#gale: war flashbacks to his ex

[recitedemise]

"Oh? I'm curious to hear what these 'magical academic advantages' would entail."

Wendell may possibly read him to the bone. For heaven's sake, he's an admired academic and has proven himself a sharp, keen eye! Yet, Gale hopes nonetheless, clinging to the thought that his myriad of covers will not be blown. However, he's only but a fool, a shade whose hope wastes in dug-deep trenches, and the offhanded question rolling easily off those lips? Gale frazzles. Take care, he tells himself, or Wendell, this guest, will discover him completely.

Still, it's harder than he thinks, smothering his worries as he quietly ruminates. He'd spoken correctly, of course, with one's entry into Cambridge not at all a tell of one's acceptance here. One must harbor some spellcraft, dancing lights, mage hand, or a crackling fire bolt. They're a campus, after all, whose focus on magic has kept them hidden for years and years. It's a quality she'd liked, his mentor, his goddess, and his now-distant love. Gale thinks of her here, how he captured her eye like a rhinestone waiting for a scavenging magpie. A shadow takes his face, something he's fighting to pass as casual. But, gosh, like all things about him from his pride to his rambling, his ache, regret, reads bold as flame. "Likening gods to faeries is as novel as it is daring, but all things considered," he tries, "I suppose there are far wilder comparisons that came before. True enough, to win the interest of the gods, one must first come to capture their attention. It varies, of course, but even excelling at magic would be cause enough. Still, though difficult as it is to wrest their gaze, upholding their favor would prove all the more challenging. Correct if I'm wrong, but disappointing the Folk is a dangerous affair." Wronging them, wronging her, his dear leady of mysteries... "Likewise, there are more pleasant things to be than be spurned by a god."

What an interesting thing to say! Righting himself, Gale can declare the very same for Wendell. Mustering his calm, he turns back to find stray flecks of a croissant buttering up that mouth. It makes him look -- young, innocent in a flavor that's at odds with his getup. It makes Gale smile, a playful furrow cropping into the line of his brow. He stirs his coffee and raises his mug. Sipping at it, that sharp arabica sharpens his tongue. "Right. And do you normally broach conversation asking colleagues who so stun your senses if they're of a kind beyond our own?" he teases. "Believe me, I'm not as interested in 'treats' as I am in lavish, succulent meals. That said, I'm not entirely sure I can show you my specialty without a very dead subject to work with. I'm, um, tenured here teaching courses on necromancy at the moment." A punishment, really. "Admittedly, it's not the most favored branch out there these days, but were one to ask me, there's not a field of magic not worth the study. Make no mistake, though, I'm very capable of teaching any school that comes my way." Any school. Here, Gale looks up, a scant wag of his finger conjuring a veil of some shimmery borealis. It waltzes soft between them, curling around their legs and tickling the back of Wendell's trousers. It smells deliciously cold, arctic, winter, and clinging like sugar to the wet of his gums. Gale feels a need to deeply impress, doesn't he? He takes another sip. Wizards, as they say, and their hubris. "I find I'm able to enchant just as the Folk would. Hypothetically speaking, were I to keep this up, how soon can one expect a thesis on Gale Dekarios?"

It's for the best that Gale doesn't bring up the twinkling. Bambleby would never let him live that down, the smug bastard. Oh, he's very well aware of how handsome he is. Just as much so, he's aware of how his own magic is stirring, as if it's comfortable amongst those capable of similar feats. If only it were so simple.

Now his mind wanders to magical preparatory schools with a parallel education pipeline to what he's used to seeing from the mortals who end up in his lecture hall. "Hypothetically there can therefore be those who didn't quite meet the acceptance criteria for Baldur's Gate at Cambridge. What I mean to say is I should be paying more attention to magical academic advantages." Not that he particularly cares if his students show minimal academic integrity. "Now, what must one do to draw the interest of a god? I imagine it must be like faeries. Give them an offering? Prove yourself worthy of their attention?" Let's hope Dr. Dekarios didn't want to quickly change the subject.

"I can imagine it would be entertaining to invite the brightest minds to your fine establishment and surprise them with your talents." Wendell figures he likely should have kept the question to himself, but it seems Gale is utterly amused by it. "It is a normal question in the field of dryadology. One can never be too sure..." Would it be stranger if he'd expressed his firm belief that Gale is mortal? Brought up his lack of faerie blood? Perhaps the strange questioning is the best path to take. "You think you have what it takes to render me speechless? My, it seems I'm in for a treat, aren't I?" His croissant doesn't quite render him speechless, but it does render him pleased by its lovely flakey exterior combined with the just out of the oven warmth. Or perhaps it has rendered him speechless because he's stuffed it in his mouth. Had he been any less graceful of a being, he would have likely spit its buttery goodness out in reaction to the following comment. "I'll take that as a compliment, though I'm sure there are Folk whose love of good tailoring outpaces mine. I am happy to hear my writing evokes a sense of familiarity with my subject matter. It's good to know that I may keep my job. But enough about me when there's so much to learn about your magical university. Is there a particular magic you specialize in?"