Nathaniel had woken up with a pretty nasty hangover for the prior night's activities. Holding his aching head, he went to the bathroom to puke out whatever alcohol was left and drank almost more water than he could stand in attempt to quickly get over his hangover.

After that was done, he decided that the best course of action was to promptly bury himself in magical studies to forget his troubles while no one was around to help him. The entire campus was almost deserted, which suited him just fine.

He knew that if he kept going while paying proper respect for mona, he would be fine. He felt a lot better with the mona, more in tune, connected. He needed to push himself to the brink this week. He needed to accomplish things, to be able to assert himself confidently in magic. His goal for this week was to become proficient with advanced magic. He needed more than ever to soar ahead of his slow studies in Static and Living. Everything was on him. His life, his future, his house, his wealth, his success, his revenge on the murderers. Everything.

He was in the Cloister, for he decided that his training would be very risky this week. Better safe than sorry.

He brought out, among other objects, a flat thick metal plate and a steel rod about 2 meters long. He carefully placed the plate on the ground and held the rod down vertically with one end was fully touching the middle of the plate.

He paused for a moment to focus and breath deeply. This was a warm-up, nothing major really. He fixed his gaze on the points of interaction between the rod and the plate and spoke the monite for Adhere, making his intent known that he wanted to stick the two metal objects together.

Nathaniel almost seemed to feel the mona move over his hand and down the metal rod in a cool, flowing motion. His request was simple enough, and it was obvious by the gentle hum in his field that the mona were content to comply. Then, in a very short burst of heat, the point where the metals touched hummed with monic activity and his mouth was filled with the taste of rusted iron. Upon blinking, the two pieces were apparently stuck, but since he hadn't cast Melt, they did not appear to be physically fused together. It wasn't immediately clear how long the plate and the rod would stick to each other, however.

Nathaniel pulled slightly on the rod to the side to make sure the spell held strong. It did. This was good, for he would need concentration to make the next spell faster than usual.

He stepped back and without losing a beat of rhythm, uttered the monite for Melt seeking to fuse the rod and plate together as fast as his focus would allow.

The metal was stuck for now, mona lingering expectantly as Nathaniel cast his next spell. The iron taste in his mouth seemed to grow stronger as he finished speaking, but the air warmed considerably. Where the two pieces of metal touched there was a small glow, almost as if the metal was heated. Then, right before the boy's eyes, the two metals began to knit themselves together. Despite the speed of his spell, there didn't feel like any opposition so much as a continued sense of expectation. Apparently, the mona was waiting for a purpose.

Nathaniel grinned at the quick results. He could feel the expectant watchfulness, and knew that the feeling he was receiving was justified. He was playing around with simple spells, and apparently the mona were just as eager to get to the meat of his training as much as he did. Faith, your patience will be rewarded. I seek more than ever to be one with you, he thought to the sentient cloud of energy.

He glanced over at the small pile of odds and ends he brought with him, his eye falling on the rubber ball as big as his head. He grinned. Perfect.

He took several paces further back from the crude contraption that he constructed and took another deep meditative breath. He spun around and focused on the ball. He invoked a combination of Levitation, Push, and Pull, making smooth waving hand gestures miming the path of the ball he wanted it to take. His aim was to move the ball through the air and partially spike the rod directly through the ball.

As Nathaniel began casting, the mona moved to respond to his first spell, ball lifting with a tingling sensation rising across the back of his neck. The expectation that hung in the air began to tangibly sour and the ball began to wobble. The tingling seemed to cool rapidly and then sting, like a slap across the back of his head, hard and fast. It was a warning. He was in too much of a hurry, trying too much, too fast. The mona's expectation turned to almost flavored disappointment and impatience, sour air tart like lemons squeezed into his mouth.

The ball moved forward at his words, still wobbling a little at first, then wildly, missing the pole entirely and bouncing off the wall at a ridiculous angle.

Field buzzing, Nathaniel felt a reluctant heaviness settle in the mona around him, physically persisting for him to slow down. He still had mending to do with them, it seemed. His intentions unclear, the sting of warning was almost as audible as it was tangible—he had enough to deal with, emotionally, and it wasn't like the mona was unaware. They were not to be used.

Casting would not be impossible, but it was obvious the mona considered his rush too forward to be compliant to.

Crud, he mentally kicked himself. What was he thinking with weaving that unnecessary knot of spells together? He wanted to try again, he wasn't willing to not show that he didn't learn from his mistakes. He didn't move from where he stood, but again focused on the ball strewn off to the side. This time, something a little more simple had to be done. He again invoked Levitation, but waited until it was off the ground before walking over and gently pushing the ball through the air, and when the object in question was directly above the the rod, he thankfully requested that the Levitation be slowly pulled away from the ball as he pushed the ball onto the rod until it was impaled upon it when the spell faded away completely.

Nathaniel was not above showing the mona that he wasn't just trying to use them as a tool by showing he wasn't above doing some of the work himself.

There was still the tingling of warning, a hesitance, a sluggish response to his words as the mona seemed to half-heartedly comply. As much as they weren't tools, they were also not to be patronized.

The ball lifted, hovering in front of him like some kind of obedient animal, but the hairs on his neck stood on end like there was too much electricity in the air. When Nathaniel went to touch the ball, it seemed to almost rise to his touch, but as he pushed it, the mona almost grumbled in his field. The ball dipped a little as he pushed it, moving under his hand as he guided it.

The sour taste in his mouth was almost unbearable as he finished his words, a dry, harsh flavor that made talking difficult. The spell worked, but it was becoming harder to cast. Nathaniel was now swimming upstream. There was no anger, no real sense of imminent danger, so much as there was a continued expectancy.

((GEEZ, am i rolling that badly?? ))

Nathaniel let out an irritated exhalation through his nose. Plainly, he was doing it all wrong. And he knew it.

"Fine!" he growled out into thin air. "I'm trying to please you, and I know you all are expecting something from me. This isn't going to do any of us any good. Am I beneath you so much that you won't inspire me with our combined will?"

He was willing to sit down all day until an agreement was reached.
And so, he did just that. He needed to meditate. Block out everything, all emotion, all distraction; all wants, needs, or cares. After a few minutes, he was feeling tranquil and breathing in and out slowly and deeply. According to theory, this was supposed to help. After a few more minutes, he silently spoke to the mona. What do you want me to do right here today? My will is your will.

The flare of dissatisfaction was perhaps no more pleasing to the mona as his casting had been. The boy's impatience was more their issue than anything else, and it seemed to ring out clearly in his mind as he spoke out loud. The mona was not unaware of all that had transpired in his life and perhaps their warning was for deeper intentions instead of the practicing itself.

As Nathaniel calmed and focused, his field seemed to relax along with him. Slowly, almost like a cool breeze, everything seemed to become peaceful again. Purposeful actions seemed to be pleasing, healing the momentary strain between Nathaniel and the sentient molecules of existence that deigned to hear his voice as he cast.

They had plenty of time, and, apparently, so did Nathaniel. He just needed to keep that in mind. The calmness became something of an invitation, warmer than before.

Slowly, Nathaniel's eye brows unfurrowed as felt the mona respond to his effort. The contraption that Nathaniel had constructed earlier stood off behind his sitting form, forgotten. ....such things are meaningless.... voiced the thought that passed through the great void in his mind. Minutes flew by with Nathaniel not moving from his spot in the grass.

....purpose....my training has not been purposeful....we must act together....the perfect caster is in harmony....professor moore exhibited such traits.... Nathaniel's scattered thoughts flowed together like individual organisms in a river. ....tell me. what purpose do you have for me?

Heavy, expectant silence fell upon Nathaniel and his field felt cold, almost damp against his skin. The mona were either unwilling to share or considered the inquiry unable to be answered at this moment. There was a sense of time stretching and flowing, a lingering feeling of slowness, an overwhelming desire for patience.

All things took time, but it seemed as though the mona's hesitance and disquiet during Nathaniel's casting was concern.

His purpose, however, was still left to mystery.