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Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (144/?) Revised Version 1
🕑 Added 2025-09-13 23:32:26 +0000 UTCAuthor’s Note: Hey everyone! So there’s been some notable revisions in this one, though none of it’s really plot relevant haha. What I mean by that is that the edits made here are just in order to better clarify certain elements of the armor’s capabilities in this chapter, as well as some more background interactions between the tavern party goers and Emma! Starting with the armor thing, the previous version wasn’t really clear on what I meant by the hologram of the electric guitar! So here, I tried to make it clearer that the instrument itself is being projected by Emma’s forearm-mounted tablet, which has been shown to be capable of hologram projection before! However, it IS limited by its size and scale, since it’s no ZNK-19. Therefore, the projection is not perfect, and in fact tapers out in intensity the further out you go from the tablet! :D That’s the idea at least haha. Aside from that I added a few more interaction scenes between Emma and the drunken crowd! I also rephrased a few things in order to make some conversational bits between Emma and Thalmin flow smoother too! There’s also the typical grammar and spelling corrections here and there too, but yeah! That’s about it for this revision! As always, all of the edits are highlighted with underlines in order to tell what’s been revised! :D
I wouldn’t call myself a ‘party person.’
I’d never even gone out clubbing or bar crawling outside of VR.
Alcohol just wasn’t my thing, not to mention the taste was just a bit too off-putting.
However, there was something different about tonight.
Maybe it was the fact that the main attraction — alcohol — was a physical impossibility for me.
Or maybe it was the simple fact that this wasn’t your typical bar, club, pub, let alone a space pub.
Maybe, just maybe, it had to do with the fact that we were in a certified tavern in another world.
And that notion? Of actively partaking in festivities outside of time and space, in a literal fantasy setting?
Well… suffice it to say it just ticked all of the boxes in my ‘impossible dreams’ bucket list.
Floorboards creaked as crowds gathered around the impromptu dance floor where tables and chairs had been cast, tossed, or pushed gently aside for the purposes of song, dance, and shenanigans.
My tired body was somehow sucking in energy from the electrifying atmosphere around us as fiddles wailed, violins screeched, lutes twanged, and drums thumped to the beat of some bardic tunes.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP went the beat, as about half of the tavern’s patrons tapped their toes and bounced their heels against the scuffed and worn oaken floorboards beneath their feet.
THRUMMMMM THRUMMMMM THRUMMMMM the lutes resonated, leading the charge as violas and violins ZWINGED and PLINKED to the fast-paced rhythm of the surprisingly bassy drums.
Then came the vocals, as dialects that might as well have been from half the Nexus away sung in a deep, rich, warbly, and tinny sequence, their tones ducking and weaving against the melody of the strings, creating this weird, whiny melancholy, which shouldn’t have fit with the fast-paced beat of the ever-evolving tune.
But somehow it did. Especially with the EVI’s translation suite turned off, allowing for the voices of the vocalists to seep through, unimpeded by code and algorithms.
There were no more attempts at localization.
Instead, there was just the enjoyment of the piece as it was meant to be enjoyed — raw and in its purest of forms.
I felt my heart fluttering and my spine tingling to the otherworldly timbre of the pair of lead elf and dwarven singers that carried this raw, earthy resonance underpinning each and every note.
The dancing came naturally, but what came next came even more so.
It started at the end of the last peak, as this eight-minute piece was about to crescendo.
Like a subtle but powerful urge to join in on the action, egged on by some invisible force and spurred on by the increased emphasis on the beat of the drums.
clap
Came the first brave soul.
Clap-clap
Came another.
CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP
The whole hall erupted into an impromptu orchestra of barehanded percussionists, as even the wallflowers joined in to drive the tune onwards, their palm strikes threatening to overpower the band on stage.
Then, just as we reached the loudest extent of the percussion, everything stopped.
The beat slowed to a crawl, the instrumentals mellowed out. But the vocalists?
They just kept on going.
The sudden shift in direction was more than just whiplash.
It was ear-tinglingly satisfying.
The elf and dwarf duo pushed forwards into this weird mix of high and low notes before harmonizing right at the end and capping the whole thing off with a sudden and abrupt THUMP of both feet and drums.
The whole room went quiet as all dancers stopped mid-stride.
Then came the applause, as shouts, cheers, and even more alcohol were spread amidst the parched dancers.
I, for one, had to settle for the little sippy straw helpfully extended to me by the EVI, and as I sucked greedily, I quietly thanked the spirits of the brave and intrepid pioneers that had come before me for the sweat-wicking qualities of the undersuit’s balaclava.
Otherwise, I’d probably have a fair bit of sweat stinging my eyes with no way of rectifying it.
Now that would be a mood killer…
“Ladies and gentlemen, wayward travelers and weary locals alike, may I have your attention!” The bardic troupe on stage spoke in unison before their elven leader took charge. “It has come to our attention that many of us here today owe a great deal to two very important highborns amidst our ranks. Not only for the food and drink — though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that wasn’t a big part of it—” He paused, garnering a few chuckles from the crowd. “—but also for their selfless and heroic acts on this unforgettable day. Let’s hear it for the heroes of Marsh’s Pond!”
“HEAR HEAR!” The whole tavern roared to life, as instead of any clean hip hip hoorays or organized series of claps, the scene instead descended into the purest form of appreciation — hoots, hollers, yells, and whistles. Amidst, of course, the drunken cheers of admiration from those indulging from the endless tap of Thalmin’s generosity.
“And now with that out of the way, I’d like to make a proposal…” The elf grinned widely, gesturing towards us as the crowd parted ways as if to emphasize this unexpected new development. “I invite either of you to serenade the closing hours of tonight’s celebrations!”
The crowd went wild at this proposition, as several table slams and chorus-like chanting egged both of us on.
I found myself turning to Thalmin once more as we locked eyes in a haze of confusion.
“I think I’m going to sit this one out, Emma.” Thalmin spoke quietly, half his focus taken by the power of drink and the other half by his seemingly futile efforts to keep his distance from the ever-growing crowd of fawning admirers threatening to stampede him.
“Oh, don’t worry.” I smiled excitedly. “I’ve been waiting for this moment… though are you sure you’ll be able to handle the…” I pointed towards the crowd that had grown to critical mass, as Thalmin responded by simply—
[ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED: 200% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS]
—forming an invisible barrier between himself and the aforementioned swarm.
“I think I can handle myself, Emma. Besides… I’m excited to see what you have in store.”
=====
The Township of Sips. The Inn. Tavern Lobby. Local Time: 2240 Hours.
Thalmin
I watched in flighty anticipation as Emma took to the stage, my eyes narrowing as she whispered something to the strings and percussionists, all the while dismissing the vocalists to the back.
What happened next wasn’t what I’d at all expected, as the earthrealmer suddenly — and rather inexplicably — conjured a strangely flat and oddly shaped lute of manaless light before her very being.
Or, at least, that’s what I assumed the ghostly shell of an instrument was. Because instead of a cohesive object, what had formed was a fractured spectral facsimile of a lute. It was as if the instrument was stuck in some sort of ethereal limbo, with its brightest and most defined edges clinging near the source of light on her forearm, while the rest of its oddly shaped mass trailed off into a ghostly shadow.
And while the crowds were blindly impressed by this sudden display of ‘magic’, it would be the innkeeper and myself who seemed to be the only ones perceptive enough to feel the discrepancy between its magic-like form and the absolute deadness of its presence within the local manastreams.
Though I could care less for the uneasiness it caused, given both experience and ale had dulled my wary proclivities.
“Alrighty, folks! This is an oldie— er, well, it’s an oldie where I come from at least.” Emma began with frisson, barely stifling a stutter as she turned to the percussionist, giving him a nod before turning back to the crowd, her fingers poised against the construct of light and air.
Then, it started.
Taking everyone by surprise, it began with a brazen flourish like a lute possessed, its strings bit with a metallic brightness no gut nor metal-strung harp could match. The noises, these sounds, struck out in bold repeating patterns, moving up and down with Emma’s twiddling fingers that plucked at nothing but the air itself.
These were hammer blows dressed in music, carrying neither the refinement of court compositions nor the primal bluntness of lowborn music, but instead… something in between.
I could feel the rhythm of marching feet and festival drums made into a melody, as this metallic lattice of notes roused the body before the mind was able to catch up to its meaning.
I didn’t know what to make of it.
I didn’t understand where to even put it.
But what I did know was that I was now possessed by the spirits to dance.
I moved in uncoordinated motions, twisting, turning, flailing arms this way and that, all the while ensuring the barrier to the unscrupulous masses held firm… lest I be swallowed in their wake.
The crowds did much of the same, most of them simply moving to the strange and bizarre beat, whilst others tried but failed to match their well-rehearsed tavern dancing to the tune of this Earthrealm piece.
Then came the lyrics.
I didn’t know what I expected.
But I was relieved that Emma’s vocals were at least as practiced as her strumming.
Each harsh and rasping twang of her bizarre instrument was matched by the coarseness of her voice — her real voice — as I understood not a single word of what she sang.
The gibberish, however, was at least pleasant to hear.
Every word swaggered while the notes within seemed to stumble on purpose, drunk on its own prose.
Repetition and chorus dominated the piece, but that just made the verses and bridges all the more impactful.
Yet despite the competency of her voice, I couldn’t help but focus on that otherworldly instrument itself, its sounds, and the inherent reverberating echo it seemed to generate.
Each stroke sounded as if several lutes had been merged together, each distinct voice becoming one of a greater metallic whole.
This was compounded the further the song went on, as Emma’s movements became increasingly erratic, less composed, less repetitive, and more dynamic with every strum accompanied by a stomp of her foot and a swoosh of her body.
Then came the flinging of her head as she moved back and forth in fierce and rhythmic motions, as if she was trying to shake the remaining notes of the song out of her skull.
This abrupt sequence culminated in what I could only describe as the carefree disregard of her nonexistent instrument, as she swung it back and forth, up and down, even going so far as to hold it high above her head at one point, breaking all semblance of musicality and becoming outright noise.
Her sudden breakdown in composure culminated in her daring leap towards an elevated wooden platform behind the drummer. As she leapt with wild and reckless abandon—
CRACK— SQUCRDKFSHHHHHHH
—smashing it in the process.
The accompanying instruments all but stopped at this point as Emma remained alone, ‘recovering’ from that fall by sliding across the varnished stage on both knees, strumming the lute of light with such ferocity that the pitch generated caused all within the crowd to cover their ears with hands, paws, and fins alike.
She held that ear-piercing note for three seconds more before she finally seemed to register the disaster that had unfolded in her wake.
The crowds remained silent, in varying states of stunned, confused, and of course… blackout drunk.
Though the latter didn’t seem to care how the festivities went either way.
All eyes remained transfixed on Emma and her disappearing lute of light, as she abruptly sent it off as suddenly as it had appeared before addressing the crowd with a nervous cough.
“I… I guess you guys probably aren’t ready for that yet. Sorry about that, folks.”
Yet despite the apology, a few lonely claps emerged as even a satyr amidst the crowd held a dismissive chuckle to Emma’s sentiments.
“While the ending may have been… unconventional, I’m certain my good-for-nothing sons would find the novelty alone charming.”
A series of mumbling acknowledgements followed before claps and cheers eventually filled the air.
However, amidst the applause, there remained two thoughts that naggingly lingered in my slightly inebriated mind.
One — that I had to get my hands on more pieces of… whatever this genre was.
Two — that those last few seconds of Emma’s performance revealed something else other than her highly questionable musical improvisation skills. Indeed, if one listened closely behind the high-pitched squeals of her strumming… there existed a very audible buzzing.
It was a strange sort of undercurrent. Almost like the emergent thrum when channeling lightning, but if I hazarded a guess…
It was a sound which could only have been generated by a very specific order of species…
Arachnids.
This revelation only added more fuel to the fires of my growing assertions.
Especially when one considers the fact that Emma had explicitly disabled her translation tools for the sake of her singing. Leading me to believe that this was her natural undertone seeping through the cracks.
However, in my moment of reflection, I dared to tempt fate by failing to heed one of Uncle's first lessons.
Always be wary of your surroundings, runt. You never know when—
His ethereal words were cut short by the crowds that took this moment of weakness to swarm me.
=====
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Dragon Heart’s Tower, Level 23, Residence 30. Living Room. Local Time: 2245 Hours
Thacea
“So you don’t like bardic improvisation?” Ilunor continued.
“No.” I replied as plainly as I did at the start of this whole debacle.
“How about sunroom zeal?”
“No.”
“Hallway ambiance?”
“No.”
“Stairway ambiance?”
“No.”
“Reflections in Sound?”
“What?”
“Reflections in Sound, they’re an alternative bardic troupe that has gained some popularity in the crownlands over the last century. I’ve heard—”
“I don’t like alternative.”
“Oh? Are you certain? From what I’ve been able to gather, you seem to be a fan of neither contemporary nor classical, nor commoner, nor tavern, so I’d assumed alternative would have been—”
“The so-called alternative movements you speak of are simply shortened, condensed, and truncated versions of their parent genres. Nothing more, but most certainly far less.”
“Then what do you like, princess?!” Ilunor finally gave up, shouting and pouting all the while.
“Nothing.”
“W-what? Nothing?! How can someone as seemingly cultured as yourself dare to give such a boorish answer?! Even commoners enjoy some sort of music, as debased and debauched as it may be!”
“You requested that I be frank, and so here I am, Ilunor. Being as frank as I am comfortable with." I retorted bluntly. “If you must insist on digging further, my answer is this: nothing speaks to me. Court music is always as pompous as those who genuinely enjoy it. Orchestral compositions are impressive and easy on the ears, but are almost always repetitive and overstay their welcome. It doesn’t help that one must sit and remain silent for hours on end in a room with far, far too many points of entry and too little exits to truly be safe in. And even when orchestral pieces try to become anything but repetitive? They end up coming off as strange and unwieldy, complex for complexity’s sake, sounding more like jumbled noise than the frankly tolerable pieces they claim to iterate and improve over. I further dare to scoff at ballroom music. Individuals who enjoy ballroom music are the same sort who would backstab you in a heartbeat.” I leveled my unflinching gaze towards Ilunor, locking him in the signature Avinor’s Glare. “I know that you understand precisely what I mean, at least in that latter sentiment.”
The Vunerian paused, giving those words genuine, intentful pondering; the first bout of what I could truly call reflection in the upstart kobold’s eyes.
“While I must disagree with the first two of your sentiments… I cannot help but acknowledge the validity of the latter two.” He began with a crooked smile. “And here I thought I was the only one who found overly complex orchestral pieces to be hard on the ears, and only impressive to those looking into the technical and performative aspects of those pieces. Moreover, I am… glad to see that the ballroom music stereotype seems to transcend planar borders.” He chuckled dryly. “So then, princess… if you were to describe a genre that you would find tasteful, what would it be like?” He asked. This time not in a fit of theatrics or social games nor even in an inflammatory manner. Instead, this question seemed to be unapologetically genuine, standing out from all others.
“Dark.” Came my uncharacteristically curt answer.
“Dark? Oh come on, princess. We both know that the dark genre exists—”
“They are posers.” I slammed my book shut, much to Ilunor’s surprise. “It is clear, by their very composition, that they know nothing of suffering. They merely posit the facsimile of pain, shroud it in a paper-thin veneer of manufactured misery, and then transpose over what would technically qualify as dark overtures… though only in so much that they draft their compositions in a minor scale.”
Ilunor seemed genuinely taken aback by that scathing teardown; his eyes widened as his posture reeled back.
Before finally, he let out a long wheezing laugh. “Oh princess… now this is the sort of thing we can bond over.” He paused for dramatic effect, opening both of his arms wide with excitement. “Moaning and melodrama!”
=====
The Township of Sips. The Inn. En Route to The Royal Suite. Local Time: 2300 Hours.
Emma
“Blue Knight?” The elven leader of the bardic troupe approached me, stopping me from saving Thalmin from the tidal wave of adoring commoners.
“Yeah? I kinda need to go, and erm, sorry about the property damage. I’ll have the inn pay for—”
“Oh, it’s not that, my lady. It’s just… we would like to know precisely what you just played?” His eyes grew wide, as did his gaggle of kobold and dwarven compatriots.
“Yes, yes! Tell us! We LOVED your noise!” The little kobold yipped out, prompting me to sigh and nod in acknowledgement.
“It’s called Rock and Roll, or at least, most of it was. The last bit was just me improvising and bleeding into random shredding that barely qualifies as hard rock or metal.” I offered, hoping and praying that the EVI was able to translate that.
The dwarf narrowed his eyes, scratching the base of his beard. “Rock and stone?”
“Nono, Rock and Roll.” I corrected him.
“I think Rock and Stone works better…” He countered.
“Of course you would…” The rest of the troupe grumbled, as I took that back and forth as my ticket to leave.
I quickly reentered the sea of rowdy patrons, as organized musical chaos had now descended into proper drunken pub-crawl anarchy in barely any time at all.
With a few wide-armed motions, I managed to swim through the rowdy mass of bodies, finding Thalmin and eventually aiding him in his escape from his impromptu entourage.
“Alright, alright. Let’s break it up folks. My friend here is—” I was barely able to get out those scant few words before being swarmed myself. But instead of words of endearment and confessions of impossibly saccharine love that Thalmin seemed to receive, I instead got question upon question about the armor.
“Might m’lady wish to partake in the — HICCUP — celebratoryyy rousals of drink?” A drunken satyr spoke before being pushed quickly aside by a burly dwarf.
“That’s no way to speak to a knight in a vow of service! At least, that’s what I’m assuming the armor is all about, m’lady?” The dwarf butted in only to be sidestepped by an elf.
“A bit presumptuous of you to be assuming, isn’t that right, m’lady—”
“Let’s maybe talk later.” I put my foot down, side-stepping drunkard after drunkard until I finally got the path clear for both myself and Thalmin, who seemed surprisingly sober and put together despite the tankards of ale I saw him downing.
“I don’t get it.” I began, refusing to acknowledge the crowds of clingy patrons that still insisted on trailing behind us. “Why aren’t you drunk yet?”
“Pacing.” Thalmin offered through a wide-eyed grin. “And some good old Havenbrockian tolerance.” He chuckled out, causing the gathered crowd of elves, satyrs, baxi, and about another handful of other species to chuckle in affirmation. “Alright, alright. That’s it. Fun’s over, people. Please move out of the way.” Thalmin urged, standing up and taking step after wobbly step towards the glass elevator, prompting me to lend him a shoulder to balance off of.
“Havenbrockian tolerance, huh?” I jabbed.
“I’ll walk it off.” Thalmin shot back confidently as we slowly, but surely, made our way up and out of the tavern.
The bouncer at the elevator thankfully helped to hold back much of the tide, keeping a wide berth while its double doors closed with a magical WHOOSH!
We stood silently together in silence as I helped to keep Thalmin steady until we finally arrived at our ninth-floor suite.
The views were breathtaking, at least for a town of this size.
However, as soon as we entered, I quickly found Thalmin moving to plop himself on one of the beds, lying face-first and mumbling tiredly all the while.
“That instrument… what was—”
“Oh, erm, it was just a holo projection. A more advanced one than the reliable but frankly old ZNK-19 back at the dorm. Granted, I wasn’t able to project all of it because of the projector’s physical limitations, but—”
“Right…” Thalmin interrupted with a tired moan. “Good job on the music. I liked it. We should… ugh… we should talk more… about Earthrealm genres. I like how much of a buzz it caused down there.” Thalmin chuckled hard at that line as I found that once again, Havenbrockian humor simply bounced right off of me.
“Thanks, haha. I er, I’ll admit I’m not the best. I was mostly just following a lot of preloaded instructions and—”
“I’m too tired to understand Earthrealm contraptions right now, Emma.” Thalmin interjected with a dulcet groan.
“Right, of course. Oh! And erm, I couldn’t help but notice you were quite the talk of the town down there yourself.” I offered with a chuckle, providing him an off-ramp to another topic entirely.
“Yeah… it’s typical commoners… they like to, well… attempt to climb the social ladder through shortcuts if they can.” He mumbled out.
“Wait, is that actually possible?” I offered, as my curiosities began getting the better of me.
“Yeah, yeah… eh… kind of sort of, you know? Ugh, it’s a topic that’s uncommon, basically.”
“Right… that makes sense, I guess.” I acknowledged with a shrug.
We both ended up resting in that bedroom for an hour. Thalmin spent much of that time breathing heavily and twisting this way and that in bed, occasionally spiking mana radiation warnings and causing the EVI to bring up the new wand interface just to get my feedback on it. Meanwhile, I sat on the floor at the foot of the prince’s bed, catching up on my reports and occasionally shooting the shit with the groggy prince.
“I’m a mercenary prince, Emma. Emphasis on the warrior aspect of my being. I’m sure you understand, from soldier to soldier, warrior to warrior, how large of a role celebrations play in the upkeep of morale and camaraderie."
“Yeah…” I acknowledged, my mind immediately swinging back to the infamous videos of Aunty Ran and her squad following the victory day celebrations in the months and years following the Jovian insurrection. “Yeah… I can relate.”
“Though with that being said…” Thalmin trailed off, grumbling and huffing loudly as he brought himself to the edge of his bed, his legs dangling next to my left shoulder. “The latter aspect of my title still comes into play, mind you.”
I didn’t immediately catch his drift, prompting me to cock my head in response.
“As much as many lower houses of the lesser nobility may sully and muddle the image of all highborns, those amidst royalty — at least the royalty of Havenbrock — tend to be less… indulgent in the desires of the animal.”
My eyes widened at this, as I immediately turned away, finally catching his meaning. “Oh, ohhhhh. You mean like— well… yeah, no. Back when nobility was still a big thing in our history, nobles were, like, notorious for that kind of stuff. Heck, I think it was the Louis line of French kings who were known to literally bring in mistresses into court and stuff.”
Thalmin’s features scrunched up at that off-handed remark, as he shook his head in disgust. “No wonder you got rid of them.” He spoke darkly. “I would have.”
“Hehe, well… the French people seemed to be of the same mind, though they probably had more pressing concerns than just the king’s private affairs and whatnot.” I offered vaguely, hoping Thalmin wouldn’t be curious enough to pry into the French Revolution, at least not now when he was still somewhat plastered.
“In any case… just know that while us Havenbrockians are, as you say — party animals — we have stringent rules over our principles in decorum. Especially for those of us that are betrothed.”
That latter line sent bells ringing in my head as I stretched my body out, sprawling up to the foot of the prince's bed.
“Wait, are you saying that you’re…”
“Yes, but not quite.” Thalmin answered abruptly. “Our fathers both understand that we are… close. She, however, is of a far lower house than I. So we shall wait and see if my brother will survive the next decade. If he does, then my marrying a lesser noble will be of little concern to the family lineage and dynastic politics. If he doesn’t? Then I shall be closer in line to the throne, thus necessitating a truly arranged marriage with someone more politically advantageous.” Thalmin remarked bluntly, my eyes narrowing, then widening, then narrowing again as hearing this from a friend’s mouth was… jarring, to say the least.
This was the type of talk one would expect from a Kings of Crusade playthrough, or heck, some Castle and Wyverns roleplay. But to hear matters of marriage and love laid out so… bluntly? With political considerations superseding love?
It was weird and was definitely pushing my fundamental systemic incongruency somewhat.
“So what’s the lucky girl’s name?” I finally shot back, getting over the cultural hump and diving headfirst back into the juicy tea.
“Asva. Lady Asva Rehlin of the House of Threepeaks.” Thalmin responded promptly.
“And how did you guys meeeeeet?” I continued, crossing my legs with a metallic clang as I did so.
Thalmin chuckled nervously at this, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so. “She was my squire. Then, as I joined the ranks and took up arms, she ascended into my Left Attending. My… ‘right hand’ or ‘second in command’, as the Nexians would say.”
My eyes lit up at that, as I couldn’t help but to chuckle. “So you fell for a childhood sweetheart? I can’t say I’m surprised, but gosh, that’s kinda sweet, Thalmin.” I giggled.
The prince, however, wasn’t having it, as he narrowed his eyes in response. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing! It’s just, kind of a trope back home — the proper and polished golden boy falling for a high school sweetheart.” I offered, prompting the prince to merely huff in understanding.
“You flatter me, Emma… but rest assured, I am by no means a… as you say, ‘golden boy’.” He chuckled out before effortlessly shifting all that momentum back to me. “So enough about me. What about you, Cadet Emma Booker of Earthrealm? I don’t take your culture as one of betrothals, though considering you are Emma Booker and not just Emma, I don’t discount the possibility of houses and dynasties still existing in some fashion?”
“Welllll, to answer your latter question, big-shot family names kiiinda still exist? But it’s rare. Like, it’s a niche cultural thing, and even then, you really aren’t defined by it—” I paused, thinking back to Aunty Ran, the Booker name, and the lineage on her side of the family that always seemed to have at least one of their members joining the armed forces in some fashion. “Well, it’s less of a compulsory political thing and more of an optional family tradition thing, in the event that it does exist you know? Otherwise, for the most part in the mainstream? It’s kinda not really a thing.”
“Hmm… Things, things, things. So many things…” Came Thalmin’s ponderous response, as he once again kicked his feet back and forth in the air. “Don’t think that just because you’ve answered my latter question in full, I’ve simply forgotten about the former question, Emma.” He chuckled, egging me on.
“Ugh, fiiiine, fiine. To put it simply, no, Thalmin. I’m not currently seeing anyone back home.” I answered with a friendly sigh.
“Have you ever fancied anyone then?” He continued with a raised brow.
“Ehhhhh, kinda? Some crushes here and there, but it never went anywhere. There was this one guy in swim class and this one girl in JROTC, but like, it was just puppy love, you know?” I shrugged.
“Well that’s good.” Thalmin responded coyly. “For a moment there I was worried you’d somehow grown to fancy me. At which point, despite the potential for a grand inter-realm alliance, I’m afraid I’d have to decline, Cadet Emma Booker.” He spoke lackadaisically, jabbing me in the shoulder with a kick of his foot, prompting me to swat it away with a dry chuckle.
“Oh fuck off, Thalmin.” I laughed as we both eventually let out a series of tired snickers that faded off into the night.
=====
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Dragon Heart’s Tower. Student Lounge. Local Time: 2325 Hours
Lady Ladona
“Fancy seeing you here after curfew.” A sharp voice spoke, her words breaking through the night like a snap of lightning.
“You should know, Lady Ilphius, that curfews are… subject to a great number of extraneous circumstances. A group project here, a hall pass there, little gifts that can grant one a great deal of flexibility within the Academy grounds… just as the Everblooming Blossom was likewise a ticket into a great deal of flexibility outside of campus grounds.” I spoke softly, teasingly, sinking my claws and proboscis into the heart of this serpent’s insecurities.
Ilphius was an open book, as much as she attempted not to be. Which, ironically, stood in stark contrast to her conniving peer group leader… the meek and cowardly Etholin Esila.
That… creature was a mastermind in disguise, pulling the rug out from Lord Ping’s great and grand return to prominence, even going so far as to incur something of a debt from us by virtue of his forfeiture in Lord Ping’s stead.
And while social decorum didn’t see it as such — Etholin very much taking the fall in every sense of the word — I still felt slighted.
This… was an offense, as subtle as it may be, that I could not allow.
And so here I was in the midst of Lady Ilphius. The ever-conniving yet ignorant fool who would do anything to undermine Lord Esila’s authority.
A fractured kingdom… is one ripe for rot and reward, as they say.
“That forfeiture was not my idea.” Ilphius spoke bluntly, so bluntly that I scarcely registered it as genuine at first.
“Of course it wasn’t. It was your ever-brilliant peer leader’s plans, no?”
“Hmmph.” Was Ilphius’ only remark as she crossed her arms, her eyes staring out into the dark and lifeless night. “So what do you want, Lady Ladona? I don’t suppose you asked me here just for a spot of tea?”
“Ever the observant member of court, my lady.” I responded, flattering her ego and allowing her to become comfortable around my presence. “Indeed, I had something of a business proposition… as your dear leader would say.” I quickly added, making certain to keep the flame of frustration alive in her subconscious.
“Go on?”
“We both understand that neither of us are enemies. Indeed, we both know that the root of our ills arises from one discrete individual.”
Ilphius narrowed her gaze, hissing out in the process. “The newrealmer.”
“Indeed… and while she’s absent — taking on the quest that you and your peers rightfully deserve — you are in a unique opportunity to… how shall I say this…” I trailed off, allowing the serpent to incriminate herself.
“—make things right?” She completed my words for me.
“I guess that’s one way of putting it, yes.”
“What do you propose?”
“The fulfillment of a dream.” I spoke vaguely. “A dream born of hate, from a certain lesser avinor who desires comeuppance by virtue of her realm’s unfortunate colloquial moniker.”
“Airit? She’s with Qiv, there’s no way she lacks the discipline to act on her hatred, no matter how deep-seeded.” Ilphius countered.
“Perhaps. But whatever the case may be, I would say that the ball is now in your court, Lady Ilphius. I’m simply here to provide some much-needed context. Take this meeting as a… friendly chat, one with no strings attached. Whether or not you wish to seize the day, or whether you wish to let this opportunity pass, is all up to you.” I spoke warmly, putting on a friendly and helpful smile, before simply departing with the seeds now sown for a harvest that may or may not come.
Whether she recruits Airit or does it herself is irrelevant. The path is now laid. The newrealmer’s remaining peerage will face retribution on her behalf.
Comments
Benjamin Lamb
Rock and Stone!
Nul Atlas
Im a bit confused about what they were talking about in the end there. Could anyone explain it to me a bit?
BeanerOO
Welp. Now I gotta go play some deep rock
