Bjorn looked confused, an apparent feeling that was shared by the rest of Willow’s entourage. His eyes traded between Mr. Caxton and herself, as if he expected her to introduce him, rather than the other way around. Everyone, including Diligence, didn’t give any gravitas to the appearance of the teacher. The only exception was Ghyslain, who was now clutching tightly on Helen’s arm, making it difficult for her to write.
“Why wouldn’t I be here? This is my home,” explained Percival, laying the tea-kettle down on the table. He gestured to the chair opposite of the one he was sitting in. “If anything, it’s stranger that you are here, rather than myself. These are the Archives, the building behind us here. Perhaps the most secure storage of any magical artifacts in the history of mankind. You are, to date, the third living being from the middle-realm to be here.”
“Hey, Pop,” Diligence interrupted, “I hate to cut y’off, but this bag what hits and talks like a truck walked in and trashed me and my hall, tellin’ me you sent her. Is that true?”
“Did he just call him…” Curie perceptively whispered.
“It is,” confirmed Mr. Caxton, his eyes cutting to the artisan’s direction, “Ms. Fairburn has unique talents that can serve the realm.”
“Yeah, well, maybe a little warning next time, huh?”
“Are you alright?” asked the teacher, placing a hand on the artisan’s shoulder. Diligence broke his gaze and became sheepish, kicking his feet over the ground.
“Um… yeah, I’m alright,” answered Diligence, a little red in the face.
“Good, could you arrange for accommodations for Ms. Fairburn and her group?”
“Yes sir.”
At that, Diligence began to shepherd the others off the green. He came over to Willow’s shoulder to pick up Bjorn, and the odinkine drew his sword. A quick exchange of glances between the artisan, the harpy, the allomancer and the alchemist confirmed that Bjorn was okay to stay.
“Fairburn,” began Mr. Caxton, as Willow found herself alone again. He began to fill the cups arranged for them, “I feel your understanding of what I am and where I can be is…”
In an instant, Willow found herself surrounded by Caxtons. They were everywhere, throughout the garden, on the mountain, descending the stairs of the Archives and stretching down into the forest. As one, they all spoke the next word in fluid cadence.
“... lacking.”
In the next instant, they were gone, leaving the original pouring the tea.
“The Patron,” gasped Bjorn, suddenly realizing who they were speaking to.
“Care to sit? I’m sure you have questions,” asked Mr. Caxton, taking a seat and his tea, “The answers may not be true forever, though. This is the Land of Dreams and Mist, afterall, an ephemeral concept by nature.”
[The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Where Bjorn expressed shock and awe, Willow merely rolled her eyes at the demonstration. After giving her companion a reassuring look, she turned and sat down across from Percy before collecting tea of her own. She imagined she must look a proper mess, and removed the handkerchief from beneath her hat once she was positive she had gotten over the whole bleeding thing.
“Jus’ wantin’ one singular assurance from ya before we start,” Willow began as she sat her arm and a balled fist onto the table. “Don’t go teleporting me back down the mountain if I get glib, kay? Ran up that slope enough times today, so y’ur gonna have ta deal with me possibly being a bit of a brat. That said, I got most of it out of my system earlier, so at worst it should only be snide rather than straight up insults.”
Taking a sip of her tea, Willow settled down and once again looked to be trying at civility.
“First one, I guess, is bouncing off tha’ Dreams and Mist bit. Have I actually been missing for two weeks back in the real world? Or is this all dream rules, and I’m gonna wake up wit’ it still being Saturday? Second, following on the heels of the first, will Manon be back in the room wit’ me? Or is she still kidna, uh, I mean… grounded?”
“Jus’ wantin’ one singular assurance from ya before we start,” Willow began as she sat her arm and a balled fist onto the table. “Don’t go teleporting me back down the mountain if I get glib, kay? Ran up that slope enough times today, so y’ur gonna have ta deal with me possibly being a bit of a brat. That said, I got most of it out of my system earlier, so at worst it should only be snide rather than straight up insults.”
Taking a sip of her tea, Willow settled down and once again looked to be trying at civility.
“First one, I guess, is bouncing off tha’ Dreams and Mist bit. Have I actually been missing for two weeks back in the real world? Or is this all dream rules, and I’m gonna wake up wit’ it still being Saturday? Second, following on the heels of the first, will Manon be back in the room wit’ me? Or is she still kidna, uh, I mean… grounded?”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
After the first sip of tea, Willow could feel the soreness of cuts and bleeding in her throat begin to mend. At the second, the bruises and wounds on her body knitted together, smoothing out to fresh skin. Even the fatigue of the day was beginning to wear off, as a feeling of warmth brought on new energy. The flavor, however, was only so-so, almost bready with underlying notes of juniper.
“The passage of time is an ongoing experiment,” explained Percival, bringing the tea cup to his lips. He coughed, setting the cup back down, blinking away some tears, “Too much gurneyroot. Time. Yes. Approximately, you can expect every day to a thousand years to be equivalent to a minute of real time in the middle-realm. At most, in your case, approximately fourteen minutes have passed, or perhaps no time at all.”
Thoughtfully, he stared off at the growing shadow in the distance, “Every second you live in here is real, though. Your body will come back to the middle-realm two weeks older for the time you’ve spent here. Should you spend too much time here, you will find yourself outpacing your friends. Unlike the usual interlopers, you are not dreaming.”
“Mr. Caxton!” a blur of red shot out of the large building up the hill and slapped into the table. A faerie of orange body and mischievous shape had landed, holding her arms up to get the man’s attention, “I learned something ne–...”
The fae’s orange eyes looked up at Willow, realizing she was there and stunting her announcement, “Oh, are you talking?”
“Yes,” answered Mr. Caxton, stating the obvious. The sprite began to pout at this, but sat herself down at the edge of the table, waiting patiently. The Alchemist continued, “Ms. Laframboise will remain grounded until she can regain a sense of her temper. She is currently reshaping the moon over this world in practice. You might see some of her work later tonight.”
His eyes reflected a light that was not there, shining a spark of something deeper. This light reflected heavily upon Willow. “On the subject of French fonts… Ms. Fairburn. You have something that belongs to me, something that Ms. Laframboise erroneously believed was hers. The folder, if you please.”
The Alchemist set down his cup and held out his only hand.
“The passage of time is an ongoing experiment,” explained Percival, bringing the tea cup to his lips. He coughed, setting the cup back down, blinking away some tears, “Too much gurneyroot. Time. Yes. Approximately, you can expect every day to a thousand years to be equivalent to a minute of real time in the middle-realm. At most, in your case, approximately fourteen minutes have passed, or perhaps no time at all.”
Thoughtfully, he stared off at the growing shadow in the distance, “Every second you live in here is real, though. Your body will come back to the middle-realm two weeks older for the time you’ve spent here. Should you spend too much time here, you will find yourself outpacing your friends. Unlike the usual interlopers, you are not dreaming.”
“Mr. Caxton!” a blur of red shot out of the large building up the hill and slapped into the table. A faerie of orange body and mischievous shape had landed, holding her arms up to get the man’s attention, “I learned something ne–...”
The fae’s orange eyes looked up at Willow, realizing she was there and stunting her announcement, “Oh, are you talking?”
“Yes,” answered Mr. Caxton, stating the obvious. The sprite began to pout at this, but sat herself down at the edge of the table, waiting patiently. The Alchemist continued, “Ms. Laframboise will remain grounded until she can regain a sense of her temper. She is currently reshaping the moon over this world in practice. You might see some of her work later tonight.”
His eyes reflected a light that was not there, shining a spark of something deeper. This light reflected heavily upon Willow. “On the subject of French fonts… Ms. Fairburn. You have something that belongs to me, something that Ms. Laframboise erroneously believed was hers. The folder, if you please.”
The Alchemist set down his cup and held out his only hand.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Was what was said, but what Willow heard was:Should you spend too much time here, you will find yourself outpacing your friends.
Smiling momentarily, the expression shifted to a grimace as Willow made a horrifying discovery. She’d somehow gone and become Hermoine Granger. Sure, the thing she wanted more time studying was punching things, but that did fall under the wheelhouse of her studying her magic more. Just as she had been considering asking Mister Caxton if she could possibly revisit the mentorship proposition she’d made a few months ago, at least in so far as getting a gym pass to Dreams & Mist Fitness, when the sprite zipped in. This sudden appearance halted her long enough for Caxton to go into his next bit, and sure as No Name thought her hair was hay, she felt some snide remarks coming on. Setting her jaw, Willow locked eyes with the god of this world, and urged herself to not just say “Nuh uh.”Get two weeks of training in during her lunch break.
Mister Caxton had a point; the file belonged to him. Returning it was the proper thing to do, but at the same time it clearly meant quite a lot to Manon; possibly resulting in some bad blood between the two teens.
“Before I do,” Willow responded, hugging her satchel close and flaring Pewter to keep an iron grip on the parcel. “Couldn’t you make some concessions? You saw how important this was to Manon. What good does it do keeping her separated from it? Would her having access to this folder be that much of a cause for concern for the… somethin’ somethin’ magic ocean head explosion font business?”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
The man across from Willow crossed a leg over his knee and ran his hand through his hair. His eyes darted off to the horizon, taking in a withering canopy of trees across from their side of the valley. Cogs were whirring behind his eyes, but they slowed to a stop when those eyes came back onto her and her bag.
“I can never claim to understand what Ms. Laframboise has been through,” began Mr. Caxton, his voice low enough that Willow needed to strain to listen over the wind gusting through, “nor account for the loneliness that comes with not having a family. What I can say with ninety percent certainty is that her gift is a death sentence. Until more is known about fonts, or, at the very least, I can discover how I changed to adapt to the curse, she will live a short, sad life.”
He raised a finger, “Most fonts discover their binds or break them by their teenage years.”
Then, he raised another finger, “By their twenties their bodies decay under exposure.”
A third finger almost rose, but fell to the table in a fist.
“By the time you hit your stride, and you become your own Jane Smith; Manon will be dead,” explained Percival with a voice that would have sounded clinical if he didn’t sound so shaken, “The truth in that folder will not bring her any closure, if anything, it might speed up the clock to her demise.”
The Alchemist extended his hand, “Willow. Please. Give me the folder.”
“I can never claim to understand what Ms. Laframboise has been through,” began Mr. Caxton, his voice low enough that Willow needed to strain to listen over the wind gusting through, “nor account for the loneliness that comes with not having a family. What I can say with ninety percent certainty is that her gift is a death sentence. Until more is known about fonts, or, at the very least, I can discover how I changed to adapt to the curse, she will live a short, sad life.”
He raised a finger, “Most fonts discover their binds or break them by their teenage years.”
Then, he raised another finger, “By their twenties their bodies decay under exposure.”
A third finger almost rose, but fell to the table in a fist.
“By the time you hit your stride, and you become your own Jane Smith; Manon will be dead,” explained Percival with a voice that would have sounded clinical if he didn’t sound so shaken, “The truth in that folder will not bring her any closure, if anything, it might speed up the clock to her demise.”
The Alchemist extended his hand, “Willow. Please. Give me the folder.”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Willow listened. Really listened to Percy. Following the explanation and appeal, she didn’t say anything for a few long moments. As she looked between Percy and her satchel, she gave a slight, sad smile.
“Probably selfish on my part for thinking I can share the sentiment. My magic doesn’t give me great life expectancy, but at least I can mitigate it by opting out,” responded the teenager, and the smile remained but turned somewhat bitter. “Kind of a sick joke; dying because of doing clown stuff. Normal folk do that for free and get away with it.”
Slowly, Willow shifted her bag before opening the flap. Pulling out the folder she looked at it for another few moments before handing it across the table.
“Didn’t realize I was starting off with the downer questions,” she joked, her tone light but betrayed by a hint of lingering sadness.
“Probably selfish on my part for thinking I can share the sentiment. My magic doesn’t give me great life expectancy, but at least I can mitigate it by opting out,” responded the teenager, and the smile remained but turned somewhat bitter. “Kind of a sick joke; dying because of doing clown stuff. Normal folk do that for free and get away with it.”
Slowly, Willow shifted her bag before opening the flap. Pulling out the folder she looked at it for another few moments before handing it across the table.
“Didn’t realize I was starting off with the downer questions,” she joked, her tone light but betrayed by a hint of lingering sadness.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
One of the golems embedded into the hillside shuddered to life. With lumbering steps, it extended its stone hand and gently slid the truth of Manon’s origins away. Documents in hand, it began slow, careful steps up the stairway into the Archives. Whatever truth was within, Manon would never know now, for better or worse.
“What we talk about doesn’t leave this table,” came the Alchemist’s hushed voice, as if anyone could hear him, “Do you know the reason why Mr. Flynn created Safeholme?”
Mr. Caxton pressed a hand to his chest, “Because at your age, he was abandoned to take on an impossible task, forced to grow before he should have. Because his friends were dealt similarly harsh hands; burdened with a Font’s curse, bound to a soul sucking artifact, or lured from home at an impossibly young age to answer a call. Each of us proved to be a magnificent exception to a grim statistic.”
The little fire sprite on his side of the table began to pull her legs in, a forlorn look on her eyes.
“Three in five mages who do not attend a mage school become hedgemages, criminals or worse. One of those five dies in their teens and the last one somehow becomes a member of communal mage society. Until Safeholme, there was no school that cared for disciplines on the fringes, not unless they specialized in it, like the Witch schools in America. Necromancers, constructs…”
His eyes narrowed pointedly, “... blood mages…”
“No school in the world aimed at a bright future will take these disciplines. Safeholme actively seeks them out. Ruarc Flynn prioritizes the applications of mages who have nowhere to go. The Board finds a way to get funding for them and our circus cast of a faculty does their best. When I came on staff, I took on the task of enabling and engineering futures for students whose lives will be short whether or not they get a good education.”
With a steadying breath, he took up his cup and sipped the bitter brew he had made. His lips were tightly pursed when he set it back down.
“Manon’s benefactors have cut her loose, so I pay her tuition now. Of the students here, she takes up a lot of my time spent for student development. Safeholme will not forget her…”
The Alchemist slid his hand into his vest and pulled out a flat bottomed vial of orange liquid and set it on the table, “... and it won’t forget you, either. For example, this vial of… working title... contains an alchemical solution that, when droppered over an object, covers it in a thin, acid-resistant gel. Theoretically, it would allow a human to consume and pass hazardous materials safely, should someone have need for that.”
“What we talk about doesn’t leave this table,” came the Alchemist’s hushed voice, as if anyone could hear him, “Do you know the reason why Mr. Flynn created Safeholme?”
Mr. Caxton pressed a hand to his chest, “Because at your age, he was abandoned to take on an impossible task, forced to grow before he should have. Because his friends were dealt similarly harsh hands; burdened with a Font’s curse, bound to a soul sucking artifact, or lured from home at an impossibly young age to answer a call. Each of us proved to be a magnificent exception to a grim statistic.”
The little fire sprite on his side of the table began to pull her legs in, a forlorn look on her eyes.
“Three in five mages who do not attend a mage school become hedgemages, criminals or worse. One of those five dies in their teens and the last one somehow becomes a member of communal mage society. Until Safeholme, there was no school that cared for disciplines on the fringes, not unless they specialized in it, like the Witch schools in America. Necromancers, constructs…”
His eyes narrowed pointedly, “... blood mages…”
“No school in the world aimed at a bright future will take these disciplines. Safeholme actively seeks them out. Ruarc Flynn prioritizes the applications of mages who have nowhere to go. The Board finds a way to get funding for them and our circus cast of a faculty does their best. When I came on staff, I took on the task of enabling and engineering futures for students whose lives will be short whether or not they get a good education.”
With a steadying breath, he took up his cup and sipped the bitter brew he had made. His lips were tightly pursed when he set it back down.
“Manon’s benefactors have cut her loose, so I pay her tuition now. Of the students here, she takes up a lot of my time spent for student development. Safeholme will not forget her…”
The Alchemist slid his hand into his vest and pulled out a flat bottomed vial of orange liquid and set it on the table, “... and it won’t forget you, either. For example, this vial of… working title... contains an alchemical solution that, when droppered over an object, covers it in a thin, acid-resistant gel. Theoretically, it would allow a human to consume and pass hazardous materials safely, should someone have need for that.”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Willow was on a roll. Not one but two educational sidebars from Mister Caxton without her feeling the need to make a joke. It seemed it helped when the subject matter was somewhat bleak. To Percy’s credit, he did make this one did take an uplifting swing near the end, and even offered Willow one of her favorite things; edible gifts. Reaching over, she picked up the vial and inspected it with a purely cursory glance seeing as she hadn’t exactly been the best alchemy student. Almost immediately she wanted to just start putting it on stuff and chowing down, but curbed her enthusiasm by telling herself it was effectively medicine, and she wouldn’t see immediate results. That said, she was still pretty excited about not dying from metal poisoning in the next decade.
“A’ight, next question,” Willow began as she sat the vial back onto the table. “Made slightly awkward by the fact that within the span of an hour I had asked you to possibly mentor me before turning around and saying nah; plus the whole me insulting you a bunch earlier today. BUT! What do you s’pose the chances are that I could come back here again in the future? Y’said not twenty minutes have passed outside. For a week time investment, spending less than a lunch break is a pretty top deal. Hell, I spent better part of my two weeks unconscious and have still learned a bunch. So… maybe I could come here from time to time to train? I’d even be willing to let the price of admission be you giving me extra homework and nerd training like your potion stuff.”
“A’ight, next question,” Willow began as she sat the vial back onto the table. “Made slightly awkward by the fact that within the span of an hour I had asked you to possibly mentor me before turning around and saying nah; plus the whole me insulting you a bunch earlier today. BUT! What do you s’pose the chances are that I could come back here again in the future? Y’said not twenty minutes have passed outside. For a week time investment, spending less than a lunch break is a pretty top deal. Hell, I spent better part of my two weeks unconscious and have still learned a bunch. So… maybe I could come here from time to time to train? I’d even be willing to let the price of admission be you giving me extra homework and nerd training like your potion stuff.”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
The Alchemist’s eyes had been on the vial, searching beyond it for a lost thought, before they rose back to meet Willow’s in all of their enigmatic, divine color. A smile curled under them, revealing a toothy grin.
“Allow you to roam free in my backyard, and all I have to do is more work? What a deal,” he chuckled, just letting out the barest humor, “Ruarc’s given you quite the idea of such intimate spaces. Then again, he’s always been so trusting, but he loves you dearly, so there’s that.”
Two fingers adjusted the green tie tucked tightly into his vest as the wind picked up again, fluttering a tied-off sleeve across his chest. Willow got the impression that the man wanted to laugh more than he was allowing himself. The entire time they had been talking, he moved, spoke and operated with a sense of noticeable restraint. Each sentence and movement finished with some sort of thing unsaid or unventured.
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?” corrected Mr. Caxton, his gaze drifting back over to the dark forest across the valley, “If we can’t do something about Vengeance, this world you know will come to an end. All of it. And you are hardly ready to start the descent from Dyrnwyn to the Sprigganwald.”
Mr. Caxton stood, slowly, looking every part the old man in a comparatively young man’s body. “When you can best me without your allomancy, we can discuss the next step; to Vengeance. Then, when you succeed, we could discuss your continued vestment here.”
And, with that, he began to walk away, rubbing his back with his one hand.
“Allow you to roam free in my backyard, and all I have to do is more work? What a deal,” he chuckled, just letting out the barest humor, “Ruarc’s given you quite the idea of such intimate spaces. Then again, he’s always been so trusting, but he loves you dearly, so there’s that.”
Two fingers adjusted the green tie tucked tightly into his vest as the wind picked up again, fluttering a tied-off sleeve across his chest. Willow got the impression that the man wanted to laugh more than he was allowing himself. The entire time they had been talking, he moved, spoke and operated with a sense of noticeable restraint. Each sentence and movement finished with some sort of thing unsaid or unventured.
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?” corrected Mr. Caxton, his gaze drifting back over to the dark forest across the valley, “If we can’t do something about Vengeance, this world you know will come to an end. All of it. And you are hardly ready to start the descent from Dyrnwyn to the Sprigganwald.”
Mr. Caxton stood, slowly, looking every part the old man in a comparatively young man’s body. “When you can best me without your allomancy, we can discuss the next step; to Vengeance. Then, when you succeed, we could discuss your continued vestment here.”
And, with that, he began to walk away, rubbing his back with his one hand.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“It’s only more work for you if you decide to not let me loiter for free. See? I’m trying to paint the better option for me as the easier option for you. It’s like brain chess,” the teen called cheerfully as she leaned forward on the table, resting her chin on a propped-up arm as she watched Mister Caxton leaving. Letting her eyes drift towards the scenic view, she shrugged with one shoulder as she considered the rest of what the man had said. Honestly speaking, she didn’t feel all that nervous about Vengeance. Should she be? Absolutely. Right now however it was looming like a test, which set her mind into the rhythms of how she usually handled such situations; wing it with sheer confidence. It had always been her style to let her intuition make her calls for her. Even when she’d played sports and tried to call plays she mostly let her judgement in the moment figure things out.
Sighing, Willow drank down the rest of her tea before extinguishing the burn on her metals. She felt better than she would have thought she would without Pewter burning. Some pretty good tea, the teen thought, flavor aside. Palming the cup, she stood up before whipping the vessel at the back of Percy’s head. Not her fault he’d issued a challenge without specifics beyond No Metals.
“Do sucker punches count, Mister Miyagi?”
Sighing, Willow drank down the rest of her tea before extinguishing the burn on her metals. She felt better than she would have thought she would without Pewter burning. Some pretty good tea, the teen thought, flavor aside. Palming the cup, she stood up before whipping the vessel at the back of Percy’s head. Not her fault he’d issued a challenge without specifics beyond No Metals.
“Do sucker punches count, Mister Miyagi?”