braymitch thornathy. (grever) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-10-26 18:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, bram thornton, juliette coulombe |
if the children don't grow up, our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
Who: Bram Thornton & Juliette Coulombe.
What: Getting back into the swing of things, checking in on a squire's progress.
Where: One of the FG guildhalls.
When: Yesterday, Friday.
Rating: G
Status: Complete!
He watched as the girl finished her sparring session, quiet effort turning to aching muscles and the beginnings of what might have been bruises, were the teachers and trainers less precise in their parries and strikes and blows and throws. After the tenth time Juliette hit the mat – a worthy number and persistent effort, he had to admit – then Bram stepped into the ring, like an unobtrusive part of the scenery detaching itself from the wall and joining the conversation. “That’s enough for today,” he said, looking down at the sprawled squire. The man’s manner was all brusque and business-like, with no excess warmth. (Whatever warmth he’d once had, well, it’d been excised months ago.) Juliette froze at the sound of the voice. Really, for all that she did not see Bram Thornton often (and thank Faram for that), the man left a lasting impression. Where she had grown comfortable with the other councilors to some degree, he made her feel young and awkward and like she could not help but say exactly the wrong thing. It did not help that her sparring partner bowed out the moment the councilor appeared, leaving her to rise and dust herself off under his inscrutable gaze, trying and failing not to fidget. Whatever could he possibly want with her? She found her voice at last to ask, “How may I help you, sir?” “Help me help you, rather,” he answered, hands folded neatly behind his back. Bram assessed the creature in front of him: the growing limbs, the sober expression, that strangled tension in her throat. He was accustomed to getting that sort of look from the squires. “You’re almost six months out from your class exam. Thought we might sit down for a chat. See how you’ve been doing.” Moulding these impressionable students was one of the top priorities in the job, as far as he was concerned; carving out the time to check in on them always paid off in the end. “Yes, sir, I am.” She almost asked how in the world he knew -- he couldn’t possibly keep track of every guild squire, surely! -- but stopped herself just in time. It was his job to know these things, she supposed. “I would be grateful for any guidance and advice you are willing to give.” At the very least, she had to assume this meant she was not in trouble. He would have told her otherwise, wouldn’t he? Considering he was not a man of many words, such was not as obvious as it should have been, but she had hope. She allowed herself to entertain the vain wish that Councilor Liu had approached her about this only briefly before showing it aside. Councilor Thornton was more than qualified to instruct her. “Would you like to speak here?” He glanced around the rest of the hall, with its ringing sounds of blade on blade, fists colliding with the martial arts mannequins, grunts and shouts and groans as fighters did their very best to pummel each other into harmless lumps. Bram shook his head. “Let’s find an office, shall we? Bit more peace and quiet.” He started walking, but then paused to add, carefully, “and you can grab a drink or snack from the kitchen if you like.” That was a way to put children at ease, wasn’t it? You’d think years of experience would’ve made him better at this. Perhaps that was the whole point: he wasn’t. Had this happened as recently as two months ago, Juliette would certainly have declined the offer, citing the inability to possibly eat -- that was what ladies were meant to do, and her eternal attempts to be ladylike even in situations where such was not warranted were a well-ingrained habit -- but fortunately for her, Lord Finch was always quite insistent that she eat more, and thus she felt it appropriate to nod her acceptance and say, “If you don’t mind, sir.” She was fatigued and perhaps a bit dehydrated after the spar, so the idea was a good one. She really preferred tea, but in the interest of time simply filled a glass of water to add to one of the snack pouches she had taken to packing for herself -- mostly nuts and dried fruit today -- before scurrying back into the hallway as quickly as she was able to rejoin the man who was waiting on her. “Thank you for your patience.” It would be an utter lie to say she felt comfortable, but the fear that she had done something wrong had abated somewhat. She doubted he would have sent her to fetch herself food and drink if he meant to reprimand her. When he saw her clutching a glass of water, Bram nodded in barely perceptible approval. There truly was nothing else to it: he’d caught Juliette on the end of a workout session, she was a growing girl, and it wouldn’t do to have this interview ending with her cracked and dry-mouthed, barely able to speak through her parched tongue. The man swept his way down the hallway, ducking a head into each passing room before finding one that wasn’t in use. Fighters had far less use for classrooms and theoretical learning, so these rooms saw less use than the gym, but they did need it at times. “I’m doing the rounds,” he said as he pulled out a chair behind what would’ve been the teacher’s desk, now rummaging about for spare paper. “Getting back into the swing of things, as it were. Hence the checkups.” It might help to reassure her that this wasn’t the beginning of a gruelling interrogation. She followed him into the room, taking a few moments before selecting the desk opposite his in the front row. She set down her water, then the small bag of nuts and fruit next to it, folding her hands neatly on the desk. It was strange to be in here with only the councilor for company; on the rare occasions that she had used this room, it had been crammed full of other students. It made her feel as though she should speak in a hushed tone. “It is good to have you back,” she said, the words automatic before she clammed up, uncertain of what else to say. She had greeted the councilor’s wife when she had announced her return, and had been struck then, too, with how difficult it was to speak to someone in this situation. She had only secondhand knowledge, but upon certain facts, the rumors all seemed to converge. She often found herself feeling strangely guilty now when she learned of others’ tragedies. Why was she the only lucky one? But she could not voice these thoughts, of course; it would not be appropriate either by standards of nobility or the guild. She took up her glass of water, taking a slow drink to buy herself time to think. When she finally set it down, she had settled on, “I will do my best to answer any questions you might have for me.” “Good. So let’s begin.” Straight to business, then, was Thornton. “How is it going with your new mentor?” This question was old and familiar; so many people expressed shock at the assignment that Juliette had become very accustomed to answering this, defending Councilor Liu’s choice, and generally assuring everyone that contrary to popular belief, Lord Finch did not eat squires for breakfast. And so she said, “Very well. I believe I am improving more rapidly now that he is working with me. He has been very helpful with my weaknesses.” She wanted to add, I believe he is also pleased with my progress, but that almost seemed boastful. She imagined Lord Finch had been asked his opinion of her by the council by now, in any case. All she could do now was continue in her attempts to do as he told her, and hope that he was, if not impressed, at the very least content. The man’s pen hovered over the notepad he’d ferreted out, but he didn’t seem intent on writing anything down just yet. Perhaps a couple words made it down onto the page, but his attention was otherwise hardwired on the girl herself. The pair-up had seemed sensible enough to him when he first heard of it: both mentor and mentee were sober people. Bram’s type of people, less the free-wheeling breed of fighter, which he also knew well. “And your current thoughts on your next class, or eventual faction choice? Finch and I are both EKP, though that doesn’t necessarily signify. Some of my mentees chose Rangers.” “Monk,” she said without hesitation. It had been her choice since the age of twelve, when she had first been taught the rudimentary basics of calming her temper and clearing her mind. It would be a lifelong struggle, most likely, but she could scarcely imagine herself elsewhere. “Sister Felicity has recently begun using me as an aide in her open hand-to-hand class.” It was equal parts pride and awkwardness that showed on her face as she admitted this; she still thought she would make a poor teacher. And that thought segued rather neatly to his question about her future goals and aspirations, which had her hand tightening around her water glass for a moment before she said, “I… had not yet decided how to progress, once my exams are over with. I will go where the guild most needs me, of course.” She would be a better Knight of the Peace than she would be a teacher, probably. She would certainly be an abysmal Ranger. But what she really wanted she had not yet dared say even to her mentor or her closest confidants. It seemed too presumptuous to even profess to want something so unlikely. The councilman simply watched Juliette, hands steepled at his chin, and elbows resting against the edge of the desk (he’d settled behind it as if he belonged there, as if he’d always owned this desk). His bright blue eyes were cold, but seemed to soften in some form of understanding. It was a mentality that he recognised; it had dogged him for all of his life, after all, as he poured time and effort and literal blood into the needs of the guild. But it was a slippery slope. “Practical,” Bram said, adding something to the paper with a shift of his hand. “But also not entirely answering my question. The guild has more than enough fighters. And they do best when they play to their strengths, not where we want the manpower.” She listened, nodding her head when he finished. Wise advice, certainly -- she supposed that from him, it would have to be. “Perhaps it is only that I am uncertain exactly where those lie,” she murmured at length, suddenly very focused on the grain of the wood that made up the desk at which she sat. “You’re only, what, sixteen? Couple more years yet to make up your mind and find your strengths.” Bram leaned back in the chair, his mouth twisting. There was a pause as he grasped for some point of connection. “Didn’t become a knight until I was eighteen. Takes time.” A beat, then: “What of berserker, like Finch?” She paled visibly. “I think not,” she responded. Horrifying thought, that. “My mentor has taught me much, but his path is not mine, I believe.” Of all classes, perhaps only the idea of fell frightened her more. The man made a dry noise, partway to a chuckle. “It isn’t for everyone, no. Sounds like you’re satisfied for now, at least – do you have any questions? Concerns? Any other business?” Bram started folding the piece of paper and slipping it into his pocket; less an exhaustive report, more a few scattered notes to jog his memory when it came to updating Juliette Coulombe’s file later. Regular interim check-ins were important. Making sure the youths of the guild stayed on the right path, lest they waste time working their way towards a class that wasn’t meant for them. “No, sir,” she responded. “I will continue to work to the best of my ability in preparation for my exam.” And time, she thought, was passing. Surely any instructor would forgive tardiness once they were made aware of who had detained her, but considering he was putting away his notes, it seemed the interview was over. “If I think of anything, I will come to you, or one of the other members of the council.” Another pause, and then she asked, hesitantly, “May I be excused, please, sir?” “Of course. I’m sure you’ve places to be.” And with that, Bram was out of his seat and holding the door open for the squire, waiting patiently as she flitted back to the daily rhythm of her life. |