food police. (heritable) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-09-17 02:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, divina marcos, morgayne falk |
she likes to catch the sun, plays with it like a ball.
WHO: Morgayne Falk & Divina Marcos.
WHAT: Evaluation week.
WHERE: Tiamat Hall.
WHEN: Virgo 25 - 29.
RATING: PG.
STATUS: Complete.
Tiamat Hall’s kitchens were irritatingly unfamiliar. Fortunately, she had not made complicated plans. After a considerable amount of stumbling through new territory, Divina began to erect a veritable tower of paninis. It was normal for her to eat often and to eat plenty, but it was the act of making food that never failed to soothe her nerves.
And so the paninis were soon joined by several pans of crème caramel. She had exhausted her ingredients and was putting away the kitchenware by the time the squire arrived. Her squire. It was an odd thought.
“Lunch,” Divina said, taking a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge. “Have you any dietary restrictions?”
There were several types of paninis, of course, to accommodate the eventuality.
Morgayne had skipped lunch, as Divina had requested. In fact, she had even skipped breakfast, finding her stomach in knots upon awakening. And as the day passed, she grew progressively more anxious. She couldn’t say why, exactly—hadn’t she been anticipating this moment for months?
She approached Tiamat Hall as if she were walking the plank, both dread and excitement vying for her full attention. Perhaps if she just knew what to expect... But pondering would do her no good, now. Morgayne quickened her speed.
Her heartbeat raced as she came closer and closer to her destination, imagining what could await her—the sandwiches lining the kitchen took her completely by surprise.
(Although, in hindsight, there were few other reasons to meet in a kitchen.)
“Ah, no—” Morgayne replied, after she’d recovered from her shock. “I eat everything.”
“Then we are the same,” Divina said. She pulled out two chairs, gesturing for the girl to take a seat before taking one herself. As the girl followed suit, Divina regarded her with a frank gaze. Morgayne Falk was a slight thing, nondescript were it not for those startling eyes.
Although, Divina noted, that may have had to do with the squire’s choice of attire.
“I never took to the notion,” the knight continued, “of eating like a bird.”
Indeed, she was already quite famished. A first panini was set on her plate, to which Divina attended with all the delicate finesse she proclaimed to despise. The subtle rapidity with which she ate, however, spoke volumes.
Squire and mentor studied each other in unison. Morgayne had observed before that Divina was uniquely glamorous, but she’d never had the opportunity to see her in such vivid detail. The other woman moved with the decisiveness of a predator, and a gracefulness that reflected her upbringing. An odd mix of trappings, especially combined with her class.
Morgayne had expected, somehow, for all fell knights to emulate her father. Quiet and hunched, with the shadow of darkness looming over them like an ominous cloud.
Perched in the chair opposite her, eating a panini with more poise than Morgayne possessed, Divina Marcos was none of those things.
She tore her gaze away, and grabbed a sandwich for herself. It was good. Surprisingly good. “Did you make these?” she asked, eyes roaming the kitchen for evidence. There was dessert too, she noted.
“I did,” Divina said. After a beat: “Do not eat to fullness, mind.” Ironically, she finished off her panini and took a second. “The afternoon will be strenuous. It would not do to upset your stomach.”
“Of course.” Morgayne nodded dutifully as she polished off the last of her sandwich, dusting off the crumbs that had fallen into her lap. Perhaps she should be exercising more grace as she ate?
But that was to be the least of her worries today, she predicted. Some of the dread returned as she contemplated the events of the afternoon. She’d long accepted the inevitability of falling short of her mentor’s expectations—left to her own devices, Morgayne had consciously (& guiltily) neglected some aspects of her training—but she wasn’t looking forward to it, by any means.
Divina eyed the fallen crumbs. But there would be time for those lessons later. She made no comment.
“Have you any questions before we begin?” she asked, instead.
The candor was not implied without trepidation. Were Morgayne interested in Divina solely for the Dark, the squire would be disappointed. In the furs and leather she had spoken so highly of, Divina was a berserker today. She was a berserker for however many training sessions succeeded this one.
If such was a problem, it would be addressed post haste.
Her mind was abound with questions, but Morgayne silenced them all. Now was not the time. Whether there would even be a time was yet to be determined, but this week would provide enough material for her to evaluate Divina, she suspected. So she simply shook her head, and wiped her fingers off on a napkin.
“Ready when you are.”
“Time’s up.”
Morgayne stopped gratefully, exhausted, although she had the presence of mind to gather her limbs together neatly, rather than collapse to the ground. The threads of her hair that had escaped from her ponytail were plastered to her neck by sweat.
“Your numbers are abysmal,” Divina continued, lips pursed. “Quite behind, indeed.”
“Yes,” Morgayne admitted. “My own training regimen wasn’t exactly...equal.”
“An oversight we shall have to remedy.” Divina crouched down where Morgayne was recovering from the push-ups, handing the squire a flask of water. It was not a gesture she generally made. Nor, in this instance, was it made freely—as if to offset the generosity, the fell’s tone was flatly unimpressed. “What was it? A lack of motivation?”
Morgayne took a long swallow before responding. “A lack of direction. Which led to a lack of motivation, I suppose.” She paused, wiping her forehead of perspiration with the back of her hand. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do, so I didn’t really have goals. Nothing to work toward, really, except the vague desire to do better.”
“Didn’t really have goals,” Divina echoed. Pursed lips tightened into an unforgiving line. “And yet you enlisted, why?”
Silence. Morgayne had worked on evading this question for months, but she felt her usual tactics wouldn’t hold up quite as well against Divina. “Personal reasons,” she said, finally, and handed the older women back her flask.
Divina took it, her eyes focused upon the squire. “Should these reasons be significant enough to you, you will make goals of them. Otherwise, you will always fall behind.”
Morgayne nodded, and stood.
“What next?”
Her arms were shaking as she gripped the halberd; strength wasn’t one of Morgayne’s greatest assets, and it showed more than ever as she attempted to wield the tremendous axe.
The first few rounds with the practice dummy had been clumsy but alright—an hour later, that was no longer the case. Divina was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her irritation in check. After another clumsy swipe from the squire, more likely to break Morgayne’s arms than it was to inflict any real damage upon an opponent, Divina raised a hand.
“Enough.”
Morgayne placed the halberd on the ground, careful so as not to scuff the weapon. She could hear the testiness in the fell knight’s voice, and stood silent, arms crossed, expecting some sort of lecture.
Fortunately, Divina was not the type. Easily did she lift the halberd, moving to replace it on the rack, as if to chide the squire by contrast if not by reprimand.
Testing Morgayne’s proficiency with weapons was turning out to be, if nothing else, enlightening. Although, Divina saw in hindsight, she should not have been so surprised. Such was only the amplification of what their earlier assessment drills had already told her: Morgayne was lacking in nearly all the fundamentals.
In other words, well and thoroughly behind.
And yet Divina’s irritation was now giving way to something else entirely. (She had always fancied the taste of a challenge.) “We are finished with weapons for the day,” she decided.
Morgayne bowed her head, then nodded. Despite her words to Storm last week, she found herself embarrassed by her own lack of progress. But there was nothing for it.
“What tomorrow?” she asked, crossing the training yard to grab her bottle of water. She’d had the foresight to bring one of her own, after yesterday.
“The more common blades,” Divina said. Today had been a quick survey of a variety of weapons. Given a typical squire’s skill set, assessments in such weapons as swords and knives would be a more time-intensive venture.
“This afternoon is the worst of the week,” she added. It was the best way to pace the assessments, she’d felt: build, peak, decline. “We shall be assessing flexibility on Friday.”
And on Friday evening, well. Divina hid a small smile.
Morgayne was relieved; knives she could handle well, and swords with some passing proficiency. She took a drink of water and swept her hair into a fresh ponytail before speaking, somewhat hesitant. “Have you ever trained anyone before?” she asked.
“I have,” Divina said. “Squires, berserkers. Monks, on occasion.”
Berserkers. She did the math in her head.
“I had an old friend, once,” Morgayne began, the words peeling off her tongue reluctantly. “Well, friend of a friend, really. He was a berserker—Lars. Do you remember him?” Half-truths piled on half-truths. It was a dangerous question, one that could lead down a route Morgayne had no intention of treading with present company. But her yearning to know burned stronger than her caution.
“Not sure what happened to him,” she added quickly. “We fell out of contact a long time ago.”
Divina flinched. “Lars.” The name was strange on her tongue. “Vhawl—” Better. “—Lars Vhawl, correct?”
Morgayne nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet. Her mentor swallowed, equally unsure of her voice. At length, Divina said:
“He trained under me, for a brief time. He was…” Divina looked away, uncomfortable. “He was dedicated.”
“He was angry,” Morgayne added (corrected?). “He wanted to be a holy knight.” She’d lost the thread of her tale, spinning too close to the heart—how was she to defend her position, that of a casual acquaintance, when she’d revealed she knew so much?—but continued anyway. “But he changed course.”
Divina might have caught the inconsistency were there no proximity to her own heart. I was angry, she had wanted to tell the squire on the network. I wanted to be a holy knight, but I changed course.
“He was angry,” she agreed slowly. Her eyes drifted back to Morgayne’s. “It did not serve him well, in the end.” The requisite apologies caught in her throat.
“What happened to him?” Morgayne asked, remembering she wasn’t supposed to know. She regretted asking the question almost immediately. She didn’t want to hear the answer, though she knew it by heart.
He died, Divina thought. He died, and his dream died with him.
“He performed his duty to the city,” she said, gruff. “It has been four years since.” He had been around Morgayne’s age then, the blond boy with a maverick’s smile. (The fell knight’s son.) Divina’s hands formed fists. After a moment, they unfolded. Somehow, gently:
“My apologies, Morgayne.”
Morgayne looked at the ground, to conceal her face. She didn’t much feel like faking shock at the moment. “Right,” she said. “Well, I didn’t know him very well. It’s sad to hear, though. Faram bless his family.”
The irony.
“Indeed,” Divina said quietly. “Faram bless.”
It wasn’t a fair fight. Morgayne was armed with twin knives, and Divina only with her fists. Unfairer still was the fact that the fell knight remained on the defensive only, allowing Morgayne opportunities she wouldn’t have received in a genuine spar. Still, there was no masking the pride she felt when she dodged a blow, and struck true—the blade slicing into the thin skin of her mentor’s arm and drawing blood.
After the disaster that was Wednesday, Morgayne was willing to take this small victory. She withdrew immediately, arms hanging at her sides.
So the squire was quick. Divina swept the blood off with a languid flick of the wrist, her mouth curling into a sharp grin.
“Marvelous,” she breathed—the first word she’d uttered since they began.
Morgayne couldn’t help but grin back, pleased at the word of praise. She was exhausted—the morning had been spent rushing to and fro, finishing up her miscellaneous chores, and a large part of the afternoon had been devoted to swords—but satisfied.
“I like knives,” she said, by way of response.
“Your first weapon?”
“Yes. Before I enlisted, even.”
“Oh?” Divina raised her eyebrows. “And how did you come to wield them?”
Morgayne hesitated, toying with her words. But surely this was a harmless truth. “My father taught me. First, to protect myself. And then to hunt.”
“Ah.” Divina had learned similar things from Giancarlo Marcos. She inhaled, raising a hand to her arm to practice Cure. The wound closed along with the memories. “A fighter, was he?”
“In spirit,” Morgayne lied. “Though not in practice.”
“I see,” the knight said. And then, amused: “Then you will not complain if we take to hunting wolves.” Divina licked her teeth. “And larger game, in time.”
“Really?” Morgayne asked, with interest. Though battle experience largely didn’t appeal to her, she had fewer qualms about hunting beasts.
“The forests neighboring the city are densely populated,” Divina replied glibly. “The Outlands more so, should a lengthier excursion interest you.”
A nod. “I know. I used to live there.”
“Right. You moved here two years ago, I recall.” Admirable fell knights, Divina also recalled. “The Outlands are where you encountered fell, I presume?”
“No,” Morgayne replied, dodging the question. It had been a mistake to bring it up on the network, to see if it could incite some reaction from the korporal; these things always had a way of coming back to her.
“I didn’t encounter much of anyone in the Outlands. Not many tourists, for obvious reasons.”
“Very well.” For now willing to accept the deflection (and its accompanying implication, that the Dark did not interest the squire so much as she had feared), Divina crouched into a fighting stance. “Again. I shall take the offensive.”
Glad for the excuse to divert from this topic of conversation, Morgayne simply nodded and mirrored Divina’s pose. Her arms were brought back into position, blades facing outward.
She readied herself for what was to come.
Divina gently positioned the squire’s head over the basin. She adjusted the padding under Morgayne’s neck, careful not to wet the sleeves of her silk robe.
“Comfortable?”
“Yes.”
Physically, perhaps. The newness of the situation was making Morgayne wary on another level; she had never done anything like this before, with no mother or sisters. Her father had cut her hair, and she grown used to doing it herself after he’d died. One cut straight across with a large pair of shears.
Divina hummed in response, then soaked the squire’s hair in the water. She took a quick glance around the room as she did so. The rented Tiamat Hall quarters were not her ideal conditions; however, taking Morgayne to the Marcos estate was hardly discreet. So the knight had made do. The cots’ ratty sheets were replaced by silken fabrics. Scented candles washed the room in soft light.
Once the squire’s hair was thoroughly wet, Divina reached for a vial of heated oil. She poured a dollop onto her palm, rubbed it between her hands, and began to gently massage it through Morgayne’s hair. “This ought to be done at least once a month,” she said. “Training is as unkind to the hair as it is to the body.”
“Do you do it...yourself?” Morgayne asked, curious. This seemed like a task best done with at least one other person on hand. And where did one get the oil, in the first place? The bazaar district, she assumed, not that Morgayne would know where to look.
“I have learned to.” Since ascending to the ranks of the fell, Divina had swiftly learned that she could not tolerate skittish, frightened maids. There were those among the household staff that had known her since childhood, enough to inure them to Divina’s reputation. Unfortunately, she could not expect them to be available at every opportunity.
“It is simple enough to do by oneself in the bath,” she clarified. “However, there is something to be said for the experience.”
“It keeps your hair soft, then? And shiny, I presume.” Divina’s hair was certainly always lustrous. Morgayne rarely paid much attention to the state of her own tresses, after she’d run a brush through them in the morning.
Still, she was aware enough to know that there was little much to be said about them, apart from ‘average.’ Another squire had once commented about split ends, although Morgayne had never been able to fuss out what was so unattractive about them. Who spent so much time looking at the ends of others’ hair anyway?
“It does,” Divina said. “And for quite the while, so you are ultimately saved the burden of everyday maintenance. Such is a luxury serious training does not allow.”
What was everyday maintenance supposed to be? Brushing her hair never took that long. Given her lack of knowledge in the arena, Morgayne elected to skip the question, simply humming her assent as Divina wound careful hands through her hair.
“Did you do this sort of thing with your mother, when you were little?” she asked quietly.
The knight paused. “Yes,” Divina said, finally. “My mother taught me a great many things.”
“Things you couldn’t learn from your father?” Morgayne blazed ahead, her curiosity overriding tact. She knew the subject must have been difficult for her mentor, but she couldn’t quite resist the urge to prod, and see what fruit the topic might bear.
“Things I couldn’t learn from my father.”
It was a sore spot for the noblewoman, but for whatever reason she felt no qualms disclosing such mundane truths to her squire. Morgayne certainly posed no threat to her; quite the opposite, for a squire was placed in such a position as to rely on her mentor. The thought inspired an emotion Divina did not understand completely. (And yet—here she was, accepting it without question.)
“I cannot imagine my father embroidering, for instance,” she went on to muse, “although I myself was always rubbish at it. Or at sitting still for it, at any rate.”
A young lady’s upbringing. Beautification rituals & embroidery—Morgayne wondered if her own mother would have taught her the same, had she been alive. Or perhaps it would have made her sad; yearning for a childhood that was lost, and a lifestyle she could no longer afford. It was a frequent musing for the squire, and one that caused her little heartache. Her mother, after all, was nothing but a spectre. A flickering ghost Morgayne had never known, and knew little about. She couldn’t miss her, the way she did her father and brother.
Corinthia Barnard was no missing limb—she was an accessory, perhaps, something that Morgayne wanted, but could discard without a second thought, should her true family return.
But they would never return.
“What did you talk about with her?” she asked at long last.
What had they talked about, Divina wondered. She remembered dresses and ribbons, dreams and nightmares. She remembered cooking and hosting and dancing. She remembered days, sunny and rainy. She remembered stories. Of their homeland, of the city, of fantastical worlds known only to those who dared to believe.
She remembered.
“Everything,” the fell knight said. “We spoke of everything.”
“You were close, then.”
“And now we are not.”
“Because of your class?” Morgayne couldn’t imagine pushing someone away for something so trivial. But Lars had, in a way.
Or perhaps it was their father who had given them up, a small part of her suggested. The part that resented him for leaving her alone, abandoning her on earth so he could bury his own sins in the ground. Perhaps Gareth Vhawl had made a willing sacrifice to the city as he signed his soul over to the Dark, offering up his family on a silver platter to the hungry wolves that wore faces.
“Because of my choice,” Divina said. “Do you understand?”
“You gave them up.”
The knight finished off the last of Morgayne’s strands. Gathering the squire’s locks in her hands, Divina twirled them into a knot on the top of Morgayne’s head.
“Perhaps,” she said. “But I was already alone.”
“How?” Morgayne arched her neck up, so she could meet her mentor’s eyes. “You were their daughter. They loved you.” She spoke with the surety of a child who had never been rejected. Her father wasn’t the type to let her in, but he had never turned her away.
Divina retrieved a cap from her duffel bag and tucked Morgayne’s hair underneath it. She was silent as she worked, her face unreadable (her dark eyes molten in the candlelight). After a time:
“How, indeed.”
Morgayne took the cue, and ceased her line of questioning. She sat up cautiously as Divina finished, so that she wouldn’t unseat her hair from its cap. “I never knew my mother,” she said softly. “Tonight, I wish I had.”
To that, Divina knew not what to say. Countless platitudes came to mind, but she shot each down the moment it was conceived. And yet what was there to do, at this juncture? She thought of how Beau had clasped her shoulder, how Finch had folded his arms around her.
How she had reached for Li’s hand.
She moved the basin aside, stepping forward to rest her hands on Morgayne’s shoulders. Divina’s thumbs began to rub soothing circles along the muscles of the girl’s back.
“Close your eyes,” she said, voice equally soft. “This is the best part.”
Morgayne obeyed.