Flashback A Fair Trade

[Keene Ward]

The nineteenth day of spring, 511 AV.

"Is my body pleasing to you?"

The question rang out in the air with a strange, mechanical deadness that hung about in the following silence for several beats before the young woman responded to Keene's forward question.

"I-" Her face blushed pink with embarrassment before she decided to focus upon her indignation instead. As the social rules would have it, she quickly struck the back of her hand across Keene's face with a solid slap. "How dare you?!"

The sudden stinging sensation that left a bright red mark across Keene's usually pale skin brought a few blinking tears to his surprised reevaluation of the situation. "I... Do not understand." His grey-green eyes returned a stark incomprehension to the blue glare from the woman in front of him. "I didn't dare anything."

Taken aback by Keene's response, the woman chewed on her lower lip, her brows knitting together in thought. "I suppose you didn't."

The two stood for another few beats before the woman spoke again, this time her tone was much more evenly paced. "You're a bit short."

Keene blinked in response before evaluating the lack of height discrepancy between the two of them by glancing from the woman's boots to where his eyes met her's at a slight decline.

"And I prefer a bit more muscle." Having seemingly moved passed her initial embarrassment and surprise, the mage now seemed to be enjoying herself. "Really, is there even a bit of fat on you?" She shook her head, crossing her arms and allowing her body to fall into a bit more of a relaxed stance. "It wouldn't kill you to go on a run once in awhile."

"I don't suppose it would." Keene didn't have an answer to her question regarding his body's fat percentage. He doubted there was much. Taking mental note of the woman's preferences, Keene determined she was unlikely to aid him. "I misinterpreted your covert glances, my apologies." Once more the woman's face flushed a bright pink.

"Y-you-" She let herself gather her breath before continuing, her tone carrying with it defeat mixed with amusement. "I never said it wasn't pleasing, just that you're lacking in a few areas." She offered him a wink, apparently having tossed whatever modesty she'd at first thrown up at him to the proverbial wind. "I'm sure you're just fine where it counts."

Keene blinked once more, his slight frown deepening a fraction. Unsure of exactly where the woman was referring to, Keene decided to focus on the promising body language of his potential companion. "I would offer it to you for a small favor."

"Excuse me?" A shocked squeak of syllables escaped the now cherry-red visage of the young woman before him. Her hands had moved to cover her mouth, a common physicality of those in an embarrassing or uncomfortable situation. Keene allowed his frown to become a full crescent then, not wanting to lose the interest of his potential salvation.

"A trade, of sorts, if you will." He tilted his head slightly, gaze intent and business-like, "A night during which my body is yours to do with as you please in return for initiation into reimancy."

Again, several beats passed while the young woman stared at him with a mix of emotions somewhere between dumbfounded perplexity and legitimate interest. The typical repulsion she might have felt was assuaged by her authentic attraction to Keene (though moreso due to his resemblance to an old lover than his physical allure). "You... I don't-" Another breath. "Reimancy is a serious thing to ask for."

Kenne nodded his understanding. "I am serious in my request."

_______________________________________________________________________

[Keene Ward]

"Keene!" A sharp, militant bark echoed down the corridor as the quick paced stamp of Mella's boots rapped against the stone floor. "What do you think you're doing?" Her eyes were, as usual, flaring with her emotion of choice. At the moment: anger. "Back up, Betty." The informal address cast on the young woman he'd been speaking to sent her floundering about in confusion once more (her name was most definitely Alisyn not Betty). She responded with a mute nod, turning to give Keene a flustered raise of her brow. "Whatever he just asked you, forget it." Her green glare shifted onto the unfazed young man beside Alisyn. "And you." Arms swung in gesture to Alisyn, who by now had let a displeased frown pull at her features. "She is not going to initiate you. Stop asking around about it. Show some discretion for the gods' sake."

"Excuse me-" Alisyn's interjection was immediately reciprocated with a fiery glare from the spitfire Mella. Alisyn lapsed into silence once more, folding her arms indignantly.

"I wouldn't be asking about it if you would have initiated me two years ago." Keene's even cadence carried no animosity, though his brow raised in challenge. His response did little to quell the rising storm of Mella's growing rage.

"If I would have initiated you two years ago you would never have finished mapping out two years worth of relevant weather patterns." The sharp quality of her voice had melted into an acidic hiss. Alisyn instinctively took several steps back in the vain hope her physical distance might allow her some social separation as well. Mella wasn't quite ready to let her off the hook. "Where do you think you're going?" Alisyn shrugged, shaking her head with wide eyes as her cheeks flushed with a tinge of embarrassment. "You weren't honestly considering his..." A lull in her question gave Keene time to suggest "proposition?" to which he was rewarded with glare. "Considering his 'proposition', were you?"

Alisyn, quite aware of the repercussions the University would take if she were to do so, shook her head, laughing nervously. "N-no! Absolutely not! I-I'm not even good enough at reimancy to go about it." It was Keene's turn to stare at Aliyah with disdain. She brushed it off, finishing with, "I thought it was just a poorly contrived joke, that's all."

Mella's rage dissolved into a steady anger at Alisyn's assurance she wasn't going to take Keene up on his offer. "Good. Get lost." Squinting offence, Alisyn didn't pursue Mella's lack of etiquette, choosing instead to take the opportunity to finally extricate herself from the unappealing situation she'd found herself in. She hastily shuffled down the hall towards the nearest exit, letting the door shut heavily behind her as she slipped out. "Now you." Mella drew in a large breath before continuing, exhaling what what left of her frustrations. "I've been following your trail." She held a even tone now, though it was still infused with its fair share of irritation. "That girl makes six. Six." She shook her head, "Besides, they can't do anything for you anyway. The University forbids it." She was given a frown in return. "They're apt to frown at this whole situation, so it would behoove you not to exacerbate it." Grunting a muted expletive, Mella put her hand on his shoulder (a rare gesture). "I guess it's finally time."

His lips quickly moved into the natural downward curve they tended to fall in, rather than the displeased inverted "u" that had been occupying them moments before. "That's good news. Cybil was my last potential candidate, and I won't deny the way she looks at me like meat makes me uncomfortable." Mella rolled her eyes, the mental image of the quiet library-lurker popping into the front of her mind. Turning to lead Keene back the way she'd come, he started after her. "Are we doing it now?"

"No."

Keene's movement immediately halted. "When?"

"Not right now." Mella turned back to motion him forward with an irritable flick of her hand.

"When." Keene remained immobile. His chilled gaze running even against Mella's fiery glare.

"...Tonight."

"Tonight?"

Mellah let out an exasperated huff of air. "Gods be damned, Keene. Yes, tonight." Again the flick of the wrist. "Now get moving before I change my mind."

Taking a few ticks to appraise the truthfulness of Mella's words, Keene found them satisfactorily trustworthy and fell into step a pace behind the wild-haired, stocky woman who had raised him to be her prime student and assistant. "I'll be at Cybil's if you change your mind."

"The petch you will."

__________________________________________________________________________

[Keene Ward]

"This plant is classically depicted as carrying a red hue in its petals and thorns along the stem. The petals are positioned radially, fanning out as it blooms. It's fruit can be used to cure scurvy, mild sickness, and constipation. Oils derived from its seeds have been known to aid in the healing of burns and scars. Through philtering, its essence can be used as an aromatic perfume; attenuated solutions can be used as flavoring in various types of confectionery. Both petals and fruit can be candied or preserved as jellies or teas.

There are, however, a myriad of strains that are not all necessarily prime specimen with which to use in these various fashions. Those commonly found in flower gardens may not produce the most potent oils, while others may produce less than appealing jams and teas. The versatility of this plant spans more than merely a pleasant aroma and appearance."

Keene shut the book, running his finger over the embossed letters of its title, Plants Beyond Plants, as he gazed out the window in time to glance the last few rays of the sun disappearing over the skyline of the mountains that surrounded the city. Tapping the leather cover of the book, Keene turned his attention to Mella who sat at her desk muttering to herself and scribbling up a storm. She appeared busy, but there was not as single moment in her life when she was otherwise. He stood up from his chair, fluidly gliding over to their dining table covered in papers and books, placing his own to join the ever growing pile. "The sun has set." His statement was rewarded with a grunt. "It is now 'night', according to its connotative definition." Another grunt. "I believe we made an agreement."

Mella slammed shut the book she'd been scratching at for the past three bells since they'd arrived home. "Fine." She tossed the quill onto a pile of notes, whereupon it proceeded to release what ink was left in its reservoir in a large, dark blotch. Unperturbed by the marring, Mella shoved her chair out from under her as she straightened up, stretching as she did so. Letting a wide yawn pass before addressing Keene, she let her disdain at having been interrupted for something so unimportant hang heavy in her words. "You're like a bitch in heat, Keene. You could benefit from some self-restraint."

Keene replied with a terse, "You might benefit from rose oil."

Mella's face temporarily held a blank stare of incomprehension before she rolled her eyes as she grabbed her coat off of the back of her chair. "We could all benefit from a little rose oil."

Blinking, Keene looked down towards his armpit and sniffed. His scent did not assault his nostrils like some virulent gas, which garnered a frown. The perfume of roses, while pleasing upon a rose, would surly have made his natural aroma far too sweet to be bearable. His final deduction: he would not benefit from rose oil.

Shrugging her arms into her coat, Mella wrestled with the curly mass of auburn hair, tugging it out from beneath the leather and letting it loose once it had been freed. "We're going heading into the mountains for this. Dress warm." She disappeared into the back room and began to bang and clank around as she searched for a lantern. "And pack some food. I'm starving." The addendum was yelled between the clattering, to which Keene responded by fetching his knapsack and stuffing a loaf of bread, some cheese wrapped in cloth, and a water pouch inside before pulling the drawstring tight. Afterwards, he returned to were he'd been sitting and gathered up the cloak he had let casually fall to the floor when he'd begun to read. Latching the clasp over his neck as Mella emerged from the back room with lantern in tow, the two of them set out into the night towards the mountains.

__________________________________________________________________________

[Keene Ward]

The light had faded quickly, bathing the world in the darkness of night. Despite the warm glow of the latern Mella held outstretched before her like a good luck charm, Keene had difficulty finding where to place his boots amid the rocks, moss, and roots of the ground beneath him. Not a the prime example of fitness, Keene found himself uncomfortably warm beneath the folds of his cloak. He had long since freed his head from the unbearable, stifling prison of his hood, and as he considered just taking the entire thing off to allow better airflow to cool his sweaty skin, Mella stopped. He almost blundered into her, adjusting his trajectory so instead he hit a tree with outstretched arms and pulled himself towards it, using it to ease of of the weight off of his feet through a comfortable lean.

"I think this is far enough." Mella sounded brooding, the closest descriptor of what one who knew nothing of Mella would dub "thoughtful". She was never simply thoughtful; it didn't carry with it the heavy emotional undertone that was her defining social characteristic. "Bread." Her hand shot out, fingers impatiently beckoning Keene to deliver the requested item posthaste.

Fiddling around in his pack, Keene withdrew the loaf and placed it gently in Mella's palm. Her arm retracted as quickly as it had extended, drawing the food up to her mouth as she tore into it with about as much grace as a starved stray. Between mouthfuls, she instructed Keene through hand motions and muffled commands. "Ovah there." Her arm waved in a vague gesture towards the other side of what some might have called a small clearing (if there had not been so much underbrush). Navigating his way across the uneven terrain, Mella continued to crunch away at her late-night meal. "Guh." An audible swallow was followed by the sharp sound of clapping as she did away with the last of the crumbs. "Now, take that bloody cloak off. Shirt too."

Keene obliged. A sigh of relief passed between his lips as he set the cloak on a nearby bush followed by his shirt. He turned towards Mella once more, the orange glow of the lantern giving his skin an aetherial appearance. Mella raised an agitated brow. "Well?"

"...What?"

"Kneel."

Having never had a conversation during which the initiation process was outlined in detail, Keene found Mella's irritation with his lack of knowledge of procedure to be a bit unwarranted. However, he made no protest as he sunk his knees down into the ground, shifting his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet and upper shins. He stared expectantly, his grey gaze calm but intrigued.

"Hands out."

He had not seen Mella draw the knife out of her belt, but his brows knit downwards as he raised his hands up. She approached slowly, knife brandished in one hand while the lantern hung from the other. In the darkness, the light of the candle was bright enough Keene found himself shying away from it as best he could. "Hold still." He complied, shifting his body back to its original position despite his sensory protest.

"Now..." Mella stared down at him, setting the lantern on the ground between them. She took his left hand in hers, moving the knife across it just above the skin. Keene could feel the cool metal pass over his knuckles, barely brushing them with the sharp side of the blade. "This carries with it gravity I won't dispel through explanation." Keene stared back at her, his frown lifting somewhat into a slight curve. "Are you ready?"

He drew a shallow breath before nodding. "Yes-" Mella turned his hand over and drew the blade horizontally across his palm. Instinctively, Keene drew back, but Mella had been prepared for the reflex and gripped his wrist with an iron vice. An abrupt hiss of pain escaped from between Keene's teeth and the knife cut once more into his hand, this time perpendicular to the initial slice.

"Keep your hand up."

Despite the powerful urge to draw his wounded appendage to his chest and cradle the throbbing, bloody mess, Keene grit his teeth and kept it aloft. By then, the blood had begun to trickle down his arm, tickling the hairs and warming the skin that had become chilled after having been exposed to the bite of the night's air. The knife once more sunk into his flesh in the same two cuts as before. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and streaked down his face, but Keene repressed the urge to cry out in pain. Instead, his distress found volume in his quick, shallow breaths, sweat dripping from his brow despite the chill of his skin, and teeth clenched tight.

"Nader-pechit dalat vino radjuds. Chat, isikait, kasait. Heat ala.". Chat, isikait, kasait. Heat ala."

Unable to even twitch his fingers without a searing pain shooting straight through his arms, Keene closed his eyes and listened to the ancient tongue wash over him. Mella had never been the most eloquent of woman, but when she spoke Nader Canoch, it was almost with a religious reverence, a soft, intimate cadence somewhere between a chant and a prayer. Letting his face turn up towards the sky, Keene slowly opened his eyes. His vision was hazy. The stars above seemed occluded, distant; they wavered as if observed through a flame or translucent gas. For a moment, Keene found himself entirely intrigued by the strange appearance of the heavens.

The next thing he was aware of was someone screaming. It was distant, as if it came from the smoking stars themselves, drifting down from the night sky like some forgotten ballad in a language long since lost. The screams continued; their volume and timbre varied, sometimes the pitch would be no higher than frantic shouting, yet other times Keene was easily able to liken the sound to that of the shrill birds that were wont to occupy the Zeltivan harbor. It felt as though an eternity passed before he realized the screaming was coming from his own body. Slowly, the pain from Mella's foreign res being shoved through his wounds, mouth, eyes, ears, and nose began to blossom like some terrible rose. Its thorns dug themselves into his skin, bursting through the flesh with invisible daggers, suffocating him with prickly leaves that knotted in throat. The petals radiated out from behind his eyes, the pressure unbearable.

It was like falling from a cliff. One moment he was perfectly fine, and the next he was entirely present. Every inch of his body was on fire. The wounds on his hands felt as though his arms had been sawed off in the middle of the forearm leaving nothing but burning, bloods stumps. He tried to struggle, but his body refused to allow him even the slightest smidgen of control. Instead, his mind raged in the cage his body had become. He could feel Mella's res force itself into every nook and cranny of his entire being. The sensation was far beyond any pain he'd ever felt. There was no other feeling than the pain; it was timeless, impossibly massive, and terribly ubiquitous.

The agony left abruptly the moment his body finally allowed him the numbing pleasure of unconsciousness. By the time Keene's body hit the soft earth behind him, Mella had carefully removed her res, letting it flow back into her being before staring down at the twitching mess of her apprentice. "Weak." She knelt down, pulling strips of cloth and the water pouch from the knapsack. Gathering up Keene's bleeding hands, she carefully cleaned and wrapped the wounds, tying the strips tightly before setting his hand back down to rest on the ground. A quiet moan drifted up from the prone man, but Mella pulled the cheese out of the bag and bit a hunk of it off, chewing as she stared with brooding brow at the inert Keene.

__________________________________________________________________________

[Keene Ward]

Keene woke to the shrill songs of birds as they flit about the surrounding trees. The sun twinkled between their branches, splashing his face with alternating patches of cold and warmth. Raising his hand up to rub away the sleep from his blinking eyes, a sharp pang of pang shot from his palm straight up his arm. A yelp escaped as he drew the hand away from his eyes. The world was a bleary mess, colors blending into each other as tears escaped from his eyes as his hands throbbed from his elevated heart rate. Pulling himself into a seated position with his legs outstretched, he winced, the action sending several more beads of liquid from the corners of his eyes. His entire body felt raw, as if he'd spent the week bruising every last one of his muscles. It took several ticks before he realized the majority of the pain he was experiencing was due to his clenched hands cradled against his chest.

Instinctively, Keene rapidly extended his fingers with the half-roused intention of creating the opposite event that caused him pain (and by association would result in the opposite of pain). Instead the pain simply changed from dull to the sort that was commonly associated with lesions being torn into the body. In a moment of clarity, Keene felt the severed layers of his skin peel away from where they had been separated, tearing the edges of the incisions with a stinging burn. Clenching his teeth down to muffle his shout, Keene wiped his face on his shoulders, doing his best to rub the tears and grit from his eyes. His hands he resigned to as limp a state he could manage. He could feel blood warming the connection between the fabric and his skin, which in turn made him feel as though he should clench his hands to staunch the bleeding. It was too painful to do anything other than nothing, however, which left Keene whimpering as he stared down at the reddening bandages.

There came from behind him the sound of snapping twigs and sticks, followed by the an irate scolding. "Keene, why the petch are you just sitting there crying like a petching baby covered in its own shyke?" Keene turned slowly to face Mella, though not before attempting to wipe what liquid was left on his face. "Gods, boy." She stomped through the scattered foliage that covered the ground, stopping to stoop next to him. "You reopened them. Shyke." She had taken his hands in hers, glaring down at the fresh blooms of crimson. Dropping the hands into his lap, Mella straightened up while Keene clenched his teeth against the pain of his wounded hands bouncing off of his thighs. "Get up."

He obeyed the command, struggling to his feet. His muscles all had their fair share of complaint as he did so, slightly lessening the throbbing of his palms. As he was finally able to take in his surroundings, he discovered they were in the same clearing they'd been the night before. The ground around where he'd been lying was well worn from the presumed tossing and turning he'd done as he slept. Gingerly turning his body and keeping his hands away from his legs by holding his arms out with his shoulders hunched, he faced the scowling Mella. She seemed more irate than usual.

"We're walking back." Mella turned to head off into the trees. "And if you're gonna walk like a gods be damned Unchained one, you're in for a journey."

__________________________________________________________________________

[Perplexity]

You have played well, but the game is at an end.

You have been bested. Beaten. Checkmate!

However, here is a consolation prize: a wealth of Experience and Lores! If you have any questions or concerns regarding this grade, please do not hesitate to send me a PM. I'll be more than happy to assist you!

 

Keene

XP

• Socialization | +3 EXP
  Negotiation | +1 EXP
  Persuasion | +1 EXP
  Rhetoric | +2 EXP
  Herbalism | +1 EXP
  Logic | +2 EXP
  Endurance | +2 EXP
  Reimancy | +1 EXP

LORES

• Negotiation: My Body For Favors
  Rhetoric: The Art of the Quip
  Herbalism: The Versatility of A Rose
  Reimancy: The Rite of Initiation

MISCELLANEOUS

• Keen now (officially) bears the scars from his initiation into Reimancy upon the palms of his hands. More than that however, he also carries the mental scars of the process itself. It will be something he shall never forget both because of the importance and because it was so physically traumatic.

Mella is brutal. I can see why Keene was influenced to grow up the way that he did. Thank you for this insight into your character. It was a delightful read although I do just want to give Keene a hug.

Until Our Next Match,
-Perplexity, DS of Zeltiva
.