Completed Tous les Mêmes

[Kilien Basmarc]

"What, this?" Kilien said through a wince as Nurse Joilene roughly tended to his knee, "It's just a scratch. Nothin compared to-" he gestured to Marci and then gestured to his face, "you know. That."

Though he suspected Marcia wouldn't have to wait long for even her face to heal up. Now that she'd been stitched, the Nurses would be administering a healing potion at some point to take care of the rest. It would probably scar, though he guessed that Marcia wouldn't care.

She probably thought scars were sexy.

"It looks like you split your kneecap," the Nurse intoned, "you shouldn't have walked here on it."

"Ehh..." Kilien made a strangled sort of noise and leaned back onto his hands, "I've been through worse."

"Yes," Joi stood with a scowl and turned away to storm off to the storage room, muttering something about every single month.

"You like scars?" Kil looked over at Mar, seemingly enjoying all the fuss despite his protests, and lifted a hand to trace over his face where a scar would likely be on hers, "that's going to look pretty badass."

 

[Marcia]

"Do I like scars?" Marcia repeated back at him, letting the question hang above her as she continued laying on the bed while nurse Joilene puttered around, tending to Kilien's fucked knee. "It's not something I've put much thought into."

Scars were expected; she'd already gathered a small collection from sparring, missions, and, well... arseholes. The one that ran over her eye was a vindictive present from D'Amour in a duel that had, rather predictably, turned nasty. She'd just been glad she'd not lost the eye, never worrying about how it looked.

Until now, under the malaise of a bloodless head.

"Badass is good." After all, Harkenov looked fucking badass, and she looked like she'd tried to kiss an entire pack of werewolves. "It's hard to be intimidating when you're..."

Saying it out loud was gross, Marcia's expression withering and stress testing the stitches before finishing the sentence.

"...short."

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

"Hm," a grunt of a chuckle sounded in response, "clearly you've never stared down the gullet of a roaring, charging boar in the Falwood. Those things are terrifying."

And tasty, but probably more trouble than they were worth for the meal. Maybe. Definitely while human - debatable while wolfed out. Very filling when he managed to take one down.

His knee twinged and tingled. The split skin nearly finished stitching itself back together again.

"I wager you look about the same coming at someone with your shield. All those spikes and everything..." he wouldn't know, but he had a pretty good imagination. "They do the same kind of damage as a boar tusk, anyway."

 

[Marcia]

Marcia blinked.

"Did you just compare me to a fucking pig?"

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

The Nurse just happened to walk back over right as she spoke those words.

Kilien hadn't thought about it that way, he was more focused on the horrifying vision of a boar in all its rageful glory coming at him with its many dastardly, gleaming tusks. It was about enough to make a grown man piss his pants - wouldn't she like to have that kind of effect on-

"WHAT-" Nurse Joi was on him with a hot towel and began to smack at him with it, "IS-"
WHAP
"WRONG"
WHUP
"WITH"
SWAK
"YOU!"

"Ahhhh-ow-gah-" Kilien fell back, arms and hands lifted to protect himself, "it was - AH - a compliment!"

His hand grabbed at the towel as she swung again, catching it in the air, "They're scary!"

SMACK - Nurse Joi hit him right on the injured knee.

Kilien's jaw dropped in a pinched and withered cry of hurt.

 

[Marcia]

Well, it saved her from getting up.

Marcia watched in equal parts satisfaction and amusement as nurse Joilene set about thrashing Kilien with a hot towel. At a military Academy for the magical youth of Vel Anir and her territories, you could expect to see many strange things. She didn't have this one on her bingo card.

Under duress, the girl believed he meant it in a complimentary fashion; it was unfortunate that she had come to the snap conclusion that he was being unkind first—a drawback of being bullied.

"Here I'd heard that you were a smooth talker," Marcia remarked as one of the other nurses, not currently occupied with smacking bannister-polishing boys, approached with a poultice and a cloth and began applying it to the stitched wounds to accelerate healing and reduce any inflammation.

"Do you compare all the girls to wild beasts?"

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

Joilene relented but did make one last fake-out move at him just for good measure before she walked away (after throwing a roll of gauze and bandaging at him).

"Do your own bandages, Mr. Basmarc. You should be able to manage that."

Kilien flinched at the flying medicaments, letting them hit and bounce off him as he watched her strut away with a wolfish grin. A heavy sigh rolled his shoulders as he sat up and looked around at the mess Joilene he'd made. Goodness, what had come over him? He slowly began to pick the various items up.

"Mm-" he didn't deny her question, "I speak on what I know. Probably talk to more beasts than I do girls, if I'm honest." He chuckled, self-deprecating-like. Though his eyes did narrow at her, "Who says I'm a smooth talker?"

 

[Marcia]

Well-accustomed to the rigmarole of applying healing salves, Marcia helpfully took over from the nurse, holding the cloth to her own face, the peculiar earthy stench of the poultice a familiar one. The wounds were tender and throbbed in protest, but that, too, was a sensation the girl was well-acquainted with.

It did force her to sit up and look at him, and as the fog cleared, her eyes became more focused, and her stare settled firmly back into the place of judgment.

"Come off it, Basmarc. Most of the Academy have seen you traipsing around with Larrainth."

She hadn't put much thought into it; it seemed surplus to things that actually warranted her energy, but since Vittoria was direct competition and her fucking nemesis Marcia had put some thought in. Mostly, how it seemed so wrong, especially now, in the knowledge of how nice he was.

"You can't speak pig worth a fucking damn, but you can obviously speak dragon."

"Language, Marcia."

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

If her demeanor had changed over the last few minutes he hadn't really noticed. For the most part, Kilien didn't subscribe to reading between every line or thinking too hard on what people said. Mostly because that took far more effort and energy than he cared to use for something that had little to no value in his day. People said lots of things, mostly bullshit he'd found. What use was there getting caught up in it?

"That so?" he said in return to the alleged rumors about he and Vittoria. It was true, they hadn't really been keeping whatever-it-was between them a secret. They'd meet in the halls between classes, walk to shared sessions together. Arrive early sometimes and use the quiet before the Proctor showed up to chat.

Or kanoodle. There was a bit of that, too. A dopey sort of smile crossed his face as he thought about this and he made no attempt to hide that either.

He was attempting to re-roll the bandage that had taken a little journey down the length of his bed and off the end, but the effort there was minimal at best and mostly he was succeeding in making a wadded knot. Kilien had no intention of actually wrapping his knee, being fairly convinced it would be perfectly fine to walk on by the time they were done here.

"Yeah," his brows arched as he looked at the wad in his hands and made one last effort to tuck the tail of the roll into itself, the way he saw the nurses do when they cleaned up. A child could have done a better job, but he set it aside, looking convinced of a job well-done, and clapped his hands together in his lap. A side-eyed look exposed the whites of his eyes as he spied Joilene farther down the Infirmary checking in on another patient he couldn't see.

Anticipation.

Kilien glanced over at Marcia, a shift of concerned confusion for the sudden wall of disgust he was suddenly getting from her, "Have I done something wrong?" With her? With Vittoria? With his entire life? It was the wad, wasn't it.

 

[Marcia]

Watching him re-roll the bandage was akin to watching any boy try to perform a rudimentary task asked of them. The mess he'd made of the bandage was the broken dish exempting them from dishwashing and drying or the shrunken wool boiled to an inch of its life, excluding them from laundry duties.

"Fuckin' hells," she muttered, staring at the absolute travesty of his work.

When he looked over, all confused and tragic in asking if he'd done something wrong, Marcia actively had to bite her tongue. In normal circumstances, she was always willing to go full pelt into a detailed criticism of precisely why each and every one of her peers was a colossal letdown.

Basmarc had helped her; he at least deserved the kid gloves.

"More like doing someone wrong."

He at least deserved the kid gloves.

"It's your life, Kilien. You can live it how you see fit," she began matter-of-factly, her hand still holding the cloth to her face. "While it is a pity to see your talent wasted, I don't particularly care if you excel or not here or what rank you end up graduating. What I do care about is my life being jeopardised on assignments or the front lines because I'm surrounded by face-sucking slackers."

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

Nurse Joilene had played this game of his before and upon coming over to see how he was faring with the knee-wrapping only to find said knee completely naked of any bandage or gauze and said bandage haphazardly wadded back up - well.

"Basmarc," she hissed at him, yanked the bandage roll off the bed and tossed it back open again to make quick work of re-rolling it perfectly correct and then kneeling down in front of him to gauze and wrap his knee herself.

Kilien smiled at her gratefully, though if one looked close enough they'd see the mischief in his eyes that spoke clearly about a plan working out exactly how he wanted. Truly, he just enjoyed the Nurse's attention almost as much as he enjoyed ruffling her feathers.

He was splitting his own attention two-fold between Nurse Joilene and Marcia who seemed to have come to her natural wits finally. There were the scathing remarks he'd heard her firing at others in and outside of class. It was good to know she was feeling better and more herself.

"Don't think I've ever sucked-face on a mission..." Kil looked ponderous. Despite his lackadaisical nature, his track record for missions both individual and group oriented was good.

"Least... not during. After...?" innocently smug described the face he made next.

 

[Marcia]

Marcia scoffed as Basmarc retorted in all of his unserious glory. She was never going to convince him to commit to betterment, and it could be written off as a lost cause.

"Look, I realise that... entanglements are commonplace here, but you and I both know that we'd be hard-pressed to find one that worked out well for all parties involved." The girl wasn't a golem; she had feelings just as much as anybody else, and her struggles with rage were evidence of that alone.

Sitting there talking while steeped in the return of cognisance also brought with it a thumping headache. She closed her eyes, riding it out while she brought an end to the mini-lecture.

"Can you at least make sure I'm out on a mission when you break up? I'd rather not end up smeared on the wall as collateral damage."

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

Given that he preferred to live in the moment as opposed to worrying about all the what-ifs that could come to pass, Kilien hadn't given too much thought to the likelihood of what he and Vittoria had blowing up in his face. Did he understand the odds? He was a gambling man, of course, and Vittoria was a minor noble. There was very little chance it would actually work out in the long run.

His brow furrowed at the thought and the amusement drained from his face as if she'd cut his throat to siphon away what little goodness he had in his life to color his cheeks.

"Sure," he said as Joilene finished up with his knee. The Nurse had, of course, been listening in and seemed to understand a few things. She gave him an empathetic look and patted him on his good knee before walking off to tend to other patients.

"I'll give you a heads up and everything."

A beat or two passed and he swung his legs over to lay back on the bed, hands clasping beneath his head as he let go of a sigh.

"When you're all patched up," he said with a sideways glance at her, "I'll help you get your shield back."

 

[Colt Pirian]

For a brief moment Kilien and Marcia would hear the sound of a guitar being played in the backround.

"Joilene, Joilene, Joilene, Joilene
I'm begging of you please don't tape my hand
Joilene, Joilene, Joilene, Joilene,
Please don't tape it just because you can"

"You're stitching is beyond compare,
Applied on every wound to bear
From training tough, and sparring mean
I don't care if it's turning green
I'll deal with the pain,
Just let me go Joilene"

The guitar abruptly stopped with a unpleasant ring that sounded like it came from contact. The sound of cursing and orders might have been heard as an unwelcome guest was shuffled out of the infirmary.

 

[Marcia]

While her request for advanced warning seemed, on the surface, to be a mild jab at Vittoria's latent psychopathy, it was an earnest request. However, she wouldn't interfere any further, not only because she had just told Kilien he could do as he wished with his life but that the face-sucking had the potential to serve as a suitable distraction and hinder Larrainth's progress at the front of the pack.

"Oh shit, yeah, my shield," Marcia grimaced, propping her elbow on her knee, which in turn propped up her head with the cloth still held to the wounds. She was loathe to admit it, but the girl needed his help. Mostly because she had no recollection of the events leading to this disaster. Initiate Pelham had put it... somewhere, but that's as far as she was clued in. "I'd appreciate that. Give me ten minutes; these healing poultices work miracles."

Technically, they worked magic—potayto potato.

Instead of sitting in awkward silence, they were treated to the musical stylings of what could only be Initiate Pirian, who decided to be heard rather than being seen.

Was he... serenading nurse Joilene?

Marcia glanced up, bewildered and almost impressed that he'd found a rhyming scheme before coming to her senses and realising that Colt probably wasted valuable time coming up with that instead of doing something worthwhile, a running theme at the Academy.

It made the sudden stop satisfying, and the following clatter of a bedpan being launched even more so.

Eventually, the telltale thrum of flesh knitting together began to fade, and Marcia lifted the cloth to reveal the fresh scarring that ran up the side of her nose from the nostril and a smaller sliver on her forehead. She didn't care to look, not caring if it was superficial or pig-scary.

"Right, you good to go?" Marcia said to Kilien, hopping off of the bed. "I don't want you to fuck your knee any further on my account."

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

He had dozed off following the interruption of a guitar solo serenade. Be it a man's ability to fall asleep just about anywhere or simply a talent of his own, that was difficult to say. When Marcia roused him he gave a jolt and blinked fitfully from the ebbings of a dream that had just started filtering through his sleeping brain.

With a groan as he sat up, Kilien gently smacked his lips as the thought of hunger gurgled through his stomach. He'd probably missed his lunch hour being here - ah well. Confusion met Marcia's comment about his knee before the entirety of the prior hour rushed in to fill the void left behind by the effervescent dream.

"Mm," he grunted at her as he tossed his legs over the side of the bed and pulled at the bandaging over his knee, "it's fine."

In only a few short minutes he had the bandage free and had pulled the medicated gauze off his split kneecap only to reveal a knee that looked especially ordinary and definitely not even injured at all. No bruising, no split skin, no swelling. No wonder he was hungry.

"I keep telling her to stop wasting supplies on me..." his hands pulled at the loose bandage and began to roll it up - properly this time. It wasn't as perfect as it might've been if the Nurse had done so, but by the time he was done winding the bandage it was perfectly useable for the next patient. Kilien tossed it onto the bed and stood, giving his boot a shake to slouch his pant leg back into place and shrugged back into his jacket.

"Yeah, let's get going before she comes back, don't wanna be in her crosshairs after that musical number." He picked up his bag and off they went, retracing their steps (and Marcia's blood trail) through the Academy halls.

 

[Marcia]

Marcia's scrutiny lingered on Kilien's now miraculously healed knee, he never did answer her question from before. It wasn't the end of the world; plenty of Initiates held talents in the healing arena, self or otherwise.

Still, she hadn't mentally noted Basmarc as possessing that talent, her internal roster of Initiates filing him under the category of arcane expert, top of the class in that regard. Didn't see him whipping out that wand of his either.

Of course, then there were the rumours.

As they retraced their steps along her incredibly helpful trail of blood Marcia decided to spear him on the topic.

"The nurses seemed awfully familiar with you, Basmarc," she commented, eyes focused on the dried blood on the floor. "Especially since you didn't need any of their assistance..." As her voice trailed off in accusatory suspicion, she made a small gesture to his knee with one hand. "...and I didn't catch you casting."

Interrogator Marcia stopped walking, narrowing her eyes as she got to the point.

"You should really be more forthcoming about your abilities, Basmarc. That kind of information is important on missions."

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

Hands in his jacket pockets, Kilien assumed his usual casual stroll alongside Marcia. Though his legs were quite a bit longer, he measured his pace at just a notch above lazy so she needn't fuss about keeping up. Her many keen observations of his relation with the many nurses and whether or not he needed their assistance garnered her a facial shrug of sorts.

"That's sweet of you, Marcia," he remarked after her aggressive suggestions ... aggrestions? Suggressives? When she stopped needling him about things he aught to do.

"No one's ever really cared before," in fact several other Initiates had all but left him behind on group missions when he'd been injured. Kilien never made a fuss though, because he always managed to catch up to them eventually. None of them were hard to track.

They had followed the blood trail all the way back up the steps and then along that same hall where his knee had been previously smashed against the tile floor. Back out along the corridore and breezeway that lead to the place where this all began. Kilien came to a stop near the center of the open courtyard and lifted a hand to shield his gaze from the sun that had begun to peek out from behind the clouds.

His many rings glimmered as he turned his sights upon the blood-covered shield of spikes waaaaaaaaaay up high.

"He really put it up there, dinn't he?"

 

[Marcia]

Marcia's tongue ran over her upper teeth as the boy, constructed from scruff, rumours and the echoes of their peers' howls, responded to her curiosity with nothing more than false platitudes. Clearly, there was no other option than violent interrogation, which under the circumstance Basmarc would fare well under given his unnatural ability to heal.

Since he was doing her a favour, however, she would abstain and leave the matter well enough alone.

"Yes, I'm renowned for my caring nature," she replied dryly, irritation writ large across her face.

Once they had returned to the scene of the inciting incident, Marcia stood with her hands on her hips, her neck craning, and her head to the sky, or, more accurately, her shield. Pelham really was a colossal wank bucket.

"Well, I'm not climbing up there," she announced, having fully taken in the trail of her blood donation to the floor on the way back. She was missing a hefty badger's worth of blood, hardly a safe standard for scaling buildings. "I wouldn't trust you to catch me for a start," Marcia added, criticising Kilien instead.

"How about a demonstration of your keen arcane acumen, Basmarc?"

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

Kilien had great eye-to-hand coordination and even better eye-to-mouth coordination. Why, if Marcia were just a big ol' blueberry he'd catch her without a blink. But Marcia was quite a bit bigger than a blueberry and even he had to have some doubts about nabbing a plummeting Mar without being flattened in the process himself. The height was really what killed the notion, much as he would have enjoyed watching her scale the Academy walls.

"Mmm," he stood there for a moment to give the shield its due course of consideration. The hand that shielded his eyes dropped to itch at his scruff as the sun once more vanished behind cloud cover.

"I could float you up there..." he knew the spell for just such an occasion, though said spell had been developed for far more heinous and criminal means. Marcia received a wry side-eye from him as his hand dropped from his jaw to his jacket and reached into the inner breast pocket to retrieve his wand, "bit of a strong cross-wind though."

Such an angry little storm cloud would surely drift off before getting to its target.

Wand in hand, Kilien shifted his stance to point his wand-shoulder toward the decorative shield, tilted his head as he watched it sway slightly in the wind, and then flourished his wand upward at it with a sudden whipping of his lower arm in a circle. As his hand reached the apex of the gesture, he flicked it and the wand straight up. The result? Instead of coming straight at them as if being tugged like an errant kite, the shield instantaneously popped like a cork off the statue's sword it had been hung upon and flew like an arrow volley high up into the sky aimed straight for them.

"Get ready-" He followed its progress with the tip of his wand and his eyes as it careened like a blazing, gleaming, spiked bat out of hell, but upon it drawing near he turned his wand 90 degrees until it matched the horizon line and held up his fore and middle fingers with an expression of deep effort.

The screeching of tires might've been a comical overtone to the scene as the shield began to grind to a halt mid-air, stopping to hover innocently before them as if it had not been intent on cleaving them both in half.

"Woof," Kilien loosed a sighed puff of relief, "really thought it was gonna get away from me for a second."

Cue smirk and wink.

 

[Marcia]

Marcia wasn't opposed to being floated up to retrieve her shield, but the idea of being blown away and into a very hard landing would have been the cherry atop the shit sundae of the day.

Besides, she couldn't observe him casting down here if she was up there.

She couldn't deny that she found Kilien's usage of a wand fascinating. She was often pegged as the blindly jingoistic standard bearer of the Academy's ways, but the truth was different. For a start, she loathed the changes inflicted upon them by the Revolution, but on a more relevant matter, she also disagreed that the methodology of magic here was the be-all and end-all.

Other arcane institutions may not have matched Vel Anir in the production of battle mages, but that didn't mean they were worthless. A rudimentary glance at a history book would have said as much.

The way she was taught magic was primarily verbal and somatic, either requiring spoken incantations or moderately elaborate hand gestures or both. As Kilien swished and flicked, she considered the wand to be a purely somatic tool but with a more simplistic range of movement, a boon, really. Not to mention that it was likely...

"Oh fuck."

Marcia had to spin to attention and switch to the balls of her feet, earnestly ready to catch her shield that was flying towards them at a speed that made her doubt the sanity of trying to catch it. The closer it got, the faster she realised it was going. No, no, there was no fucking way that she was goi-

It stopped just before she prepared to dive out of the way, leaving the girl standing there with her heart in her fucking mouth.

"Very fucking funny, Basmarc!" Marcia exhaled furiously, hanging her head with a relief that only she could tinge with rage before stomping over to snatch her shield out of the air as it floated there, all bloody and gloating. "You're a real..."

All the words that came to mind seemed too hurtful, reserved for cunts like Larrainth and twats like Limont. Her mouth hung open for a lingering second or two before deciding on something milder that suited the boy better.

"...turd." She exhaled out of her nose, seeking a futile sense of calm and almost managing to find it before an irritated glance shot his way. "And just when I was about to offer you a compliment on your magic."

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

There was nothing to be done for it, the chuckle he'd been holding it broke free and devolved into easy laughter as Marcia caught her breath. He steadily caught his own breath as she yanked her shield out of the air and deposited upon him the title of turd.

"Whaddya mean? That cross-wind," but the wry amusement in his face wasn't going anywhere, "really gave it a boost..."

At her glance he flinched with another chuckle and held up his hands, "Okay, okay. Fair foul. Let me uh-" he looked around, his eyes landing on the only thing of real consequence in the area: the bloodied up shield, "let me make it up to you."

With another gesture of his wand, he twirled it in small circles toward her shield and watched as a luminescent white light burbled forth to pool across the surface. The intent was to use a cleaning spell, but as the frothy light dissipated it appeared to have only done a half-assed job. It was kinda cleaner, but still needed a good scrubbing.

"Eh-" he frowned and tapped his wand against his free hand, "little low on make-it-up-to-you juice I guess." Probably from all the healing he'd done in the last hour. He waggled the wand one more time for good measure and assumed a readying position, "Let me give it another go-"

 

[Marcia]

The expression that clung to Marcia's freshly scarred face flitted from irritation to perturbation before circling right back to irritation again as he attempted to wash her shield—emphasis on attempted.

Most people with an iota of humour or congeniality might have appreciated the effort and might have even cracked a smile or laughed in return. Initiates weren't most people, and Marcia wasn't most Initiates, with the girl's apparent lack of humour earmarking her for a future as a Proctor.

"No," she said firmly, holding up a hand as Basmarc prepared to cast again, "I think you've done enough."

The girl would have had to clean the shield regardless; at least she had a head start. A job half done, maybe, but it was better than nothing.

Marcia's face scrunched, meaning she was about to say something nice.

"I do appreciate your help today," she stated, her brow wrinkling as the girl struggled to find the right words. "You may be lazy, lackadaisical, reckless, and inexplicably dating a future fucking tyrant..."

Nice-ish.

"...but you didn't have to help me out. It was very kind, and I know I'm not pleasant to be around, so..."

The short Initiate looked pained, more bothered by the ordeal of expressing gratitude to a peer than she had been by her formerly flapping face.

"...yeah, thanks."

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

"I do appreciate your help today," she stated, her brow wrinkling as the girl struggled to find the right words. "You may be lazy, lackadaisical, reckless, and inexplicably dating a future fucking tyrant..."

Nice-ish.

"...but you didn't have to help me out. It was very kind, and I know I'm not pleasant to be around, so..."

The short Initiate looked pained, more bothered by the ordeal of expressing gratitude to a peer than she had been by her formerly flapping face.

"...yeah, thanks."

The dog that was ever-ready to fetch the stick again simply for the throwing, Kilien lowered his wand but didn't yet stow it away. His expression took on the air of sober delight while she spoke, all her criticisms and sharp tone her very own way of telling him he'd been a good boi.

If he had a tail presently, it would be wagging. It was basically the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.

Kilien smiled, equal parts lackadaisical and proud, "Sure thing, Marce. Any time."

Maybe, just maybe, she'd do the same for him should Mort's prideful, hateful eye be turned his way.

"I've got some lazy and reckless things to do," he hitched a thumb over his shoulder, "so I'm gonna get going, but I'll see you in class." His brows raised as he seemed to consider that line for a moment, "Maybe." With a wink and a smirk, Kilien turned and doggedly headed back off in the direction he'd been making for a few hours ago right before the whole face-smashing incident.