((Nauleth, Edguard))

Ophelia Servalis hated these formal dinners, though she would never admit it.

In theory, they sounded like a good idea; connect with the students, get to know the professors better, talk about important issues. But in reality, the ungrateful wretches just sulked into their plates and refused to grant her even token eye contact. The teachers and faculty were hardly any better; they talked with each other, forming ridiculous little cliques and almost purposefully excluding her.

She could recall attending these dinners as a student, when Delagus Elvar was headmaster. He was kind, and the students loved him; the teachers bowed to his superior skill. It seemed hard to believe that those same ancient professors would treat her own skill with contempt, though she could outcast the best of them.

With restrained bitterness, she set down her napkin and clinked her fork against her glass. It was time to stir things up a bit.

"Attention," she said, in a voice that was poised and refined with age. "Thank you all for coming. Let me be the first to welcome our newest addition to the faculty, Professor Lux, visiting from Frecks Academy."

There was a polite and subdued smattering of applause for the cold, steely-eyed woman, who sat with ramrod-straight posture at her right side, a place of honor. Ophelia's eyes grazed over a familiar face several seats down; her lips tightened and she did not acknowledge Professor Devlin.

"We are honored to receive the benefit of your knowledge, Professor," she said, bowing her head and putting her palms together in a traditional galdori greeting. Freja bent her head slightly, unused to Anaxi customs.

Nauleth was not particularly thrilled about formal dinners. Sitting with his peers was not his idea of an enjoyable time, at all, even if there might have been a handful or two who might actually be civil to speak to. It was, to say the least, marginally uncomfortable. Tonight, however, the boy could care less. Today, everything had been a rather happily distracted blur of events from waking to class to lunch to more class to dinner all mostly thanks to the strangest warmth he felt in his chest anytime he thought fondly of the night before. The contented emotion was actually visible on his face, much to the shock of anyone who noticed. For once, he didn't care about that, either.

He managed to catch on that the Headmistress was speaking in time to glance at the new professor. Having missed her grand arrival by aeroship, he let his gaze linger on the cold, strange woman. Her manner may have been off-putting, but her specialty in Static magic had already piqued the boy's interest. He'd have to hear more about that somehow.

Adding only briefly to the applause, Naul waited to see the woman's response to Ophelia's introduction.

Edguard sat quietly beside Devlin, politely clapping in welcome to Professor Lux. His own posture rivaled hers, and he was subconsciously noting every quirk of his own mannerisms. As the applause subsided, he nervously twisted a fork in his fingers. Usually, he enjoyed these formal trifles, but today there was something amiss. Perhaps, he was working too hard.

"I am honored to be here," said Professor Lux into the silence. Her voice was quiet, but with the same steely confidence she had shown on the day of her arrival. Her accent spoke of high mountain ranges, cold snow and crystal blue reflections on clear lakes.

There was a moment of awed reflection before there was a sudden clink of hundreds of forks and knives; dinner had arrived without anyone noticing. The prayer had already been said, Ophelia realized, wondering why something seemed to be missing.

"Professor Lux," began a Chair with some austere, distinguished nervousness, "I had the pleasure of looking over your architectural work while negotiating the Brenswight Accord last spring. Fascinating. I must register my astonishment...you carved the whole Augwy Temple from the side of the mountain? Without any help?"

"Yes," she replied. There was no bragging or pride in her voice, merely fact. A few impressed looks and nods were passed around the end of the table.

Freja's eyes seemed to swim across the dining room and inspect everyone. When her black eyes fell on Nauleth, he felt as though she was leafing through a book on his life, right in front of him. The faintest of smiles crossed her lips.

Professor Devlin exchanged a brief glance with Edguard, not needing to say anything. From the look in his heavily lidded eyes it was clear he did not appreciate a Static sorcerer taking over his Perception post, but recognized the need for a replacement all the same.

Naul was listening, but mostly just because he had to. However, the mention of such a magical feat made him pause, fork still halfway to its destination. Damn. That must be nice. He smirked, chagrined at his own currently personal limitations.


The boy did his best not to drop his fork, even if he could not save the bite of food precariously on it. It fell unceremoniously back to his plate as he realized he was not simply being watched so much as read. Professors did not look at him that way on a regular basis, nor did they clocking smile.

Is that a normal Hoxian expression of distaste?

He set his fork down and carefully looked toward the woman through his bangs, managing to hide his suddenly intimidated feelings behind a well-manicured expression of idle curiosity.

What was that all about ...?

Edguard had to admit, he was curious. By all appearances this woman was a Static specialist, the very top of her discipline. Why--or should he say "how"--did Ophelia bring this woman in to take over a role in Perception. The "how" was more important than the "why". Surely, Anaxas housed the finest magic institution in the Headlands, but the University at Frecks was nothing to scoff at. This woman was Hoxian by birth, he would think that some sense of patriotism would tie her to her home. Just who or what did the Headmistress know to bring her here? And just why Perception?

((hey Jay, good to see you back!))

Exactly how the Headmistress had persuaded Professor Lux to come to Brunnhold was a mystery to Devlin as well, but his mind was elsewhere that evening. He seemed determined not to look at the new teacher.

"We should arrange another session soon," he said to Edguard. "I feel certain I will have more free time in the coming month than I know what to do with. You've made excellent progress so far; I think we should begin testing your monic limits-"

"Professor Devlin," said Professor Lux, suddenly and sharply, her voice cold and clear like the edge of an axe, slicing through his sentence. He snapped his head up, looking attentively at a space several inches above her eyebrows. She offered him a smile; it was as strange and inhuman an expression as a cat's glance. "I was hoping you could give me a tour of the campus tomorrow," she said. "It is a large place, and I might easily get lost without a guide."

"Of course," said Devlin gallantly, nodding to her, inwardly cringing; Hoxian women were so severe.

While he couldn't exactly overhear any conversation from where he was in the banquet hall compared to Edguard and the other professors, Nauleth could at least tell there was some going on. He wondered what Edguard would have to say about the Hoxian; he would have to ask him sometime soon ... It was probably about time to request further training after the last fiasco.

The boy leaned one side of his face against his palm, one elbow on the table, and did his best to not look bored. It was difficult. There were definitely other places he'd rather be.

"Dreadful, isn't it?" remarked the student next to him, a tall, willowy redhead with a long nose and freckles. Her name was Susan, he thought, though he wasn't sure. Her expression was bored and disdainful. "I loathe these dinners. No one talks to us."

"Mmm." Naul managed, trying not to sneer as he looked up from poking at his food. No one did ever talk, mostly to him. He was mostly okay with that, but felt tolerant enough to actually carry on a conversation, "Well, you'd think they'd actually have something to say after this week."

He rolled his eyes, mostly implying the lunch death but also slightly referring to the new professor, "Surely they must know we're capable of handling, you know, information."

"What, you mean the riot?" said Susan, with a scoff. "They must think we don't hear news from home, or something. Haven't been told a clocking thing in class-"

"Shhhhhh," hissed a nearby Physics teacher, who was giving the two of them a beady death glare.

Susan's face froze into a very placating, apologetic and entirely fake smile.

After a moment, she muttered under her breath, from behind a napkin. "I bet something awful will be done to the wicks."

Naul narrowed his eyes at the girl, ignoring the professor without a change of expression. He meant the passive in the lunchroom and that Bronley kid. Something should be said about that. He meant this new professor. Why was she teaching Perceptive magic, anyway?

He did not mean the riot at all. He couldn't mean something he had no clocking clue about. What clocking riot? Wicks? Where was this? Vienda? He didn't particularly care about them, but still.

The boy blinked, whispering simply, "Huh?"

The girl looked genuinely surprised for a split second.

"You mean you haven't heard?" she hissed, mouth agape. "In Vienda? The riot? Killed a boatload of people, including some of our own. Sorry, I'm from Vienda, I guess I just assumed everyone knew what was happening in the city."

"My father got hurt in that fight," said a boy to the left of them, a freckled ordeal with a starburst of blonde hair. "He was a subduer..."

"If I have to tell you lot to be quiet once more I shall have you all under detention," hissed the Physics professor, his expression one of blood and thunder.

Susan sighed and rolled her eyes, as though pleading with the heavens for life to get a bit more interesting.

Nauleth sneered threateningly, giving the willowy girl a darkly incredulous look that practically spoke, You should know who the clock I am. No he hadn't heard. No he didn't talk to many students, obviously. No he didn't talk to his family, for unfortunately the same reason. No he hadn't been back to clocking Vienda in two years.

Thank you very much. He huffed at his white-streaked bangs and looked away.


Oh gods, where the clock was this riot? Surely his family was alright. He should care about that, right? Would either of his siblings tell him otherwise? The boy glanced at the blond, but found he had nothing to ask. He simmered. Someone should clocking speak up for once.


At the reprimand, Naul sighed frustratedly, angrily looking around the room, first towards Edguard and then back at Freja, before staring down at his plate, officially disinterested in food. Would he have to get in touch with home? When would this clocking dinner be over so he could find out more?

Hunter sat quietly at his place. Perfect posture, perfectly unreadable expression. Every once in a while his gaze traveled over to the Hoxian woman. Freja Lux’s arrival had put him on edge regarding his own heritage and the behavior that was expected of him. After all, his mother had once taught at Frecks, and there was a good chance the women knew each other.

Hox.

The few times he’d visited his mother’s family had been some of the most miserable times of his life. Raised in an atmosphere of freedom, the rigid social patterns grated on him… as did the insults. Not everyone had approved of his Martja’s choice to wed a wandering scholar and leave her respectable teaching post to become a nomad of sorts. Little nods, noises and outwardly innocent remarks were much more than they seemed in the Hoxian culture. Hunter had learned that lesson well.

So when talk at the table turned to more taboo topics, there was a sort of quivering quality about Hunter. As if he were a too-tight bowstring that might snap. There were a number of incidents: Dorhaven, Pascual’s death… and now a riot? All these things had stewed around in his head, touching back on his memory of the Headmistress and her controversial – to say the least – address at the start of term.

“They’re not saying anything because they haven’t figured out what it all means.”

Hunter’s mouth barely moved. The words were almost inaudible. His stare was fixed on the Headmistress. And that was as close as he felt he could come to dropping the studied mask he had worn for the whole of dinner.

Nauleth snorted, holding back a cackle of a laugh. He brought the knuckle of his left forefinger to his lips, thumb under his chin, fingers curled, as if to contain the dark humor he found in the almost inaudible comment.

Alioe, he's probably right.

He arched a brow at the dark-haired student, realizing he was not only new but slightly feral-looking. Something about the glint in his eye or the wear of his uniform. He did not recognize him from any of his classes these past eight years, and he really had taken the time to at least know his peers by face and name – even if his motivations had once been only to see those faces fearful of his presence.

Not wanting to appear overtly curious, and still a little lost in his new concerns, the boy looked away again with a faintly bemused smirk, "Go figure."

"What do you mean by that?" asked the blonde boy, who was staring at Hunter as though he wasn't sure if he should be insulted. "'Not sure what it means'? Aren't wicks always fighting like that?"

"No, they aren't," said Susan crossly. "They're aren't usually in the cities. They were only there because of what happened at Dorhaven."

"I thought they always moved around a lot," said the boy, helplessly confused.

"Bloody lot of strange things happening this month, anyway," continued Susan, trying once more to disguise her speaking behind the napkin.

"Actually, not all wicks follow a migratory pattern," Hunter spoke confidently as this was a familiar scholarly subject, "Many do out of tradition..."

Hunter decided not to mention his belief that that tradition stemmed at least in part from the fact that wicks weren't allowed to own land in Anaxis.

"But many are not born to the spokes tribes: some are born in cities or some choose to settle down. Even some of the Durg are beginning to consider 'settling down' as the possible way of the future."

"Susan," Hunter glanced at the girl Is that her name?, "Is quite right. While conflict – or more precisely competition - among wicks is common, it usually is a matter of pride among them not to have to resort to physical violence. They are more likely to call an opponent out into artistic competition or best them by trickery or sport - even a drinking or insult-trading contest would be more accepted than an outright, large-scale brawl. Of course, there are bad elements in wick culture just as there are in our own. I would imagine those living among humans might feel more of a social strain. Tensions are understandably high these past few weeks."

Suddenly realizing that a professor or two might actually be listening, Hunter ignored the subject of the poor wretch who'd caused the accident. Self-conscious once more, his voice went flat and proper and let his face resume its prior slightly aloof mask.

"Not that we should let all of this distract us from our ongoing studies."

Susan looked at Hunter, impressed at his knowledge, and felt a customary twinge when she realized she didn't know his name - or the surly one's, for that matter. She assumed that the former was more popular, so she strategically spoke to him.

"You study wicks, do you?" she asked politely, hoping he would introduce himself. (The nearby teachers seemed more comfortable to hear students speaking of academic topics than gossip.) "My father did a field study of wild horses once. There's a whole tribe living on the plains, breaking and training them, and then selling them to traders. They're called Lost Moon, I believe."

Naul listened with only half-interest, almost thankful that the attention had been taken off of himself. He studied the boy who seemed to have a rather staggering knowledge of wicks from under his white-streaked bangs, a little curious as to how he would know so much about them. It was certainly not something any professor would take too much time discussing in but a handful of classes.

Without anything to contribute, he was content to just be privy to the unusual conversation.

"Not exactly-"
He perceived a hint of question in her voice.Oh, yes.
"I'm Frederick by the way, Frederick Vespasian. Wicks are not my main area, but I have had opportunity to perform as participant observer in some cultural studies. Mostly with the Grey Mark tribe. They raise and hunt with Bander wolves and have a complicated system of breeding. I believe we met up with some of the Lost Moons once. There was a bit of a dispute involving one of their stray colts."

Perhaps dinner is not the place to mention a disemboweling.

"In fact, that's one of the reasons I've added diplomacy to my course list. Of course my major area is animal behavior. Currently I'm trying to distinguish changes in populations of woodland mammals that exist in proximity to high monic field concentrations as opposed to those in purely wild environments. Observation is rather challenging because most species seem to be able to sense a galdori field from a distance. One has to focus to pull it in, in order to observe undetected."

Realizing he was monopolizing the conversation, Hunter made an effort to be more inclusive.

"So do you study life sciences as well?"

"And what of you, Nauleth? I would expect someone with your family's connections to be more into current events?"

Hunter had not been around long enough to have learned Naul's history. He'd only caught some underclassmen pointing and whispering about the Siordanti boy's striped hair. It seemed an odd decoration for a well-connected golly.

The boy's face twitched again. No one talked about his family except for behind his back, and everyone knew that unless they wanted to make something of themselves on the Lawn, they certainly did not make a reference to his family and include him in it anymore. His whole expression darkened disturbingly and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his field from alerting every professor in a five table radius to just how clocking pissed he was in danger of becoming.

He inhaled, tasting iron.

He exhaled, with painful slowness.

Something in his dark eyes said, No you did not just say that, and he breathed again. It was frustrating to actually be concerned about his family because of this riot and at the same time be so unknowingly reminded of why he didn't speak to them. This was not the place nor the time, but it was surprisingly difficult to contain himself.

His mouth became a lopsided sneer of palpable displeasure and his voice was heavy with a kind of threatening coldness he hadn't really thrown around in a while, "Beg your pardon, but I haven't spoken to my parents in two clocking years. While you were busy being raised by bander wolves and poxy half breeds, some of us were busy being proper students and learning things the hard way."

Naul's statement was slightly self-depreciating, but his tone of voice was not. He really just suddenly wanted to leave. Surely the other students at the table would find this too humorous for him to handle calmly. He had no desire to hear any of his peers start talking. Not today. Not ever.

"I'll let you off with that just once, since you're new and obviously don't know any better." The dark-eyed boy seethed, leaning across the table. His knuckles were white on the table top, but he managed to hold his field together, "But bring up my family again, and it will be ugly. I promise."

Without looking at anyone else, he settled back into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. He tried to find something far away to stare at, but only ended up lingering back at the tables of professors across the room.

"I say," said Susan, raising her nose in distaste at Nauleth's seemingly unprovoked outburst. "I would think studying out there in the wild is the hard way. Certainly harder than going to class and practicing spells. Of course, that might be more difficult for some people..."

She did not exactly direct the remark to Nauleth; she was turned to Hunter, and there was no indication that she knew who Nauleth was. But the words were spoken with clear dislike; she couldn't abide stuck-up people, though in all probability she was one herself.

"My father wanted me to go into botany, like my mother," she informed Hunter. "I have a natural affinity for living magic."

Hunter smiled and actually let loose a light chuckle. He'd learned long ago that laughter was a natural way to cover. The key was to own it rather than sounding nervous and out of breath.

Inwardly he was both puzzled at Naul's reaction and stung by the statement about his upbringing. His eyes betrayed just how hurt he felt but only for a moment as he tried to meet the gaze of his ornery classmate. His field pulsed once in what any hunter would recognize as a wolf's bristling. Feral indeed.

Unique definition of proper you have there. Especially given what you're implying about your family relationship.
Hunter barely kept the words from slipping out. He knew that they would sound ugly as a snarl and he did not want to match Nauleth's sneer. Better to keep things civilized.
Better not to say something that I won't be able to take back later. My first comment was a mistake, but to go further would be proof that I had intended him insult all along.

"My apologies. As you say, I am new. I did not know."

Deciding to give Nauleth time to cool down, Hunter returned his attention to Susan.

"Living magic and botany would be strongly complementary. And you probably don't get bitten by as many of your test subjects as I do."

"You'd be surprised," said the girl amiably. "My mum could grow some absolutely horrid things. Of course, they won't let us grow those sorts of plants here...someone might get their fingers bitten. Who did you say your father was, then?"

Meanwhile, the blonde boy had turned to Nauleth, perhaps in some misguided attempt to mollify him. "I don't get on with my parents either," he confided, frowning at the other boy. "Good thing there's little need for them at school."