two of spades

PIQUUSE   ♠   a private Deuce Spade blog, as narrated by Paint.

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thread tracker below // up. 2022.10.31 (y/m/d)   ♠   (view all threads)

the incredibly (familiar) infuriating feeling of being pitied was back, and it had returned with a vengeance. riddle tried to shake it off - seven, he did! - but it still set his hair on edge, raising his hackles, and turning his tongue sharper than usual. 

“i will not be laid low by some,” riddle paused, halfway into a froth, and tried to take a deep breath. he could feel the heat in his ears, the way it crept from the nape of his neck to the apples of his cheeks, and more than rage, riddle felt rather…ashamed. though, if it was from his situation or his horrible temper, riddle found he couldn’t quite tell. either way, it was completely unfitting behavior for both a rosehearts and a housewarden alike. 

riddle sighed. “apologies, deuce. thank you for your advice.” he tried for a smile and missed it by a mile, landing somewhere between a scowl and a tight-lipped grimace. “…i’ll just…get started then, shall i?” 

“O-Of course not, Housewarden!” Comes Deuce’s trained response Riddle takes one step closer towards burning rage. It wouldn’t have bene a stretch to claim that Deuce didn’t feel very surprised by the sudden turn in mood (and who’s fault is that, really?) but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a still startling experience.

Still... Feels bad, man.

“Don’t worry, Boss. Like I said, I’ll keep pace with you as we run!” He continues, ignoring the befouled expression on the other’s face. In a quick and well-telegraphed motion, he starts urging Riddle to begin running. “Working out is always the hardest at the beginning anyways, since you gotta give yourself time to adjust to it. Uh, there might be a part where it really, really sucks, but you’ll get over it.”

“Did the Headmage move us all here for free labor?” Deuce mutters under his breath, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and hands moving diligently as he wipes down the temporary room he had been assigned. He does this part alone; damp rag moving from dusty furniture to soapy water and back again until the water in the bucket turns a murky grey and Deuce has to make a trip to the washroom to change it out.

Rinse and repeat, until the last change of water runs clear.

By the time Deuce is finished cleaning, there’s a clean, citrus-y scent in the air that wasn’t there an hour ago that’s beginning to travel beyond the open door and windows left open to air out the room. The wood furniture even looks three shades brighter now that there wasn’t a heavy layer of dust and dirt to mottle the color. It’s a significant enough difference that Deuce can’t help but feel good about a job well done—his mom would be so proud of him, if she was here.

All that was left to do now, aside from finding a fresh change of linens, was actually move his things in. All of Deuce’s necessities had been left back at the Heartslabyul dorm for now, since he had managed to avoid being a part of the group in charge of covering up the roses with tarps and linens to help protect them from the sudden frost that had begun to settle over the dorm.

Deuce would have to go back soon to swap out with one of his dorm members so that they could come down to Ramshackle and do the same, of course, but it was nice to be able to get a head start on it now while most people were likely still gathering their things.

Plus, he still needed to figure out if they were supposed to bring bedding from their respective dorms or if there was some secret stash of clean bedding that they were to use. The last thing Deuce wanted to do was spend the foreseeable future lying on a bed of moth-eaten sheets. Ew.

For now though, Deuce would just have to settle for an early lunch before returning to Heartslabyul to help with the maze’s emergency preparations.

”Is it even legal for the school to open up a dorm this run down to its students?”

If there was a single thought that could speak for the majority of Night Raven University’s freshly displaced students, Deuce had little doubt that would have been it. It was already making its rounds among some of the members of his own dorm, particularly those of more affluent backgrounds, and even Deuce had caught himself thinking similarly now that everyone was settling into their temporary housing.

It wasn’t that far from the truth either, considering how the only real residents in Ramshackle were a two half-students. It had been easy for Deuce to tell which rooms Yuu and Grim had frequented the most just from how clean the areas had been in comparison to the rest of the building. The rest . . . Well, it did still run on electricity, as opposed to magic. It was a miracle that the place was still functional at all.

troisfleur:

LIGHT LAUGHTER FOLLOWS—“I’m afraid I’d get a reservation system shut down as quickly as I could start it. I try not to take requests on principle, and I’ve barely trained your seniors out  of asking anyway. It’s a funny thought, though. Maybe a lottery system? One ticket per passing test, if that’s what it takes to keep everyone motivated.” He won’t, although the thought lingers in his mind as Deuce suggests it, long enough for him to consider forming the pitch to Riddle anyway. The thought leaves as quickly as the pitch forms, though; it’s all extra work for him, in the end.

They’re setting a leisurely pace by the time they’re out of the business district proper on the main street through town. “Imagine doing this in the middle of the day. It’d be hotter, and that’s assuming I’d make it out the door in time to get any shopping done. Some things are worth waking up early for.” Like the occasional morning to himself, when a second pair of hands aren’t needed, a moment of repose to listen to himself think in a dorm that at once feelings endlessly sprawling and curiously cramped. “I usually got… volunteered to go out whenever my family needed something extra for an order, and it’s always better to be there first thing when a store opens. Never know how fast something will sell out!”

Deuce’s concern for his time can be leveraged, at least; easily dispatched to knock simpler things off the list while Trey takes his time scrutinizing nearly every batch of blackberries. Another luxury of the early morning: fewer people, and more time to be sure he’d gotten the best of the imported fares.

There’s a twinge to Trey’s leg by the time the buildings become homes. Not enough to be bothersome, at first, but enough to feel an ache crawl upwards from the flat of his foot through his calves as Deuce even considers a run might be in order after the walk back. A little strain to Trey’s leisurely smile, mostly a sympathetic wince at the very idea. “You really keep on your feet. Walking up this way’s one thing, but I wouldn’t hustle that much unless I’m running late.”

“Don’t let me stop you, if you need to be one with the wind now, but the groceries aren’t very even weights. I’d bill you for anything that fell out of the bags, too.”

By the time the homes are ready to give way to steeper inclines and the smaller rivers that cut through the edges of town, the twinge in his leg’s all but evolved into an ache. The jovial air is gone, and Trey’s brow furrows. He can’t imagine he’s that out of shape from a few weeks’ time without making a run, and he didn’t sleep on anything at an odd angle, to his knowledge—

“Let’s stop for a minute.” Trey doesn’t wait for Deuce to comply, bending down carefully so overflowing bags land softly on grass and slip off his arms before bending down at a knee.

He did make a few less-than-graceful landings this week, a flight class collision that was mostly not his fault. Aside from a few bruises, he figured he’d come out unscathed, especially without a scratch to his glasses for his trouble, but—

Hands massage his right ankle after feigning tightening his laces. It’s probably fine. There’s not really much of a choice but for it to be fine.

“There’s no better muscle to build than useful ones,” Deuce says in reply, shrugging his shoulders. It isn’t even a lie either, because his mother had swiftly ended any beliefs to the contrary after an incident when he was a bit younger and more interested in the idea of bodybuilders. The educational films she had made him watch about the occupational hazards were...very convincing. Still, it was pretty cool to learn that one her friends from her youth had gone that route.

Truthfully, if he were to use the groceries as weights, he’d treat them like kettlebells. Though Trey was right to warn him against damaging the goods in the process. “Don’t worry—I’m prepared to pay for anything that might fall out of the bags if that happens!”

Though really, anyone with sense would just avoid getting into that situation at all.

Deuce’s mind is in the middle of trying to figure out what sort of training exercises he could do on a twisty path like the university’s when Trey decides to call for a break. “Oh, okay.”

Following in suit, Deuce takes another step away from the middle of the road (just in case!) and sets down his own bags in the grass. There’s a bit of fussing, as Deuce takes the opportunity to rearrange the contents of the bags he felt were getting a little too jostled around.

Once that’s done though Deuce straights up for a proper stretch, glancing up at the sky. Nothing but clear, blue skies for now, thankfully. Though Deuce wondered how long it would take the clouds in the distance to arrive. There wasn’t any rain on the forecast for the rest of the week, but Deuce couldn’t exactly claim to be that familiar with the local weather habits when he was still wet behind the ears in his freshman year.

“Does it rain here often?” He asks in the end, turning his eyes towards Trey. “It’s humid because of the ocean, but...” Words trail off as Deuce eyes Trey’s hands, still dawdling at his feet despite the neatly laced bow, though Deuce doesn’t quite put together two-and-two just yet.

Still, as one to never truly beat around the bush, he can’t help but ask: “...Are you okay? Is there a rock in your shoe?” Or was Trey just mentally preparing himself for the trek back up to the entrance?

There’s an eerie ambience in the Mirror Chamber past midnight, Ruggie notes as he listens to Deuce, brows furrowed. He passes it off as a byproduct of heightened nerves; an indescribable fear of the Dark Mirror announcing their presence to the headmage. Pale eyes steal a wary glance to the sacred relic, now an ominous glint of obsidian in the depths of midnight. He then turns to where Deuce points. “Got’cha.” 

The wagon is considerably lighter without the additional burden. Ruggie weaves between levitating mirrors and stations the wheelbarrow behind one fixture. He kicks some fallen roses beneath it, for the perfect disguise.  The wagon nearly blends among the shadows; an advantage to the lack of chamber windows. It takes a moment until Ruggie trudges back to Deuce, then stops to adjust the hefty backpage ‘on his own shoulders. 

“Y’ever been to the place? Dwarve’s Mine?” Ruggie asks as he turns back to the Mirror. As if acknowledging their need, the relic hums to life. It emits a soft, white glow. The picture of a forest begins to fade into their sight, perfected with a homely cabin, “Azul said somethin’ scared off the delivery men, but wouldn’t tell me what. It’s probably just an animal, though; I’ve seen lost’sa them in places like that.”  

He doesn’t wait for Deuce’s response as he cautiously presses one leg into the Mirror. A force suddenly grasps upon his limb, then sucks him into the void. He crashes into a field of dried grass, earning a mouthful in the process. 

“—PHEH!” Ruggie gags as he spits out grass, then sits upright on his bum. “Why’s the grass here all brittle?!” Ears flatten in irritation as the hyena shoves a fallen bottle back into his backpack. Then, he takes a look around him. “….Heeeey, Deuce? Y’there?” 

“This’ll be my first time. Usually I just stick to the township.” He hedges with a shrug. As Ruggie makes his way through the portal, Deuce takes the time to peer at the image. While the cabin itself didn’t trigger anything in particular, the forest surrounding it was a familiar sight, if only because of the time he had spent exploring the mountains back home. “Unless I ended up there in a past life or something. Do you think I would’ve been a dwarf if that was the case?”

There is no response to his query, of course, because by the time Deuce turns back towards the hyena, the space Ruggie had once occupied is as quiet as a grave. There’s no point in dilly-dallying though, so he steps forward into the mirror after Ruggie.

The sudden jerk Deuce feels as his hand passes through is strong enough to send his vision spinning, even after he’s thrown hard against the roots of an old tree stump. “Ugh...ow...” Deuce shuts his eyes against the pinwheels in his vision. “What the hell... The dorm mirror portals aren’t that bad, so why...”

With a frown Deuce opens his eyes and sits up, expecting to see the Savanaclaw senior nearby, but there is no one around. He doesn’t even see the old cabin that was present in the mirror. “Bucchi?” Deuce calls out, pushing himself up into a standing position. The sound of dried leaves is loud against the darkness. “Bucchi, where’d you go? Hello?!” But despite the bellow, Deuce can’t help but think that his voice didn’t carry very far.

With a click of his tongue, he pats down his pockets and pulls out his pen, just in case. Bad enough that he didn’t quite know his way around this place, but he didn’t like the thread of wariness that had begun to pull taut in his chest. A pause, before he uncaps his pen to doodle a small cauldron onto the exposed bark.

“This should keep me from walking around in circles... I think.” Though there is not much else he can do when he doesn’t even know where he is. So with light footsteps, Deuce picks a random direction and starts walking, calling out Ruggie’s name every now and then.

riddle tried not to sneer too openly. or seem too alarmed. run? around the field? while carrying weights? riddle wanted to ask. he could already feel the goosebumps forming along his arms and legs, cold pinpricks of chicken skin forming out of sheer dread for the herculean trial deuce had just proposed. 

but it was his duty, both as a member of house heartslabyul, and as heartslabyul’s housewarden, to participate in spelldrive. and more than that, perhaps, riddle wanted to win, this year. it was, perhaps, a pipe dream - a fantasy, in more ways than one, but riddle had told both kalen and deuce that he was willing to put in the work. 

it did just go to figure that deuce would all but challenge him to put his money where his mouth was. i think he may be trying to kill me, though, riddle thought, and resisted the urge to toe at the weights again. 

“…right,” riddle said, at last, and prayed that his smile didn’t look as strained as it felt. “well. i suppose we should get started, then?” 

There’s a moment of pause, and Deuce turns a more contemplative gaze towards Riddle. It’s a worrisome expression typically, considering how quickly a Deuce deep-in-thought could spiral, but there’s a certain glint in his eyes that promises it to not be the case this time around. Perhaps it’s doubt, for whether or not he believed that Riddle could manage at least this much. Or maybe it was pity, for seeing his housewarden laid low by the appearance of a five-pound weight so early on.

Either way, he’s got some thoughts in that head of his.

“Try not to stop completely, even if you get tired,” he reiterates, before turning to trace the edge of the croquet field with his hand. “You can slow down to a walk if you need to, but try not to stay like that for longer than you gotta.” He taps the edge of the bench. “This’ll be our lap marker for now, since I forgot to bring actual cones.

That distant glimmer flickers out in an instant, replaced with something marginally warmer at recognition.

“Deuce,” a nod and a greeting that doesn’t linger. “Thank you for your help in organizing our stamp rally decorations. It’s getting late, though—don’t linger too much.” It’s not a warning, just a statement for him to read between the lines—I won’t say anything if you will.

He shakes the container in his hands, enough to gesture towards them to remark, “And thank you for the ideas for your booth. It wasn’t a suggestion,” and he doesn’t take them, usually, “but sometimes the best ideas come about when you’re not looking. I’ve never prepared any sort of insect or spider before.”

And he’s on his way with a nod and a whistle, towards the kitchen—no lingering.

A glance at the clock is all Deuce needs to know that he has to get moving soon, if he wanted to avoid a morning correction. He had considered not heading toward the kitchen at all initially, but the distant pang of an empty stomach would have lead towards an unrestful slumber and Deuce would rather spend ten minutes heating up water for his cup noodles than the thirty he knew he’d spend pretending he wasn’t hungry before bed.

On the bright side, that moment of foresight he had earlier today to notify Riddle about the extra training he had planned earlier that evening was his saving grace. Explaining why he was in the kitchen past dinner time would be easier because of it if he was questioned, but he doubted that he would need it. Still, the next five minutes are spent slurping down the last of his noodles and tidying up the small mess he had left in the kitchen.

As he makes his way through the hall, Deuce can’t help but wonder if he should have spent a few more minutes lounging in the quiet of the kitchen. Rarely does he get lost in his thoughts, having been too busy getting caught up in the moment—but it seems that is not the case tonight, as he sees Trey walking in his direction with a small container in hand. Curious, considering the hour.

With a quick nod and a quiet greeting in return, Deuce lets himself puff up a little with pride over the acknowledgement of his efforts. “Wasn’t planning to, vice-Housewarden. I just—” a small look at the little tupperware in Trey’s hands quickly becomes a doubletake. Were those...cobwebs?

It takes a moment, and a few reminding words, before Deuce recalls the brief tangent that he had dragged the rest of the Heartslabyul group chat into earlier that week. “Oh! Right, that.” A small smile of understanding, turning his normally serious expression soft with childish joy. “I didn’t think you’d actually be that interested in it,” but it was nice to know that he was. Perhaps Trey would come up with a recipe that was as good as his mom’s.

Deuce opens his mouth to say more, but movement from his senior is enough signal that the time for a conversation has passed. Trey’s whistle floats quietly in the halls as he walks away toward the kitchen, dampened slightly by patterned walls, and Deuce turns back towards his room. He had heard that tone in the other’s words for what it was, after all.

To be entirely frank, roller derby was not something that deuce was very familiar with, let alone roller skating. Riding a blastcycle was one thing, but there hadn’t been a roller rink nearby back home and Deuce hadn’t been inclined to spend his spare cash on something a single-use as a pair of roller skates when there was a perfectly good list of errands that needed to be checked off first.

But even with the lack of a proper rink, Deuce often saw how the neighborhood children had made do with the outdoor terrain. The lake near the base of the mountains would often freeze over when winter came, strong and thick enough to handle the weight of the people who would glide across its surface on their skates. While he had joined in on the fun himself as a child, he had stopped after the fifth time someone’s mother had accused him of trying to crack open the ice alongside their children’s head. As if clumsy little Fergal had needed Deuce’s help to fall flat on his face. Hah, what a crock of shit.

Still, that was then and this was now; because the bulletin board had offered up the advice given, and since NRU students were able to get a decent discount, it had just been a question of why not? If Deuce wanted to be able to pull himself up into becoming an honor student like he initially planned, then there was no harm in stacking the deck in his favor when he had the chance. Academics were never his strong suit, even with his seniors’ tutoring, but that just meant that he couldn’t slack off in the subjects that he was actually good at.

brawlrog​:

these new technologies are exhilarating, he must say. he’s heard of blastcycles before. at their advent, they were heralded as mighty iron behemoths that could carry any one or two people across any distance so long as its fuel was supplied. he’d paid it no mind then, wholly unconcerned. there were plenty of other modes of transportation that’d been introduced in the years that’ve passed him by, but how many of them had endured time itself? few, he’ll say, can match the utility of a carriage, save for the human invention that they call a train. what could these others do that the carriage could not? when they lacked the fuel, what happened then? would they be stranded?

by comparison, the carriage is steadfast and stalwart. a horse only needs a day’s rest when it tires too much to continue, but they would continue. a train? a blastcycle? the same could not be true. irregardless, they do not build trains in briar valley, lacking in the fuel that it requires. just as they do not build blastcycles in briar valley. what was more: where could they go where he could not travel himself? no, no; there were no need for these novelties as intriguing as they are.

so, he tells himself.

so he says, as he discovers one of them tucked away nearby the stables on one such sojourn. so he says, as he hears the sound of its keeper and tucks himself into its sidecar beneath the tarp. the fabric flutters, clapping loudly against his ears as the motor roars to life. the speed affronts him and, for all of a second before the fear turns to delight instead, he fears that his chest might collapse from the sheer force of it. it is in that short journey that fae realizes he was wrong to turn his nose up at this. how could he have missed out on such an opportunity? he was foolish to have dismissed it.

lilia even thinks that he might purchase one for himself, though he momentarily decides against it when he thinks of the worry it might cause his sweet child.

decides he will buy one after all when they hook around a corner and lilia has to stop himself from cheering with childish glee.

eventually, the motor cuts as they arrive at the driver’s predetermined destination. fae peers out from beneath the cover, a gloved hand lifting to rustle his dark hair—as how else will he remain so rougishly handsome without painstaking dedication?—before cautiously swinging a foot out of the sidecar only to hear the clipped scream of the driver. he quirks an eyebrow before laughter bubbles forth. cupping his hands around his mouth, lilia shouts too from the shore: “fuck you, ace trappola!” grinning cheekily, he offers a wave from his passengar’s seat. “and a good evening to you, deuce.”

The echoing of his own words in the air around him falls like a keystone in the metaphorical arch that was his expectation of being alone on this stretch of beach; though maybe it would be more accurate to say that it was the wrecking ball that smashed that wall into itty-bitty pieces, because that’s how he would probably describe his feelings on the situation, if anyone was to ask.

Suffice to say, Deuce’s scream of surprise could have probably been heard from the docks, what with how loud he was. The max decibel ceiling was rather high, for him.

     “Vanrogue?”     He asks, visibly bemused as he rights himself from his turn to see who exactly had followed him. In the confusion of the moment, the previous irritation that had colored his voice with such vibrant saturation seems to have disappeared—because seriously, what in the seven was Diasomnia’s vice-warden doing in his sidecar anyways? It wasn’t something Deuce normally kept attached to his blastcycle, but the convenience of the extra space was a weight off his back (literally!) when he had to go down into the town for things...

Now that he’s thinking about it, that explained a few things.     “Huh, so that’s why I had to lean more deeply into my turns today...”     Deuce says to himself, hand raised to his chin as he thinks back to the earlier drive. At first he had thought that the bike was due for a tune up, but Lilia’s extra weight would explain why his usual balance seemed off; it would be difficult to account for something he wasn’t expecting, even for an experienced driver like him.

Needless to say, comparing their predicament to looking for a needle amongst hay would be a severe understatement. 

The area is far too vast, the vegetation too dense, the illumination too dim for them to make any meaningful progress. At this sluggish pace, it would take them all night just traversing the entire gardens. Even then, their efforts would be unlikely to yield results, given the sheer number of places they’d have to forage through to call it an exhaustive search.

It’d be more shocking if they did manage to find anything under these conditions. An act of divine providence, of utter luck. For someone used to drawing the shorter end of the stick, entrusting the outcome to chance would be no better than to resign himself to failure. 

No, that won’t do at all. They need a more methodical approach. A strategy beyond combing through the grass and hoping for the best. 

At least for now, Jamil should count his blessings. Deuce is hardly the worst person to be stuck with —or well, stuck to— in a situation like this, for one. As long as he remains cooperative and not insufferably ingratiating, Jamil reckons the two of them can get by just fine. That much is an advantage, compared to a majority of alternatives. 

« Yes, let’s. » With a curt nod, he goes along Deuce’s suggestion.  

Jamil remains silent as they tread along the path, occupied with observing his surroundings: the structure of the glass ceiling overhead; the height of the trees around them; the length of the canals that flow quietly throughout the gardens. Every detail, he commits to memory, attempting to devise the most prudent course of action going forward. 

Once they’re nearing the centre of the temperate zone, he finally speaks again.

« Right now, I can think of two ways to go about this, » Jamil begins. « The first would involve climbing onto higher ground— say, that tree over there, » he signals to an especially large oak,   « using the taller branches as a vantage point, we could shine on a portion of the area with some light magic and, if we’re lucky, the keys will reflect some of that light. » It’s straightforward enough, but a three-legged climb in the dark is a risky endeavour. 

Having said that, he points at the irrigation canals. « Our second option is to look through the waterways instead. If the keys fell into one of them, they might have been carried by the stream and gotten stuck in a filter somewhere along the way. The water is shallow enough for us to search on foot, and following it would take us through all major parts of the garden,» he concludes.

« Personally, I think the latter is a more sensible option. It isn’t nearly as risky, and it makes for a relatively rounded search. However, it is by far the slower of the two, and it’s limited in its range. » Time is of the essence; Jamil has to make it back to his dormmates as soon as possible, lest they wreak more havoc in his absence. « So, I’d like to hear your thoughts. »

While Deuce had heard from some of the other members in the basketball club about Jamil’s capable character, watching him keep cool head under pressure in real time was an enlightening experience; if he could learn to properly think before he leapt, it could only benefit his future goals.

After all, even if he tried to assume the mentality of an honor student on his way towards become a great mage, Deuce knew that he was still along way from actually being one. The gap was just too great for him to clear it, but he wasn’t about to stop before he even tried. So when Jamil asks for his thoughts, he...tries to think it through. As best as he can, anyways.

          “If you think that the stream is the better option, then let’s try it! It’s safer than climbing through the trees while we’re like this,” Deuce gestures at their restraints. “Though if you know any wind magic, maybe we can summon some to shake the tree leaves up a bit?” If Ace was here instead, chances are that’s the idea he would have... Though that might also knock loose whatever else is tucked away up in the canopy. Like bird nests. Were there birds in the greenhouse, now that he thought about it? Or just bugs?

vorpalswxrd​:

twistedxspinachpuffs​:

“Deuce, my friend, pal, fellow dormmate – we have a lot to get done if we’re gonna be ready for this year’s Spelldrive season!”

When Mr. Rosehearts tasked him with leading today’s training session, that only further fueled Kalen’s desire to go all out. Thank the Seven Sam had a sale! These things did not come cheap as we’re most likely sightly raised in price once the shopkeep realized the reason the sudden widespread demand.

“Formation flying is a useful skill,” Kalen explained, as he set out little yoga mats on the floor, each one in a color to mat it’s owner (red for riddle, blue for deuce, orange for kalen) with a bottle of water beside them. “But all the training in the world can’t save you from a pulled muscle. What we need to work on eight now is good ol’ fashioned stretching and upper body strength!”

As as he’s given the ‘ok’ from Mr. Rosehearts to begin, Kalen demonstrates various stretches he had learned over time to ensure everyone’s body would be properly warmed up before they got into the more physically demanding section of training.

“…Aaand, now that we’re done,” Kalen gestures for the pair to follow him away from the mats, to the corner he had set up his equipment, holding out two dumbells for each. “Let me introduce y'all to my friend, the inclined dumbell press! Now, these guys are light, so feel free to grab heavier weights if these aren’t heavy enough for you. Just sit in the bench, lean back, and keep your feet firmly planted on the floor. Brace your core and press both dumbbells straight up over your chest as you exhale. Three sets of eight. Hop to it!”

let’s work together! stick with me, @vorpalswxrd , @piquuse !

riddle stared, a bit dumbly, at the “inclined dumbell press” kalen had just gestured them towards. you have got to be kidding me, he thought. when he had agreed to let kalen run a small - small! - training camp, in hopes of preparing the house for spelldrive season, riddle had expected – 

well, he wasn’t quite sure what he had expected. trying to expect anything sensible, logical, or orderly from kalen seemed to always end up being an exercise in futility. or, in some particularly stressful cases, a way to measure just how much paracetemol riddle could down before he killed himself in the process. 

regardless, no matter what riddle had expected, yoga and dumbells had not been it. spelldrive was flying, for the seven’s sake! you were on a broom, with a ball, and you jockied around the field for points. it was all rather straightforward, and also well within riddle’s limited athletic skillset, precisely because it didn’t require any heavy lifting. 

but it would, of course, be singularly humiliating to have to admit to both kalen and deuce that riddle had his doubts about his ability to handle weights that kalen had just described as “light”. for the seven’s sake, he’d even offered to grab heavier dumbells! how was riddle meant to even begin to broach the idea that the dumbells might be too much!? 

mother, riddle thought, didn’t raise a coward. with that thought in mind, he took a deep breath, and sat on the bench. 

this had better not kill me. no fooling around, @twistedxspinachpuffs , @piquuse !

There’s a bit of relief in Deuce’s expression to know that they were still able to train their body alongside their magic for spelldrive. Even if it was utterly overshadowed by his determination to make the most of this little training session of theirs, a workout was still a workout. This was something he could do, without the worry of looking like a fool who still hadn’t learned which side of the wand pointed up.

          “Alright!” Wrapping up the last of his stretches and feeling the happy hum of limber muscle, Deuce steps over to take the proffered dumbbell from Kalen. With all the heavy lifting he had done for his mother back home, the ten pound weight wasn’t heavy at all for him; if anything, he’d even say that he hardly noticed the added weight, even though he was looking directly at it. But that said nothing for how the change in posture would affect him, of course.

So, like a good musclehead, Deuce moves to take a seat at the bench and leans back the way he would on the old recliner at home, engaging his core to keep his back straight without the help of a backrest in the fight against gravity. He gives the weights a few experimental presses, before deciding that the angle didn’t make that much of a difference... He could probably start with thirty as a warm up, and then keep adding another ten or so with every rep or so until he hits his limit.

Yeah, that sounds about right, he thinks, as he pauses in his rep to exchange his weights out. So focused on updating his own regimen, it isn’t until he’s about to head back to the bench that he even notices Riddle’s predicament...

(It’s okay boss, he didn’t see anything. In fact, he’s blind.)