Float Away

[Seven Xu]

I got out of bed today
swear to gods I couldn’t see my face
I got out of bed today
staring at a ghost

Summer 80, 512 AV
Dawn.

He could’ve slept longer, waited until the mists on the harbour were chased off by the waxing sun, but to sleep longer would have implied that the halfblood had really slept at all. His night had been a mishmash of bad dreams and shallow sleep, exacerbated by the unavoidable humidity of Zeltiva’s late summer nights, itchy linen, and a squirming bunkmate. All of this and an empty stomach niggled at his tired wits as he made the slow journey from the World’s End Tavern to a modest cottage, where he hoped Hadrian was awake.

The entire world was grey, colour stolen by the night. Any man of true blood—that is to say, without a father who bedded a Widow—may have had trouble seeing through the dusk, though Seven had more issue coping with the high noon sun; the low light fared better on his eyes. He didn’t have to squint.

“Hadrian,” he called, through thick wood and iron hinges. His hand rose to knock once. Then he hesitated, counted in his head, and knocked again. He felt the need to whisper, so early it was. “Hadrian. It’s Seven.” The mage could very well have been asleep—and then what?

I’m patient, he told himself, brushing off apprehension and second guesses, I’ll wait.

Seven’s fingers weaved a pillow for his head, and he rested it against them, elbows raised. His gaze turned skyward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the last of the morning stars, but day had already snuffed them out.

[Hadrian]

And then last night I had that strange dream Where everything was exactly how it seemed But Hadrian had strange sleeping patterns. Often he took random naps, but rarely slept for a full span of night, even when he had been on the ships with little to do but think. He could think for hours, and often did. There hadn't been much time between their parting and this reunion, but there had been some sleep, and now he was steeping tea and wondering how his home had become so empty when for the past couple of years, there had been so many people. But there was a rapping on his door, and he went to answer it, recognizing Seven through the wooden door. "Seven," he greeted quietly after opening the door. He stepped aside. "Please, come in. There's tea." His strongest ghostly companion was gone at the moment, but he didn't control Noaru so he wasn't upset. He didn't control any of them, but fed the things in an attempt to learn from them and perhaps send them back into the cycle of reincarnation where they belonged.

[Seven Xu]

Seven stepped in from the damp morning air. The cottage was modest; it was tidy, comfortable. Things appeared to have their places, unlike his rented room, a quarter of the size, its floor occupied mostly by an open trunk overflowing with wrinkled clothes both clean and soiled. Tidy was comfortable was what he’d expected—although, coming to expect anything in regards to Hadrian could have been a grave mistake. The man had opened the sky itself.

“Tea sounds good,” he said. Seven was stiff, but not unfriendly. He’d become aware of his slouch when he passed Hadrian, who stood a head taller than the demure halfblood at the best of times, and straightened. “Thank you.”

He paused to drag a chair out from the empty table, red gaze sweeping the small cottage again. “You’re alone.” On the surface, it may have been a blatant observation, but some disappointment rang deep in his Lhavitian lilt. Hesitance caught in his throat. He wondered what had happened to the blond—honest, despaired, and beloved by Ivak—his friend. He decided it was best not to ask.

“I was afraid I’d wake you. You mentioned teaching ... I don’t know what sort of schedule you keep, so I thought I’d catch you early.” Seven exhaled a half-hearted laugh, “I guess I could have asked.”

[Hadrian]

Hadrian was incapable of being inhospitable; it was one of the things his mother had drilled into him in his youth, and into all of his siblings. When one stepped over your threshold, their comfort was your responsibility. It was the sort of thing that greased the wheels of all further interaction, of course, and was just the right thing to do to her mind. She ought to have been born before the Valterrian, when the courts of Suva and Alahea supported staggering displays of hospitality. She would have been a shining star even then, he was quite sure. He set the tea on the table and sat across from the other man. "There are a few ghosts present," he noted, "but all weak, not manifest. They won't disturb us." If he thought of Kendall now, he gave no indication. The woman he had loved could not reconcile a life in a male body, though the flesh meant little to Hadrian. He hoped, though, that Kendall was able to make peace with his family. He had seen neither hide nor hair of his friend since the day they landed in Zeltiva's harbor. "I rather set my own schedule," he assured him. "I don't teach proper classes most of the time, but lecture to my students and oversee their work. And then later today I will go to the Farson Home to take care of some business there. Did I mention they've made me headmaster?" Lord Maria had a plan for them which made Hadrian a perfect fit, but he could not speak of that. "But, in any case, you can find me at all hours. Chances are I will be awake. I don't sleep much."

[Seven Xu]

“Nor I, lately,” he confessed, reaching to wipe the corners of his mouth with thumb and index finger. There was often too much that churned in his mind, and long after he was too exhausted to make heads or tails of his thoughts. Victor was and would always be his primary concern, but the Ravokian had quieted tremendously since they had landed, slaking his curiosities on kelp beer and the tempers of his fellow inn-dwellers. And then there were the voices, the shadows that followed them in the night.

That was why he was here, wasn’t it?

Seven’s eyes moved in another brief appraisal of Hadrian’s cabin before his hand lowered and hugged the porcelain cup. He made a conscious effort to smile.

“Headmaster, that’s quite an honour.” A self-deprecating laugh bubbled out of him, and the grin grew earnest. “What valuable time I’m stealing.” At times it was hard to tell where the line between sincerity and sardonicism was drawn in that soft Lhavitian voice. It seemed honest enough. He crossed his legs and leaned forward to sip his tea.

“So, where do we begin?”

[Hadrian]

That admission brought Hadrian's eyes upon Seven for a long, measuring moment. He could likely pluck a pale strand of hair from his shoulder and travel the fractal helix of his chavi. He couldn't change anything, but he might identify what prevented his sleep if there was some hidden reason, but while he thought he liked Seven, he wasn't sure how many secrets it was safe to entrust with him. Nobody but Nysel yet knew that Hadrian could dreamwalk... "The honor is outweighed by the responsibility, I think," he said, "but I am the best person for the job currently, and so..." He paused to sip his tea, and Seven prodded him onward. The enchanter nodded, stood and retrieved a plate covered in a cloth napkin and set it down on the table before retrieving his seat. He removed the napkin. There were slices of apple, slices of cheese and bread. "The most basic ability of necromancers is the creation of soulmist, which involves chewing a few sorts of food, imbuing it with a bit of your djed, which will be easier if you practice some other discipline already. And you add your own blood. The process transmutes the food into food for the dead; they require soulmist to maintain their cohesion and form, and in order to do those spiritual things that ghosts can do. Learning to make it helps attune a person to the spiritual world around them. The awareness is then the key to other abilities. "Do you have questions or shall I demonstrate?"