pyr min solemnly swears he is up to no good (twinclaws) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-05-04 15:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, jareth monaco, pyr min |
Who: Pyr Min & Jareth Monaco
What: Fell talk, with a surprise guest appearance.
Where: Jareth's office in the EKP HQ
When: 4/23 (backdated)
Rating: PG-13 for Jareth's swearing
Status: Complete!
The gravity of the situation was driven home not by the angry mutterings around town about the Mages’ Guild, not by the refugees given makeshift homes in the guildhalls, not by the sight of the destroyed streets and buildings, but by the fact that Jareth had given Pyr a full week off from training. Before the attack, if he had received such an unexpected boon, Pyr would have been jumping up and down in joy. He was happy that he could spend more time with Sky, who now stayed in Pyr’s room in Lindwyrm, but sitting idle made him feel anxious where it never had before. The battle (for lack of a better word to define it) had shown him what a long way he still had to go; had Jareth not found him and picked him up, he would most definitely have sustained much worse injuries than a couple scratches. He would not be defeating giant monsters any time soon, Pyr knew―but he could not afford to slack off. Next time someone he loved was in danger, he did not want to be useless. Yet it seemed everyone around the guildhall was too on edge to practice. Some of the squires were too terrified to train, others too anxious to do anything but, and Pyr did not think any of the adult guild members had the patience to help a squire train when everything was such a mess. So on Wednesday morning he headed to the EKP offices, having nothing else to do; if he could not train, then he would sort folders. Peony’s guild was in trouble, but Jareth sometimes helped Peony. If Pyr helped Jareth, then on some level he would be helping his sister as well. He had no idea if Jareth was in or not; when he arrived, the usually-dull EKP offices were a flurry of activity, and even Lilith seemed too stressed out to pinch his cheeks (a minor miracle in the middle of the chaos). Pyr made his way to Jareth’s office and, finding it empty, sat in the chair and took the usual pile of folders from the trash can, and started sorting them into piles as he had been taught. Jareth was running on no sleep. His apartment was rubble, his cat was missing, Aspel had seemed off the last time he’d seen her, he hadn’t heard from Wolfe, he still needed to talk to Celi, and Peony now knew that he was a Fell Knight. If it hadn’t spread around the guild yet, it would, and that was just one more fucking thing to have to deal with on top of his workload. The last thing he needed was to deal with actual humes, but the second he opened the damned door to his office, Pyr was sitting there, sorting through files. The berserker frowned. “What are you doing here?” he asked, walking around his desk and taking his seat. “I thought I gave you the week off.” At least, he thought he had. Maybe he’d meant to, but it was mid-week, and this was the first he was seeing of his squire since he’d gone to check on him after shit had finally settled. Pyr looked up and shrugged. "Yeah, you did. But I can't train and everyone at the guildhall's busy." He closed another file and added it to one of the piles. "I can't help them, but I can at least do this." Kid had a point, and if he wanted to be helpful, the last thing Jareth was going to do was tell him to be helpful somewhere else. At least, here, he could keep an eye on Pyr. Which, in its own way, was just as complicated. The kid hadn’t been around when Jareth had started using his true class abilities, and he wasn’t stupid - the kid would eventually hear about it from someone. He just wasn’t sure if he wanted Pyr to hear it from someone else or from him. Jareth grabbed the nearest casefile and flicked it open. “How are you holding up?” The question was unexpected--in the back of his mind, Pyr congratulated himself on not gaping at his mentor, on continuing with his task with only the barest flicker of surprise--but perhaps it shouldn't have been. Jareth had never been the talkative type, and he had refused Pyr's cookie-aided social overtures thus far, but he had saved Sky from the rubble of his boss' shop, and he had saved Pyr from a city of chaos. Lately, Pyr had begun to think of himself as Cat: Jareth might never openly admit to liking the animal, but Pyr had noticed him scratching Cat behind her ears and giving her treats when he thought no one was looking. For the moment, Jareth had given Pyr only miles to run, but he had not lost hope. Though Pyr had been hounded, since the attack, by anxiety, he summoned forth a big smile. "I'm good, I guess. Being off training is a weird feeling, though." He placed yet another folder in its respective pile and, as he let it fall into place, he realised how stupid and incomplete his answer was. How could he ask Jareth to warm up to him and open up if he wouldn't? And so, slowly, he said, "Mostly I just feel useless most of the time. I can't assist with squire training to help out the senior members, I can't volunteer to guard anyone who might get hurt because they're mages, I can't do anything the senior fighters can't. And if another fight happens, I'll be useless unless it's like, the vegetables' day of reckoning." The frustration in his voice was strange to hear, but he recognised it at once. "So I sort folders." “Could give you some training menu if you want it,” Jareth replied. Faram forbid his squire actually wants to do something and Jareth keep it from him. But, this was probably as good an opening as any, even if there was no segue; he’d never been good with trying to be subtle, figured there was no point in trying to start now. “Classes,” he said, somewhat abruptly. “List them and your thoughts on them.” If Pyr asked, he could say it was curiosity, or some strange way of trying to bond with his squire. Or he could just tell him that he was a Fell Knight and he wanted to know if that was going to be a problem; last thing he wanted was the kid being uncomfortable around him. Any thoughts Pyr may have had on Jareth's offer were drowned in a groan (quickly reined-in, but not quickly enough) at his next words. "Every class? There are a lot of classes," he said. "Can't I list like, my top 5 or something?" The berserker (Fell Knight - that’s what he was, through and through, until Aspel told him he wasn’t again) shrugged. “Fine. But I don’t like your answers, I’ll ask anyway.” It was a fair warning, and this way, the kid could list his top 5. Jareth could go from there. Pyr rolled his eyes and started ticking off fingers. "Well, monk is first because they're awesome and hand-to-hand is fun. Then archer, because bows are great to hit things you can't reach with other weapons." He frowned and let out a sigh, cursing himself for not having proposed a top three. "Third is Dragoon, because Jumps are badass. Fourth is... uh, I don't know, Sentinel, they can remain standing no matter what. Fifth is Berserker. Divina fought like one and that was cool." Quickly, he added, "And you, too, you're pretty cool." Jareth raised his eyebrow and looked back at the file in his hands, not seeing a word. WIthout missing a beat, he said, “I’m not a berserker.” "Uh." Pyr stared. "You're very good at faking it then." He shrugged, careful to keep the movement smooth and not tense up. “It was my first class. Should be able to fake it.” The file page was turned. “Primary class is Fell.” Just get it over with before the kid could ask. He looked up from the file to see Pyr’s reaction. Pyr sensed the gravity of the statement by how focused Jareth's attention seemed to be on him. He hadn't known that many Fell, but he could vaguely recall, through the mists of remembered drowsiness and inattention, being at mass with Peony and hearing the priest talk about the evil of the Dark--though why it was evil, he couldn't remember. "Like Divina," he said after a moment. "But Div didn't keep it a secret." Jareth nodded. Divina had worn the class proudly, as though it was who she was. He’d never understood that, had never understood how people became their classes. A class was a tool, no better or worse than any other. There was no point in losing yourself to a tool. “What are your thoughts on it?” The question seemed to be what are your thoughts on me now that you know, so Pyr tried to choose his words. But in the end, it wasn't so complicated, as far as he could tell. "It's a class like the others, I suppose. I haven't really seen anyone use it in sparring or anything like that so I don't really know much." He shrugged. "I mean, it's supposed to be bad for some reason, right? But I don't really know why." He relaxed marginally. “Never was a church goer” was the reply Pyr got. Liana had been a Faram-fearing Pharist, but she had always abided by the tenet that people received the most when they attended freely. He’d gone a few times, but it had never suited him. Liana had respected that. “Not a skillset suited to sparring,” he continued after a minute. “The abilities take a toll on your body, weakening you faster. Skills to be used when at the end of a rope.” It was why he’d never truly abandoned his first class - unless there was a healer around, keeping himself alive was a hassle. (He thought of Celi and the calm acceptance she had given him in her silence. The healed lacerations on his chest itched whenever he thought of her and her magic, how it had continuously settled over him as he attacked.) Pyr frowned, mulling over the explanation. “But if the skills weaken you, doesn’t that defeat the purpose? Unless,” he paused, “they’re really effective as an attack, I guess.” “One of the more effective skillsets if you can stay alive long enough to use them.” In the past, he’d used attack after attack, counting on others to keep him standing. When he didn’t have them around anymore, he’d nearly died. “If you want a new mentor, talk to Thornton.” “Wait.” The folders were forgotten on the desk, and Pyr gaped up at Jareth. “Why’d I want a new mentor? You’re pretty cool.” If Felicity came back, maybe he’d be assigned to her again—but she wasn’t back from wherever she’d gone, as far as Pyr knew. “And you’re the second mentor I’ve had in half a year. If I change now, Conan’s―” going to get competitive died on his lips, as he thought of Zacheus, and backtracked, “anyway, I don’t really want to change.” “Might be trouble for you once people start to realize,” he said, bored. It would be the smarter move - mages were already getting crap from people, which took the focus off of him. Even then, he wasn’t sure how much longer it’d be before he started getting shit from the Pharists. “Pretty sure your sister would prefer it.” “Peony hasn’t said anything. And anyway, I don’t want to change, and―” Pyr stopped halfway through the sentence and held up a hand. “Wait, what’s that?” He looked around the room, trying to locate the sound he’d heard―but once he’d fallen silent, so did the sound. Straining to hear, he whispered, “Did you hear that?” Jareth frowned and listened. He could just barely make out some sort of muffled sound. “Get in front of the desk,” he told Pry, grabbing his ax. Quietly, he got up from his chair and slid to the side. His desk had two drawers to the left, and it seemed like the sound was coming from the bottom one. With his luck, it would be some fucked up monster that hadn’t had the good sense to just fucking die. Pyr did as told, but as he moved away from the desk he heard it again―and this time, he identified the sound. “Wait,” he said to Jareth. “I think that’s a meow.” And Pyr was right; Jareth opened the drawer, and out bounded Cat, who looked up at him with a what took you so long, hume? expression and began to wash herself. The tension in Jareth’s body drained as he looked at the feline, who looked utterly unconcerned with the fact that her hume had been looking for her for days. “The fuck.” “It’s your cat,” Pyr said, stating the obvious. “You don’t fucking say,” he retorted, glaring at the kid before bending over to scoop the cat up. Cat immediately began to purr. “You should check on your brother. And your sister.” The squire shrugged off the glare and reached out to pet the cat, scratching between her ears before he said, “Yeah, I’ll do that later. But I’m not asking the Council to get me a new mentor. I like training with you,” most of the time, “and I can’t waste more time waiting to be assigned to a new mentor, anyway.” “Then you’ll like the extra mile tacked on to your training,” Jareth said, grinning. “Get out of here. You’ll have a new training regime next week.” He had to figure out what the fuck monks needed to focus on, but that was simple enough. A groan was the ingrained reaction to Jareth’s words―but it’d be good for him. Even if he ended up gasping for air like a fish, it’d count for something. He’d get stronger, and if he didn’t, he’d at least get enough endurance to run away from whatever attacked the city next. Still, better not to push his luck. “I’ll do my best with the new training, then,” he said, and excused himself before Jareth could tack on more extra miles. |