《The Chronicles of the Scyllians》1.02
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"...?"
"..."
"...?!"
The silence was comforting. To one party at the very least. Lisanna followed him, seemingly trying to extract information from him without conveying the necessary words. He, however, took the obvious attempt as an excuse to ignore the signalling until they were half-way through the path back towards the school.
"So what did she say about me?"
"'I can't stand her.'"
"... That's it?" Lisanna asked, eyes gauging him as if to deduce some deeper truth. Giving up after a moment, she muttered, "I expected worse."
"Well, it isn't my place to judge someone. But on account of my bed-"
"I said to drop that already!"
"Hmph, I do have principles, you know?"
"What principles revolve around that?"
"... Ah, you're uncultured - I couldn't even explain it to you since you ignored what I said earlier, apparently."
"I'll let that one slide. So what did you think of her, that Jasmine?"
"'That' Jasmine? Well, she's pretty."
Lisanna's eyes flashed before she restrained herself. "You're just saying that to piss me off now, aren't you?"
"Mostly, but it also true."
"Hmph, she isn't bad, I guess," Lisanna grunted in annoyance, "if you strip her personality from her. It's only a matter of time before she corrupts the other girl."
"Kira? She seemed like she would get scared from a chained puppy behind an iron fence in broad daylight."
"Really? She only seemed scared of you. It seems like she's from this town. Did you do anything to her?"
"No?"
"Why does that sound like a question?"
"... I don't recognize her, but she might have pissed off my older sister? I'm told we look alike even if she's older."
"... You do kind of look like a girl."
"Hey!" He shouted as they walked into the classroom. "I do not!"
Since Mr. Shields was not in the room, Lisanna took the opportunity to ask the nearest turned head. "Hey, does he look like a girl?"
"I don't-" Mathias tried to speak.
"Uh, like his face? Kind of," one girl said before a sudden recognition appeared on her face - her face faltered and then she grinned. "You, you're Mathias, right?! You're a boy?!"
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"Yes?! What of it!" He shouted back at the girl who seemed oddly familiar - or at least acted as if that was the case. Her utterly unassuming appearance forced his recollection through so many dead-ends in terms of faces and names.
"... Did you have long hair for the past few years?"
"Yeah, it was a pain to cut it? I just did though. Does it look bad?"
The girl's face grew bright red before she got up and whispered, "don't you dare tell them!"
"... Huh? Tell them what?"
"The parlour!"
"... Oh." He tried to place the face and body. He still could not. "I don't really recognize you so... sorry?"
"... That actually kind of pisses me off for some reason," she said for turning around. "Wendi, doesn't he look-"
"Oh God. Stop that!"
He retreated to his desk, apparently a target of a conspiracy to ruin his impression for all in the room. A snicker and giggle sounded off during his retreat. Of course, he could not remember every face and body of the (predominately) female clientele that went into his mother's parlour for the past five years.
It was the norm to be exposed to allow for more direct application of water magic to detoxify skin, revitalize collagen, reduce or remove blemishes, and other superficial treatments. His mother was renowned around the town for her skill, but he just assumed it was normal. Even his help in the business. It was training for him, too.
For that reason, while he appreciates the female form, he was largely immune to all but the most stunning. He felt gross dealing with the few males clients his mother was forced to accept; after he built up a reputation, he just passed them back off to his mother or pretended he was busy.
Many things weren't worth the money offered.
However, that being said, he did not think his job to be demeaning. It was effective training. He had long-since abandoned the need for proper spells to deal with basic medical (and aesthetic) conditions. Mostly because it involved dealing with people he did not know at times he had no energy to expend on the effort.
Despite this, he still hung his head down, embarrassed, as felt his impressions drop by the second as Lisanna and her co-conspirator began rallying opinions about his physical appearance.
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Of course, it was muted, but clearly loud enough to hear in an enclosed room.
He was thankful when he heard a standoffish, "Miss O'Clair," and "Miss Argentine."
"Get to your seats. We're starting the second half. Since I forgot to mention on account of interruptions in my class, I'll remind you of the basic structure of the course. The first half of the day will be theory, the latter-half, training. I presume each one of you able to manifest some practical application of your attribute, otherwise, you would not be here. As such, we'll be going to the second practise field behind the Academy.
"You have fifteen minutes to change into your training clothes and meet me on the field. You're dismissed."
'Fifteen minutes?' Mathias thought, gauging the distance. It took ten minutes normally when walking, one way. 'So... we're running, I guess?'
He grabbed his bag and started out of the room. Once he got out of the Academy itself, he started to run, seeing a few others mirror his thought-process, but quite a few more just walking back.
Lisanna had the same idea.
"Hey, I swear if you keep that up-"
He ran further ahead.
While he was well-trained from the forced sparring lessons from both Claude and Erin, he could not keep ahead of Lisanna for long. She broke past him and went further and further away as another student seemed primed to test out their strength.
He sighed.
Either way, it could be worse.
And then another boy appeared at his side. It was the one who sat in the front corner and was the second to enter behind him. "You're Mathias, right... or 'Mr. Vandiese'," the boy said with a chuckle.
He was not breathless as he ran; rather, it seemed like he had yet to even break a sweat as he carried his own bag, the heavy textbook, and whatever materials he brought with him. His intricately styled brown hair did not even seem to move in the wind. "Erik, pleased to meet you. I heard you're rooming with that girl, is that true?"
"Yeah. I was second-last to come... and she was just a few minutes behind me. Nice to meet you, but what... what the hell are you doing?"
Erik was craning his head as far back as he could to check out those that were behind.
"... Just checking out the girls." He said quietly - but matter-of-factly - turning his head back. "It seems like Jasmine and Kira aren't running... it's a shame, that'd be a sight!"
"Hmm, sure? Not my type either way."
"What, you don't like the snake that eats the mouse, or the mouse that is just waiting to be eaten?"
"Nope, not really. But I'm glad other people can see it."
"The only ones that can not are those that can not separate the outside from the in. Which is say... unfortunately, not many of the girls or guys right now. I noticed you did though."
They reached the entrance of the dorm and in swift order, the two boys split up to their own rooms. As he did not want to be late, he barged into his own room. He half expected it would be unlocked since Lisanna beat him to it, but he was forced to grab his key and unlock it.
"... That was not necessary," he said irritably, walking past the girl who was just getting to leave.
"It was, actually. Now hurry up or you'll be late."
"Whose fault do you think it is that I'm behind?"
"Not mine!" She said, jumping out the door.
He muttered his complaints and began changing.
Since he much preferred the training gear, he was glad for it. The cloak seemed too excessive with the clear sky - only after some minor habituation - so he opted to just leave it in the closet.
After leaving, locking the door, and getting back on his way, he noticed the figure of Erik standing by the exit of the dorms.
"Knew it," he said. "Anyways, if you don't have a training partner, I'm interested in seeing what you have in you."
"Hmm, sure?"
"Such noncommittal responses... Ah, whatever, let's go!"
The two ran off to the training fields.
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