#;s. a study in velvet | erk

[lycianlynx]

"Inane." Chad repeats, incredulous. Their fingers trail over iron once more, gauntlets and gorgets to face qualitative scrutiny. Inane is an understatement. While people pursuing immortality and longer lifespans aren't unheard of, outright circumventing time's order is all but fantasy. They don't understand how or why this is happening here, but they have absolutely no desire to investigate or get tangled up in its implications or consequences — Their tuition's paid, they'll stay here to learn and then they'll go right back home, no friction or barbs attached. They won't let this encounter become a barb.

If nothing else, he's grateful Erk agrees, in a fashion. Still, he takes a moment to look for any lingering curiosity in the other's eyes — Wouldn't someone this scholarly want to know, at least a little?

... If he doesn't, then he's a bit nuts, but weirdly grounded, then. Chad can't complain about that. The request catches them all the more off guard for it. The word 'comrades' tumbles awkwardly off the mage's tongue, sticks cloying in the thief's throat, too close to the razor's edge that is 'friends'. Like Erk, Chad doesn't always say or think what he means — Avoidant with words heavy and laden with bonds, affection, ones like father or friend.

They're not even countrymen, but they do call the same continent home. Is that even enough, in the grand scheme of things? Etruria seemed so far away back in homey Araphen, but here in Fodlan, where all of Elibe is oceans away...

They hesitate. Chew on the inside of their lip. Comrades, a cop-out, a contact point, half-committed. Despite their hissing and snapping, they don't hate him. For all their hostility, he doesn't resent them. 'The time we come from doesn't matter', is it? Does it really? Can he even let down the future fucking Mage General in something like this?!

... Saints! Fuck this, just don't make it weird. Don't make it weird.

A duck of the head, acquiescing. "... Have it your way." Chad replies.

[In the Same Inflection as "BEYONCE?!"] MAGE GENERAL ERK?!

Lance +1

[lycianlynx]

What's even in blood? A lot, Chad knows. Still, it's obvious he's hit a nerve, and it's almost fun to watch Erk fluster. A part of him wants to drive in the knife, but another understands what it means to be an orphan, an imperfect part of a more fitting whole, and keeps his mouth shut — Still, even if in passing, the slantwise quirk of their lip was definitely there, hidden in the collar of their cloak.

Strange, finding a connection like this is all their disconnect so far. They quash the feeling before it turns fuzzy like mold.

Still, they let the issue drop, alongside the stiffness in their shoulders when the other claims he won't ask stupid questions. He's hit the truth, and their answer (which, under assumption of being true, would mark them from a time not too dissimilar from his, and on assumption of being a lie (which it is) (damn it he's right he knows Chad lied), marks him clearly from the future) did fuckall to divert him from it.

"Nice guess." No confirmation or denial yet, "Still think you're nuts for coming to that as your first conclusion."

A pause, a sigh. "I'd also think someone who pulls that kind of shit would at least be curious about it, but yeah, even if you did ask, I wouldn't tell you." There it is. Half-concession number one.

[In the Same Inflection as "BEYONCE?!"] MAGE GENERAL ERK?!

Lance +1

[lycianlynx]

He — What? Chad pauses, eyes betraying their confusion for a split second. The list of names should be correct in the order they know them in, but then there must have been... Gaps...

Fuck. Shit. Okay, fine.

Chad scoffs and turns away with a flash of teeth, though they don't deign the other with further response. Still, with their purpose thwarted, the barbs vanish as quickly as they'd been put up, acknowledging, in a fashion, that they'd been outmaneuvered; Fool of them to think they could outwit a contemporary bookish brat. Though...

He knows of Erk Reglay as Pent's son. The word 'master' and the hesitance attached... Hells, even they hardly hesitated calling Father as such.

Not that they don't understand.

"Your master," they parrot anyways, almost mockingly, though the teasing in their tone is hardly comparable to the near-acidic one from earlier. "Sure. That sounds right."

[In the Same Inflection as "BEYONCE?!"] MAGE GENERAL ERK?!

Lance +1

[lycianlynx]

"I gave you my fuckin' answer," Chad snaps back, this time without missing a beat. His words are all barbs, warding the other off, a warning, bright colors on a snake, fangs, claws and bristling fur on a feline. As much as he doesn't want to antagonise someone so important, he knows they won't meet in his time, and by the looks of it, he isn't even all that important yet. "I think you're nuts. Are you hearin' yourself? Do I look that foreign to ya?"

Still, he's impressed. Erk's question might have even worked if Erk were the one from the goddamn future, if he didn't have relative proximity with both Clarine and Klein, with General Cecilia, if Chad were any less aware of the politics of Elibe. Hell, the latter was pretty recent, too, just to keep tabs on things to make sure he's never caught off guard again.

"Fine. Lord Reglay of Etruria," he replies smoothly, a lie. "Pent Reglay." They huff derisively, kicking a broken gauntlet as they rise to move on. "Which I'd guess you'd know. You just from the area, or is there some sorta relation?"

A light diversion as the cherry on top, just in case.

[In the Same Inflection as "BEYONCE?!"] MAGE GENERAL ERK?!

Lance +1

[lycianlynx]

There's that look again, like peeling away their skin to see what's underneath. They bristle involuntarily at the feeling, hiding behind their collar to conceal the vicious flash of teeth. A moment, two. The reply itself comes a hair too late. "You're nuts."

Without further comment, Chad turns back to the breastplates, marking down warping from a fire spell, a severed leather shoulderstrap, a shattered buckle. Erk isn't wrong though, and Chad finally has an inkling as to why he'd been Mage General, even if only briefly; He's sharper than he looks, even now, combing through and poking holes into the thorn hedges the thief had years of practice growing.

Or maybe he's just undeterred. That also has to count for something.

"Go back to work."

Neither of those statements were answers. They can't trust themself to outright lie.

[In the Same Inflection as "BEYONCE?!"] MAGE GENERAL ERK?!

Lance +1

[lycianlynx]

The room goes quiet save the impatient tap of a foot. Brown eyes leer for a moment, before turning back to where their hand rests on the edge of a breastplate, metal cool under their hands, grounding.

When they thought they wanted him to cut to the chase, they didn't expect him to cut so sharply. Again the abyss between their generations yawns wide — Perhaps it's that, the years that lie between them that expose them as a few steps off from expectation for two boys of the same age. But if not, there is a dangerous thought in the alternative: Did Erk, by some freak accident, know his actual parents? Or, more importantly: Did Erk know Father?

Is Chad their Father's son?

... That's not important. It's not, save for what they need to omit. How are they even supposed to answer a question like that, anyways? Who are they, really? Orphan, thief, spy, soldier, Lycian, Sacaen.

"You're not supposed to," they say, instead, after too long a pause. Though tempted to let the statement linger, Chad does not. "I'm a Lycian commoner. You're Etrurian. We never crossed paths." A truth, but not the whole truth. The imbalance of knowing this kid's future and not even existing yet in the other's reality weighs heavy.

"I told you all I've got." He turns around fully, brown meeting violet head-on. "But if y'wanna keep guessin', sure, go ahead. But I don't know you."

Not closely, not beyond your role, face, name. And certainly not as you are now.

[In the Same Inflection as "BEYONCE?!"] MAGE GENERAL ERK?!

Lance +1

[lycianlynx]

They finally get through a count of bucklers without another revelation getting dropped on them, then move on to actual shields — There's a number of ones with negligible scratches and dents, but about three have sustained such consistent damage in the same spot that a good hit from an axe or a blade could break or puncture them. Chad notes them down dutifully, checks again for more snapped bands, catching another three that can't be held comfortably. They move on in this fashion along the pauldrons, the cuirasses, the breastplates, used to and comforted by this sort of work.

Still, they find themself catching the other boy's glances at them more than once midway. At some point, their hand draws and edge of their cloak into a loose grip, calloused thumb idly worrying at the embroidery. They feel watched, observed in the stolen glances they don't catch, especially with the established commn ground — It prickles under their skin. They hunt harder for the distraction of work, at least until Erk finally speaks, whereupon their head turns slightly, more for the sake of listening, their eyes not quite in line of sight.

It's not what he actually wants to ask, they think. They wish he'd just say it already, but don't want to surrender anything on their own, either.

"Yeah," Chad replies, "I've done this a few times before, so I know how to tally stuff like this." A pause as they turn a bit further, meeting his eyes with a look sidelong. "Y'good too?"

[In the Same Inflection as "BEYONCE?!"] MAGE GENERAL ERK?!

Lance +1

[lycianlynx]

There's a nod in reply, acknowledging the different lists, before he remembers that a verbal cue might be useful; "Alright, thanks." Chad then starts on his second count of the bucklers, noting that one of them has a snapped band, taking it and rolling it aside with nary a clank — Though, it looks like the other boy has a good eye, too.

"Mm," they reply in assent to his observation, still at work, until he offers his name and — Chad glances over their shoulder to look, losing count — What usually passes as an attempt at a smile on their own face. The boy pauses.

Erk? Brown eyes flicker from Erk's face, back to the bucklers, unreadable, before they turn to the bucklers fully, counting from the outset again. Erk Reglay?

Of Reglay? As in Clarine and Klein? Reglay, as in the former Mage General, Erk Reglay? They hardly know much of the man proper, bar that he was Cecilia's predecessor, but the name's familiar enough to be jarring. Their top lip rises, unseen. Father — Father is here, younger, as is Lord Hector, Lady Lyndis. It's not improbable that... This, would happen, too. But this — This kid, he hardly looks any older than them. They don't...

... No. It's fine, they'll handle it. Chad just wishes they had any kind of preparation for the situation at hand; They're still not sure how to see this... This rift, this gap between times, this glimpse at an Elibe before theirs, much less handle it with any elegance. It rips across their consciousness like the tears in the sky. They've been staring at the same buckler for far, far too long at this point, and set it down audibly, marking another as damaged on their clipboard — This one has a dent big enough to make wearing it on ones forearm uncomfortable.

"Chad." They reply, clipped, awkward. "Araphen."

[In the Same Inflection as "BEYONCE?!"] MAGE GENERAL ERK?!

Lance +1

[lycianlynx]

Keeping stock was a habit from the orphanage; Potatoes, eggs, flour, milk traded for blades, whetstones, armor. Even when adults try to shield children from the world, the world's fingers, be they cruel or kind, will find them eventually, either way.

War found them. Loss found them. The children left behind left to shore up before they are found again. Even an academy like this isn't fully spared the consequences of nightmares cleaving through their skies, as much as the Knights try to shield them.

Though they are no knight, Chad volunteers, because they know this duty better than most, even if it is not combat proper. Their feet carry them towards the armory almost idly, spotting a purple-haired youth already taking stock — Good, they can keep track of eachother's numbers.

It would be nice if he'd look where he's fucking going, though; They weren't even trying to hide, this time. Chad grimaces as the other bumps into them, ready to snip at him, though the words evaporate as his hands move to accept the clipboard. Instead, the boy takes a moment to glower at the other; Purple eyes and locks, darker skin, Etrurian accent, guarded expression. Bit scrawny, unblemished hands; Probably a mage's...

... Familiar. They can't put their finger on it. Whatever, they're here to help, and with any luck, this kid's as dutiful as he's acting. They let go of their temper on the exhale.

"... I was goin' to." Their eyes flit down the list, before they silently pad over to where various bucklers remain yet unaccounted for. They speak up from their corner, nimble fingers counting the metal ridges, checking for dents, cracks, snapped leather fixtures, hardly sparing the other a glance. "You already log these? These lists the same, or are they split?"

[In the Same Inflection as "BEYONCE?!"] MAGE GENERAL ERK?!

Lance +1