Flashback A Debt Discovered (Matthew)

[Keene Ward]

The third of summer, 511 AV

By the eighth bell, Keene had risen, bathed, and eaten. It was something of a practiced ritual, Mella's snoring the morning's overture that played behind his mundane actions of dressing himself and gathering a few supplies for lunch before tiptoeing across the wooden floorboards to ease the latch of the door open and shut, entering into the brisk morning salt of the Zeltivan air. He slipped his arms through the straps of his backpack, books and food weighing down just past the point of comfortable. As his boot crunched along the well worn path from his home and out towards the Pass, Keene let his gaze wander as he made his way through the city. It was hardly early for the denizens of the port city, already the Sailor's Quarter was bustling with activity and people shouted or barked their way through the slight crowd. Barrels and carts pushed their way around the milling legs, and there was the occasional bought of laughter or squeal of excitement that often came with groups of individuals in community.

Keene found it needless. His blank stares were rarely met, and those who did make the contact often quickly looked away with a frown of discomfort. He didn't understand most of the rules he knew to hold true to social law, only what they were had how to abide by them. Often, his interactions were lacking, though Keene was rarely ever aware of it. He preferred to watch, anyway, as it was an opportunity for him to learn more about humanity and the rules and guidelines it followed. For the time being, there were few scenes he didn't recognize: friends holding hands and chatting about some frivolous matter, a man groping a woman's bosom only to be reward with a firm kick to the groin, a child from East Street begging for food. They were all scenes that constantly replayed in the static backdrop of the city's landscape. It was not that there were not variations of the displays, but they were hardly as dynamic as some seemed to think them. A small, pensive frown found its way onto his pale face as he continued into the Old Quarter, activity falling some as he followed the marked path that led out of the city.

With fewer people to watch, Keene found those who milled about to be relatively more reserved. There was the sound of conversation, chatter, but it was much more appropriate to the time, hushed, muffled. Keene's eyes passed over the faces that moved around around, none holding any meaning, though one his eyes lingered on for a tick more, a slight nudge of recognition that seemed to pass as he did. He didn't dwell on the dark haired figure, finding no reason to as the other man had been doing nothing that interested him. Instead, he set his sights towards the tree line, his pace steady and practiced. Ever since his initiation into reimancy, Mella had suggested (or rather commanded) he practice his magic in a more practical manner outside of the house, especially after he'd thoroughly soaked their single loaf of bread earlier in the spring. Thus, he had begun to make semi-regular trips to the mountainous forests that lined the city. They were remote enough that few ventured into them, and though there were occasionally hunters who passed through, none had stopped to bother him, nor had any discovered his secret.

There was a particular spot that he frequented, one of the reasons he left so early, as the hike to get to it took him several bells, as well as a fair amount of very slow climbing. As the sun drifted higher in the sky, warming the air into its sticky summer heat, Keene had broken into a smooth sheen of sweat, his hands clinging to a sturdy outcropping of rocks as he wiggled himself up and over the rise, panting and resting for a few chimes as he leaned against a sturdy trunk at the top of the cliff. It was just tall enough that jumping from it would have caused him some lasting injuries, but short enough that even he could scale it with a fair amount of effort. Pulling the water flask from his pack, Keene took a few refreshing swigs from it, eyes slowly scanning the area to make sure there were no signs of intelligent life anywhere nearby. Satisfied with the brief round of detection, Keene rose, stuffing the flask back into his bag as he slipped it from his shoulders and set it to nestle in the roots of the nearest tree before stepping out more into the middle of the little raised clearing.

It took a good while of him standing still and concentrating on his breathing before he was able to feel the gentle movement of his djed, his essence. It flowed through him, over him, around him, and it was the material from which he drew his res. It was a lengthy process, and often Keene's breathing quickened or slowed depending on how much effort he put fourth or maintained to work his djed away from "Keene" and into "res". Slowly, with a lugubrious drift, a pale blue liquid began to rise from his outstretched palm. The wobbling substance left a gentle tingle in Keene's fingers as he felt it leave him to become something else. Letting his eyes open to stare at the small button of res, Keene continued to release his djed, more res floating up to join the small amount until he had about a fist's worth of the material. Pulling his hands apart, the res wobbled, small tendrils wiggling their ways from the mass in the direction of the gesture. Keene repeated it several more times until the ball had become more of a bumpy tube.

Slowly, Keene turned to face one of the trees, the res lazily drifting to follow him and he pressed it with his will. His eyes were intensely focused on the translucent liquid, raising it to face the leafy branches above him, the wavering cylinder of res rose to align with his desires, a small lag of about half a chime between his gesture and its reaction. Once it was in place, Keene thrust his hand forward, muttering "Ala." The res shivered, and when Keene repeated both motion and command, the res finally shot forward in a burst of wind, knocking a fair number of leafs from their place in the tree up into the sky, drifting down gently as Keene lowered his hands to inspect the damage and, by association, the force of his spell. As he frowned at the branches, checking to see if any of the bark had been torn off or snapped, there was a crunch of dirt at the crack of a twig from behind him. Whipping around, Keene's body immediately tensed. He wasn't able to produce res quickly enough to protect himself, but that initial thought gave way to a more pressing issue: if there was someone there, what had they seen?

Mella's instructions had always been very clear: magic was not something to be frivolously chattered about. It was a powerful, dangerous practice, and many of the Zeltivans simply didn't understand that. To them, it was something to be feared, and while fear was a form of power, it was unwise to turn an entire city against oneself. Thus, as Keene felt his skin crawl as he searched for the potential intruder, his eyes flicked from tree to tree first on the small plateau, then to the ground below that was mostly occluded by the branches and leaves. Unable to locate anyone, Keene found there was a possibility it had only been a passing animal or perhaps a falling branch. Drawing in a breath, Keene's cool, soft voice sounded unnaturally loudly in the otherwise silence of the forest. "Hello?"

[Matthew]

One.

Matthew lightly stepped forward, making a point to be horribly casual. This initial part of the chase shouldn't actually require any stealth on his part. The city was bustling at this hour and there were plenty of people to blend in with. He just attempted to make himself a part of the crowd, to blend in with it naturally and move through it gracefully. He kept his head lightly bowed, studying his steps as his slim figure slipped through the surrounding bodies in chase of a single body that was roughly two-dozen paces ahead. The young medical student didn't actually realize that his ideal of casual only made him look that much more awkward when compared to people around him who were actually just being casual. His acting skills could use some work and he was painfully aware of that. He just hadn't quite realized that they were so bad that he couldn't even act out a basic thing.

Two hundred forty-three.

He absentmindedly tossed a few Mizas to a nearby beggar, making sure to turn and face the man long enough for their eyes to meet. The simple eye contact would be enough to make Matthew into a memory for the fellow, and goodwill was easily bought from those who had fallen upon hard times. He had always thought they would make the most useful allies. Who really saw the average beggar? But if one thought about it, the beggars saw much more than the average person. They often sat in one spot for hours and merely watched. There was so much that could be learned from mere watching. Matthew pulled a small slip of paper from his cloak, reviewing the elegant script. They were notes of his own making. His mother and father, prominent members of both the University and the Sailor's Guild had been a great help when finding the basics.

Keene Ward Son of Mella. Intelligent. Reserved. Brown hair, green grey eyes, lush lips, light skin. Regular travel pattern to secluded wilderness, constant range of steps. Four thousand seventy-two. Four thousand eight-hundred forty-one. Four thousand three-hundred. Four thousand two-hundred fifty-nine.

One thousand twenty-nine.

This was the part where it could become considerably difficult. He wasn't skilled in this sort of thing at all. He had to work hard to move silently, carefully and intelligently analyzing each and every single step to make sure his boot was softly placed upon a location that would dampen the resulting noise. Even then, he simply wasn't skilled at being stealthy. He had to fall back on other skills that he possessed. He had to focus, will the Djed through his veins so that they sang and quivered, then soak the sensation up through his chest and disperse it throughout his skull. The aura of the man he was following soon flooded into sight, filling his nostrils with the scent and coating his tongue with the taste. He thoughtfully licked his lips, pondering the taste. It reminded him of water. It was so very bland. The smell was another odd thing. It didn't as much have a scent as it had a sensation of sorts. It chilled the edges of his nostrils, like cold winter air. The colors, a bright blue laced with a variety of reds and purples, were certainly pretty. There was a foul black filth that had invaded the beauty, though. It made his stomach clench, though he did not understand why.

He was skilled enough to track the aura even as it remained outside of his field of vision. That allowed him to keep himself out of sight so that even his novice stealth skills couldn't accidentally betray his presence. He still tried to move silently, though. He didn't expend much Djed on his Auristics, only enough to keep the aura within sight. He didn't actually pry into it. It felt like an invasion of privacy.

Matthew hadn't yet seen the irony in that ideal.

Four thousand one.

The slow climb was the worst part. He took his time with it, slowly moving hand over hand to find sturdy places for his fingers to grip. Every now and then he had to put minor acrobatic skills to use, hopping to a nearby foothold or stretching out to grab a slightly-high handhold. It wasn't a dangerous climb, just a long one. He made a point to circle around the aura, not wanting to watch from an obvious location. Soon, he was brushing himself off and studying the aura once more as it practiced Reimancy. Matthew had never actually followed him this far before, but now the puzzle finally completed itself. That was why he came out here, to practice his art in privacy. Withdrawing ink and a quill, Matthew withdrew his notes and added to them. This time, it had been four thousand and one steps to the destination. Keene had shortened his route since Matthew had first started following him. He had likely just instinctively learned the best route to take as he had grown familiar with it.

Keene had wanted to practice in private. The thought slipped through his mind again, causing him to pause. Suddenly, an additional piece of the puzzle clicked in Matthew's mind, drawing a blink from his passive blue eyes. He had originally been curious, and had decided it would be an excellent way to practice his Intelligence and stealth skills. But now he was being rude. He was specifically invading a moment that Keene had gone to great lengths to make into a private moment. Matthew almost immediately started forward, a twig snapping underneath his boot. The aura ahead of him spun, looking for the source of the noise, Matthew soon stepping into view.

A thin cloak hung from broad shoulders, designed merely to protect the outfit underneath from the dangers of the wild. He was surprisingly well-dressed, an attractive and fit figure matched by a face that was more beautiful than it was handsome. That, along with hair that had clearly been styled, perhaps would betray to Keene that Matthew was a man who took care of his outward appearance. The young student spoke, his voice soft and each word carefully, properly pronounced. "Hello. I am Matthew, a medical student from Zeltiva. I apologize for invading. I wanted to practice tracking skills and stealth skills, and I had happened to notice that you had a pattern that would provide a steady source of a practice method. I hadn't ever followed you far enough to realize that I was invading on something private."

His spoken reasoning for following Keene was straightforward and simple, almost painfully so. There was also a fault in his logic, though it was a fault in social logic and therefor easily missed. Matthew hadn't quite realized that the very act of researching and stalking someone was quite a big invasion of privacy all on its own.

Matthew wondered if he should be worried. He was vaguely aware of what Reimancers were capable of. He slowly tilted his head to the side, blue eyes fixed on Keene, his tone as soft and apathetic as he addressed the thought in the easiest way he could think of. "Are you going to attack me with your Reimancy?"

[Keene Ward]

The man who emerged from behind a tree, cloaked and composed as he was, was hardly the figure Keene had been expecting. His grey-green gaze quickly flicked over the other slightly older young man's features and details, analyzing them and searching for anything that might be a threat. He carried no weapons that were readily visible, though the cloak could have easily concealed smaller daggers that would be just as deadly as sword. Next, was the man's face and eyes. Both were composed as the rest of him, curious but practiced, as if the expression he wore of interest, apology, and curiosity were a shade less familiar to him than the straight line of neutrality. His eyes were blue, a stark crystalline window from which his hidden self peered unknown. There was no malice there, however, though again, Keene found that the perceived lack of a thing was hardly conclusive grounds for a factual confirmation or disregard of one's suspicions. After the initial, relevant, information was gathered, Keene let his focus expand out to the man as a whole.

He was pretty. In fact, Keene found the man's physical appearance so impressive, it was difficult to remember that a preoccupation with one's looks was little more than frivolity. The manner in which his hair sat perfectly atop his head, the gentle shade of his honey'd skin, the piercing gaze and gently sculpted jaw all were carefully tailored parts to a carefully tailored whole. Not only that, but it was painfully clear the young man was of the finer community of Zeltiva. There were those who had money enough to live comfortably such as himself and Mella, then there were the refuges from Denval who were of a lower economic status, and finally the poor of East Street. Keene knew, however, that another class of humanity existed above his own, those of the wealthy and refined. The man, however, despite his beauty and heritage, did not seem nearly as out of place in the quiet forest as Keene might have thought. If anything, he seemed to warp the nature of his surroundings to himself, a candle of life that cast a light of his own devising as it were.

When he spoke, it was in a clear, proper accent, one that Keene himself had developed over the course of his own childhood, though his was far less naturally assertive, nor did his words sound quite as precise. He blinked, the information void of flowery formalities and succinct, just as Keene preferred. In spite of himself, his defenses were immediately dropped in response to the man's very clear cut explanation that Keene had never asked for, yet had intended to the moment his eyes had locked with the cool blue of Matthew's open gaze. His reasoning was logical, understandable. Keene found the man's adherence to his own morality - or perhaps a learned morality of his own upper society - to be an acceptable reason for revealing himself in spite of his original mission. Still, the nature of such a mission was questionable enough that Keene found it odd. Stealth and tracking hardly seemed something a man of Matthew's apparently caliber was wont to practice. There were extenuating circumstances, Keene was certain, but he was unable to ask of them before Matthew continued with a tilt of his head and an inquiry.

Though Matthew hardly seemed afraid of the potential for Keene's attack, Keene took the apathetic nature of his words as seriously as if they had been uttered with wavering voice and cringe of features. He pondered, eyes blinking calmly as he surveyed his potential quarry and foe. If he attacked, it would require a solid two to four chimes to get his res into a position where it could be used as an offensive transmutation. Even then, the worst he could do would be to knock Matthew from his feet, something that could easily be done - and much faster - if he were to simply charge him. Even with his own meager frame and lack of muscles, the addition of surprise would have been a heavy factor in his favor to gain the same result. Thus, using reimancy to attack Matthew, in any capacity and any situation, was both inefficient and ill-advised. Shaking his head, Keene returned the man's question with his own level response. "No."

As if to further make his point, Keene allowed his posture to relax to the point of leisure, though even that was something of a straight-backed, loose armed pose as his eyes slowly moved over one of the University students that Mella had found so contemptuous. He supposed that Matthew wasn't quite like those she had spoken of, as he studied medicine rather than magic. While the man appeared neither bigoted, bulbous of ego, nor a "conniving, avarice driven petcher", he was fully aware of Keene's secret. It was hardly something he wanted the young man to know about it, but there was little helping that, short of killing him. While it was certainly an option, Keene was not so foolish as to think himself strong enough to achieve such a feat. Matthew was not only substantially taller than he, his lithe and flowing frame was hardly a disguise for the gap of strengths between them, and not in Keene's favor.

Matthew seemed a rational enough man, which left an option for discussion. Keene was hesitant to breach the subject in such a way of immediate secrecy, however, as it was far too difficult to determine how the man might react. He knew only enough information of the other man to count on a single hand. If it was determined that Matthew was as manipulative as those he'd heard of through his vicarious experiences of those affiliated with the College, revealing that his reimancy was something he preferred to keep quite gave Matthew a clear understanding that the stealthily gained information was hefty leverage. Whether he spoke of it or not, however, was irrelevant: Matthew had the upper hand. Keene wasn't sure if he wanted to assert himself as an individual who was one to be reckoned with to intimidate the other man into silence or if it were better to simply subjugate himself to the man's will prematurely. The latter was something far more within the scope of his abilities, and if Matthew found him agreeable enough, Keene posited that he would be less likely to share his secret. Still, there was the chance that simple discussion was enough to keep the man from doing so, but a verbal agreement was hardly binding.

Having taken a few ticks for his mind to flash through the flood of potentials and thoughts, Keene spoke again, his soft voice void of little more than formality that had been hard learned and carefully retained. "Matthew." He nodded his head, name repeated and matched to the curiously attractive visage. As social law dictated, that which was shared was expected to be returned in whatever capacity possible. As part of the process of ingratiation was to follow common courtesy and respect, he did his best, tone even and lacking most emotion aside from the natural rise and fall of voice and volume. "I am Keene, a student of-" He paused. Lying was ill advised, but he didn't desire to give Matthew any more leverage over him if he could help it while remaining clairvoyant in purpose and response. "Of the weather." He had not thought his activities to be suspicious, nor regular enough for one to take such interest in him, but it appeared he had been wrong. He wasn't sure how to address the man's apology, so instead he chose a form of flattery, something he'd learned from his time among the dusty ledgers of the library was something that one could use as a way of gaining at least a partial appreciation for one's self. "You are kind to place my comfort over practice of your admirable skill in stalking."

It was hardly an aggressive or suggestive statement, merely an observation. He hoped it would serve as a seed of persuasion that Matthew might find himself glad to be thought of as kind and thus keep Keene's secret between them. It was uncomfortable to be in such a situation, but it was what it was: an unavoidable circumstance that required his action, whether he desired to do so or not. "I am not as proficient a study as yourself in my reimancy," He found the word foreign in sound, as it was something often in his thoughts but not upon his tongue. "I could do little more than tousle your hair, even if I desired to attack you." Helplessness. It was an appeal to Matthew's morality, though Keene found that it was someone of a double edged approach. If Matthew's reasons for revealing himself had had an ulterior motive of sinister origins, Keene had only made himself weaker. Still, it was better than anything else he had thought of short of explicitly asking the man to refrain from spreading the potential rumor of Keene's magic. "May I ask what you intend to do now?"

There was a gently spark of interest as he waited for the response. Whatever Matthew did next would determine whether Keene had explored the potentialities to arrive at a satisfactory point, or if he had missed something in the midst of his face-paced musings. Something about the other man was vaguely familiar, though not in the sense that it was intimately known to him, rather a hint that Matthew and he were of an uncommon similarity, "kindred spirits" as the poets would have called it. He was uncertain whether the feeling meant anything, but he wasn't disinclined to explore should the opportunity present itself. For the time being, Keene focused his attentions on placating whatever desires and whims Matthew might have. The more content he was with Keene on a whole, the more likely he was to adhere to Keene's yet unspoken request.

[Matthew]

For the briefest of moments, Matthew's clear and steady gaze suddenly became glossy and distant. Now faced with the fact that he would perhaps have to defend himself against someone who could wield magic in an dangerous and mysterious way, the gears within his mind began to click and churn. His head buzzed with thoughts and words, Matthew accessing his own personal mind library in order to quickly reference any and all information he had on Reimancy. What he found was barely even a single page. It was a magic that could control the elements. He threw those words up into the air above Keene, mentally stepping up to them and studying them closely. This wasn't enough information to go on. This could mean absolutely anything. He was utterly surrounded by the elements. He didn't even need to re-arrange the scene in front of him to simulate the possible scenarios in order to understand that a skilled user would be able to have him dead within seconds.

His mind moved faster, refusing to accept such a thing. He referenced the library for books filled with words of his own personal skill, tossing what relevant words he could find out into the air so that he could better process them.

Medicine. Dance. Seduction. Auristics. Hypnotism. A wide assortment of imitation socialization skills.

What did he know about Keene? Very little. What could he learn in these precious few ticks that his churning mind had given him? Blue eyes refocused sharply, flicking quickly over Keene almost at the exact time that Keene did the same to Matthew. He tossed more and more words up in the air, making them a different color to identify them as terms related to the man in front of him.

Analytical. Studying me. Intelligent. Hints of frown lines, though face is currently passive. Familiar.

The final word was one that caused that caused Matthew to blink, once again mirroring Keene in a slightly eerie way, though the young medical student did not notice. Familiar? It was Keene's simple word that truly snapped him out of his train of thought, confirming that the young man had no intentions of attacking. Matthew took this at face value, all of the mental notes that he had drawn in the air shattering and dissolving in the breeze. "Alright." He acknowledged the single word with a word of his own, appreciating that they had so quickly moved past that. He had no interest in learning how to fight. A live scenario was not the ideal way to go about it, either. His mind moved on, processing and filing the information as it was given to him. The book within his mind was opened and rapidly added to, the facts neatly organized so that he could properly recall them later. "The compliment is equally kind of you, but my skills in stalking still need a lot of work. I was most depending on something called Auristics, which you may be aware of? I originally learned it in an attempt to better understand the social nuances of Zeltiva, but have since expanded my use of it." He was not very secretive about that particular art, especially not when it came to someone who was seemingly familiar with the more magical aspects of Mizahar.

Tussle his hair? He assumed that it would be through control of the wind. "I spend a lot of time in the morning styling my hair so that it adds to the overall pleasure that people find in my appearance. Putting that work to ruin would certainly distract me for a time, if you did desire to attack me." Keene would have to follow up with a physical assault of some kind. Matthew didn't even attempt to puzzle his way through that, especially now that Keene had stated it was a non-issue. Matthew's words were stated without a hint of pride or sarcasm, the man painstakingly genuine in every word he spoke. His beauty was a fact, so he stated it as one. It was not something he took particular pride in. Why would he be prideful of something that he had been given on a whim? He was also quite serious about his hair. All that time would be put to waste if it was tousled out of place. He hated wasted time.

What now? "That is a good question. I had not accounted for being discovered." Seemingly unbeknownst to Keene, Matthew hadn't even considered the idea of blackmail. He hadn't even quite realized that this was something that should probably be kept secret. Folding his legs underneath him as he suddenly sat, Matthew plucked a nearby flower in an absentminded attempt to put herbalism knowledge to use at a whim. It was a white-petaled flower with a pink center. Huckleberry? He bit off the head of the flower and chewed, pondering.

No, wait. Huckleberry had been logically named, as the plant actually had berries. He had no idea what this flower was. It tasted faintly of mint. Additionally, it seemed to be making the inside of his left cheek tingle.

"I currently plan to rest and then head back. Now that I have turned your private moment into a public one, is there a way I can help? Perhaps the interruption can be turned to something useful." He had no interesting in learning how to actually use Reimancy but was sure there was plenty else he could learn in helping with whatever it was Keene was trying to accomplish.

[Keene Ward]

Keene blinked at the unfamiliar term. Auristics? It was something he'd never heard of, and while his curiosity piqued at the thought of something new, Keene was fully aware that Matthew's statement was more likely a leveling of the social field with an ability of his own to compensate for Keene's reimancy. That thought alone was enough to give him a slight amount of relief at the situation. If Matthew were working towards a setting of equality between the two of them, it became less likely he would share Keene's secret with others. Though, he supposed that if Matthew shared his own information so freely, it was just as possible that information about others was as free game as anything else. He was back to where he'd started, and it was both frustrating and perplexing at the same time. Matthew seemed to be of a similar breed of mind to Keene, though where Keene had decided to catalog and adopt whatever rules and customs he came across in a more passive manner, Matthew had taken steps to understand it on a conceptual level through whatever devices auristices provided him. Even when Keene had done active research, he had not understood the manner in which people socialized, only the "how to".

The clear, concise manner of his speech had a platonic attractiveness to Keene as well. There were few people who spoke so straight forwardly and without the confusing emotional undertones that so many seemed to love to employ. It was both refreshing and disarming, two things that Keene had to remind himself did not absolve Matthew of the potential to become an enemy and traitor of his discovered practices. It was difficult to remember, however, as Matthew continued, speaking as casually and disinterested as Keene believed people should. The sensible reply to Keene's factual statement was met with a nod of Keene's head. The composed aesthetic of the man before him was certainly the kind that would prove attractive to both men and women, similar to the effect of a sculpture or pleasing portrait. It did not surprise him that time and care had gone into maintaining the near perfect appearance, though in spite of all that, he still found the idea of such beautification unnecessary. It seemed that time spent on one's hair was time that could be better spent in a book or in practice of something more relevant.

Still, Keene made a mental note of Matthew's preoccupation with his hair style, eyes flicking to the carefully crafted position of locks before back to Matthew's stoic visage. If, for whatever reason, their conversation took a turn for the worse, Keene had a course of action set out: mar whatever beauty he could before running in the opposite direction. He wasn't sure what Matthew would do in return, but he had come to trust that what the man said was precisely what he thought. Thus, it would disorient him for a time, though he doubted it would be long enough for him to scramble down the ledge without seriously injuring himself. He had no desire to fight, and it seemed Matthew shared in that mind set. Still, it was always good to have plans in case the perceived was hardly the intended.

His eyes calmly watched the other man sit down, brow raising as he plucked a flower, sticking the bloom into his mouth and biting it off. It had seemed as natural as breathing, but the purpose was lost on Keene. He eased himself into a seated position as well, mirroring the other man's posture, though abstaining from partaking of the floral exploration. Matthew seemed to be thinking; whether it was what to say next after admitting that revealing himself had not been part of his original plan, or if it were in relation to the small knit of his brow as he chewed upon the petals he'd separated from the stem of the flower, Keene waited for him to speak. His hands were set steadily atop his thighs, shins tucked underneath as he kept his back straight and eyes observant. When the other man did speak after a short time, Keene frowned.

He hadn't thought that being discovered by an unknown, upper class Zeltivan might be something he could use to his advantage or, at the very least, the shared edification of both of them. He also hadn't expected Matthew to offer him help in any form. Both were new thoughts for him to sift through. He was firmly against working with magic in front of the other man. While transparent as he appeared, Matthew was no intellectual slouch. It was best to keep what Keene wanted hidden as far away from their interactions as he could. Still, the offer for assistance was interesting. Keene had only ever worked with a single other individual, one who often controlled the nature of their join endeavors with a steel grip. He'd never been given the opportunity to experience a relationship in which both participants had equal footing, which, as novel as the idea was, made it difficult for him to make any sort of decision.

He stared back at Matthew for a time, considering the best course of action. He wanted the other man to want to keep his secret as much as he did, however instilling one's own beliefs and fears into another was something he was entirely incapable of. The best he could hope for was for Matthew to see the logic in keeping the even to himself. He couldn't decided if profit would have to do anything with the man's decision, but he supposed it was best to attempt to win him over with overwhelming positives than to pick at him until he conceded. "I would ask a favor, if I may." Keene inclined his head slightly as he continued. "You say you have been following me for a time. I would trade whatever services I can provide you in exchange that what you have seen remains with you and you alone." He did not assume there was anything inherently interesting about him beyond his trackable behaviors. If that had been the case, he was almost certain Matthew would have pointed them out. Still, he wanted to make very clear that he had every intention to prove an asset that was best kept as such, and by clearly outlining the even in which his assistance would be lost, he hoped it would serve a tentative contract between them.

It was possible there was something Matthew had thought of, which had prompted his proposition, and Keene addressed it then. "Has a medical student need of a healthy subject?" He was not fond of touch, but he had little issue with almost any other sensation. There was little he knew of medicine or illnesses, but it was a start. "I can think of little else I could offer you. My own practice has ended for the day, I think. At the very least, I can accompany you back into the city when you are ready." And with that, Keene let the decision fall to dark haired man before him. He was hardly sure he had chosen the correct or even most efficient route, but it had been done and there was little adjusting his trajectory now. He had little use for Matthew, and in honesty, he imagined Matthew had little use for him. However, if he could simply snag just a tinge of the man's interest, it was far better than parting as neutrally as they'd met. Interest often held the tongues of those involved, whether by respect or the hope that something even more interesting would present itself.

[Matthew]

Matthew didn't know it yet, but at the core, the two of them were seemingly very similar. There was one key difference though, and that single core variable was most likely what had caused the two of them to evolve into two seperate things that were actually very unique. One of them had discarded emotion for knowledge. The other had discarded emotion for power.

While he was not aware of the core philosophy behind their individual evolutions, he was still slowly picking out details and forming a more detailed mental archive of the man. Oddly enough, Matthew didn't use his Auristics for this, though it would certainly make it easier. He certainly kept the aura brightly burning in his sight, but that was due to a simple desire to practice mundane use of the art until he could hopefully use the most basic concepts of it near-instinctively. Luckily, Keene's aura was perfect for this. It was unwavering, unchanging. For most of the details though, Matthew merely used his mind. He plucked words out of the man and painted them over Keene's body, feeling that the situation demanded full use of his calculating mind. Perhaps it was because he was starting to understand the reason for that familar feeling. He absentmindedly chewed at the flower, finding it faintly interesting that the numbing sensation hadn't spread. It must have a very limited supply of whatever it was that had made the inside of his cheek go numb. He swallowed, refocusing his thoughts on the present.

Polite. Specifically so. Not out of a belief that politeness is truly polite. It is practiced, as is mine. Secretive. He wanted his art to remain hidden. Ah. He was worried of blackmail.

More pieces clicked into place, missing pages added to the binding of Keene's book.

At the offer to assist Matthew with something of his choosing, the young student slowly nodded, reaching back into his cloak to pull forth another small slip of paper. Unfurling it, he glanced his bright eyes down to the font. "I do have some projects that I could use assistance with when it comes to learning them. Cooking, seduction training, dancing practice, swimming, and childcare." It was obviously a rather vast range of completely different subjects that he was apparently working on. He pondered over the words for a few ticks longer and then slowly glanced back up to Keene, making eye contact again as he came to what he felt was the appropriate choice.

"There is a dance of sorts going on at a mansion in Zeltiva. I am interesting in dancing, but I am not actually that interested in the social aspect surrounding it. However, I do not fully understand a lot of what these aspects are. I need to study these things in order to be able to integrate myself with them, at the very least. Sometimes it can be difficult in my academic pursuits when I cannot socialize correctly." He motioned for Keene to follow, starting back towards Zeltiva and then pausing mid-step. He turned and waited for Keene to take the lead, assuming that the Reimancy student knew the best way to get back to the seaside city. If Keene did so, Matthew would carefully follow, keeping a close watch on Keene. "I would like for you to be my partner to the dance. Perhaps you can benefit as well."

There was another brief bout of silence before Matthew softly spoke again. "I feel you are very intelligent. Are you? You are like me, in a sense. You understand that a lot of these social nuances of other people are logically a waste of time. What about emotion? Do you understand it? Do you understand why people get angry when anger is useless? It promotes lack of control. Mistakes. It wastes energy. As a medical student, I marvel at the miracle of what an amazing thing a body is. However, I also feel that emotion is the flaw. The one flaw that hinders perfection." His voice remained apathetic and calm, even as he spoke such intense words with an incredibly casual air. "I might ask more favors of you at some point, if you would be willing, and if you can find a proper way for me to return the favor in kind. I am brilliant, Keene." He didn't state it in an arrogant way, or with a single note of pride in his voice. Why would he be prideful at something that had been randomly determined by Lhex? "Someone else with equal or greater intellect is capable of bettering me in ways that others cannot."

[Keene Ward]

When Matthew removed the paper from his pocket, Keene raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure whether to be impressed by Matthew's organizational planning given physical form, or to find the entire thing odd that such a seemingly sharp man required the use of lists to remember what it was he wanted to accomplish. It was a strange list, though strange only in the sense that none of the actvities seemed to be related. Keene could see the practical applications of each and merit of mastery, though what they might all be used for towards some end was a mystery to him. He kept a curious stare upon the beautiful young man, eyes subtly searching for any indication that the list was required or merely an unnecessary reminder but finding few clues. Whatever the case, Matthew seemed to make a decision, the piercing crystalline gaze locking with Keene's own subdued grey.

The request was certainly unexpected. Keene imagined few people looked at him with the idea that he was an individual light on his feet and fit for the rhythmic, swaying display of a dancer. Fortunately, it seemed Mathew wished for his company more as a way to better understand the social intricacies of the party rather than the dance itself. It was a logical enough request, and as Keene followed behind Matthew, listening with interest enough, he found little reason to decline - not that he had ever really considered declining in the first place. If going to a party was something he needed to do for Matthew to find him useful enough, Keene had no objections. There were a few reservations as he considered the fact that he'd been few places in his life outside of the library and his own home, as well as the fact that he was hardly suited for the upper crust of Zeltiva. There were social rules and customs among the rich that he'd only observed in passing. He knew next to nothing when it came to socializing with them - as Matthew had already revealed that he was hardly the average.

Taking the lead as they descended over the ledge, Keene nodded at both the request and the suggestion it might be useful for him as well. Human interaction, while perhaps not the penultimate subject, was something that was rarely disinteresting to study. An entirely new subset of society was certainly more than simply intriguing, and Keene found that while he would undoubtedly fit poorly into the gentry, the experience would be enough of a learning opportunity that it was of little consequence. After his quiescent acceptance of the request, they walked in silence for a time, each to his own thoughts.

Keene had little idea what a "dance of sorts" even entailed. He supposed the obvious answer would be "dancing" and Matthew had seemed to think that there would be plenty of opportunities to interact with those attending. Beyond that, it was all baseless speculation. He imagined his clothes weren't going to acceptable. The rich in Zeltiva were, for the most part, identifiable not only by their posture and air, but by the clothes and jewelry they wore as a symbol of their status. He imagined he'd need to find a way to get an outfit that wouldn't put him so far out of place that the dancers would think him a distraction rather than just another face. Attention was hardly a useful thing to garner when one's goal was to observe. Having only ever had his clothes given to him by Mella when she deemed his current ones too small, Keene had little idea where to get the new clothes. He assumed that they wouldn't be too difficult to find, but he imagined that they wouldn't be cheap. Still, it was better to blend for a price.

When Matthew spoke again, Keene slowed his pace, falling just shy of moving side by side as they maneuvered their way through the forest. He found Matthew fascinating. Not only was the man direct, but he presented his thoughts in an orderly fashion. It was much like listening to a particularly sensible part of his own inner monologue, and as they moved, Keene remained quiet until Matthew had finished, expectancy in the air of his body rather than in the disinterested tone of his voice. It was, in a sense, the way a conversation was meant to flow: no foolish subjective interpretations of unintended emotion, no honey-coated frivolities, no ulterior motives. It was communication for the sake of communicating.

His own voice lacked Matthew's apathy, instead it was merely a soft, even tone, slightly more interested in meter. "I am not unintelligent." Unlike Matthew, Keene's factual representation of himself was skewed by Mella's instructions. Still, while he wasn't certain of how intelligence he was, Keene was fully aware that he was no of the common mind of many of those within his cohort. Matthew, however, seemed to be different; whether that meant he was more or less intelligent, Keene found little reason in pursuing. "I believe emotion is a hindrance, yes." He shook his head after that, a small frown on his lips. "But I do not understand it." Keene decided to take his explanation a small step forward to offer Matthew a slightly larger picture of his own understandings as he had done for him. "I don't believe it is the sole factor in keeping man from perfection." His eyes stayed fixed ahead, more-so out of desire to keep to the proper path than to avoid contact with Matthew. "Humans are too variable to achieve something so quintessential. You and I, even with minimal emotion," He turned to give the man a short, blank stare. "Are hardly flawless."

While he didn't continue with the thought, Keene found Matthew's philosophy not of his same mind, though it was similar enough. Emotions weren't required to gain power and knowledge. They were obstacles to overcome, but so too was one's own body. The body was weak were the spirit could be strong, and perfection was something far too out of reach for Keene to even consider. Power was graspable; perfection was little more than dream. If that was what Matthew sought, however, Keene had a niggling of the irrational feeling that the man might actually be able to achieve it. How, however, was an entirely different matter.

In response to Matthew's foresight, Keene nodded. "I am certainly willing." The crunch of their boots against the woody layers of the underbrush sounded as a muffled background to the analytical conversation. "And as to whether I can match your brilliance or not-" He gave a shrug. "I suppose we'll find out."

[Matthew]

Matthew's head turned, a single eyebrow raising just a slight bit, the biggest show of slight confusion that Keene would perhaps ever see on the student. "Is that a method of avoiding my question, even though you seemed to provide a direct answer? Or are you simply unsure of your own intellect, but sure enough to know that it certainly isn't lacking?" He paused, listening to Keene's next words, and would eventually offer a slow nod in response. "I feel you are correct. Perfection is a very strong word to use. I was mistaken." Matthew was perhaps unique in how pliable he was. He certainly had strong opinions that were almost completely based on pure logic. However, it was that same logic that allowed someone to confront Matthew with an opinion different than his own, and in the end sway Matthew to their side. If their opinion was more logically sound, then it was simply correct. "I do feel I am more flawed than most, however. I still feel, yet I do not understand it. I do believe I feel less, but the emotion is still there. Sometimes I wonder if this makes me operate with less effectiveness than someone who comes to understand it, and through that understanding learns to cope with it." Cope was an interesting choice of words, but could easily be used to get a better understanding of just how Matthew felt about the vast array of emotions that he was apparently so distanced from.

He walked in silence for a short moment, boots crunching in time with Keene. If the young adult was so unaware of his own intellect, then perhaps Matthew could find a way to judge it. What was the best way to do such a thing, though? Intellect was a term that had quite a few assumed meanings behind it. It could be considered capacity for any number of things, such as logic, understanding, learning, memory, planning, and problem-solving. He had no true way to judge it in such a short amount of time.

Perhaps he could get an inkling of an idea though.

"Keene, do you know how to play chess?" Matthew's pace slowed just a step, blue eyes growing briefly distant as he formed a mental image of the board in the air before them. 64 squares assigned in a 8-by-8 grid pattern, each square colored in a checkered pattern. 16 pieces that included an array of different rules that were unique to the movement of each piece. It was an interesting game, one that Matthew wasn't that incredibly amazing at. However, he could make this game unique enough to be something of a test.

"Let's play a quick game of mental chess. I do it by visualizing a chess board with all of the required pieces and updating that image as we verbally call out our moves. I assign the letters A through H to the squares on the horizontal side of the board, with numbers 1 through 8 to the vertical side. You would do the same, but from your side of the board instead of mine. This is how we will identify the square to which a piece is moving." With an imagined wave of his hand, white and black pieces both appeared on the imaginary board that he had created for the two of them to play on as they walked.

"White pawn to E4." He simply assumed Keene would be able to follow along. If not, there would certainly be no shame in admitting it. It also didn't disqualify him from being an intelligent person. It would just show he was perhaps not specially gifted in the memorization aspects of intelligence. "What other factors do you believe keep man from perfection?"

Chess game found here.

[Keene Ward]

"The latter, I suppose. There's little reason for humility." He believed he was what he was. Having had few interactions with other people, Keene imagined each had their strengths and weaknesses of both mind and body. There was no one particular paragon of intelligence or any other such body among the mortal races. Thus, Keene was quite easily able to state he wasn't unintelligent. Beyond that, however, he imagined there were far too many variables and subjective qualifiers to say much more than that. In comparison to Matthew, Keene had no idea. They had only known each other for the past thirty or so chimes; hardly a length of time to make any sort of accurate judgments of something so abstract as "intelligence". Still, Keene nodded at Matthew's amendment. Man could be very good at something, or even all things, but man could never be truly perfect. It was a strange sort of paradox that seemed to be sought by more than simply Matthew. The books on higher thinking and lengthy discussions on the nature of life in the form of journaled narratives had all had at least a hint of that journey: the quest for perfection. Keene thought it wholly futile to seek out such a thing, rather it was better to grasp power or strength or something that could be trained and actually achieved.

Matthew's take on his own perceived flaws was certainly interesting. They spoke as they walked, making looking backwards at his new acquaintance more bother than it was worth, so his face remained stoic, no need to move with no one to see it. Where the other man felt less but did not understand, Keene felt more and was fully aware that those feelings were unnecessary and distracting. Perhaps it was because Matthew did not understand that he wanted to, but what little emotions Keene had sorted through, he did not like nor care enough to delve into them further. "Emotions are more trouble than they're worth." Though stated as fact, it was not intended as such. Keene shared opinions and facts alike, as to him, they were of a similar kin. "The emotional seem less for it: messier, wilder, unpredictable." None of those things seemed to be commonplace for the analytical, self-proclaimed genius behind him, and there was no indication that they ever might be. "A split mind would inhibit function in anyone, whether it be grasping for understanding of emotion or allowing it to control you." Keene shrugged. "It seems only a hindrance."

He did not, however, discount Matthew's interest. Emotions were what they were, and if another wanted to understand them, it was no longer a waste of time for the interested individual. Matthew seemed to mull over what had been said, falling into a silence that Keene was content to maintain for however long the other man preferred. He was used to silence, to quiet. Mella shouted, yes, but it was only when she spoke, and often she did not. He had grown up in silence and solitude, an environment conducive to learning and growth, or so he had been told. The steady crunch of the natural debris of the forest floor mingled with the subtle creak of the branches above that were lightly subjugated to the summer's sea breeze. Had Keene been one to note beauty over detail, he would have found a pleasant day with pleasant company. In his meticulously and calculating mind, however, Keene simply focused on the various arbitrary landmarks that led the way back to the city.

When Matthew spoke again, it broke the silence with an easy obtrusion. Keene nodded, turning his face to raise a brow as Matthew took a tick to fall back into step behind him. He had learned the "game" as a child, and it had always been something of a challenge for him. It wasn't necessarily the arbitrarily assigned movements of the pieces, but rather the manner in which it was played. Chess was a game of thought, a type of thinking that Keene was barely trained in. Anticipation of another moves, knowing the thoughts before they were even thought of... These were predilect abilities that he had yet to fully grasp, let alone master. He found the question a bit odd, however, as there seemed to be little precedent for it. Before he could inquire as to why Matthew might wonder at Keene's ability to meld logic and tactics onto a field of sixty-four squares, the explanation was given to him.

The visual representation Matthew spoke of was unimportant as far as Keene was concerned. He had played the game many, many times, and every point at which the pieces might land was neatly cataloged in the annals of his extensive - though selective - memory. The matters of the numbers and letters to name spaces was a bit more challenging, but Keene internalized both the horizontal and vertical vocabularies with a terse nod. Matthew called the first move, a quick blink and Keene's mind revisited slender fingers moving the mentioned piece to its proper place. The statement was followed by a question, making it a mental game on several fronts. As far as multitasking was concerned, Keene was hardly the poster child for it. Storing the question away during the ticks it took for him to consider his own move, Keene ran through the myriad of options available to him. Until he knew more about what Matthew was planning, Keene decided it was best to halt the advancement of his pieces and to free two of his more mobile pieces. Options were, in a sense, power. "Black pawn to E5."

All in all, it had taken him about a half-chime. The question was the then addressed, Keene's soft, cool voice carrying little authority but steady in its neutrality. "Mortality." He moved at a slower pace, partially due to Matthew's own adjustments as well as the fact that thinking required part of the concentration it took to walk much faster without tripping. He didn't expound on the thought, instead he listed off several more of the more prevalent hindrances he believed to inhibit the foolish desire for perfection. "Vanity. Insanity. Love." Each was listed with little more emphasis than the last. "The nature of knowledge." Keene shrugged after that. There were many things he could add to the list as it was hardly comprehensive, but he imagined Matthew had dialogue in mind, and too many points of subject made a discussion more mess than use. In the back of his mind still hovered a memory of a past game, two pawns extended from the safety of their ranks, locked in silent stare.

[Matthew]

Matthew didn't take any longer than a tick to ponder his move, but at some point during that single tick he apparently decided to become very open with his strategy. "I will play defensively. Knight to C3." Or perhaps he was just throwing an extra twist into the game. Whatever the case, Matthew just continued on, taking a slow but steady pace through the trees that they were weaving through. In reality, he was simply curious to discover a few different things about his new companion. He was wondering if it was possible to discover those things through a simple imaginary game of chess. If logic was the one thing Matthew let guide him, would he perhaps come to better understand someone through viewing how their very own logic worked? Blue eyes glinting with thought, Matthew ducked beneath a branch that was in his way, only to quickly hop over a fallen limb that he encountered just a few steps after.

Listening to Keene's response to the rather open-ended question, Matthew slowly nodded, responding in his own soft tone that neither man seemed to realize was eerily similiar to Keene's own. "I see. Even though these things could be a hinderance, do you find yourself wishing to indulge in the ones that most consider positive emotion as opposed to negative? If one was to feel an urge for one of these things, would it not split their mind if they attempt to resist such urges on the basis that those urges are more trouble than they are worth?"

The student paused to allow Keene a moment to respond or choose not to respond, then continued on. However, when he spoke again, Matthew had changed topics entirely. If Keene believed that too many topics of conversation could turn the conversation into a mess, then things were about to get messy. "The most common type of dancing that I have encountered at these parties is something they refer to as ballroom dance. From what I understand, this does not actually require a ballroom. It actually seems to encompass many simple dances that consist of two partners, making it a rather broad term. There may be a more precise definition that I am not aware of, but unless you feel we should research it at the University Library, then we will operate off of that definition."

Then, without turning his head to look at Keene and without changing tone, Matthew casually held out a single hand with slender fingers extended as if he was making the most casual offer in the world. Did he mean to actually start practicing here and now, while discussing human perfection and also playing a game of mental chess?

"I only know a very simple dances, so we will go over the simplest and slowest one I know. I believe that will suffice." Apparently he did.