The unspoken hospitality - or lack there of - of the ever cramped Quarters was such that lingering did little to assuage even the most bruised of egos in hopes that something more could be found amid the stark, oppressive walls and sputtering torches that never seemed to snuff out. Keene had long since let the Quarters operate as they were seemingly intended for, sleeping in them only when he needed to and leaving them behind at all other times. The chill was what got to him the most, something he combated by wrapping himself in his cloak and clothes which was effective enough to stay back frostbite and the like. However, upon waking, Keene rarely spent more than a few chimes in idle preparations before heading out into the sweltering humidity of the courtyard to warm his chilled fingers and breath in the stagnant warmth of the island's air.
As he had done when he had had to spend time in the Citadel for an extended period of time when he had been assigned to watch over the Scars, Keene traveled down to the Prairie for a collection of morning retrospectives and exercises, all the while keeping a sharp eye out for any potential - and even the lack of potential - dangers. The walk down to the scrubby grassland that extended out into the emptiness of the testing grounds before meeting at the edge of the forests that lined it was an ample enough warm up, allowing Keene's body to loosen in preparation for the daily training he had taken upon himself to maintain. His hands settled into a proper position for both offense and defense, legs stopping to bend at the knees as he drew a careful breath in. With a quick step forward, Keene's right hand balled into a fist, striking the air before being pulled back as his opposite leg extended outwards in a kick. Once his foot hit the ground, his right fist moved into a sharp uppercut as a small hiss escaped from between his teeth.
He continued for a while, letting the steady movement of his body work as a physical meditation, clearing away the dreams of the night through the revitalization of his muscles. His fists moved in quick jabs, arcing roundhouses, and smooth uppercuts. Speed was second to technique which was second to form. Each movement was practiced, though perfection was still a ways off. His balance had improved, allowing him to string two kicks together before he teetered to one side or other, centering his weight to keep himself standing but losing momentum for it. Each strike addressed a different problem, a different worry. He let the tensions both physical and mental smash against his fists and feet, sweat lining the sides of his face and trickling down unnoticed. It had become easier to cope, to control. The calculated release of his emotions allowed him to more easily and efficiently internalize when it was necessary - which was most of the time - without the detriment of them spiraling out of control due to unforeseen circumstances. There was too much in his head to keep there, but throwing things out and shattering them against the flurry of his punches helped more than he would have ever thought without counter-instruction.
When he had finished about a bell after he'd begun, Keene turned to head back to the citadel. He held his shirt in his hands, letting his skin breathe in the slight, curious breeze that settled around him, the mark on his back ever slightly cooler than the rest of him staring back up into the sky. As he walked, his breath slowed from the panting pace he had ended the exercise at to the more steady rise and fall that he was accustomed to. Habits were not easily formed, but once they were, they were comfortable and reliable, two things difficult to find on the island without a fair amount of effort. As he climbed the sloped path back towards the Citadel's vestibule, Keene ran his fingers through the gentle currents of the winds that had followed him up from the testing grounds. Whether they could feel or not, it always seemed to have a calming effect on the weather around him, presuming it had not already made up its mind to storm or some other violent and worthy endeavor.
--
The chill of the Gug Andjak after the already formidable heat of the early spring day was welcome against Keene's damped skin. His lack of dress garnered only one or two glances from those gathered, as most were too busy to care, and the rest simply didn't. He stopped to stand slightly off to the side of the main hall, letting himself cool off as his eyes slid over those present. As always, the methodical buzz of activity was ever constant, never hectic and never absent, a flow of work that was not equivalent to life, but potentially had the ability to create it. He'd learned much from the collection of wizards, mages, and masters who inhabited the halls of the Gug Andjak, and what he had learned was only a small scratch on the surface of all there was to know. The most important lesson, however, had not been one of magic or mystery, but a simple law: Those on Sahova valued knowledge above all things, and it was the island's currency. A favor for a favor, a scrap of knowledge for a hint of another. It was the way things functioned, and he, along with all those who had lasted alongside him in his faceless cohort, had been quick to pick up on the fact.
When he had cooled enough, Keene slipped the shirt back over his head, modesty being something practiced more so than something to preoccupy his worries over. Once he was properly attired, Keene made his way towards the labs, his attentions caught by a young man inscribing a stone with runes. When he saw them, Keene was loathe to pass up the opportunity to investigate the runes of another magic user. Every time, without fail, they were always different, but they were always understandable. It was a concept he had yet to fully understand, though his grasp upon it was firm enough that he could analyze the etchings with scrutiny enough.
He passed by a fashionable young woman, his attentions only glancing her over as he moved. A flicker of confusion at the back of his mind settled down, whispering that it was odd to find a creature who was not Amaryllis so neatly dressed and kept on the island - a visitor, perhaps? The thoughts were acknowledged and set aside as Keene stood a comfortable distance from the man with chisel in hand as he worked away at the smooth surface of a stone about the size of the man's head. It was flat enough that the man's work did little to move it as it chipped away the patterns, but the stability alone wasn't enough to add the elegance that the inscriptions were lacking. It seemed the man had created a relatively simple sigil. The focus was wobbly, something that didn't seem to fit with the over all angular nature of the lines, but for the most part, it seemed that the magic stored within the main glyph was to be separated out through paths and switches to be expelled out of the circular, smooth sides of the stone - similar to the symbolism of a cartwheel with the spokes representing the trajectories of the split spell.
It seemed, however, that Keene's presence made the man uncomfortable. "D-Do you mind?"
Keene raised a brow at the frustrated features that had turned to address him. The man was slightly taller than Keene was, something common due to his relatively diminutive height, but he carried with him none of the confidence of the masters or wizards who would have cared little if Keene had watched or blown himself up either way. "I don't mind." He wasn't sure whether the man had asked the question in reference to his quality of work, or if he had said it in regards to how slowly he was creating the pathways. In either case, the man didn't seem to expect the response. He blinked several times in the wake of Keene's expectant stare before turning to glance over at the well dressed, dark haired woman Keene had passed on his journey over.
"Excuse, Miss." There was a timid desperation in his voice, a plea for assistance as it were. "Could you... I don't know. Distract him for me? This is my tenth attempt at this blasted flame wheel, and I know I can do it if people just stop... Bothering me." His final two words were addressed towards Keene, who blinked back impassively, not connecting that the source of the bother was none other than himself. The man turned a hopeful eye back towards to the woman, a weary smile on his face. "It would help. A lot."
