Closed Teach an old wolf new tricks

[Fallon]

21st Winter 514 AV
Noon

It was with a quick sweep of the gaze back and forward along the corridor, before Fallon slunk back into her box room of a quarter, and left the door ajar. Her eyes gave a blink at the wall opposite, bare hands exposed to the air as she looked upon it. She could hardly think, the previous days continuing to swirl within her head and leaving her with the impending what if. Trouble seemed to exist around every corner, waiting to slink out and grasp tightly upon her. And whatever form it came in, she was certain it would throttle the very light out of her. She shook her head stretching out a leg so her foot pressed against the opposite wall. Her head knocked back against the stone, and a low sigh escaped.

There was nothing to worry about? There was no danger? Inhaling she slowed her turbulent mind, bringing her hands together to inspect the finger tips and the sensitive skin where nails once more grew. The issue with the Island was the lack of life, there was no thrums of crowds, no gossiping women within a tavern. It was barren, absent of what made a city so, and whilst she could dive into a book it would only last so long. Fallon pinched her brow, and listened once more to the silence. No, now would be the time for reflection, study and practice she reasoned within the silence. There would be little disturbance here, and it was not like she could manage the Scars - the majority of them was left behind in Sunberth.

Slumping, she looked down to the kukri she had placed to the floor, and then onwards to the discarded coat and armour; nothing had happened of late, the world had become lulled, and the warrior dipped to the other side. Magic. And so, she exhaled, and surrendered to the other mindset. For a moment she reached down and plucked upon her astral, feeling the strings that existed beneath her skin. The weave that granted her movement. But she paused, her gaze lowering to the scarred palms of her hands and her other magic - raw and unpractised, the potential behind it still unknown to her. Reimancy was something she had barely brushed upon, an mostly unknown thing from the few smatterings of samples she had seen over the years.

Focusing herself she begun the slow process dragging forth res. Her mind felt the flowing, the dribble of djed as it was forced into doing something that was not normal. It flowed, draining into her palms as she focused, her eyes staring intently down to the faint scars that ran along the skin, the orbs focusing along the veins and the dancing colours that existed there. It was numbing, the surface shivering as she dipped and pulled mentally. Her hands came together, an inhale as the palms pressed and turned - the skin rubbing with friction. A swallow, the brow furrowed the tendons tensing as she slowly pulled the hands away. A thick, sticky residue came with it, fine barely made strands stretching across the gap between. There was a slow sigh as she begun the second process of her focus, visualising it coming together in a droplet, peeling and itching away as it drained down into a globule upon her left. She waved her free hand away and dipped into focus once more, focusing on letting the droplet rise an inch or so from her palm. She thought of fire. Of the crackling burn, of the outer edge rippling into flame. Of smoke. Of heat. Ignition. Her teeth ground together, and a hiss escaped from her lips, "Vak-nui."

Nothing happened apart from the hovering. Clearing her throat she stared deeper, blocking out the world as she thought upon the colour, the smouldering associated with the desired element. Another attempt to prompt it with a word groaned forth, "Vaknui. Ignite. Fire. Flame. Boom." Nothing. She groaned, lids narrowing down as she pointed her other finger at it as if to scowl it, "Behave already. Va-k-nui."

[Keene Ward]

Keene moved slowly through the vestibule. His legs were weary from the morning's journey, and his breath came in tired gusts moving in and out. The journey to the cave to retrieve his things for the time being had been much longer than he remembered. The way back had been shorter, but the exertion it had required had been more than enough to slow him down for the next couple bells. Upon his return to the caverns, Atziri had informed him he was to keep an eye on the group of pulsers known as the "Scars". He'd spend the majority of a day with two of them, and they seemed strong enough (and smart enough) to take care of themselves. He supposed the main reason was to make sure the trouble they caused was minimal at best. Keene, having still a relatively limited knowledge of the island and its workings, supposed he would do his best to keep them in line where he knew he had jurisdiction. That area was almost entirely limited to the mountain, however, which meant he was content to simply follow them around, learn what he could, and let them do as they pleased. If Atziri had wanted him to act as anything more than an observer, she would have said so. While she liked to play word games with training, when it came to his tasks she was very succinct about what it was she expected. Stopping them from doing something had not been part of his orders.

As he made his way out into the courtyard, the heat brushing up against his sticky skin like the wet breath of some yawning animal, he wiped a few drops from his brow, flicking it to the ground. The swirling mists of the courtyard played at his booted feet, his sandals and all his clothes along with a fair amount of food all sat snuggly in the pack on his back. He continued on his way, the gentle hisses and whispers of the mists that danced about ignored. The weight of the pack had set in about a bell back, and Keene just wanted to get to his destination and relieve himself of the burden. He still kept to the path, his run in with the spectral side of existence still more than enough to pull him away from reenacting it, even subconsciously. The courtyard had a bit more activity than it usually did, figures shuffled around in the concealing fog, presumably still reconstituting whatever system had been used to alert the entire island of the danger before.

Leaning into the heavy doors to the Quarters, Keene used the short moment between the initial contact and the gradual shift in weight to rest for a tick before slipping through, shutting them behind him. He adjusted the vambrace on his left arm, itching his wrist where the leather pressed against it. The chill of the stone hallway was quick to latch onto the thin sheen of sweat that covered his skin. Wiping a few drips from his forehead, Keene plodded onwards. He'd found that over the course of his time on Sahova, he'd gained a bit of muscle mass, mostly in his legs. It was, no doubt, from the bells spent climbing and descending the face of the mountain, paired with his much more reserved diet. In fact, he was almost certain he'd lost weight since he'd arrived - a feat he found slightly disconcerting as he was already a bit on the skinny side to begin with. Still, food was a commodity on the island. There were few ships that brought with them edibles, and the daily rations (at least in the citadel) were extremely limited. Having the luxury of staying with Atziri, both he had she had two square meals a day with however many snacks he could forage up.

In the Quarters, however, he had been consigned once more to what food he brought and the meager amount he was given. He'd still had yet to find Boswell, and the few he'd asked had never even heard of the hunter. Thomas too had been as elusive as ever, and that simply meant no late night feasts. It was disappointing, and though Keene didn't admit it, the apparent disappearance of Boswell had him worried. It had been nearly a season since he'd last heard from him. Having more time in the citadel, Keene had decided when he wasn't accompanying the Scars (or even when he was), he'd be keeping an eye out for the mousy individual. Risabel's face flashed through his thoughts for a moment, but Keene pushed it away for the time being. He could only focus on one crazy Sahovan at a time. As his feet tapped against the stone stairs, he heard a familiar voice echoing down from the halls above. The chance to discern where the Scars were staying without having to ask the smattering of denizens for what he imaged would be a bell's worth of time was enough for him to pick up his speed despite the repudiation offered by the fatigued muscles in his legs.

Pulling himself through the opening to the hall where the voice rang most clear, Keene immediately spotted the door that had been left ajar. The rest of the portals were closed, silent and cold like the stone around them. Taking his time then, as there was no point in running to his destination with his now wobbling legs, Keene shuffled his way to the door. He moved to knock, but his clumsy footing managed to kick the door before his hand could properly extend, and instead his hand passed through air as the room within was revealed. Ms. Redwulf sat with her back against the wall, a small glowing ball of greenish res floating a small distance above her palm while she growled at it in a manner similar to what her title might imply. It wasn't what he had expected to find upon his accidental entry, but it was what he was presented with nonetheless. Blinking a few times, Keene tilted forward, stumbling another step into the room from the weight of the pack before straightening up and speaking in a more breathy incarnation of his typically cold manner of speech. "You're a reimancer?"

The words came quickly and without much thought. As he took the time to consider the situation as the question lingered in the air, Keene shook his head, pulling in a breath to still the small pant that had developed upon rushing up the stairs. "Ah, apologies for the intrusion. I was sent to watch you." He supposed the mission statement was a bit more important for the time being. Blinking, he amended his previous statement. "To watch the Scars, that is." He slumped against the door frame, shaking his head. "It was a long walk, again, apologies for my..." He made a vague gesture with his right hand, the scars on his palm glinting against the torchlight as he let it circle a few times. He wasn't really sure what to call his state of blunder, so he just left it at the gesture. He was almost certain the woman would know exactly what he was referring to.

[Fallon]

A suck in of the air, her eyes peered down onto it as she let her mind almost consume with the simple process of ignition. And it was failing miserably. Even as she forced the slow word of Nader out, did it refuse to do as she desire. Her brow met in the middle, unaware of the approaching watcher or the one who came closer by the passing tick to the door. The finger tip circled round it, a faint rippling as it was mildly drawn to the extended digit and then once more fell into its position of hovering. Clicking her tongue she shook her head, the nudging of disappointment bordering upon her mind as she tried once more. It fell once more as a singular word, becoming a statement over an actual trigger, "Vak-nui. Stupid little..."

She repeated herself, her right hand pulling back, thumb and forefinger coming together. A deep inhale, a last attempt at making it do as she wished. Her focus, the simple doing of what appeared to be right in this scenario. Instinctive over the pure force, the echoing of that allowing it was the best option. Her lips parted, an inhale, "Vaknui."

Her fingers clicked simultaneously, a her eyes wincing as the edge of the res rippled and in a flash smothered into flame. It was the voice however, that snapped her attention away. The control of the magic was lost, her eyes widening as she looked up almost in terror to the sudden approaching of the other. A hissing splutter, the flame burned out and it was with a mighty crack the right hand came slapping down over where it once existed - catching the remaining hot hair in her grasp and leaving only a tingling of residue upon her senses. Jaw tightening, the adrenal quickened - the eyes flickering up and down. How much had he seen? Was he a danger? Was he going to say something? There was the glance down to the kukri then, a flicker of consideration within her gaze. She could kill him, he was a stranger after all, right? No one on this island would miss him and no one would no?

Fallon looked back up at him, and cursed herself internally. He was the warden from that time - Keene if she remembered correctly. That meant he had ties to the island and the people, and that meant she could not just have him disappear. Her lip twitched, the silence continuing to exist there as he spoke, breathless as if he had only just arrive. Perhaps he did not see much? Perhaps she could talk it off as a figment of his imagination? Though, if he was a warden, that meant he had to be sharp. Her brow levelled, the gaze slowly easing as it eased off and looked down the rest of him and inevitably to his feet. Clearing her throat, she brought forth the rough accent associated with the persona of Bitzer and spoke.

"I see," she sighed, looking up to the gesture, "I never knew the wardens were sent as babysitters. I take it you have... your things to stay with us for a while." A chew upon the lip, she turned her head away and back down to the still closed hands. She pulled them away, and glanced into the flesh between to find then empty. Wiping her hands upon her trousers she spoke up, "Breathe, catch your breath. It is not like we Scars can exactly go anywhere. Least, not without those... rings? Whatever it is they do."

"Keene is it not?" Her gaze sharpened, targeting and precise as it once more fell upon him. The neutral expression crawled in, solidifying as she composed herself, "Relax yourself. It will do you good. Lets you take things in for what they are and how they appear. So let us see if you are as sharp as your name sake," Her lips peeled back, a flash of a wolfish smile before once more if fell behind that wall. But she did not rise, there was no need to - least not yet. Her hand took up the discarded kukri, a brief weighing of it in her hands, "I am many things. Lots of things. A different mask for every occasion," the weapon was slipped away within its sheath, "Many layers, may parts of a greater whole. Speak like a tutor, dress like a fighter and think like a scholar, but I am none." She claimed the gloves after that, picking them up and tugging them on once more to cover the marks upon her hands - gnosis and all.

"So, I shall let you decide what I am on that regard," Her eyes narrowed, "I just hope you will display some tact and not share certain findings with others. More so my companions, they are rather... sensitive to people who practice certain arts or have particular abilities. If you get my meaning," With a shrug she gave a testing tap of the things around her, slowly readying herself to rise if need be, "But, you are not here to listen to me talk. What does the young warden want of the Scars? Apart from keeping an eye on them? How may Bitzer the Red Wolf assist you this day?"

[Keene Ward]

The woman's aggression, as quickly as it flared up, subsided the moment recognition flashed through her eyes. He didn't fault her for it, after all he had been the one to clumsily barge into her chambers, even if the door had been left ajar. He let her gather herself, the flustered adjustment taking little time to slide behind whatever mask it was she donned with an ease Keene could only attribute to years of practice. It was a completely transformation, the specks of fear, frustration, anger, all fading behind the easy and commanding gaze that replaced them. A small shiver ran down Keene's spine at the realization that the woman before him, while perhaps not the most impressive reimancer he had ever seen, was not someone to be taken lightly. By the very manner of her quick adaptation to a startling situation (something he was still recovering from), it was apparent that she was the sort of individual who could refuse fate on will alone. It was an ability Keene had found that majority of the sentient races lacked, and something he certainly could learn from.

He kept quiet, letting her both explain herself and process the small amount of information he'd given her. While she called him a "babysitter", Keene found the term a bit silly. None of the Scars were children - though perhaps the acted as such? - and Keene doubted any of them would be spending much time sitting around. They had come to the island for a purpose; everyone came to the island for a purpose. There was more than enough to keep them occupied, and Keene thought of himself more as a shadow than anything else in regards to the group. His self-image, however, immediately shifted to burden for the time being with the information Bitzer gave him. She was not elated, and neither was he. However, he seemed to find the group more interesting than their leader found him; it was something he was going to have to address in the near future. He had no intention of causing the group any problems through ineptitude, but the best way to show that intention was through action, not word. She also seemed to think her group confined. With his brace, Keene had access to the majority of the island, and it seemed to be another reason he'd been sent to join them for the time being. He could gain them access to locations, assuming they had a good reason to be there. For the time being, however, he kept his focus on the woman's gruff words.

Despite her location on the floor, she still had a commanding aura about her that demanded he listen with nothing more than the simple act of speech. She seemed to misunderstand his current state and misinterpret the cause of his apologies. Still, he was relieved to find she was not nearly as outwardly upset as she had the right to be. Her riddles, however, were received with a pensive frown. The joke about his name went over his head in a clean arc. He'd been named, for all that he was aware, arbitrarily. There was no meaning beyond that it was a representation of who he was. Redwulf, however, was not nearly as linear as he believed himself to be. Where he presented himself in a way similar to an arrow, tip pointed and apparent carrying behind it a shadowy shaft, it seemed she was much more similar to a storm, unpredictable and filled with innumerable potentialities. He found it made him uneasy; she made him uneasy. Masks, layers, subjective interpretations... She displayed the myriad of guises that humanity clung to all in one. She was not merely a woman to be wary of, she was a woman to be feared. Not so much because she was frightening or powerful or deadly, but because she could be. There was nothing to keep her from what she wasn't because she simply was.

When she spoke of the nature of secrecy that seemed to stand hand in hand with magic, Keene nodded his head, his grey eyes pulsing with a knowledge that only those who carried with them the burden of silence could display. Sahova may have been almost welcoming to the idea of magic, but elsewhere it was not nearly as accepted. He had seen the trident wielding man's reactions to his abilities, and he was full aware that those not of the island did not share its ways. He was only just beginning to learn them, and the freedom - for magic, at least - was by far the most refreshing thing about Sahova. His silence implied in regards to Bitzer's abilities, Keene removed the pack from his shoulders, letting it land with a thud at his feet. He remained in the doorway, his breath having returned enough that he didn't feel the need to continue leaning on it, but remaining outside of the room having yet to have an invitation to join the seated woman. "Perhaps I have more parts to my own whole than I'd like to admit, but Warden is not one of them." He shook his head. "I am only an initiate for the time being." Deciding to avoid the subject of what he thought of her, Keene continued, his cool tones no longer breathless, instead they flowed steady, though there was a tinge of a more respectful lowering of volume he often used when speaking to his own master. "My time is yours." He gave her a curious raise of the brow. "Utilize me as you would, I have no requests of your time other than that you are aware of the situation we've been placed in."

[Fallon]

It appeared as if Keene at first had frozen in his own state of thought, locked up deep within a stilled frame and leaving the thoughts to buzz wildly inside. His voice seemed to have escaped him as she spoke, crumpled whilst the analysis shot between them in a spark. She reined back the rough persona, inhaling deeply and rocking forward from her sat spot - the rest of the room was a small mess belongings simply having been discarded in the small floor space that was available to her. There was the smallest of frowns, a flicker over to her own bag and the few contents that spilled out from it and how she would have kept it tidier had she known there would be a visitor. She pushed her journal closer to the bag with her toes and begun the process of strapping the kukri around her waist - her precious old familiar.

He did however give a nod of understanding to her words, the unloading of doubt as he brought his own belongings to the floor. There was a flicker of interest to it, a momentary pause as she considered why it was here - until her mind concluded he was probably taking up residence in the citadel proper to keep a better eye on them. Close at hand should an emergency arise or they suddenly needed the assistance of one more in keeping with the island. She shuffled away from the door, rearranging herself as she moved and proceeded let her fingers pat out a steady rhythm upon her knee.

"I am glad you understand. Come, do not stand to attention on my regard, such formalities can become awfully dry quickly, don't you think?" she gestured her hand into the room, "Welcome to my quarters, do make yourself at home if you can fit." Her attention shifted after that, once down to the hands and the sticky residue clinging to the insides of her glove. Despite the irritation, she did not remove them, there was no need to, "Not a warden but an initiate... so you work towards becoming one then? Like an apprentice with the master. How curious. Warden yet not a warden. An initiate."

"I met another warden, once, briefly, the last time I graced the island. Tall fellow, looked Myrian, though I could not tell in the low light however," she shook her head and pushed the thought away, and met the raise of the brow, "Utilize me as you would... You may regret those words," her head inclined to one side, her words slowly drifting off, "I could think of many uses, not all of them particularly nice..." Bringing herself back from her trailing, she looked at him from beneath her brow with a flicker of amusement, "So you roam the testing grounds, sounds much more interesting than being cooped up in this cage of stone. And less stale." Her fingers drew idle circles, swirling out as the pent up urge to resist questioning knocked upon her mental door, "I take it wardens would have to display particular talents and skills? I wonder what exactly, I doubt the mundane skills are all that are required," She licked her lips, "for abomination hunting, experiments that have gone wrong," her back gave an angry twitch, scars burning across her skin before finally easing off, "Allow me to have some freedom of imagination there, but that is what you do. Bravely going into dens... clearly unarmed. Least, not with physical weaponry. I do wonder..." She gave a wicked grin, and fell back into her idle musings. It was fun in its own way, least until her mine fell back to what he had seen. Her voice darkened for a moment, "So, how much did you actually see?"

[Keene Ward]

Bitzer, after listening to what he had to say, employed a strange, shuffling moment as she changed locations to allow him entrance. He stared blankly at her as she scooted around, the reasons behind not rising to take the few steps to get to the other side of the room beyond him. She invited him into the meager excuse for a room, musing on his status as he set the back out of the door's way and eased himself down beside it. She seemed to find his apprenticeship more interesting than he did, though he had never really bothered with titles until Sahova, he had been called "Initiate" enough times to know there was a strict difference in status from Warden. Bitzer, however, continued on, revealing she was not quite the visitor Keene had thought her to be. She'd been on the island before, and met a Warden no less. While Keene had been acquainted with the majority of the initiates (the twins that Kinapak had mentioned aside), he'd yet to meet any of the other Wardens. Thus, he had no confirming or invalidating to statements to make of the potential Myrian Warden - the descriptor not entirely helpful as he assumed it to be a race, just one he was not familiar with.

At the mention of regret, Keene merely raised a brow. There was little in his life he had time to regret. A social nicety and practical invitation extended towards the woman to make use of him hardly seemed as something worth wasting worry upon. Perhaps outside of the island of the sleepless she might have been right; however, the nuits possessed the abilities to do things much worse than anything he could imagine the leader of the Scars to whip up for him. That, of course, didn't necessarily mean the tasks she was referring to as she grinned slyly at him were light and happy. Merely, there were worse things he could think of, even when presented with uncomfortable shift her gaze drew out. He kept his face calm, however, uncomfortable but not to the point where he couldn't control it.

Her next round of observations, statements, and questions revolved around what he'd been spending most of his time doing the past season. She seemed to know quite a bit more about the Wardens than one would expect from a visitor, though he supposed she had admitted to being on the island before. The Warden she met was most likely one of her main sources for the information she now quizzed him about. She seemed entirely interested in it, as if the "cage of stone" had made her all the more hungry from tales outside them. Keene couldn't decide if she wanted an answer about his magical capabilities or not, as she seemed to say everything she could to both avoid explicitly asking him what magics he knew while still blatantly presenting that she wanted to know. He doubted he would be able to handle much more of whatever it was she did with her words to make so many to ask a question using none of them. "I've studied reimancy and shielding." He gave her a tilt of the head, eyes grey and serious. "I am unlike your companions. If you have questions, I would prefer you ask them directly." He kept his tone even and respectful. He wasn't annoyed with the woman in any fashion, but he wanted to nip the proverbial bud before he grew to be. Shavoa was exhausting enough without having to preform social acrobatics.

"As for what I actually see..." He shrugged. "Trees. Clouds. Rocks." Shaking his head, he offered her a straight face. "The events previous we were both dragged into were my first real encounters with-" He quite clearly remembered the Bloodhill's initiate's face when he took had spoken of "abominations", the same sort of spark of excitement existed in the gaze of the wolf woman. "With experiments gone awry." He found little excitement in actual combat. Reimancy itself was exhilarating, but killing was, in one word, distasteful. If it was required of him, he did it. If not, he saw no reason to waste the life of another creature. It did not fill him with joy, with satisfaction, with purpose. It merely was or was not, and he preferred to keep it the latter. "The other initiates are more inclined towards... disposal." He used a phrasing similar to Derian's. True, if there were ever to be a creature or unwanted stranger near the mountain, it was his duty to remove them, but that time had not yet come. He did not look upon the others with disdain, but they were certainly different than he was. He did not hunt; he foraged. He did not fight; he trained. He was certain there were times ahead of him when that training would be forced to bear fruit, as it had the few days before. Still, it was not part of his regular routine.

[Fallon]

Keene sat obediently as the door gave the lowest thuds shut. But it was with careful thought that she watched him, the mirrored expression back of blankness, seemingly unthinking and lacking reaction. There could have been a storm going beneath those eyes of grey. Another tilt of the head to one side, she idly played with her belt buckle, her own level of thought being held back from bursting out into animation. She could already feel the urge to fidget, the calling for movement being all so sweet to her. But he listened, obviously far from conversational like those from other cities. It made her wonder if that was the nature of the citadel, something that stripped one of all personality, of the understanding of social etiquette and concept - or perhaps it was simply not known and experienced. She hoped, it was the latter.

Still there was lacking comments, the near silence of stumbling commanding him. There was no challenge, no attempt to gain a sense of grounding - least that was how it seemed - to look upon beyond the picture presented and the potentials that could come with it. Perhaps it was just a difference of minds, of upbringing and dealing with the situations that were stretched across the board. A game of wits and tactic, so far however there was little more than a sealed hand and she was left to answer to his own wants. He wanted bluntness, and so he would get it.

"Bluntness? Very well," She shrugged nonchalantly, "How good are you at reimancy?" Direct and to the point, she could do that when she desired, "You may have gathered from your viewing that I am rather... lacking in that field of expertise. My skill lie elsewhere, and with my present limited knowledge I find myself struggling to build a foundation for which to build on." She gave a flickering of a smile, but her eyes were looking for a reaction no matter how small it may have been, "Perhaps, if you are good enough to assist in some pointers. Help if you will, then I perhaps can help you back - at least, while I am here on the citadel. I doubt I would be much use to you if I was away in Sunberth among the hive of scum and villainy."

She drifted once more into her own silence, slowly nodding to his own words. She dared not to think too hard upon the previous events, the clawing darkness and the deep suffocation that came with it. Her skin gave a shudder, a brief constriction of the throat before she fell once more into the simple ability to breathe. She had not even noticed that her jaw had tightened, and that the fingers had curled up into fists before at last she pushed the dark thoughts away. Her gaze lowered, "Disposal, I see." She sighed , taking in the air and letting her brow furrow, "Well each to their own. Everyone have their own way of existing I suppose, their own state." It was perhaps then that her expression finally lifted, "I guess, it is refreshing to see one having found their own in such a world."

Her lips pulled back into a smile, before the expression fell away once more. It reminded her of all those seasons ago, the last time she visited the citadel and the cold stone walls. The games of words, the tapping around looking for something, an answer among the dreary nature that made it so. And it was with that memory that the simple empty pang of missing someone rung. The sooner the days in Sahova were dealt with, the better, "So, Reimancy...? Or res, did you have trouble making it respond at first? Like it would not behave and do as you wish?"

[Keene Ward]

Bitzer's change in approach to conversation was as sudden as the mask she had donned. While Keene was glad for it, he the more he spoke with the woman, the less he trusted her. Her ability to switch so quickly belied a deceitful - or at the very least, practiced - sort of creature, something he had little experience with. Her mastery over his own perceptions about her was disconcerting, and while he merely nodded in thanks at her more direct approach to conversation, he remained uneasy. She suggested a trade of sorts, his help for hers. He couldn't think of anything she could necessarily assist him in. The blade she had been playing with, while wicked, was not something he particularly drawn towards. Yes, he needed to learn how to defend himself in a capacity beyond reimancy and his limited shielding, but a sword was not the answer. Still, there were things he did not know about her, and if she possessed skill in more weapons than what she displayed, Keene would not have been surprised. She was similar to a cloud in the regard that she could become anything that was available to her given the proper circumstances, a trait that served to foil most contemplative deductions.

"I am 'good'." He wasn't sure in what terms she wanted, so he used her own. If it was how good, he assumed it was on a scale of not good, good, and very good. He was, perhaps, a bit more than just "good", but for the sake of simplicity he'd chosen what was closet to his skill. Shaking his head, Keene gave her a small frown. "I have yet to find it, I assure you." He wanted no miscommunication. He had begun the lifelong journey of finding purpose, and while he had certainly made progress, he was in no way in a state she seemed to suggest. If he were to assist Bitzer, they would have to be on the same terms. She thinking he had found his place in life was, perhaps, not necessarily the most important thing, but he felt a strange tug at his gut that had prompted the last statement. It was curious, but he didn't think too much upon it.

She continued, asking about his reimancy and what it was like to begin. He nodded, understanding full well the difficulty of forming a foundation with little guidance. His many bells spent practicing shielding was first to come to mind. "I have no issues assisting you. As I said: I am at your disposal." Where they would start, he wasn't sure. Mella had handled the entirety of his training from the moment he was born. He didn't have that sort of access to Bitzer, nor did he desire it. He knew what he knew, but he wasn't sure what she knew. He'd heard her use Nader Canoch, which meant she had at least a basic understanding of the ancient tongue, but reimancy was much more than simply saying words and expecting things to happen. "...Res and reimancy are related, but they are not the same thing." The verbal blunder was taken quite literally. "Res has always behaved as I've wished, but I have made mistakes, yes." She seemed disheartened or frustrated or whatever it was at her lack of skill in the magic they were discussing. "The first time I transmuted res, I bled from my nose for two bells and vomited twice." It had been an experience he had never forgotten, the perils of overgiving forever cemented in his memory.

Deciding the lesson had begun, Keene continued, his cool, slow tone flowing softly from his lips. "Reimancy, like all things takes time, practice." He turned his right hand palm upward, his res drifting up into a small, shimmering ball of bluish grey liquid. "It is controlled by will, and will alone." The ball quivered, shifting into first a square, then a ring. "Gestures, incantations, chanting... Reimancers use these things as a medium to exert our will." He pressed his hands together, withdrawing them to leave a gem-like object floating between them. "Res is an extension of ourselves, it shares our will." He snapped his fingers, the gem's outer layer becoming a smooth, cold layer of ice. "It does not 'behave', it simply is or is not." He took the icy gem in his hand, smashing it against the floor with a soft tap and drawing the res back into him. "Like a thought." The simile was added as an aside, mostly to himself. Res was neither fickle nor was it obedient, it was what he believed it to be. He extended a hand out in a short gesture. "Show me what you can do."

[Fallon]

Fallon furrowed her brow, her lips pursing with careful thought. Whilst he had answered her question, he also had not expanded much upon it. Answering only the immediate and not explaining beyond that. Silent about himself, or perhaps just direct - it gave her only the conclusion that she would have to be more specific in her questioning if she was to look for answers. Easing off from her pursing, she leant back upon the wall, once more. The lesson was beginning, and so she would be an obedient student for now. Slow nodding marked she was paying attention, but it was the fingers that continued to move with their steady beat - making no move to argue with him upon his finding of purpose.

Overgiving, by the sounds of things, was something unpleasant in the realm of reimancy. By all means, she knew the risks with projection, on the way it could lock her body into numbness and nasuea, or worse paralysis - her mentor had given enough horror stories on that. But Reimancy, that was something she was something different. Transmutation was as well, a word that whilst she could summon up a definition - she felt it did not quite fit within the realms of magic. Burst it into flame, bring the element in - transformation from one state into another. She released a snort, "I would rather you were not at my disposal. Leader of the Scars I may be, but you are not one of my brothers within my adoptive family. So do as you see fit. Please."

She fell once more into silence, and continued her listening. It was for the best. Her gaze flickered to watch the small demonstration of ice - her mind shot back to the time she was and the what the halfer had done whilst out training. A glance to her hand stopped its subtle shifting towards the kukri in self defence - this was not him. Easing her hand down, the ice disintegrated - splintering into cracking dust and leaving a mark upon the stone floor. The res though, she noted after a moment, was a different colour. Did that mean something? Was there a reason as to why? Or was that simply because that was the way things were?

"Will... Will..." She hummed, lacing her fingers together, "Willpower." She released a smirk, her mind managing to bridge a small gap between her magics. Willpower was key, the ability to stay strong, self control and to not let her urges slip. Her digits flexed and rubbed at her chin with thought. An extension, an addition, it was merely another substance, another layer in which to contend with, "Extension and will... interesting. Almost like..." She silenced herself before she went too far. Projection and the Astral, she would have finished with. Letting the words sunk in, she gave a glance to the hand and the request. Show what she could do.

A blink, it took her a moment as to what exactly he meant. Her reimancy of course, but even she felt there was not much she could exactly show him. Her limit of understanding had already been met with the snippet he had already viewed. Pulling a face she pulled off her right glove, letting the pale skin shiver to the exposure of air, before she went about the slow thoughtful process of producing Res.

Willpower, he had said, the act of thought and making it so. Her gaze locked onto the scar upon her palm, a deep inhale as she focused. Push, pull drag it out into the air, let it be exposed and manipulated. Her fingers tensed in reflex, curling in claw like as she tried to overt her will over it. Draining down into droplets of thick, tar-like green, rolling into the basin of her palm. Hissing within her mind, a cold numbing itching at her fingers. Throat constricting, she forced a swallow of air as it formed once more into a small globule of Res. Shoulders sagging, she released a sigh and halted the production of more - it was taxing as it was, she was not about to allow herself to do something stupid.

Her free hand she placed upon the back of her lips, a gagging and momentary sense of nausea taking over. There was no time to let her gaze look to Keene, she was too busy pouring her focus into what she was doing - her poor performance in comparison. The hand twisted, fingers uncurling and moving as if to turn an invisible dial. The gesture aided, the res peeling away from the bared skin so it was hovering an inch above. Her limit for now. Fallon released a mumble, "Generally... this is the bit where I stumble. Fire came to me first, but not all the time. Sometimes this is as far as I get, other days it's easier. Fire... fire..." Her free hand peeled away, lips parting to mouth the word. Burn it all. Set it all on fire. Ignite it into flame. Combustion and heat. Light and warmth. Thought channelled, looking for the piercing moment of clarity and that exertion of will once more. Teeth gritted, the slow, and careful mouthing out of her designated prompt word, "Vaknui."

A flame, a flash and the stench of burning. Just as quickly as it came it raced across the res, sinking its way in and burning it away. Her hands dropped into her lap, and the rest of her slumped forward with an exhale. She frowned, "Well, that's that."

[Keene Ward]

Keene found Bitzer's continued refusal to view him as the tool he had figured she would see him as as strange. She was on a foreign island with few allies. His usefulness to her was much greater if she made use of it. He shook his, head, saying nothing on the matter. He did see what family had to do with anything, but he was beginning to understand that he and Bitzer were so fundamentally different, there were bound to be things he wouldn't be able to comprehend. Family was no more important than anything else. It was a label given those who were bound by blood; it was not something that could "adopted", the very idea was silly. His blood would never be shared with the woman before him. It was a concept beyond him, and not something he wished to dwell on. Whatever her reasons, she wished he do what he saw fit. If it made her feel more comfortable, he supposed it was in both their best interests to at least operate under the guise of free will.

As he explained, Bitzer moved through a series of emotions, not all of them pleasant. At a point, Keene wondered if she was going to attack, but as quickly as it came on, it left. Instead, she settled on revelation via association, though what she seemed to liken his advice to remained unknown. Keene raised a brow at it, but did not inquire further. She seemed to have her secrets she wanted to keep hidden, and until she revealed them, he doubted he would be able to glean much more than a hint at them. His time was better spent watching her as she began to show him what she was capable of. As she drew off her glove, he could see her confidence fall, a different sort of beast sitting just behind her frown of concentration. Rather than watch her hands, Keene watched her face, his grey eyes boring into her as he evaluated her mental approach the magic.

As the deep green res began to pool in her hands, Keene frowned. The effort she put fourth seemed far more than should have been required to produce res, however it had been many years since he had first done so. The exact memories were clouded with the bias of his current state, and he was well aware of it. He supposed, if it truly were as difficult for her as it seemed, she had quite a ways to go before she was in much of a position to do anything with the magic. Her short break was taken at a judicial moment. Keene leaned back with an impressed lightening of his frown as Fallon caught her breath and gauged her capability to continue. It was something he had learned quite early in his magical career as well: rest was not for the weak but the wise. She kept focus however, another trait useful to those of their kind. It was practiced, trained. Whatever skills she had referred to at the beginning of her proposition of trade seemed those conducive towards the arcane, a curious sort of thing to be found in one from the city of Sunberth. What little he knew about it, the patient and focused seemed unlikely in the unruly city of thieves and anarchy.

Her careful, controlled gesture to raise and round the ball of res was satisfactory, her gaze never once wavering as it rose. Though she spoke with the blunt expository she'd adopted for his sake, her voice still belied her lack of confidence. A tentative mage, while not as dangerous as an audacious one, was hardly something to strive towards. He could already see part of the issue was her frustration at her incompetence, something that was understandable but would need to be addressed. At her explanation, Keene only frowned and nodded, waiting for her to continue. She chanted slowly, her focus culminating in a singular focus that Keene found impressive. At her trigger word, the Nader Canoch for "burn", the res burst into flame, flickering for a few ticks before the res was depleted. As the woman slumped with the small trail of smoke fading into the small room, Keene tapped on his lower lip, his elbow supported by his tucked knee. She understood the basics of both production and transmutation, and while she lacked the efficiency and elegance Keene had associated with the art, she was on her way.

"You doubt yourself more than you should." His frown was not harsh, and his words were presented soft and factual. Whether she agreed to see it or not, it was the case. He shifted, pulling his legs into a crisscrossed position in front of his as he pressed his back against the stone wall to compensate for the change in weight. When he had trained in reimancy, after his blunder, he had focused more on smaller things, res production and manipulation, minor transmutation, partial transmutation. He wasn't sure what best suited Bitzer, though he assumed progress was something she would respond best to. How to accomplish that, however, required he first know what she considered progress. "Your production is sluggish, but you seem to have a grasp on it." He raised a brow. "What do you know of djed?"