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Woop woop, I'm back~
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Káel bounced on the corner of a coverless bed. He hadn't visited Ms. Metulas since Talli accidentally knocked him out during one of their last practice. The room looked a little cleaner than usual, a violet flower in a yellow clay pot sitting snug by the window as a new addition to the space. Being in the room so much to notice things like that was one of the many reasons he hated training with Lightwood.
He perked as the door opened and Ms. Metulas walked up to him, eyes narrowed as she gave him a once-over. "You break something I can't see?"
Káel shook his head, pulling up his bangs to flaunt the crusted red swell on the side of his head. He smiled as she sucked in a sharp breath. "Skyfell wants a damage assessment before I meet the Council."
"A damage assessment," she replied, clipping back the locke of hair in her way to get a better look. She gave the cut a drained hum, tapping the dalem bracelet hugging his wrist. "You're gonna have to take those cuffs off sweetie, they're the ones that block magic and Lumience."
"Right," Káel laughed, quickly sliding them off his wrists and placing them on the counter. "I don't think Cursimian has a problem with you."
"Has he let go of your arm yet?"
Káel shook his head, pulling up his sleeve to flaunt the black bracer.
"You truly are an oddball magnet," she mused, tracing a cooling spell over the cut so Káel didn't shrink away from the disinfectant. "Perhaps you should stay away from secret rooms Mr. Aeric, and practice your play lines instead."
Káel grimaced, remembering the thick stack of lines Sora had dropped on him for a role he definitely didn't apply for. The prince of dragons wasn't exactly the star of the show, but he didn't shut up enough to count as a side either. "About that. I was really hoping for less lines."
"Less?" Ms. Metulas said, pressing the cut in tune to her tone as she smiled him down. "What role did you have in mind?"
"I don't know..." Káel winced as she plastered a small cutting of gauze over her finished work. He checked the room for inspiration, the sketched diagram of a black tranthis sufficing. "A tree?"
She shot out a small laugh, the idea incredulous as she grabbed her small notebook and started scribbling away. "Minor concussion, hairline fracture, and of course a gouge caused by blunt force." She ripped the paper out of the journal, handing it off to Káel with a smile. "No permanent damage with regular healing, so I'll expect to see you at rehearsals Prince of Dragons."
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Káel teetered on his chair, sick from watching Buckethead's teary act for the last five minutes. His only regret in breaking his nose was how the giant white bandage holding it together made him look more pitiful for Mrs. Floyd as she loomed over the table like a hungry vulture. Káel gave a dead stare as Buckethead jutted his finger at him. "I don't feel safe anymore, he's attacked me twice now."
"Twice?" Káel growled, biting his tongue when he felt Skyfell tap his shoulder.
"Before we continue, I would like to note that we have Lady Samanthra, a Council appointed judge, and Miss Ariabella present. What exactly is the intent of this meeting?" Mr. Skyfell said, the disappointment in his tone filling his eyes as he watched Mr. Greine across the table, scribbling into his notebook. "Mr. Greine?"
He perked at the sound of his name. "Oh, I didn't call-" He caught Mrs. Floyd's scowl, awkwardly clearing his throat. "The Council would like to argue this incident as evidence against Káel Aeric."
Lady Samanthra sighed. "Evidence of what exactly?"
"Malice," Mrs. Floyed hummed, "A student that actively puts their peers in harms way is entirely capable of willfully releasing an ancient Novan with shared hobbies."
"Have we counted how many times he's attacked me yet?" Káel retorted, feeding off Mrs. Floyd's scowl.
She pressed her palms into the table, getting close enough to Káel to attack him with an abhorred concoction of floral scents. "Are you admitting to attacking this student, Mr. Aeric?"
Káel kept his smile. "Are you reading between the lines, judge?"
Mr. Skyfell loosed a chuckle when Mrs. Floyd landed a glare on him. "I couldn't have said that better myself."
"We are not in court Mr. Aeric, as Lady Samanthra has chosen silence in light of this attack I am here to mediate Greine and Skyfell." She softened her tone, Káel wondering if she honestly thought that would make her words any less annoying. "Regardless of past histories, your actions were incredibly dangerous."
"Tell that to the guy leaving headless animals outside my door."
Buckethead snorted, his corked brow never faltering as he laughed at the accusation. "You're crazy, you know that? No wonder Elisious kept you a secret."
"His majesty Elisious," Ariabella hissed, "Be careful who's story's you take it upon yourself to write. There are plenty of ways to rip out a page."
"I ain't sneaking into the Silver house for something sick like that." Buckethead bit back, "I'm telling the truth, just ask that golem."
"He believes his statements to be the truth," Stella confirmed, Káel's smile falling when he realised he still had a bigger problem harassing him.
"Okay, maybe that's some other sicko," Káel sighed, the victory pricking Buckethead's lips grating at his patience. He had a backup at least. "Stella probably has an exact count of how many times he's called me a murderer though."
"Thirty six," Stella chimed, a flare of content ringing in her voice.
"Your job is reporting on Káel regarding his case against the Council, golem. No one gave you permission to speak," Mrs. Floyd bit back, Stella's glow dimming a little as she landed on Káel's shoulder.
"The Council is currently arguing this as evidence against Káel Aeric's case, you gave her permission to speak," Ariabella replied, folding her hands as she propped her chin. "Did I miss the part where you and Mr. Greine swapped jobs? He seems to be doing an awful lot of listening."
"I was collecting facts," Mr. Greine replied, driving the butt of his pen into an empty page to rhythmically scrape it in a circular motion. "To my understanding Káel, the student next to me called you a murderer."
"Thirty six times."
"Yes, and instead of reporting the issue, you used a malicious illusion on him?" Mr. Greine took Káel's silence as a que to keep going, his levelled voice holding a strange power over the room. "And instead of going to Lady Samanthra after your game, you broke his nose? What can we expect from you next if we turn a blind eye to this?"
Buckethead let out a chuckle, leaning into his chair with a creak of protest. "He's a bloody maniac like his uncle, probably let that Novan out to do his dirty work."
Káel bit his tongue. Sora had cast the illusion, but dragging her into this mess was the last thing he wanted to do. He simply listened to Ariabella's scratching pen instead, a book full of quotes she could use as a weapon at ease.
But would that be enough to cut through Floyd and Greine?
He felt a buzz of energy massage his arm, Cursimian flexing in similar anticipation.
He looked at his wrists, his heart dropping to his stomach. That tingle was Cursimian's magic, and he hadn't felt it once since the Council gave him dalem stone cuffs.
The cuff's he'd left in the nursing quarters with Ms. Metulas.
He nudged Skyfell under the table, flashing his bare wrist at him.
Mr. Skyfell stiffened at the sight, snapping right into the conversation Mrs. Floyd was having with Buckethead. "I apologise, my client needs to leave this meeting for a few minutes."
She frowned, dismissing the request with a wave of her hand. "It can wait until we're done."
"He forgot his dalem cuffs. As Cursimian is still considered volatile, I don't think waiting is in anyone's best interest."
Káel tensed as Buckethead's lips pricked into a strange smile. "I have to go to the bathroom anyways."
Mrs. Floyd conceded with a sharp sigh, "take your time Mr. Aeric." She shifted her gaze to Skyfell, keeping the man to his seat with a smile. "We have other topics to discuss."
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Káel wanted to mind his own business as he walked.
They had passed the washrooms a long time ago, but a little over six skips in front of him was Buckethead, meandering his way through the halls, and seeming to be headed exactly where Káel was. His pace was slower than melting ice, but Káel knew better than to try a pass in the tight corridor. He would have to wait for one of the thoroughfares coming up.
He decided to fill the silence in the meantime, Stella his only choice for a conversation as she hovered to his pace. "What's his deal?"
"Unclear." Her voice dipped to a strange whisper. "But perhaps Cursimian will have something to say."
Káel gave her a weird look. Stella hadn't really joked with him before, or learned to lower her voice to an undetectable whisper.
What had changed?
Káel diverted his train of thought when he noticed his number one concern had stopped at the end of the hall, welcoming his approach with a hostile smirk. Káel didn't take the bait, stopping himself four skips from Buckethead to fold his arms. "You know you passed the bathrooms a while ago, yeah?"
He shrugged. "My favourite one's this way, I just stopped cause you were following me."
"Might be because the nursing quarters are that way." Káel retorted, giving up on manners entirely. Buckethead was going to find some way to twist this, so he just had to twist him back. "What do you even have against me?"
Buckethead smiled, his faked confusion fighting the hostility in his folded arms. "Nothing. You got something against me?"
"Nope." Káel popped a dead smile, miming Buckethead's folded arms to casually flash Cursimian to him, "Glad we sorted it out."
Buckethead stuck his arm out as Káel tried to pass, and as the irritation hit his face, he felt Cursimian tingle in anticipation. Káel was ready for anything at this point, hand on his decoy phone in case he needed to give Skyfell and Ariabella a heads up on more paperwork. But as Buckethead's arm moved it didn't touch a hair of Káel, snatching Stella out of the air instead.
A strange glint lit up his eyes as he held the golem. "You wanna know what I do have something against?"
Káel sighed, watching him toss Stella between his hands as she didn't even put up a fight.
"Six years ago..."
"Dear god." Káel muttered, making himself comfortable leaning against the wall, and hoping his raised eyebrows made him look interested enough.
"While you were sitting in a golden palace being spoon-fed candied horn fruits, I was watching battalion after battalion of armed Novans march through my city and raise it to the ground."
Buckethead stopped tossing Stella, holding up the golem as if to make some sort of a point off her. Káel just found his folded arms tightening, doubt twisting his brow, and disgust pricking his lips. This didn't have anything to do with Stella, and he'd never even heard of horn fruits.
"And here you are now, standing up for one of those monsters like its your flesh and blood." Buckethead growled, leaning in on Káel close enough for him to smell the healing spreads under his bandage. "Maybe it is. Are you some filthy halfbreed that Eli couldn't hide? Wouldn't be the first time an Aeric broke faith."
Káel blinked, torn so much between acting confused or offended that a small laugh slipped out instead. "I would love to see you say that to my uncle's face." Káel watched as Buckethead pressed his palms into Stella like she was a tiny basketball. "Also, can you put Stella down?"
Buckethead chuckled, his lips pulling into a rotten smile. "You know, word is The Council got most of their golems from all the Novans they managed to round up." The joy in his eyes grew, fanned by a sick twist at vengeance. "Spirits have a hard time remembering how they died if it was painful enough."
Káel's gut twisted as Buckethead eyed Stella. He had to be joking.
Buckethead turned Stella around in his palm, continuing to watch her like a handheld game. "You remember how you died?"
"I do not." Stella replied.
Káel fought back the sickness, the heat rising to his head as Buckethead shook Stella in his face.
"This is their proper place. These monsters can't raise a finger to Lumers when they're like this," Buckethead hissed, pulling back the hand he was clutching Stella with. "and that's why I can do this."
Káel flinched as he took Stella and shoved her into the wall, the sharp crack followed by a grating squeal as he dragged her stone body across it.
"Stop it." Káel shot his hand out to try and snatch her from his grip, but Buckethead caught the motion, raising the golem above his head as he took a few steps back.
"What? You freed your Novan friend cause it wasn't from the war." He eyed the floor with a vicious grin, whipping her into the tiles and ramming his heel down to trap her. "But this one definitely is."
"She didn't do anything to you!" Káel snapped back, stopping Puff from closing in on Buckethead. The last thing he wanted was the Council to catch wind of Puff attacking anything, but he wanted just as badly to let Puff go.
Káel tried to level his breathing, but the even the buzzing air seemed to be egging him to do something more than stand and watch.
It was like watching Puff getting kicked by those unicorns all over again.
"It is alright Káel Aeric, his behaviour is common." Stella assured, her voice levelled as she was stomped on again. "I am replaceable."
Buckethead laughed again, another cracking stomp snapping the last straw of patience Káel had. "Council's got hundreds of em."
Before a sealing spell could leave Káel's lips, black shards lashed out, a rope of obsidian scales twisting around Buckethead's neck and throwing him against the wall. Buckethead let out gurgling gasp, clawing at the ancient weapon as he watched Káel with wide eyes.
Káel took a moment to register his bare wrist, watching blankly as all of Cursimian worked to pin Buckethead to the wall by his neck.
That wasn't good.
"Cursimian!" Káel dropped to try and pry the ancient weapon off, falling back with an heaving cough when Buckethead planted a kick in his stomach.
"Quit acting like you didn't do this." he snarled, his fingers barely able to wiggle under the weapon as his voice cracked. "You filthy Novan loving-"
Cursimian tightened around his neck, breaking his voice into choked gargles as the panic truly sunk in. A part of the ancient weapon snapped off, the shard floating up to hover dangerously close to Buckethead's eye.
"Cursimian!"
"I feel inclined to translate for him." Stella said, hovering in front of the squirming boy as his red face gradually turned purple. "He would like very much for you to apologize, if you choose not to, he will be generous enough to only remove something you have two of, seeing as your acts are a minor offence to his master." Stella floated a little closer, her voice, although emotionless, still seeming to revel at how the tables had turned. "It is true that I cannot harm the students here. But know that I stand no chance in stopping Cursimian from doing as he wishes."
"Cursimian stop!" Káel snapped, closing in to try and pry the weapon off when Buckethead's struggles had weakened to defeat. Cursimain wasn't even giving him enough air to breath, let alone apologise.
The weapon shifted a little with his frantic tugs, just enough for the student to pull in a small gulp of air. His voice came in a raspy whimper, barely audible as Káel froze to listen. "So... s-sorry." he weakly tried to pry at the weapon once more, eyes washed with tears at the futile attempt. "I'm... sorry."
All at once Cursimian let go, Káel tumbling to his butt with the writhing mass of black in his hands. He sat in dumbstruck silence for a few seconds, the ancient weapon slithering back up his sleeve as Buckethead rested on the ground, hacking and coughing.
"I'm so sorry... I didn't-" Káel stammered, stuck between moving to help and staying where he was to keep Cursimian from trying anything else. Buckethead caught his gaze for a fleeting second, fear contorting the disgust he wore at the sight of Káel. "He wouldn't listen."
"You're psychotic." Buckethead rasped, rubbing at the red mark lining his neck with a pained wince.
"Káel?"
Káel's heart stopped at the new voice.
He didn't want to acknowledge the person, but with how he'd left the scene it would only paint a target of guilt on his back. So he pulled up his courage, gazing at the end of the hall. At Ms. Metulas, frozen with a pair of dalem cuffs in her hand.
There had to be something to say.
Ms. Metulas took a cautious step. "What are you doing?"
"I..." The words dried up again.
How did his uncle make excuses look so easy?
Káel glanced at Buckethead to see how bad it really was, his heart dropping as the mask of pain melted from Buckethead's face. Ms. Metulas' arrival had ripped the fear right out of him, carving a smile on his cheeks hidden by a loose tangle of bangs.
It had trumped a basic need for survival. A desperation to prove an incomplete picture he had made in his mind.
This was just another win for him.
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COMMENT/CRITIQUE/(VOTE IF YOU WANT)
Fun and Useless Fact #20:
There are five noble families that currently rule the Goldwater Region
(Down from eleven after the region split due to a civil conflict for the throne)