Peony Min (blackmagicks) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-01-18 18:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, peony min, pyr min |
Who: Peony & Pyr
What: A first magic lesson
Where: Peony’s quarters
When: Today!
Rating: Tame
Status: Complete
For Peony, weekends were never truly restful. Saturdays were often set aside for shopping, volunteer work, and any paperwork that had not been finished during the week. Sometimes there was time to read, or even write, but generally she found herself well-occupied from sunrise to sunset -- which was, in the end, the way she liked it (the old church adage of idle hands being the playthings of evil came to mind; she was always mindful of the fact that she might be doing something productive, if she so chose, and tended to apply herself to those tasks she found worthwhile at a slow, steady pace). She had not spoken lightly when she had said that she would always make time for her brothers, however, and thus she had risen two hours earlier than was her habit, completed her household chores by the time the sun was up, signed and stacked her paperwork for Perdita to take away, and was in the process of stirring curry on the stove shortly before lunchtime, and Pyr’s scheduled arrival. While she had to wonder if her brother’s interest in magic might not be fleeting (as were many interests of young people his age), the fact that he had expressed any sort of interest in something important to her -- and asked for her assistance -- was enough to put a faint smile on her face. She had always loved to teach, and regardless of the outcome of this lesson, she hoped he would find it a worthwhile experience. At the appointed hour, she looked up to address Quiz, napping in a patch of sun near the kitchen window. “Why don’t you go greet him?” she asked. The cat was apparently feeling amenable, as he stood, stretched languidly, and went meandering out towards the door to the hall, which she had purposely left slightly ajar. Though he’d never mentioned it to Peony (nor did he plan to) he found the ninth floor hallway intimidating at times. Unlike the other areas of the Tower he’d visited, it was always eerily quiet, the polar opposite of the guildhalls. He stepped away from the waystone toward Peony’s rooms, and a faint whiff of curry (unmistakable to a hungry fifteen-year-old) greeted him, along with a plaintive meow. Pyr looked down, and saw his reception committee reach out to claw at the hem of his pants. “Hey, Quiz.” He grinned and bent down to pick up the cat. Was he imagining things, or had Quiz gained a little weight since his last visit? Pyr cradled him in his arms and scratched him behind the ears absentmindedly, a gesture met with approval if Quiz’s purring was any indication. The door was ajar, and he pushed it open with his foot and closed it behind him in the same way. Once inside, Quiz leapt out of his arms and returned to the spot he had previously occupied by the window. “Hi, Peony,” Pyr greeted. He hovered awkwardly for a moment, torn between wanting to hug her and the awkwardness that accompanies teenagers wherever they go. “Lunch smells delicious,” he offered with a grin, a compromise of sorts. She answered his grin with a smile and said, “Hello, Pyr. I am glad. It is good to eat after training, don’t you think?” It was a frequent misconception of nonmages that magic required less energy than physical exertion. “It should be ready soon,” she added, “and I believe there may be cookies at teatime, as well.” Although she had gotten past the necessity of using food to bring the boys to her side, she knew they liked to eat, and she enjoyed feeding them. “We can begin the assessment first, and eat after, if you are amenable.” The spoon she had been using to stir the curry was set aside, the heat lowered. Her entire quarters would smell pleasantly of spices as they worked. “Would you prefer to remain here, or adjourn to the living room?” she asked. “If you progress in your studies, we may use the casting rooms instead in future, but I see no reason why we should not be comfortable today.” Most who were new to casting did not manage to produce any effect until their attempts numbered in the dozens. Pyr shrugged. “I guess anywhere is fine. Wherever you think is best.” He had no idea if he would be casting today or not—if he would even manage to produce a spark, really—but she was the mage there, and it made sense for her to decide. He pushed the thought of food out of his mind—the curry smelled wonderful, and the promise of cookies later was tantalising—and marshalled his concentration. Perhaps he wouldn’t be very good at it the first few days, but it was suddenly terribly important to him to make some real progress during their lesson and show that she wasn’t wasting her time teaching him. “Here, then. Please take a seat -- I will return shortly.” And she did, with a small scroll in hand. When unrolled, it revealed a few brief lines of text followed by a number of rather complex diagrams. “You ought concern yourself only with the top lines,” she assured, lest it seem too daunting. “It is a modernized version of the script,” as she used with the scholars she sometimes taught, “so I believe you will be able to read it.” Some of the sounds would feel strange at first, but he was already capable enough in two languages; she had no doubt this portion would go well, which was why she chose it as a starting point. “Repeat after me,” she said, then spoke the incantation slowly, channeling nothing. Like this, they were only words, perhaps strangely slippery and wide in the vowels, but not the tongue twister that made up, say, Firaja. Fire -- basic elemental Fire -- was straightforward. Pyr repeated her words as she went, imitating the sounds she made as best he could. Some were foreign to both Valendian and his mother tongue, but he mimicked them as well as he could. The script she had brought rested almost forgotten, and it was a few seconds before he realised he hadn’t been paying any attention to it, and looked down to attempt tracing the lines with his eyes as he spoke them. He couldn’t help thinking, as they went, that if this was what beginners had to do, he didn’t even want to think what sort of convoluted incantations might be involved for Vanish. However, no matter how unfamiliar the task, he was determined to give it his best shot. It took two repetitions before she was fully satisfied with the pronunciation. She nodded and asked, “I know you have expressed an interest in monk class,” or so Felicity had told her some time before her departure, “so you have most likely been taught some meditation techniques. I am going to demonstrate something for you, but you will need to clear your mind of extraneous thought prior, the better to feel it.” Those unfamiliar with the feel of magicks required particular concentration to sense them. “Okay.” Pyr had, indeed, been taught some meditation techniques. Felicity had attempted the task, at least, though he had rarely found a balance between the two extremes of being too full of energy to quit fidgeting and being too tired to avoid letting a meditation session turn into a nap. He closed his eyes, determined to get it right, and let out a breath. Felicity’s voice echoed in his head, telling him to relax, but not too much, trouble. Pyr tried to empty his mind—a futile attempt, but he managed at least to clear his head somewhat, and was left only with the anticipation of wondering what it could be that Peony was planning to demonstrate. Once his breathing had slowed and he appeared to have relaxed, she cupped her hands under his. “Attempt to feel this rather than seeing,” she said quietly. “It is not something that can be seen.” The words, when she spoke them, slipped easily from her lips, like a familiar name (it was, in a way, something like that). She pushed the magic through his hands, letting the spell take form in a small floating flame above them, burning like a particularly still candle flame. When Pyr felt the warmth flicker to life above their hands, he barely resisted the temptation to open his eyes and look. It took some effort, but he concentrated on feeling the flame rather than taking a peek. It did not burn, perhaps because Peony's hands acted as barrier between the fire and him, but he heard its soft crackling and felt its warmth licking his face. “This is seriously awesome,” he whispered, for the record. Peony smiled and admitted, “It is difficult not to experience a sort of… awe.” Even for her, with the spell being old and familiar, she was reminded often through her younger students of the wonder. Her head bent near his ear, she spoke quietly. “When your mind is clear and your concentration sufficient, you will find, at your core, something warm and bright. For you, it will be very small -- a point of light when you look inward. Drawing from that source, like water from a well, you can bend the elements to your will. Can you find it?” Quen had mentioned something similar, during the Cure lessons they had had, before they’d stopped because of his punishment and her own training. Even with Cure, which he’d had a fair amount of time to practice, it was always touch and go. Some days, he managed to make it work, but it never felt as though he was purposefully finding that energy; rather, he felt as though he accidentally stumbled into it, like making his way through a dark room and ramming his toe into the furniture. “I’ll try,” he said. Stumbling into it was just fine, as long as it worked, he told himself. He concentrated, feeling nothing at first, but trying not to let himself get discouraged. After a few moments, when he thought it might not work after all, he felt something flicker, and for an instant, he glimpsed that warmth Peony had mentioned, and willed it to move to his hands. The moment he felt his palms grow slightly warmer, and thought he was about to succeed, he lost it again, and couldn’t help a pout. “Well, shucks,” he muttered grumpily. Peony’s smile grew ever so slightly wider as she released his hands and moved back, settling again in her own seat. “The hallmark of a mage must be patience,” she said. “Wielding magicks is much like wielding a weapon; it may be clumsy to pick up at first, or perhaps even too heavy to lift. Through perseverance, it becomes familiar, and then, one day, easy.” She had not missed the expression of tense concentration on his face when she had sent him to find the energy resting at his core; as it stood now, it was very small indeed, or perhaps very well hidden. It meant little regarding aptitude one way or the other, however, until she could work out which of these it was. She had felt something near the end -- a fumbling, weak something, but something nonetheless. “Would you like to try again?” Patience. He supposed, in hindsight, he shouldn’t have expected anything at all to happen on the first try. It hadn’t, the first time he’d tried to cast Cure. And perhaps it was silly—he couldn’t learn how to cast by osmosis—but he felt a stab of disappointment when Peony withdrew her hands from under his. She was still next to him, he knew, but the small reassurance of contact was gone. “Yeah,” he said, marshalling his concentration once more. “I’ll do better this time.” |