Thunder Mage

upon its conclusion, dorothea rises to a dutiful stand, remaining by her desk as she waits for further address. an attempt is made to pay no heed to the remaining looks that are tossed her way, her expression placid save for the subtle drop of the shoulders that indicate relief upon learning she’s not in trouble.

“my study materials…?” she repeats with some confusion, her brow furrowing until his pointed look draws her attention to the tome atop her desk, its cover worn by time and rough handling. “oh!”

a frown pulls at her lips. she's unsure of how to go about explaining the unusual interest she’d taken in the subject — as well as the odd stirrings she’d experienced since flipping through its pages. strange voices and thoughts following certain chapters she'd skimmed, and the disturbing feeling that she’d gotten herself into something she could not even begin to fathom.

“you could say that,” dorothea starts carefully, “i don’t really care for gods themselves, but…the pursuit of magic studies brought me to this, i guess. if i want to catch up to my peers, i should be learning about everything i possibly can.” she pauses, unsure if it's worth dragging another into this....though who better to confide in than a professor of magic himself?

nevertheless, she decides to err on the side of caution for the time being. “i felt...drawn to it,” is all she offers for now. "that's normal, isn't it? an innate curiosity and whatnot?"

Enough that he could have dismissed it as harmless. Could have, if he were not familiar with the feeling of something else in his mind, twisting and curling, marking itself as the uglier parts of himself- and knowing how accepting it would end.

But that was not something to share with one of his students, only to be cautious of on his own.

"Naturally," It isn't a reassurance as much as a blunt statement of fact. That it was not only normal but natural, an occurrence that should be observed more often than it truly is. Not dismissive- not of her, at least- but of others, who would make her believe otherwise in the first place.

"You are a student- curiosity is what is expected of you. That being said… I happen to have been studying this particular topic recently as well," Here he pauses, taking a moment to check the titles that she had in her collection.

To punctuate her point, the empress presses her hands flat against the table, levelling an arrogant gaze at her classmates. The dining hall is lively with discussion, lordlings and commoners alike gathered in fierce debate. If the more uptight nobles are affronted by her flippant tone, she pays them no mind. Sanaki's got far more surprising improprieties, after all; meet her with sound arguments or not at all, is what she's decided.

She rests her chin on her hands. "It's not uncommon for nobility to bequeath regalia upon their favored vassals, and it's certainly proper for said vassals to fawn and exclaim upon receiving them like they're gifts from the heavens." Sanaki had been robbed of the amusing sight, honestly. Ike was too much of a simple country boy and Zelgius, well, never really exclaimed over anything. "But in the end, a blade is a blade and a tome is a tome. Their only true value is the power they have to kill."

Looking away, she grabs the pot of lukewarm tea and pours some into her cup. "If I were you, I'd be more worried about the actual illusory magic that gave just about anybody holy blood. Goddess knows I wasn't prepared to suddenly, hmm, experience the Crest of Blaiddyd, for lack of a better word." With a flick of her hand, she sets Cymbeline softly alight with its own flames, placing her teacup upon the cover. "But if one is powerful enough to wield regalia, isn't that sufficient in and of itself?"

So I can do whatever I want with it. She gestures at her makeshift tea warmer with a self-satisfied smirk. "Your time would be better spent honing your skills than wringing your hands over this nonsense. Legacy, inheritance…" she continues with a shrug, "it's mostly an excuse."

Elrean does not pay it any mind- would not, if he didn't happen to catch what the topic was about. That being the debates currently circling the monastery regarding the recent arena- and more importantly, how it had provided those who entered access to various regalia.

He had been granted a sword, of all things, one that he didn't know the owner of and did not care to find out. What starts as complaints begins to devolve into debate, but even then he has neither responsibility nor care to break it up. Perhaps they could use this chance to think of something worthwhile.

Despite his own opinions, the mage intends to simply pass them by, and thus wash his hands of the whole debate. After all, he was not so ignorant as to believe that the monastery did not have its own intentions of what he should or should not express, as a member of its faculty- all the same, he was not so weak-willed as to guess what it may be before it was mentioned to him. And that would lead to the natural conclusion…

If Elrean participates in this discussion, he will likely say something that will get him in some amount of trouble with his superiors.

"Professor!" Drat. Apparently the violet-haired student had done too well at her argument- else there would be no point in dragging the nearest person of authority into the debate. One of the students, likely having no good opinion of their own, flags him down. Given the look in their eyes, it seems they expected for him to take their side- and in that assumption, do they seal their fate.

"What?" He snaps first. "She's right, you know."

[ TXT ] : why are you still awake?

[ TXT ] : hey, where did you go?

[ TXT ] : it's getting bad again.

[ TXT ] : guess i'll just sit in bed. alone. by myself.

[ TXT ] : you can't ignore me forever.

[ TXT ] : i can't stop thinking about you.

[ TXT ] : just saw i called you last night. how'd that go?

[ TXT ] : i really need someone right now.

[ TXT ] : we need to make plans asap.

[ TXT ] : have you seen the news?

[ TXT ] : you were blackout drunk.

[ TXT ] : testing to see if you blocked my number...

[ TXT ] : do you know anything about doing stitches?

[ TXT ] : just please let me know you're okay.

[ TXT ] : did you forget we had plans?

[ TXT ] : i know you see my messages, your read receipts are on.

[ TXT ] : meet me at [ location ], it's important.

[ TXT ] : do you need comfort, to vent, or a solution?

[ TXT ] : is there anything i should bring?

[ TXT ] : call me. please, it's important.

[ TXT ] : i can't sleep.

[ TXT ] : have you eaten today?

[ TXT ] : you are always going to be my priority.

[ TXT ] : i haven't seen you around in awhile.

[ TXT ] : i had a dream about you last night.

[ TXT ] : the names are gonna get mean if you don't text me back.

[ TXT ] : at the risk of sounding cliche, what are you wearing?

[ TXT ] : just say the word and i'll drop everything.

[ TXT ] : do you seriously not remember?

[ TXT ] : come to the front door.

[ TXT ] : have you been drinking?

[ TXT ] : how do you feel after last night?

[ TXT ] : are you up? please be up.

[ TXT ] : you looked beautiful today.

[ TXT ] : i have so much to tell you.

[ TXT ] : no one's heard from you. are you okay?

[ TXT ] : who is this?

[ TXT ] : are you taking care of yourself?

[ TXT ] : thought i'd reach out and see how you're doing.

[ TXT ] : i miss the taste of your lips.

[ TXT ] : that kiss was really nice.

[ TXT ] : stop acting so high and mighty.

[ TXT ] : i left my [ item ] at your place.

[ TXT ] : are we still fighting?

[ TXT ] : i need help and i can't go to the hospital.

[ TXT ] : are you thinking about me too?

[ TXT ] : call me, i wanna hear your voice.

[ TXT ] : i don't want to talk to you.

[ TXT ] : what do you have to lose?

[ TXT ] : you don't have to ask, i'm already on my way.

[ TXT ] : i want to take a nap on you.

[ TXT ] : even if you called 6 months later at 3am, i'd answer.

[ TXT ] : what's my name in your phone?

[ TXT ] : how's trying to forget about me going?

[ TXT ] : i have nobody else to ask.

[ TXT ] : what do you mean you're at the hospital??

[ TXT ] : sorry, i think you have the wrong number.

[ TXT ] : good morning! you up yet?

[ TXT ] : do i sense sarcasm in your tone?

[ TXT ] : you start your day at 2pm?

[ TXT ] : you need MY help?

[ TXT ] : stop texting me.

[ TXT ] : i'll leave that up to your imagination.

[ TXT ] : are you asking me to sneak out?

[ TXT ] : when will i see you again?

[ TXT ] : if you come over, i'll order us a pizza.

[ TXT ] : are we ever going to talk about it?

[ TXT ] : can you come get me out of here?

[ TXT ] : you mean like ... a BODY - body?

[ TXT ] : it's just been one thing after another lately.

[ TXT ] : forgiving and forgetting is harder than it sounds.

[ TXT ] : i want your legs wrapped around my head.

[ TXT ] : call me when you wake up.

[ TXT ] : what are you doing that's more important than me?

Fáfnir finds that this man, pretty though he may be, has a mouth he'd like to hear little from. "My, defensive are we?" His lips curve into a gentle smirk as he guides them further up in the clouds, cloaking them for a brief moment.

It isn't until that their next destination is brought up does he turn back- the same exasperation remaining firmly on his face.

"East, unless you fancy wandering upon the very skirmishes we're trying to avoid."

Either way, the Brodian didn't plan to be on the receiving end of a blast of lightning, so he raises one hand in an attempt to deescalate, slowly crouching as he sets the tray of prison food on the floor.

"...Clearly," he starts, knee on the ground as he lowers his voice to a whisper, "You're not one to just sit back and die. That's good. But if we're going to escape, I'm going to need you to reign it in."

For not the first time, Elrean wished that he had paid a little more attention to his coworkers- it would have helped him determine whether this man was telling the truth or not, at least. But the two of them almost certainly taught very different classes, so even if he did…

No use dwelling on it now.

Finally, he releases his breath, and sits back down. Tension still made itself clear in the tapping of a single finger on his arm, a futile attempt to hide his worry.

And, well, Joachim finds himself counted among their successful attempts, now standing behind a countertop alongside around twenty or so other hopeful amateur chocolatiers.

“You'll be sharing your work station with one other student. Think of it this way: if you can't be considerate of the person you're working with, how will you ever be considerate enough to make your one-of-a-kind, spectacular gift for your loved one?”  Stefanelli announces at the front of the class, standing tall and projecting loudly and clearly for all to hear.

(The arrangements are definitely not because there isn't enough space to give each person their own space, no siree.)

The pâtissier goes on to start giving an introduction on how to work with chocolate, encouraging everyone after that's been concluded to decide between dark or milk chocolate, the general shape of the chocolate they wish to make, and then to begin chopping the cacao butter once they've got their design choices in mind. Everything they'd need, he claims, would be at their work station already for them.

“Looks like we'll be sharing a station and ingredients then,”  Joachim turns to the blond man beside him.  “My name's Joachim. If you have something you need for yours, I don't mind leaving it for you. Do you have an idea in mind yet for your chocolate?”

His face burns. He tries not to look in the direction of the chocolatier- much less in the direction of the other participants, but unfortunately, that could only manifest itself as a glare in the direction of the ingredients. 

If looks could kill, the entire workshop would be in need of more sugar. But the sugar remains untouched all the way until the pâtissier ceases his prattling. Despite his expression, Elrean doesn't waste any time gathering the ingredients that had been listed earlier- he had been listening, for the most part.

Time to finally make the damn sweet and leave- or so he thought. The man beside him thinks its wise to begin their own conversation, instead of starting to work on the sweets themselves- even offering the shared ingredients!

They were shared, that was the point.

Was he stupid?

“W-What? Of course not!” Elrean huffs, throwing a glare to the now slightly-quieter pâtissier, who doesn’t notice. “He just finished explaining how to create chocolate. Any idea made on such short notice is rushed.”

This did not stop him from offering his assistance whenever the opportunity presented itself, eager to help if not so skilled at the learning the things that were truly helpful. 

But one thing that he could do, this he knew well and this which was capitalized on anytime a mass incident such as this happened, was talking. Mingling and moving about the victims or the affected, making them feel cared for and listened to, and to bring the little light he could to the dim places they found themselves – that was something he had not needed to learn. 

" - And WHOOMPH - " He threw his hands up into the air and leaned back in his seat atop this little wooden stool, mimicking the press of heat and wind of a desert thousands of miles away; "The sandstorm kicked up out of nowhere, confusing my horse and turning our cart around something wicked. The Aed has never been known for its easy passage, but that day I fear – oh – hm - ??" 

Sigurd cocked his head at the abrupt approach to where he sat beside a sailor attending heatstroke and a nasty sunburn, listening with dizzy attention to the story that was being told to him, and raised his gaze to find the stormy disposition bearing down upon him as though this man were the sandstorm himself. 

All of it was irrelevant to the task at hand.

“Hmph. Clearly! You-” Ready to lecture further, the mage notices a particular salve in his arms, or rather, a few of them- that he remembered searching for unsuccessfully only minutes prior. Momentum lost, he stutters. “You-”

Flustered, now, with irritation that had found itself too baffled to continue, or perhaps finding himself so angry that he could only manifest it as stress. A few more unsuccessful attempts to say something were made, fury building.

the sun is warm above them.  they bask in it, then dive into another cloud, and as they break through it, it soaks them in rainwater, drenching their hair flat to their face and sticking heavily to their wings.  they begin descending.

linhardt opens his eyes to see professor elrean's scowl.

Linhardt, right. Prone to sleepiness but not the worst troublemaker in the class- that particular title would sooner belong to those who had already run off.

... Who he will also need to chase after.