#If she were even slightly more forthcoming about the thoughts in her head she'd just seem nuts. Like Atlas!

[archangelmacaron]

NTMF College AU Chapter 8

Okay so what if I prep a draft for the weekend and hit post tomorrow...

If you are seeing this, I successfully did!

Minor content warning for spoken injury description (about two sentences)

-

The afternoon passed faster than Noel expected.

Caron found an old quilt in one of the chests and spread it over the floor so she could more easily sit—it didn't seem like any position was ever truly comfortable with the hard prosthetics. He sat right next to her, which of course made sense as they were looking at the laptop together, but Noel was slowly getting the impression that he simply did not understand nor care about personal space. Perhaps she was being a bit—as he had put it earlier—precious about it, so she tried to ignore how close he was.

They spent almost two hours scouring over Spica's social media galleries, but none of her art seemed to make any particular sense to her or Caron. He pointed out a few devil symbols, but said they were meaningless without context; others were in a script he recognized but did not understand. His only question was how exactly Spica had learned of them.

After that, she tried searching for any information on the annual ceremony, but found almost all results were about the public event—who the pianists were, what celebrities had shown up to the gala afterwards, rather than the ritual itself. It was frustrating, so she decided to give up and hope that the library's books would be a bit more forthcoming with useful information.

After another hour, Noel yawned, thumbing through her phone again. She hadn't received any social media messages, so it seemed that the rumor that she was threatening professors hadn't spread very far. Jillian had texted to let her know that Spica had stopped by the coffee shop she worked at, but it had been too busy to talk to her and so the other woman had left in a bit of a huff. Jillian still hadn't asked her why exactly she wanted her to dodge Spica's questions, and once again Noel felt extremely lucky to have a friend who trusted her so much.

She glanced over at Caron after sending a grateful message to Jillian. He was now reading about the history of the college on her laptop. He finally seemed to have gotten the hang of scrolling, although she had been a bit nervous at first that he would break her touchpad by jamming one of his pointed fingers into it too harshly. He was sitting rather awkwardly with one of his long legs stretched out, the other bent in front of the laptop, and leaning on one arm. From this far away, she still couldn't tell if he had fur or extremely tiny feathers, but he looked very soft, which was another weirdly inappropriate thought she tried to shake.

“Are you tired?” he asked, looking sideways at her. She jumped slightly before remembering that he didn't seem to have any particular issue staring at her, so she shouldn't feel ashamed for staring at him. It probably didn't bother him at all, if he even noticed.

“Somewhat,” she confessed. “It's not particularly comfortable up here. I've been still for so long, I probably just need to stretch my legs a b—“

She stopped, closing her eyes in a wince at the expression she'd unthinkingly used. She opened her eyes again as she slowly exhaled, giving Caron a quick smile at his questioning look. “Ah, it's a human expression. I said it without thinking... of course I don't need to do that specifically...”

“I understood what you meant.” He paused, looking over her carefully. “You... are not quite used to being without them yet.”

She shook her head, rubbing her arms. “No. It's been a year since the accident, but not nearly as long since I started really living without them.”

“How so?”

Does he really want to hear this...?

“The first few months... were very painful. You see, I only lost the left one fully in the accident, and my parents were so determined that I'd keep the right even though it was so mangled that I was forced through some extremely painful treatments. Eventually the doctors couldn't fight the infection anymore, so it was amputated to save my life.”

She wasn't sure why she was explaining it in such detail. Any time she tried to talk about it, she felt like she had to hold back, so the person she was speaking to didn't get horribly uncomfortable. But glancing over at Caron, he seemed unbothered, simply listening.

“After that, I didn't even get out of bed for months longer. It wasn't like I really could, after all. I was completely helpless to do anything on my own, so I just cried and felt sorry for myself. It wasn't until my parents finally let Jillian visit that I found the desire to try to use the prosthetics. She really encouraged me to try to live independently again.”

“And so, I've only been using them for about half a year. Mostly I'm fine, but there are some things like ladders or standing up from sitting that are still awkward.”

“I read that your parents have always disliked Jillian. So they kept her from you while you were recovering?” He turned a little more towards her, setting the laptop aside.

She forced herself to ignore the reference to reading her diary. “Yes, unfortunately. My family is rich and well known, whereas Jillian's is quite poor. So they tried to sabotage my friendship with her, but I am quite stubborn, and so is she. We refused to give up.”

He seemed amused by that, she wasn't sure how she could tell.

“The reason they are only paying for the bare essentials while I am in college is to punish me, because I insisted on rooming with her. Of course, they will never say that outright, but... it's obvious.” She sighed, then shook her head, sitting up slightly. “Ah, I apologize, I didn't mean to start complaining—you must be terribly bored.“

“No. It's interesting to me.”

Interesting? Why...?

She tilted her head in a surprised question, but he didn't elaborate. His face was serious.

“I got the impression from your journal that your parents were terribly controlling, but it seems they're worse than you let on there.”

“I think, for a while, even though I had moved out, I was still expecting them to find and read my journal again.” She made a face. “The first time they found it... I believe my ears are still ringing from that scolding. I don't know why I didn't quit writing one then... but I kept it up, I just had to hold back. I tried to describe things factually, rather than how they made me feel. That seems to be the opposite purpose of a journal, however. Perhaps that is why you found it so boring.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “It lacked context, the reasons humans do the things you do. That is what is most interesting to me. So I'd rather hear you tell me about your life than read an outline of its events.”

Noel felt her face flushing, and she quickly turned away, coughing slightly. “I'd... I'd like to know a bit more about you, as well, Caron. May I ask you about yourself?”

He seemed wary. “That depends. What do you want to know?”

“Less than you'd expect.” Like his age, she realized he'd dodged the question. She decided to let it go, and swallowed the question about what kind of prices he'd taken in the past—of course he wouldn't answer that.

“Um...” There's so much, how do I pick only one thing—and one thing he will actually answer? “I... you devils make contracts with humans to grant our wishes, right?"

"Correct."

"How many have you made?”

“Were there any cases like mine, where the person was unaware they were summoning you?”

He laughed briefly at that. “No, Noel, you are the first—perhaps the first human ever to summon any devil without realizing it.”

He said my name... She couldn't think clearly for a moment again, and her eyes darted around to avoid looking at him.

Something caught them on a shelf nearby, and she moved to examine them closer. “Oh? It looks like these are yearbooks! My goodness, there's so many... these might go back to the founding of the college. Ah, this one is really old, almost one hundred years!”

“That's not that old,” Caron said with a small scoff. “I'm sure I was still a child then.”

Noel turned to him in surprise only to get the impression he was hiding amusement behind the hand resting on the bottom of his face.

“You... you're making a joke, aren't you!”

“I do occasionally.” Was that a slow wink?

She pursed her lips. “So you really won't tell me how old you are?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I think you'll have to figure it out through context clues.”

“I'll do my best, then.” She looked at him sideways. “I'm turning twenty in December. Are you older or younger than me?”

“You can't even tell that much?” he asked, raising a brow. “If that's the case, you're never going to find your answer.”

“Hmm...”

Context clues... He is definitely much taller than me, but I cannot tell if that is simply because he's a devil. He has wide shoulders and is long and angular everywhere, so his body seems to be proportioned like an adult's... He is certainly dressed like one...

“Well, you appear to be older than I...”

“Oh? How so?” He leaned back on one arm casually.

“I mean, you are much taller than I...” L-let's leave body types out of it for now...

“You must be aware that you are rather small for a human.”

She wrinkled her nose, then smiled mischievously. “That is not intractable... I'm sure I could find longer prosthetic legs, and then I shall tower over you.”

He closed one eye and gave her a look that seemed to mirror hers. “I would be sorely tempted to tip you over, then.”

She giggled, surprising herself again. “That seems awfully childish... so we've arrived at younger, again.”

He shook his head. “No, it seems you are back where you started, and no closer to solving that mystery. We do have another, however...”

She tilted her head, and he gestured towards the yearbooks. “There may be more information there.”

“Oh, of course!” She hurried to pull out one of the more recent volumes.

And I ended up distracted again! I seem awfully cheerful for someone who might have been killed by him last night...

That's right, I'm going to find out why they would want that!

She began to flip through the book, and found something that interested her sooner than expected. “Eh? This is... strange.”

“What is?” he asked, moving to sit next to her—too close, again, he was even leaning on an arm he'd placed behind her. Part of her was tempted to just lean back against him and use him as a cushion, violating his personal space, to see how he liked it, but she suspected that would not end the way she'd want it to. He might not be bothered at all, and then she'd be in an even worse state. She used all of her willpower to focus on the pages in front of her.

“It's a memorial page for a young pianist. Ruth Blick, it seems... but look, here.” She pointed to one paragraph of a short obituary. “She was set to be the ceremonial pianist, but passed away beforehand.”

She turned a few more pages. “Here she is in the group photo taken mid-semester... so she died shortly after being chosen, it seems...”

His eyes shifted from the page to hers. “That is certainly a coincidence.”

His voice showed that he thought it was anything but. Caron reached past her to pull out another yearbook. He flipped through it, pausing on a few pages, then shaking his head. “This one doesn't seem to have anything like that.... and here. The pianist in the ceremony photo is also in the class photo.”

Noel nodded, placing a hand on her chin. “Let's look at the rest.”

After about an hour, they had two stacks of yearbooks. One stack had nothing exceptional mentioned about the ceremony, and the first year piano class had no changes from start to finish.

The second stack each had one thing in common: students who appeared in the group photo of the piano class taken near the middle of the semester, but not the one taken at the ceremony at the end of it.

“Other than the first one where it is mentioned in her obituary, it's hard to tell if they were the chosen pianist for sure... Or not chosen, but should have been. but... there's very few books that have students who were in other programs who died. It seems like every several years, a first year pianist dies or withdraws or otherwise goes missing... Not often enough to start a rumor of a curse, or anything like that, but often enough that it's a clear pattern.”

“This has been going on for a long time, far longer than your Dean Burrows has even been alive.” Caron pulled out the last volume left on the shelf and began to turn the pages.

Noel was feeling a bit of a chill now. I guess it's really sinking in that someone wants me dead... and dead for a reason that's been going on for nearly a century!

If it is that serious, that means they probably won't give up...

The attic suddenly seemed like far too obvious of a hiding place. Caron was continuing to talk. She refocused on his deep voice. “While it seems that most years are uneventful, we also must consider that results may have been manipulated discreetly. Students may not have noticed, or not have protested if they did. They may not have had the resources you would to force an investigation into their accusations, and so they simply gave up.”

Noel ran her eyes over the bindings of the stack nearest her. “It seems that more recently, there are more deaths. More students must have protested.” Her forehead wrinkled as she thought. “I think I know why.”

“Oh?”

“Around fifty or so years ago, recordings became common. It is very likely that talented pianists could recognize their own playing the way that I did, and might have even been able to prove it with that evidence.”

“There would be more confrontations then, as the students would not be relying solely on their own memory.” He gave her a sideways look. “This is still a surprising number of deaths. For most, a single implied threat from a powerful party would be enough to cease complaining. Not many would be willing to die or be expelled over a single piano performance.”

She felt a bit targeted by that comment.

“I didn't know that they were going to try to kill me over it. Besides, it was more than a performance for me,” she said softly, rubbing her arms again. Despite the late autumn sunshine falling through the windows, the attic was cold, enhancing the chill she felt from the situation. “For me, it was a guaranteed chance of freedom.”

“You did mention that,” he replied thoughtfully. He looked down at her fully. “I believe I am beginning to understand your motivations a bit better.”

“Do you still think they're foolish?” She didn't know why she'd asked as she looked up at him. He was so close it was almost as if she were sitting in his lap.

He thought a moment, then shook his head. “I think... freedom is a very strong motivation for anyone, human or devil. Your version of it is a bit different than mine, but I can respect it, if not fully understand it.”

She found a small smile twitching at the ends of her lips as she looked away. “That... makes me happy.”

I didn't mean to say that out loud—!

He was silent for a moment, and when she looked up, he was giving her a very strange expression—one he quickly moved to hide. He made a noise like clearing his throat. “So, we can reasonably conclude that the ceremony players have been manipulated in secret for at least one hundred years.”

“Ah, pretty much back to the college's founding,” she said, happily changing the subject with him. “I always thought it strange that all music students, regardless of skill, had to take the same piano course in their first semester, and that all were eligible for the position of ceremonial pianist. I thought that it was simply a tradition, but it seems there is a motive to be sure every class would not all be skilled or experienced.”

Caron nodded, looking thoughtful.

Noel's eyes narrowed as she thought more. “So is my theory that they wish for the ceremony to not go perfectly correct? Perhaps they need someone who is unable to—or can be convinced not to play the ritual piece perfectly. Maybe it needs to be correct enough that no one in the audience notices, but be just 'off' enough to get whatever results they want.”

Caron said that the ceremony was a mixture of tradition and true power, but that it was not effective on strong devils. Could it be, if it were played perfectly, then it would work on Great Devils, as well? She looked over at the devil nervously as he tapped on an open page with a pointed finger.

If that is the case, then he does have a motive to kill me after all...

“You speak of 'they,' but we haven't established exactly who that is. We know that it is a few faculty members this year, including the Dean, at least, but this pattern is going back for a long time.” Caron was staring at another book thoughtfully. “And it seems not all teachers are in on it... look here.”

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes widening as she looked up at him—he was almost directly above her again. “This is a memorial page for a teacher... the first year piano teacher. You don't think—“

“Of course I do.” He placed a hand on his face again. “If a teacher refused to allow the results to be manipulated, it would be just as easy to have them taken out as it would a student.” His eyes narrowed further. “So it is not a school-wide conspiracy... otherwise they could simply hire obedient teachers, rather than killing off ones who refused to listen.”

“How awful,” Noel said, mostly to herself. She shivered again, rubbing her arms.

“You're cold?” Caron asked, looking down at her with one eye.

Why is he so close again? I didn't move that much, did I? Well, at least I can feel how warm he is from here... b-but that's not appropriate!

“Um, just a bit,” she confessed, turning away from him and trying to very subtly move a little further away, hoping that the further she went, the less her heart would pound. She turned her face towards the window, hoping her hair would hide that she'd turned red again. “It's not a—eh?”

He'd casually dropped his jacket on her shoulders. Her heart began to pound faster and louder than she had ever felt it before. She could barely get words out. “Um, y-you don't—“

“You're cold, I am not.” He was already flipping back through another book.

“Ah, th-thank you, then...” She carefully pulled his coat a little further over her. She could feel it was still warm from him wearing it, and the thought seemed to make her heart race even faster. I am certainly not going to be cold at all if I remain this flushed!

“Hmm...” Caron paused, looking down at her again with narrowed eyes. He surprisingly did not seem to notice how flustered she was. “I suppose there are other things you'll need, like to eat something, right?”

“Oh! I'd completely forgotten... it's almost certainly past lunch time by now.”

“And given how early you were tired last night, you should probably take a nap. We don't know how long we'll be out tonight.”

Two am is hardly early! And then I was drinking with Jillian for at least another hour... “Ah, yes, a nap is probably ideal... but up here?” She looked around at the hard wooden floor. The quilt he'd spread out seemed to provide some cushion, but hardly enough for her to relax on.

“Unfortunately, it would take a bit too long to not only wake you, but bring you back up here if Spica were to return. The distance from entryway to your room is far too short, and I don't have the sharp hearing that you do.” He seemed to frown thoughtfully. “You could, perhaps, use Spica's bed, as it's closer—“

“Absolutely n—I mean, no, thank you, I can—I can manage up here.” She shuddered as she thought about the things that had probably taken place in that bed. She didn't think she'd ever seen Spica wash her sheets, either.

“I can bring you up some more blankets when I bring back food.”

“Oh... th-thank you,” she managed again. “You seem to have a fair idea of what it takes to keep a human running...”

“My last contractor had a bad habit of overworking himself. I had to pick up the slack during the years we worked together.”

Finally, he says something a bit more personal! She wondered why the thought cheered her so much. Perhaps he might be starting to trust me, just a small amount?

“I'll be back.” He headed back down the ladder.

Noel touched the collar of the jacket again as he left. She wasn't cold anymore.

[yvesdot]

Hi, yves., it's yves. again. Could we get something, anything, with the side characters from KAY? Or maybe even the main characters from KAY? I really just want a double bingo and some problems, thanks. (-yvesdot)

Sure! I didn't enjoy writing the Constantine and Ariel one, though. I mean, that was like pulling teeth. Why did we do that?

KAY - ARRANGED MARRIAGE / RIVAL KINGDOMS

Atlas watches Kay from a distance first. She sits in a window alcove, her feet tucked up beside her, looking out at the snow swirling outside. Her chiffon stole slips, along with the train of her layered periwinkle dress, off the side of the ledge and onto the ground. She has a sharp face; long-lashed dark eyes set in darker expressions. She always looks a little strange in her clothes—she clearly does her own lacing, somehow. Today her hair is impeccably restrained by not only a bow but another length of blue chiffon. When Atlas has had enough of staring at the perfect cast of her mouth, he steps out into the hall, sweeping his cape out of the way.

Kay looks up the moment he makes a sound, taking the same visual inventory she does every day. What is it about him that makes her look at him that way? Is it his size; his height—mostly the boots? The all-black clothes? Or does she just hate him? He kneels beside the alcove, letting his frilly blouse take up a little of her arm room.

“What do you think, Princess?” he asks. “Is this going to solve everything?”’

Kay looks back outside the window, like his questions are beneath her.

“Good thing we’re straight cis people,” Atlas comments, examining the rings on his hands. “That’ll make this easy for both of our families.”

Kay makes a sound that might be a laugh. When Atlas stands, his boots scrape against the tile of the hall, echoing through the empty space.

“Hey,” he says, “do you have some kind of problem? I don’t dislike you. In fact—” He lifts her chin gently, with one hand. “I think you’re very pretty.”

“I could not care less whether you are attracted to me,” Kay says, glaring up at him. “The problem is that I am attracted to you.”

“Great,” Atlas says. “That makes perfect sense.”

And to stop her from adding anything else, he kisses her. She wraps her arms entirely around him, so that he has to bend down to keep from lifting her up. Soon they are wrapped up in each other, Kay’s hands at the lacing of Atlas’s cape and his in her hair, their breath fogging up the window only slightly, so that when Atlas pushes Kay up against it she starts at the chill. He swallows her gasp, pulling the ribbons out of her hair. He gets as far as one hand in the off-the-shoulder collar of her dress before she pulls away, making some inarticulate sound of pleasure.

Atlas takes one of Kay’s thin hands in his and drops a pearl ring into it.

“Consider it?” he asks, politely. He is sitting half in and half out of the alcove, one foot up beside Kay and one resting on the floor.

“Neither of us have any choice,” Kay says. Atlas lifts and lowers one shoulder, kissing her cheek.

“Thanks, Princess,” he murmurs, standing up. He adjusts his cape slightly before walking away. “See you later.”

✱ Kay’s outfit looks something like this with a lighter petticoat and the aforementioned stole. Atlas is wearing something like the black ouji outfit pictured here, though of course he’s also buff and whatnot. (Scroll down in both cases to see photos.) I wanted to find the perfect cape for him, and honestly, I didn’t succeed. Kay’s hairthings don’t exist in physical reality, either.

KAY (Glinda) - SOULMATE / ROAD TRIP / ROYALTY

I really really really like Glinda, and all of these prompts suited her, and I won't even get to write her until Book Two. Enjoy.

Glinda clicks away from the Moi-Meme-Moitie tab and returns to the forums, scrolling aimlessly. She tries the new posts category and opens Your Experiences Dating?, which is from the last week and is fully unread.

The original poster is someone named JenniK, marked Transgender - Female, Bisexual.

Hi, guys & dolls: how do YOU find accepting people to date? Or don’t you? Am going on five years single but can’t figure out how to put myself out there. Pass okay (in the right lighting, haha) but it just seems so complicated.

LadyLake (Transgender - Female, Heterosexual) responds:

Hmmmm, to be honest I’m not really sure. I have been with my boyfriend (also trans) for so long, and we met almost by accident. We both had ‘trans’ on our MySpace!!

Mari614 (Transgender - Female):

To be honest, I am in the same boat as you. After I came out to my wife, we both knew it was a ‘no-go’, so I have been single for a while. Hoping this thread has some good advice in it.

K1Fan (Transgender - Male, Questioning):

Sorry to hear that, Mari614. I also can’t give advice, for the opposite reason—have been in a relationship since before I knew I was trans, and my boyfriend doesn’t mind (he is bisexual). The main issue for me has been the fact that we can’t get married if I change my gender marker, so I am still deciding that.

frozeninside (Transgender - Female):

like i’ve said in other threads, i am married, but my wife doesn’t know! someday will work up the courage to tell her, i hope.

FlyWalker (No Gender Listed):

I met my current wife on the forums :) I know a lot of transsexual people meet their partners online, like LadyLake said. Maybe online is for you? @TwoPages where did you meet your partner?

TwoPages (Transgender - Female, Homosexual)

There’s never any other discussion on these forums, is there? Unfortunately, that relationship is over; it was also under such specific circumstances I’m afraid I can’t advise JenniK either. My only thoughts on the subject are that I would only be with someone who knew me completely (that is to say—not to date ‘stealth’ or while closeted), and I have been very careful with whom I have told. Of course, I seem to have a conflicted relationship with ‘passing’, so that no doubt informs my experience.

FlyWalker (No Gender Listed):

Gah—sorry, Page! Still, I think you gave good advice :) Hope you’re doing okay.

The other thing I just thought of is meetups. Our forum topic In Person Meetups is usually busy enough. There’s one happening in your area, Page, if you want the info: it’s in this thread. And maybe JenniK can find a partner there too :)

TwoPages (Transgender - Female, Homosexual)

Thank you, FlyWalker; that’s very helpful. Don’t worry about not knowing. I haven’t mentioned it.

Glinda hits the bottom of the page and stops. She flips her braids over her shoulder again and sits back. In the comment box, she types:

I haven’t dated since I began my transition, but I wouldn’t say I had bad luck dating beforehand, either. Usually I would tell girlfriends that I had special ‘rules’, and if they asked why I would just admit I was strange. I figured: we all have our preferences. In my experience, cisgender women are often willing to put up with a lot of ‘preferences’. It helps that I was more of a giver than a receiver :) Also, they thought I was a nice boy. It probably doesn’t seem like it after this post, but I am very shy in person.

Maybe I only dated women who were naturally kind, but it’s possible you will find someone who is as accepting, once they care about you. I think coming out is half the problem… it would be easier if any potential partner knew I was trans, but of course, not as safe, right?

She leans back, tapping her black-painted fingers on the keyboard.

TwoPages, I think I’m in your area. (I saw your thread about clothes shopping, but like I said there, I’m too into fashion subcultures to help you look like a normal person. I hope you got the help you were looking for—I saw FranniePie said she would meet up with you.) Maybe we should both go.

She looks over her post, bites a nail, and wonders if that looks suspicious in a dating thread. She doesn’t know what she could say that would make it less suspicious, though, and referencing their ages only makes it seem creepier. Alternatively, she could just be quiet, which is attractive but no longer possible after she spent fifteen minutes agonizing over this post in the first place. Besides, she should go outside. So she hits post. Her signature glitters encouragingly.

Then she reads through the meetup thread—it’s something fairly generic for Trans People And Their Loved Ones—and wonders how in the world she is going to get there, because apparently FlyWalker doesn’t realize how large a state can be (and how bad the bus routes can get). Glinda takes out her phone and texts a road trip-friendly fashion meetup friend with a pink car. The friend is not really trans aware, only Glinda aware, but that might be enough. Anyway (Glinda promises over text) they can get coffee.

She waits a few seconds to look over her text messages and then returns to the forums. Upon refreshing the page, there’s a new message:

TwoPages (Transgender - Female, Homosexual)

I’m not sure whether I’ll go, TheGoodWitch, so I don’t want to get your hopes up.

P. S.: Your response was very helpful, though I probably ought to delete that thread before it becomes incriminating. It seems to be making everyone think that I dress like some kind of paratrooper.

Glinda laughs softly. It did sort of seem like that. Glinda went crossdressing-first into being trans, though, so it’s not really fair of her to judge—sometimes she sees posts from girls who make it sound like they spent their whole lives as some other species before emerging as human. She considers saying that, but it’s not dating-related, and she’s derailed this random person’s thread enough. When she refreshes the page just in case, though, someone’s added a long story about how they met their partner, so she doesn’t feel as guilty saying Don’t worry about it! and even considers adding an emoji.

Her phone pings: I’m in! She hits post on her laptop and turns back to her phone to see another message: Wear the AATP Princess Aldiwa coord!! I want to see you go FULL FAIRY PRINCESS. She grins and sends back: I’m never not a fairy princess; what are you talking about?

So that’s it.

She rubs at her eyes. She didn’t even check the date.

KAY (Constantine & Ariel) - GHOST / MODERN OR HISTORICAL?

This came out of an idea to debate modern vs classical dueling, but, well, it makes no sense if you don't know what a parry dagger is... Ariel, of course, is ghostly in the sense that he is MIA in canon. The Rainier family doesn't know whether he's dead or alive, having not been in contact with him for a while, and being a Rainier seems to be hazardous to one's health... but then again, maybe that's why he left.

Constantine is a bad fencing partner. Ariel needs one, obviously, if he wants to make the team, but he doesn’t like inviting people to his house and likes even less requesting permission to go to someone else’s house. So while the other guys are practicing second intentions and blade-beating and evasive movements that look like yoga, Ariel is poking his sword at his older brother, who forgets right of way and keeps crossing his feet when he needs to step back.

“You’re doing it again,” Ariel says, removing his mask to shake out his hair. “You’d be disqualified for that in a tournament.”

“It’s too much to remember,” Constantine protests. He never looks quite as small as when he’s wearing Ariel’s spare fencing jacket and mask. All that white just makes his eyes look like a cartoon character’s behind the grille.

“We have an outside broom, and an inside broom, and a spare broom, and you know where all of them are,” Ariel reminds him.

Constantine frowns. “Yes, well, I live here. I should know.”

Ariel shrugs, but puts his mask back on and assumes position.

“Your feet are wrong,” he calls over to Constantine. “Do it like you’re making a box.”

“Making—what? This is how you’re standing.”

“Your whole front’s open. Stand sideways—” Ariel exaggerates the pose a little— “so that I have a smaller target.”

Constantine grumbles something but boxes his feet. Ariel tries a feint and Constantine does not even attempt to block it. So how is Ariel supposed to practice his feints? He tries doing it all in slow motion, but it’s not the same; he can never get a hit in against the fencing team captain. Andrew.

Ariel whacks Constantine in the head.

“Your point,” Constantine says.

“You’re not even trying!”

“I’m trying! I’m boxing my feet!”

“Well, try blocking! Look—” And Ariel lunges. Constantine starts moving out of the way about three seconds too late. “I need to practice. I could do this against a tree trunk.”

“Then do that! I don’t want—”

“No, come on, please!” Ariel walks over to Constantine and corrects his stance. It’s not Constantine’s fault that he is short and kind of useless, Ariel thinks. He’s just scholarly, and Ariel has to be patient with him. Also, he’s holding the sword wrong again, like it’s a lightsaber. Ariel fixes that too, and then the way Constantine’s jacket is clipped. “There. Now pretend we’re in the Olympics.”

“I’m not going to pretend—”

“Then pretend I’m going to kill you. I will kill you if I don’t make the team.”

Ariel can’t see Constantine’s face properly through the mask, but this close, he can tell Constantine has considered saying something and thought better of it. Then he opens his mouth again.

“This isn’t useful for self-defense,” he says.

“What?” Ariel steps back, bouncing his sword impatiently in his hand.

“Nobody is going to challenge you to a duel,” Constantine says. “Nobody is going to fence you if they want to kill you. This is useless.”

“Not surprised you can’t appreciate the fine art of a gentleman’s duel,” Ariel comments, and he’s standing a little too far back to see if Constantine rolls his eyes. He probably does, though. “Now, try to keep your hand out of the way when I come at you. Nobody would have their arms out like a duck at the Olympics.”

Constantine assumes his stance again, seeming a little improved this time, and Ariel baits him around a little bit before lunging and whapping him in the left arm, again.

“You’re so bad at this!” Ariel is laughing, removing his mask, but when Constantine pulls his off his face is flushed with anger. “Oh, come on, Connie—”

“Don’t call me that!” Constantine flings his sword to the ground, and then, without warning, he flings himself at Ariel. Ariel’s never fought someone before. He has no idea what to do, short of hitting the ground. After that it is all trying to keep Constantine off of him. “Do you have any idea,” Constantine shouts, trying uselessly to pummel Ariel, “how hard it is to be your brother?”

They roll over on the ground, once, and then again, so that Constantine is above Ariel, and Ariel is just trying to keep Constantine’s hands out of the way.

“What,” Ariel pants, “are you talking about? You’re older than me. Everyone expects me to be like you. You know—they see my last name in roll, and they say, Ariel, Constantine’s brother—”

“You know what they say about me?” Constantine yells. “‘Does Andrew think you’re cute, too?’”

Ariel stops breathing.

“What?”

“Your fencing captain,” Constantine spits. “Thinks. That. You. Are. ‘Cute’. Apparently. As I have been told only a dozen times within the past week.”

There has to be a response that will get him out of this. Surely anyone else would process this information differently. Ariel knows, even as the seconds are passing, that it is too late, and he has lost his chance to give any defense. And as he is wondering what exactly it is that he has to defend, Constantine points a dagger at his throat. It’s his personal one; the one with RAINER engraved on the blade.

“I could kill you,” Constantine spits. “Think twice before you laugh at me, Ariel.”

He gets up. Ariel, lying on the ground with a hot, grass-scented breeze in his nostrils, searches for something to do. He finds himself laughing, again.

“You hid it in your sleeve!” he cries, putting his hands to his face. “That’s why—that’s why you shake with the ungloved hand after the match! So your opponent can’t stab you! It’s practical!” This is the funniest thing in the world to Ariel, as Constantine flings his gear on the ground and walks inside, holding the dagger backwards, but once he’s gone, it doesn’t seem funny at all.

Ariel makes the team, and thus doesn’t have to kill Constantine. He considers bringing something up with Andrew—you know, don’t make fun of me, I might be a freshman but I’m not that small, and it’s embarrassing my brother, because the other guys are messing with him—but can’t find any way to approach it. He even wonders, for a fleeting, painful moment, whether Constantine could have made it up. Could have thought of the only thing that would have had Ariel speechless. And though that kind of cruelty, or in fact planning, seems beyond Constantine, the fact that he noticed—that he took advantage of it—Ariel is nauseated by the humiliation.

He looks across the gym, where Andrew is running Frisbee drills with a handful of latecomers. They’re not wearing any gear, just holding swords, and a thin triangle of sweat stains Andrew’s tank top. He stops for a moment to adjust his ponytail, pulling the scrunchie off and wrapping it around his wrist, and before he can catch Ariel looking, Ariel turns on his heel and walks out of the gym, into the searing sun.

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