pyr min solemnly swears he is up to no good (twinclaws) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-08-31 00:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, arielle chiaro, pyr min |
You're going to have to keep it hidden inside, I've a feeling that pigs might fly...
Who: Ari Chiaro & Pyr Min
What: Pyr’s day takes a turn for the better.
Where: Bahamut Hall
When: Yesterday, after this
Rating: PG
Status: Complete
Pyr had enjoyed training with claws so much he hadn't realised just how exhausted he was until Divina called an end to the session. Once the adrenaline rush faded, his body communicated its displeasure with his abuses—he hurt everywhere. He’d created openings and let himself get hit repeatedly in exchange for a chance to get Divina close enough to cut her, and now he was starting to regret this strategy. The bruises from previous sparring sessions were just beginning to fade, and now they’d be replaced with fresh ones. At least his day was almost over; he had kitchen duty at Bahamut Hall, and after that he could grab dinner and return to Lindwyrm and collapse in his bed. He couldn’t wait to be done with his tasks. He was so absorbed in this daydreaming he didn’t really look where he was going, and crashed into somebody else just as he was turning a corner. “Sorry!” Pyr apologised at once. “Are you—” He halted mid-question as he saw just who he’d walked into. “Ari?!” She made a surprised noise -- something between a squeak and a shriek -- and nearly landed on the floor, but managed to right herself just in time by grabbing onto the boy’s shoulder -- which she quickly released when she saw his wince. “That will teach me to daydream,” she said with a shake of her head. Her visit to Drake’s office had been quite diverting, as promised, and she had lingered for some time, but she really ought to have known better than to wander about with her head in the clouds. “I’m sorry for grabbing you. Let’s see,” she said, crossing her arms and giving him a considering look, taking in his bedraggled state and the bags under his eyes, “cuts and bruises and armor -- Melvin? I see they’ve been educating you in typical overblown Fighters’ Guild style on the inadvisability of getting caught.” Pyr’s shoulder hurt where she’d grabbed him, but he found he didn’t really mind all that much. Running into her here was definitely one of the highlights of his week, of which there hadn’t been many. “That’s okay,” he told her with a smile. “And yeah, cuts and bruises everywhere. That’ll teach me to get caught red-handed.” And speaking of which, well, at least his knuckles had stopped bleeding, even if the cuts weren't fully healed yet. He hadn’t had a chance to wash his hands yet and there was dried blood around his knuckles. “I guess the punishment will be over eventually.” He hoped. “It can’t last forever, right?” Though Councilor Cassul hadn’t said when it would end—she’d only said it would continue until she deemed it sufficient. He’d rather not think about when that would be. “I didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said and then, panicking that it may have come out wrong, added, “Not that I’m not glad I ran into you!” And that sounded even worse, somehow. He should really just stop talking. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. He might be the source of headaches for Drake -- and likely Aspel, if it came to that -- but she found him rather endearing. It probably didn’t hurt that he was so good for her ego. “Well, certainly better me than someone very large in heavy metal plate,” she said, giving him an easy way out of his discomfort. “At least I am unlikely to injure you further.” She didn’t comment on the question he was clearly trying to ask in a roundabout way -- she might joke to Drake about educating squires, but she had no plans to actually disclose her reasons for being here this afternoon. Instead, she continued to examine him, sighing when she spotted the blood on his hands. It was a good thing the boy wasn’t a bard. “What have they been doing to you?” Pyr shrugged. “I had training with Divi— Sir Marcos,” he backtracked. Addressing the other guild members by their surnames always felt so stiff to him, but it probably wasn’t considered very good manners to use their first names like they were his childhood friends. “She made me do a hundred and fifty knuckle pushups. On gravel.” He’d somehow lived through that, and he was going to milk his heroism for all it was worth. “She cast Cure on me the first time, but then my cuts reopened from training with the claws. She said if the skin heals on its own it will grow stronger.” It would sting for a few days, but compared to his bruises, the discomfort it would cause was minimal. A tiny grimace was Ari’s only response to the name. She was not a fan of Lady Divina Marcos and her uppity cattiness. That the training was probably good for Pyr she did not doubt (Drake would not allow it otherwise, she was certain), but that just seemed… excessive. “What a lovely day you’re having. I take that to mean you intend to be a tough man about it and refuse healing if I offer it?” she asked curiously. “Since it appears infection is not a matter of concern among your guild elders.” Crap. He hadn’t considered that. Should he have bandaged his hands? But if he had to wash dishes, his bandages would get soaking wet. And if he washed dishes with open cuts on his hands, the soap was going to sting like crap. “Um. Can I pass on the tough man thing?” He would have liked to appear, well, cool, but he wasn’t fooling himself and he certainly wasn’t fooling Ari, so he might as well. “If you can heal these, that would be great. I haven’t learnt Cure yet.” Should really get around to that, especially if he was going to be training with Divina on a regular basis. “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t,” she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. She wouldn’t put it past Divina Marcos to intend infection, really -- it seemed just her malicious style. “Come on, then, let’s take a walk.” She knew Bahamut Hall quite well by now; it was no trouble at all to find a secluded corner near the armory and gesture for him to join her on the small bench wedged between the door and a column as she pulled her instrument case around and released the clasps to withdraw her mandolin. “I don’t know Cure either,” she told him, tightening the strings quickly and efficiently as she tuned the instrument, “at least, not well enough to be bothered with it most times, so this may take a bit longer than a mage might to do the same thing. I have found, however, that the rate of healing makes for slightly less discomfort. All right, let’s try not to make too much noise -- since this is our secret, after all.” Fortunately, it was quiet here, and as long as he could hear her, she could sing and play softly. She played the first few bars of Life Song, then abruptly modulated, changing her mind. Might as well use this as an opportunity to run through Angelic Aria instead -- it was still not quite solid enough for the stress of battle, but in a quiet hallway… She played and sang, watching the soft green glow of Regen coalesce and slowly settle into his skin. His bruises began to fade gradually, and the wounds on his hands to close. “Give it a bit of time to work,” she told him, once she had strummed the last chord. “Perhaps it will help you to get through the rest of today’s torture-disguised-as-training.” At the very least, it would get his energy up for a time. Ari’s voice washed over Pyr. He was reminded of their conversation at the beach, and the song she’d sung for him then, with the waves lapping at their toes. She hadn’t had an instrument then, but it had been—well, he supposed he could say it had been magical, but he wasn’t a girl. It had been pretty nice, though. The song Ari played this time was magical; Pyr watched, astonished, as the bruises on his arms and legs began to fade as she sang. And he felt a lot better—well, even better. Just running into Ari had been enough to lift his spirits. The notes imbued him with additional energy, and he wondered if he couldn’t convince her to let him record her song on a memstone so he could listen to it everyday; with the kind of training he was doing, it would have been a big help. The best part of this song, though, was that as Ari sang, she knew she was singing for him, Pyr, not Sky. So maybe something good had come out of that whole mess a couple of weeks ago. “This is amazing,” Pyr said. The open cuts on his hands were closing before his eyes. “And of course, I won’t tell anyone. It will be our secret.” Those words made him feel warm inside, and more than a little giddy. He gave Ari a wide grin. “Thanks, Ari.” She smiled back -- he was awfully cute -- and reached out to ruffle his hair. “You’re welcome. Just keep holding on,” she told him. “They’ll tire of tormenting you eventually, surely. And with that,” she pulled her instrument case around once more, fitted the mandolin into the velvet confines of its interior and closed the lid, “I really must be going. I was here quite a bit later than I anticipated, today.” Thanks to Drake’s… enthusiasm for being distracted. “I hope the rest of your day is an improvement.” Not difficult, as it was unlikely to have Divina Marcos in it. “See you soon, Pyr.” After pushups on gravel, she thought she could give him a bit of a break and use his name. She stood from her seat, offering him another smile before she went on her way. She still had a great deal to do before visiting Vivi tonight. He remained sitting for a few moments, letting it sink in. She’d called him by his name. Not Melvin. She’d called him Pyr. And it sounded… like a really cool name, when she said it. With a grin and a spring in his step, he made his way to the kitchen. He was going to wash the hell out of those dishes. |