip and seemingly just...thinking. When they stopped moving he immediately recognized which room had been picked, both for it's reputation as the domain of those ahead of the others and a place he had found himself improving his muscle memory through the lack of mirrors. "Nice. This room always gives me slight chills whenever I enter it, just because of how important it is."

At Marcia's final comment Sader found himself shrugging a bit. His lack of friends had never been that much of a mental obstacle to overcome. There were simply too many distractions for it to become one. "Well, by an initiate, that one being you. I have a rather lovely friend named Eliezer back at home. Bit of a smartass, but that's fine because I give it back myself. As for the others around here, I don't quite go out of my way to socialize. Now, I could imagine having more friends, but so far my policy of staying quiet and efficient has been working. If something is unbroken, as they say, why fix it?" He rambled, finally quieting and taking a moment to look around the mostly pristine room. It was quiet in a peaceful way, and for some reason the boy found himself exhaling a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"I chose our fighting rules, so you can pick your side of the room first, if that matters at all." It likely did not, he assumed, but such a thing felt gentlemanly to offer so he couldn't quite see the issue in doing so.

Marcia

 

[Marcia]

Instead of offering much in response as he spoke on their way to the sparring chamber, Marcia had simply listened. Of course, she had made snap judgments on him as he revealed the surprisingly passionate motivations for his success, confirming a notable lineage on the way—exactly as she had predicted. His existence did seem to suggest that not all children born of noble houses were born with their entire heads up their asses.

Although, there was still room for her to be proven wrong. Wankers come in all flavours, some more subtle than others. Then again, Initiate Vult was even enthusiastic about the room; it was hardly coiled serpent behaviour.

A curt nod was returned as she picked the far end, back against the wall, which felt like creature comfort to the usually antagonistic young woman.

"You're lucky. I've been picked up for not socialising by the Proctors," Marcia finally said, taking her place opposite him with room to spare. "Or 'not socialising well, Initiate Marcia'." She was perhaps missing the forest for the trees there; the girl's Academy solitude was far more antagonistic on her part. Keeping your head down and getting on with it didn't suggest you couldn't work well with others; smashing your head into somebody's teeth on the back of a sly dig did.

Who could imagine that the worst thing the Academy could ask a person to do was to try to make some friends?

"It's a fucking nightmare," she groaned while adjusting the shield grip and strap to her dominant right arm. On the back of the buckler, she focused on her reflection and let herself split for a few seconds. Controlling her body and mirror image simultaneously felt natural now; it had taken so long for her to get comfortable being in two places at once. Her reflection desynced, craning her neck as if getting amped up to fight, although Sader would be none the wiser given he was on the other side of the buckler. "I'm not the only Initiate who could use a dressing down on the merits of teamwork, but fuck me, I guess."

Not intending to start with her magic, she broke eye contact with her mirror-self, snapping it back to place as a mundane reflection, and looked to him instead, a bounce in her heels and the wooden dagger in her left hand.

"Show me what you've got, Vult. It's the only way you're getting me to the infirmary."

 

[Saderzaine Vult]

Sader nodded to himself and took the front end of the room, taking the time to stretch a little bit in preparation for the battle ahead. He began doing basic movements with his spear while he listened to Marcia rant, grinning wryly. "Oh, it definitely comes in part with my place in the class. The proctors are really a rather innocuous bunch if they can trust you to have your shit together." That seemed to be the way most things worked in the institute and that was perfectly fine by Sader. Responsibility begot Responsibility which begot freedom, which was how the world worked in the first place. The solution was then to not fall behind in the footrace life sometimes forced one to run in.

It seemed that in a place as competitive as the academy, the hardest task set before them was to gather allies. Sader's operating principle was that he would hone his abilities to the point where the only two choices anyone had in his regard was to either leave well alone or try to be friends. So far most had chosen the latter, though. "You're right, there, and I think it's a bit unfair if they really do pick on you over anyone else. I mean, it's not as if the people you fight don't deserve what they get, surely. You don't quite strike me as the spontaneous berserker type." As soon as he finished speaking he paused his training activities and finally began to take a fighting stance.

"Show me what you've got, Vult. It's the only way you're getting me to the infirmary."

"I never said I wanted- fuck it." he tried to retort, pausing quickly as he decided such a one liner was not designed to elicit a serious answer and just began to run towards his opponent. "First to yield loses, Marcia! Expect it not to be me." Sader exclaimed. He paused as he got into the range of his spear, eyes flitting from the girl's shield to dagger as he began to plan. There was no question he had her at a disadvantage with this distance between them, but the opposite would be true if she could get inside his range. There were simply too many possibilities to predict how best to cleanly make the first move.

He began simply, then, launching a spear thrust clearly meant to test how his new friend would react. That information would be the basis for his next strategy. Now, normally he would begin a sparring session where magic was allowed by making use of his speed to take advantage of the element of surprise, but Marcia seemed to be holding back on using her own powers in order to fight. I'll just have to force you to get serious then, is that it?

Fine.

Marcia

 

[Marcia]

If he allowed her to dictate the pace, then she would.

Rather than go in full force, Marcia preferred to get a sense of his style so she would have a chance to learn and adapt. She knew that he was stronger than her, that his reach, even without a spear, was better, and that the other Initiate was unquestionably faster. It left her with little choice but to be cautious, patient and, above all, intelligent. She couldn't just run at him.

Far from the 'spontaneous berserker type', indeed. Her reputation may not have agreed with the assessment, but all the goading that led to her infamous violent outbursts eliminated any spontaneity—simply a regular berserker.

Although...

There had been something he said there...

She met the spear thrust with the buckler, deflecting it to the side with a sweep of her arm. She could feel the impact of the training weapon reverberate through the shield and into her arm, but that wasn't what bothered her.

"So you're saying I don't have my shit together?" Marcia questioned, an eyebrow raised in irritation as she slowly began to step to the side to circle him, her buckler back in position in anticipation of his next strike.

 

[Saderzaine Vult]

Sader simply let the deflected blow fly to the side and jumped back a little to return to his usual balance. Spear and guard still up, he took a moment to absorb what had happened. By throwing such a choreographed attack her way, he had given away the key to controlling the tempo of the match. Marcia was definitely smart enough to have picked that up, so what happened next was enlightening.

She was doing the same to him as he was to her, testing the water and trying to feel out his tactics. While he had returned, however, to an offensive stance, she appeared to have returned to defending. They were back to square one, it seemed, but that was fine. He managed to snap out of his analyzing reverie just in time to register that she had begun to slowly circle him as well as catch Marcia's comment.

He had meant nothing bad by it, but considering who he was talking to it was rather obvious that he should have considered what it could have implied. "No, no, I was just saying that given I am doing alright, the proctors tend to leave me be. It was no dig towards ya. I want to be your friend, ideally, so insulting you isn't quite the move I had in mind." With that he ceased speaking and stayed still, following his opponent's footsteps by turning in place using his back foot as an anchor.

"You should know that I take you more seriously than most people I fight, so I'd never waste my breath saying anything I don't mean." In a tense situation like the stalemate they found themselves in, it was crucial not to move without absolute surety. "Whenever you're ready, Miss Marcia." he teased, hoping his inaction would result in movement he could take advantage of. However patient both of them were being, their situation would make both of them antsy eventually. All Sader could do was resolve not to be the first to act.

Marcia

 

[Marcia]

Although she was annoyed by the notion of being less than any of their peers, Marcia couldn't help but note his response with some interest. He was honest and wholesome, following up with compliments in the pursuit of friendship. Did he strive not to offend?

"...Miss ...Marcia?" The Initiate repeated slowly, hoping she might have misheard.

So much for the theory of Sader striving not to offend.

She stopped circling him and lowered the shield, the expression fixed on her face now one of a grave offence, lips drawn into a thin, taut line, a wide-eyed fury now looking up at Sader as if he had spat on her. She had not misheard. He really called her that. Miss Marcia gave the image of some delicate young lady who whittled the day away with floral crafts and cake eating.

As if he could goad her into att-

From her static position, she suddenly sprinted towards him, looking to shunt the buckler's curved centre into his gut. Was it wise? No. Did she care? Also no.

 

[Saderzaine Vult]

As soon as Sader registered the slow way his opponent repeated his words back to him, he realized something had gone wrong once again. She just... I just... stupid... he sighed and remained in his stance, silently wishing he had been smart and had just shut up.

He wasn't even sure why his words had offended this time but did gain quite the insight into just how much of a field of beartraps he was truly dealing with. All he had been doing (or trying to do) was address her the way he might talk to an adult, but even that was apparently bad.

Suddenly she paused her circling and slightly lowered the shield to reveal an expression far from friendly. The kind reserved by most normal people for the gravest of insults. He didn’t understand if she was trying to get into his head, but he refused to address it now. Should she attack in actual anger, he would show no pity and take advantage of such a miscalculation the best he could. In a fight, such logic was what truly made him a Dreadlord Initiate.

Given how things had been going thus far, he doubted she would want him to take it easy anyway. With those thoughts out of the way he watched as Marcia charged towards him and tried to slam her shield into his stomach. Reacting by back-stepping out of the range of the blow and sharply drawing his spear up to try and hit her, he decided now was the best time to set things straight.

“I didn’t and don’t mean to upset you. However, expect no mercy if you take these risks.” He explained with a steely glint in his eyes. The boy was quite serious, after all.

Marcia

 

[Marcia]

Much to her chagrin, he had the audacity to dodge her sudden shield rush and struck back in turn. One of the few boons about being so petite was that even smaller shields protected more of her than they would have with others, allowing her to block the retort with a loud clang.

"Fucking Miss," Marcia spat in response, shaking her head in disbelief at both his oblivious nature and his willingness to have shown her mercy in the first place. "Should I have expected your mercy because I am little Miss Marcia?"

Oh, what it must have been to be of stature and status. Or even just a man; they didn't seem to obtain terms of address that reduced them to delicate creatures.

"And I've got to take risks! You've got a spear, and I've got a fucking shield, you knob," she seethed before charging forward once more, looking to ram her fellow Initiate like a furious pint-sized battering ram. Reckless violence seemed highly preferable to standing still and waiting for him to hit her from range.

 

[Saderzaine Vult]

He would take the block in stride, bringing his weapon back down to standard position and waiting there. At his now steaming acquaintance's nest words, he would momentarily be at a loss. Just as quickly, however, he decided there was no reason to have lost his voice. "Little? Little Miss? I would advise you not put those patronizing words in my mouth. I also wasn't showing you mercy in the first place, you just twisted my words. What I meant was, just because you got angry doesn't mean I'm going to take this bout any less seriously than before." he retorted, his words far more firm than they had been thus far.

He was genuinely confused at how his words had become so warped. He had made his intentions as far as their friendship clear and he failed to understand what exactly he would gain, that being nothing, by suddenly dishing out an insult. While building a response, he simply waited for Marcia to get closer and stepped to the side, hoping the smaller initiate might not be able to turn so easily in her reckless charge.

Guard still up, he decided that his attempts at reason were futile. Thusly, he decided to go with a rather dangerous strategy: The entire truth. It was admittedly a risky gambit but as far as he could tell was one of his few remaining choices.
“I don’t think you’re some delicate little twig or a daisy or any of that BULLSHIT. I was simply trying to be formal, but if you want to turn me into just another dickhead and assume the worst I can leave. Right now.” he said with a bit of spirit, kind of sick of it at this point.

Wisely, however, he refrained from commenting on her earlier move being one of (in his opinion) a spontaneous nature. That sort of commentary would not quite reinforce his stance on this whole thing.

He then looked a bit odd, his expression weirdly tired for how fiery his speech had been. “If it comes to that, though, I guess all I have to say is sorry for upsetting you.”

He paused for a moment in a cold sweat but still on guard, waiting for answers.

Marcia

 

[Marcia]

Marcia sailed past as he sidestepped, her frustration only building as the satisfaction of a solid hit was denied. She could feel her rage, as much a part of her as blood and bone pulsating, drawing invisible wires taut across her form: clenched teeth, strained jaw, stiff shoulders and white bloodied knuckles.

"Of course, you meant fucking well!" The Initiate shouted, her back turned to him as her run became a deliberate canter. It was difficult to tell whether the girl was furious with him for offending her or for being frustratingly polite and measured.

Or if she was even mad at Sader at all.

Unhooking her arm from the shield strap, she tossed it to the floor with an almighty reverberating clang as the metal wobbled on the cobbles. Her back was still to him as she stormed up to the wall and levelled a hard right into the uncompromising stone with a thick smack.

"Fuck!"

She finally turned, clutching her already bruised fist that now trembled with her other hand. Perhaps she was mad at everything, as her reputation dictated.

"They locked me in a box like a dog! Do you know how humiliating that is?!" Marcia shouted, the truth of the matter coming to the fore. She had suspiciously seemed to have gotten over it far too quickly. "They wouldn't do that to you, would they?! You're... you have a fucking house, you're well-spoken, you're not like... like this!" She gestured to herself and her petite frame, her hands trembling to punctuate her point. "You have fucking respect!"

 

[Saderzaine Vult]

Sader breathed out a sigh of relief, happy things hadn’t quite gone as bad as they could’ve. Thankfully Marcia was burdened by the weight of her body and could not punish his relative inaction, but there appeared to be a stranger issue afoot: She hadn’t yet turned around and was, oddly enough, purposefully jogging towards a wall.

It was difficult to tell exactly what the problem was anymore, at least for the moment, but it was clear a fight was no longer top priority. He simply followed behind at a respectful pace after dropping his spear with a thud against the sandy stone, unsure how to respond.

Even so, Sader sensed what was coming before it even happened, the metal shield impacting the ground as though some sort of nasty timer reaching zero. Something bad was about to occur. When Marcia finally hit the wall, the thwacking sound bounced around in his head like a ball on a billiards table, slowly getting quieter until falling silent. He froze in place as she turned, scared to make things worse.

When she began to speak, however, he realized that what was happening rather made sense. She had seemingly gotten over the whole incident in a strangely brief manner, after all. Now, though, it was clear that was not the case. Tactically allowing his new friequaintance’s first rhetorical question to remain rhetorical, he would silently listen to the rest of Marcia’s rant. She was…jealous of him? “Sure they wouldn’t do it to me, but not for ANY of the reasons ya mentioned, including having respect. I’m just a nobody who does their work and keeps their head down, meaning I’m not a good target to make an example of.” That sounded reasonable enough, so he continued.

“What they probably tried to do today is scare you, and as the person wronged it is up to you to rise above their petty little games. Stay working hard and trying to get better, and if you ever figure out who did this just call on me and we can give them a good ass-kicking.” he said, completely serious about each word he spoke.

“Is that, uh, reasonable?” he said with a bit of hesitation, unsure whether anything he had said would get through.

Marcia

 

[Marcia]

It was probably perfectly reasonable, at least from where Initiate Vult stood.

However, rage was the emotion of the beast and, in the face of reason, often bared its teeth. His words, as well-meaning and logical as they were, crashed against her as a wave would the breakwater, reducing them to useless platitudes that caused her expression to twist and sneer.

"Fuck keeping your head down," she spat, her tone laced with the bile of disagreement. "Name an Archon, or a First Level who kept their fucking head down."

Her hostility could not be restrained, even when loosened at the wrong target. Her poor social reputation was not misunderstood; no radiant soul was hidden beneath her surface, waiting for a quick fix to undo the personal failings that made her who she was. That anger, ever-present, always threatening, was Marcia.

"We're training for war, Vult! To fight! To kill! It's not about fucking rising above it all. When I find out who did it, I'll kick their heads in, I'll fucking destroy them!"

 

[Saderzaine Vult]

He had hoped things would have gone back to normal by now but he had perhaps been a bit optimistic there. Marcia was evidently in a stir and he had not done much to make it better. However, he felt that the lesson this moment could offer would be much more important than his surrender. “Name an Archon or First Level? Well, I don’t know any personally, but I’m willing to bet they keep their hands hidden and heads down until it is truly necessary.” he retorted.

Those kinds of skills were necessary to lead. He, of course, had neither mastered but figured he was qualified to at least speak on the matter. Animals were as well, especially hunters. Sader remembered reading about how such creatures stalked their prey at a young age, realizing that an unflappable mind was just as important in a hunt as the claws or teeth that ended it.

“Though it is a frank way to put it, my point is this: Getting angry at me is inefficient. You waste energy that could be used on thinking on being mad. Do you know when you can use all this energy being mad? When you’re kicking their teeth out of their mouths. Until then, why lash out when you should instead be figuring out how to put whoever did this at your mercy?” he noted with measured calm, breathing in a bit of air he had expended speaking.

Marcia

 

[Marcia]

A peculiar strangled noise left the back of Marcia's throat as her hands went up to her face, the palms of her balled fists now resting on her temples as if trying to keep in a colossal migraine.

Not content to be logical in the face of the girl's wrath, Vult also remained perfectly calm. His patient demeanour fueled the fire beneath her trembling hands, her face turning red as breathing came in second place to seething. Why was it so infuriating to face measured stoicism when losing composure?

"I don't choose to be mad, Vult!" Marcia shouted back, her hands leaving her temples and gesticulating wildly, fingers gnarled and furious. "I just fucking am!"

Then, without prior warning, the Initiate's foot lashed out at the shield, kicking the steel with an almighty clang that disguised the snapping of bone. Almost immediately, Marcia clamoured through gritted teeth, hopping onto the other foot as the pain kicked in.

"Damn it!"

 

[Saderzaine Vult]

Sader watched on in quiet acceptance as things seemed to take yet another turn for the worse. Marcia was evidently going through a wildly varying group of emotions at this point and none of them seemed likely to return their talk to a civilized one. Well, that was if the "frenzied headache" look was anything to go off of, at least.

Being quietly infuriating was quite a tool. It was part of what made someone who operated off of logic so unreadable. Though such a spirit served well when navigating the twisting path of noble politics and presenting oneself as not to be pushed around, it didn't promote empathy or understanding.

However, the boy was finally realizing that he couldn't use empathy either. The problem she was facing was relatable, surely, but at this point he had taken a stance such that trying to relate would likely only read as mockery or worse. Instead he listened to her response and just sighed softly to himself, thinking about how best to progress. He landed on simply pausing on his negotiating and allowing her space to figure it out.

He looked over to Marcia as a clang resounded from a kicked shield and noticed that she was suddenly on one foot. Well, he hadn't quite expected that to happen. "You're really hurt, Marcia. Would you let me help you to the infirmary or something, at least? It's not as if we can spar any longer." he asked with concern, fairly confident in his next steps. This couldn't go wrong, surely. All he had to do was try to be anything but a burden and he knew how to do that...probably.

Marcia

 

[Marcia]

"I'm FINE!" Marcia screeched in response, slamming her foot back on the ground to emphasise that she was not at all hurt. This only caused her broken toe to protest, sending a static reverberation through her foot that made her grimace.

In truth, she was fine, at least physically. Ordinarily, there was little to be done with a broken toe other than grin and bear it until enough time passed to heal. Of course, a trip to Proctor Urahil would have it right as rain in a second; the benefits of having one of the best healers in the land right there at the Academy.

Mentally, the Initiate wasn't so fine, but it wasn't as if she could hide that.

"I don't need any fucking..."

He wasn't going to give up, was he? Vult had given the distinctive impression of some chivalrous wretch who wouldn't take no for an answer, and the thought of him wearing her down until she finally relented and allowed him to help was enough to make grown men weep.

"Fuck it," Marcia finally sighed, her jaw set in granite. "Help me, then. But I swear, if you try to carry me, I will cut you in your sleep."