Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School

Emma

Rila stared at me.

She really stared at me.

And it wasn’t the sort of awestruck stare a paige would give to a knight, as was the case with our first fateful meeting.

Nor was it the timid stare I’d come to expect whenever barging into her ward with gifts in tow.

Neither was it the confused look of a mind attempting to parse my outlandish stories and social sensibilities.

…

Ok, maybe it was leaning more towards that latter sentiment.

Because Rila at present… seemed to have completely checked out.

The lights were on, but there was no one home.

She just… stared at me, her mouth agape, each stifled stutter escaping her throat as unintelligible as the next, at least as far as the EVI could tell.

“Is there a problem, Rila?” I asked as I attempted to quickly diagnose and pull the poor elf out of yet another internalized feedback loop.

This particular phrase — probably due to its frequent use — was just the thing needed to snap Rila out of it, as she looked at me with utter abashment. “Er, Cadet Emma Booker, I was—” She cleared her throat once.

“I just—” Then twice.

“You see, it’s just—” Then thrice.

This prompted me to yet again intervene lest the feedback loop return with a vengeance.

“One word at a time, Rila, please. You’re in good company. Fellow company, so just relax.” I urged, kinder and gentler. “If you’re not comfortable with discussing Etholin’s family baggage, then we don’t have to. You’re under no obligation to do so, even under my employ or what-have-you.” I spoke warmly, only to be met with an immediate rebuke with the rapid shaking of the elf’s head.

“I-it’s not that, Cadet Emma Booker. It’s…” She took a deep breath, unable to maintain eye contact now that the conversation had started in earnest. “It’s just… this is…” She looked away before slowly and meticulously dropping to one knee—

Wait, what?

—then another—

Oh, ok. Whew.

—before finally settling on a sort of kneeling position in front of me. Only after doing so did she finally regain some semblance of normal eye contact, completely losing the confused and frazzled look that had abruptly taken her, and capping it all off with a soft breath of relief.

I had no idea where she was going with this. Confusion hadn’t even settled in yet, as I was just trying to process what was even happening.

However, before I could even get a word out, Rila would be quick to offer up an explanation.

“I am sorry for the abrupt departure from pleasant conversation, Cadet Emma Booker.” She began with an apologetic smile. “You see, I… I was simply taken aback by your abrupt… shift in relative station. Both in terms of positional hierarchy and relative bearing.”

It was my turn to pause, as I blinked for a moment, my eyes instinctively turning to the EVI’s ever-helpful growing database of Nexian disambiguations for much-needed vital context.

But the reality of the situation suddenly slammed into me with the force of an ultrahauler, all stemming from a recollection of somewhat similar cultural norms though practiced at far lesser extremes.

“Oh.” I began with an unexpected rush of clarity. “So you’re saying my shift from standing to… sitting was a social faux pas. Not necessarily because of the sitting itself, but in how our eye contact ‘dynamic’ had shifted, right?”

“Yes, Cadet Emma Booker.” Rila responded with what I at first thought was a nod. But she held that ducked head far too long to be considered anything but a bow. “It is… quite unbecoming for someone of a lower station to be in a position such that they are actively looking down upon their betters as if they were their lesser—” Rila paused before she too realized her social faux pas… at least in terms of our little arrangement. “Ah. Apologies, Emma Booker. I had momentarily forgotten our, ahem, special social arrangements.” She smiled sheepishly. “I am… still finding it difficult to overcome what in many ways has been the defining element of my professional repertoire — palace etiquette.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Rila. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Old habits — especially learned, culturally ingrained ‘habits’ — die hard. The fact that you actually took classes and trained for this makes it even harder, so I don’t expect you to completely lose all of it in the time we’ve known each other, especially not for my sake.” I offered kindly. “Besides, this was probably the first time our… ‘relative sightlines’ had shifted so dramatically, right? Usually you’re the one looking up, either from the hospital bed or even when you’re standing. So, yeah, I get it. But… I do need to be clear on something if that’s okay?”

“Y-yes, Cadet Emma Booker!”

“We’re… equals, alright? As in, I hope you don’t always see me, even subconsciously, as like… your ‘better?’”

“I… I admit I understand that as far as my thinking mind is concerned, yes.” She nodded once, physically stifling a bow, her shoulder muscles tensing. “But it sometimes is… difficult to reconcile the relative reality of the situation with what fundamentally feels contrary to the fact.” She clarified, her eyes glancing away if only for a moment.

“The armor definitely doesn’t help in that regard, does it?” I questioned.

“No, it does not.” The elf acknowledged. “But it goes further than that, I think.”

“Go on?”

“The way you carry yourself. The way you speak, your inflections, your sheer confidence. Even ignoring your choice of words and the sheer repertoire of vocabulary at your disposal, you cannot just come off so naturally… dominant, without at least tracing your upbringing to some degree of noble heritage. At least, not in my experience.” Rila clarified with a series of rapid-fire gesticulations.

I had… quite a few thoughts on that.

Indeed, despite it being a topic that had been touched upon before, it hadn't been addressed as thoroughly as it was now.

I allowed it to sink in for a moment.

Indeed, I let a lot of it just… stew before letting out a chuckle and a shrug.

“You know, maybe you should try it out a bit. We’ll get you a suit of armor, or something expensive-looking, and then you can take a turn at being the ‘dominant’ party, hm?” I jabbed teasingly.

At which point, Rila once again shut down, her stuttering spell quickly returning with a vengeance, which prompted me to pull her back down to earth with a shake of her shoulder.

“I kid, I kid.” I offered with a smile and cackle. “But only partially.” I halted myself, causing an immediate cessation in Rila’s recovery. “Because it’s time to try some social exposure therapy by continuing the gossip on your future boss!” I egged her on, causing the poor elf to let out an uneasy chuckle through a forced smile.

“I… I suppose, yes.” She nodded slowly before eventually settling down next to me cross-legged, abandoning all pretenses of that awkward kneel. “Where should I start?”

“You choose.” I answered, causing the poor Rila to acquiesce with a grumble.

“From ‘the top’ then.” The elf began. “The Esila household… are a specific breed of nobility. One whose type of power and reach I fear more than most.” The elf began with a timid breath. “This is due to their… particular place in the noble hierarchy, and their relation to commoners like myself. You see, I am — if you will allow me a moment to indulge in my pride — not a mere petty commoner. Whilst I lack the distinction of a titled commoner, I am — or rather was — on the direct path to that of chartered status. So where nobles of the landed sort busy themselves with their uncontested command of petty commoners, working the land, and other such stagnant enterprises, merchant houses such as Lord Esila’s hunt for less… visible rewards. They elevate and maintain the charters and licenses of chartered commoners, and allow them the right to commerce and enterprise in their name. This is why Lord Esila’s house, as with many a merchant house, is far more… tangible of a concern to me than that of say…”

“Lord L’Sips?” I offered, garnering a cock of Rila’s head.

“Ah, yes, the bookish man. Yes, he would be an example of a typical, albeit relatively new, landed noble.”

“Okay… okay, this is actually starting to make a lot of sense.” I nodded along as Etholin’s whole merchant lord moniker started to come into clearer focus.

“As is the case with working nobility—” Rila continued. “—merchant houses often find themselves overlooked. Indeed, just as with the working nobility, they are often… placed lower on the social hierarchy, or at least as far as I have seen in my personal experience. They do not measure their power in acres, estates, and fiefs. They do not compete in levies, garrisons, or keeps. They do not boast of annexations on a map, but instead wage conquests on a ledger. Theirs is a power that is quiet and unassuming. And it is in this… discrete form of power that their horrors are only visible to those who know how and where to look. That being in the words, terms, and contracts that bind their subjects and clients.” The elf concluded with a deep gasp, as if coming up for air in the midst of a tireless monologue.

I took the opportunity to chime in, nodding slowly as I processed this new perspective I’d yet to have sunk my teeth into.

“So their power is derived from extending trading and specialty licenses to petty commoners.” I surmised, garnering an affirmative huff from Rila.

“And their own holdings and enterprises.” The elf was quick to add.

“And that, yeah.” I reaffirmed. “So… I’m guessing the ‘slasher’ title is probably less violent than what it sounds like then.” I openly pondered. “What I first envisioned was a gang of surly thugs grabbing poor street vendors by the dozens and ‘slashing’ them if they don’t pay protection fees.” I suggested with a snicker. “Though I guess ‘skimming’ could go both ways given how you can ‘skim’ off the top of legal business transactions as much as you can ‘skim’ your competition.”

“They slash the earnings of their client-subjects by virtue of their licensing tributes.” Rila expounded with a steady breath. “They skim the wages, commissions, and idle earnings of their employees by virtue of their terms of employment.” She continued, not once letting up on the intensity underpinning each word.

“And… what about ‘excisor?’ Do they also excise value from each sale or something?” I pondered, leaning in closer.

“It goes far beyond the scope of which you speak, Emma Booker. They excise value not just from their own enterprises, but the enterprises of others.” The elf eventually trailed off before throwing a calculated question my way. “Do you have the concept of… insurance in your realm, Cadet Emma Booker?”

I blinked once before cocking my head in response. “You mean like a monthly or yearly payment to a company that then guarantees to pay you out in the case of an accident?”

“Yes.” Rila nodded. “Now, do you know what the concept of a reinsurer is?”

It was my turn to pause yet again, as I mentally went through my well of random historical factoids only to come up dry.

Thankfully, I had the vast reservoir of the EVI to supplement my knowledge.

“Oh.” I blurted out, my eyes darting through the wall of info the EVI so concisely provided. “It’s… the ‘insurance’ company for insurance companies, right?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Rila nodded with confidence.

“Just so we’re on the same page, we’re talking about companies whose whole business model is to diversify and lessen the risk taken on by standard insurance companies, right? As in, suppose an insurance company takes on clients exclusively from one island. If everything goes well, if a single house burns down in a month, they’re fine. But if a massive hurricane hits, taking everyone down, then they’re screwed. So they take out insurance… with reinsurers, to make sure they don’t collapse if that happens. And since reinsurers take on risk across many continents, they effectively have their eggs in even more baskets, thus reducing their payout risk, right?”

“Yes.” Rila confirmed. “And given how you too seem to possess a similar system, I assume the concept of retrocessionaires isn’t foreign, either?”

The glut of reference material on my HUD promptly flicked down several hundred pages before landing on a passage highlighted in yellow.

…

Frick.

“Companies whose sole purpose it is to take on partial risk, to pay out the reinsurers?”

“Correct.” Rila nodded slowly. “They are, in effect, the insurers of the insurers of the insurers. House Esila, as far as my conversations with Lord Lartia are concerned, have fingers in this business. I do not know the specifics. I do not even understand the whole inner workings. But from what I can tell… something about House Esila’s enterprises has allowed them the experience, expertise, and confidence to carry out such a perplexing operation with confidence.”

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I nodded slowly as the scope of Etholin’s silent empire grew with every passing word.

“You know… I get that this was supposed to be the peak of this big reveal and all, but it’s honestly not as bad as I thought.” I admitted, garnering a look of disbelief followed by skepticism from the elf. “If anything, I’m way more concerned about the whole slasher and skimmer thing. Granted, it’s not as bad as it could be. I mean, I could’ve guessed Etholin wasn’t the mafia type, seeing as he is a noble and not some two-bit gang leader. But playing the titular Titan in Titans of Industry does not really instill in me that much confidence either.” I added with a deep sigh, completely defusing the elf’s growing skepticism.

“I should have garnered as such, Emma Booker.” Rila responded with a smile. “I had assumed your lack of interest in the Esilas’ shadow empire to be a bluff. But it is becoming quite clear to me that your myopic focus on the plight of the commoner truly is your defining… cornerstone, as it were.”

“I thought that would have been obvious by now, Rila.”

“It is.” The elf admitted. “It’s just… hearing your dealings with an Esila, so flippantly and casually at that, placed you among those who might simply overlook the plights of those beneath their station. Fortunately, that was not the case. But once again, this makes me wonder just how a commoner from a realm of… commoners could have produced such a daringly stubborn fool. One so brazen as to position themselves amidst the highborns. A noble in all but title.” She spoke in increasing bouts of exasperation before throwing the ball back to my court.

“It’s not that we’re a nation of commoners, Rila. It’s more that we’re—” I paused, trying to piece together the admittedly concise explanation for Etholin but condensed for a more… casual conversation. “—lacking in the concept of royalty and nobility in its entirety. We’ve done away with power derived from birthright, or the asserting of political authority based on family and bloodline. Ours is a nation where political authority, and the legitimacy of power, is derived from its constituency — the citizen. And in a way, you could argue that because of the way the power is structured, each citizen is almost like—”

Rila

“—a petty noble in practice and principle.” I surmised.

…

I… inferred.

Based on the accounts of what Lord Lartia would have so easily disregarded as the ramblings of a raving lunatic.

Yet Lord Lartia was no longer here.

His death, owed to an ill-gotten piece of exotic luggage that had eviscerated a warehouse… and a crown noble.

What that implied was beyond my meagre standing.

But what it demonstrated was undeniable — the unspoken power of a supposed newrealm that behaved as anything but.

The blue knight had made her sentiments on this topic known before.

Indeed, I had fallen for her saccharine words before our first goodbye.

Her haunting echoes of a… better world, a kinder world, a fundamentally more hospitable realm had lured me closer still towards a hope that should not be possible.

And indeed, it wasn’t.

Time and the overbearing presence of reality had made certain of it.

This was in spite of her visits, her company, and her growing familiarity.

I’d thought I’d grown accustomed to it, to these eccentricities capable of being reconciled as just that — eccentricities.

Those saccharine words had become but a distant memory. A nice memory, but merely sweetened ramblings in the midst of an eccentric personality.

The healers had informed me as such.

The world had reinforced as much.

And yet… here it was yet again — that sense of a foreign hope, the emergence of a receptiveness to something fantastical and beyond reach.

Emma’s words were… seditious, dangerous, and borderline heretical in the eyes of some.

Yet they resonated. In a way that felt raw and unfiltered; so tantalizingly frank.

It drew me in more than any other fairy tale or myth.

It did something far more dangerous than any siren call ever could.

It instilled in me the vision and the unrealistic expectations of an impossibility that sounded so thoroughly possible. From the perspective of someone who lived in it.

Or so she claims… An invasive thought chimed in.

I shook my head at that, staring… not up, but at eye-level into the enchanted lenses of a creature cloaked in priceless steel.

I could not bring myself to continue this dangerous train of thought, let alone the conversation spoken aloud.

All I could do… was acknowledge her attempts at clarification, smiling all the same.

“I see, Emma Booker.” I offered warmly… the underlying tone coming naturally, owing to the latent hopes and dreams of a foolish dreamer lurking somewhere within the depths of my jaded soul.

…

Yet that lurker wished to know more.

It dared to ask.

And my mouth, the rebellious charlatan it was becoming in the presence of the blue knight, acquiesced.

“And life in such a world… it is quite… hospitable, yes? From what you have described, I imagine there would be little social expectations going in both directions, if any. If that is the case… then how does your society not simply descend into anarchy? On what grounds does your society of classless masses forge order when the very concept of it seems anathema?”

“Everyone’s a citizen, and everyone’s entitled to the respect offered, outlined, and enforced by our constitution. So yes, while there’s not really a legally binding ‘expectation’ to social deference based on title or blood, there are, however, social expectations. Some written, some not. To be followed in public as just common courtesy. This changes when you elect to go down certain career paths. Such is the case with the military for instance, as there are rules and expected decorum—” The blue knight paused, leaning in closer and closer, as if trying to reinforce a horrible attempt at a joke in the process.

I merely smiled in acknowledgement, urging her to continue.

“—to be followed in such hierarchies. While these regulations and codes of conduct are most obvious in the military, they extend to other organizations as well, from civil service all the way to academia. All of which ultimately follow a similar, fundamental principle: you’re saluting the rank, not the man. You’re paying your respects to their office and the institutions it represents, as you yourself are an extension of said organization. And these ranks, these courtesies, these traditions and customs? They’re all earned. Through merit, through experience, through proof of work and competency. Not handed out simply by fate or happenstance, or by being born to the right parents with the right family name.”

It was that latter line that stuck with me the longest.

The rest of the blue knight’s speech was necessary preamble, yes.

But that latter sentiment… it struck a chord deeper than I ever could have imagined.

Both pain and a sense of vicious animosity spawned from it.

It brought back vivid memories of classes, of lessons taking three quarters of a day within rooms packed from door to blackboard with aspiring commoners hoping, dreaming of a brighter future in the crownlands.

Four years.

Four years I spent crammed, paying out of my own pocket through coins inherited, collected, and even borrowed, all to learn the fundamental intricacies of commoner-to-noble dynamics.

How to carry yourself.

How to walk.

How to maintain eye contact.

How to speak.

When to speak.

What to speak.

In what cadence? With what tone? With what inflections? High or low?

How to deflect negativity, how to reframe negativity, how never to say ‘no’ but to rephrase your refusal as something else.

“Remember, no matter the circumstance, never ever lead with pure apologetics. Instead, thank your betters for the opportunity to learn from your mistakes, andthenlead into apologetics. You are not a basic peasant. You are a chartered, titled, educated, and refined member of polite society! Act like it!”

…

What did they do to earn that?

What did these highborns ever really do, besides being born, to earn that level of respect?

To endure four years of toil just to have the privilege to interact with them.

Just for the chance of that sponsorship, that title, and a life unshackled from the unpredictable patterns of mercenary work my parents had led.

I needed to think.

I needed time to… collect myself.

“So what about you, Rila?”

“What?” I responded, completely taken aback.

“Er, sorry. It looked like you were really zoning out for a moment there. I was curious where you’re headed? Like, life-wise. What are your goals? Your aspirations? I know I really messed it up with Lord Lartia… but I was curious where you were headed before all of this? And if there’s any way I can make up for it, of course.” She spoke with sincerity, even up until that final sheepish comment.

This prompted me to let out yet another pained sigh as I craned my head upwards towards the ceiling.

“As mentioned on that day, and in the subsequent days that followed, I wished to become a part of Lord Lartia’s enterprise. In doing so, I would earn my titled status, placing myself not necessarily at the top of the commoner hierarchy, but in the comfortable middle.”

“Wait, didn’t you say your parents were already achieving something similar through their mercenary work?”

“They were achieving something of a parity, yes, but it was contingent on their ability to fight. Their mercenary work was the only thing separating them from vagabonds, the same sort you met in that ‘tent town’ as you so put it. I… wished not to tempt fate with such a life, especially when the coffers were never really enough to retire with. I instead wished for stability, and in that stability, I had committed myself thoroughly to a path of service to polite society.” I smiled through that forced facade before shaking my head with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Again, I’m really, really sorry for—”

“You needn’t be sorry, Emma Booker.” I interjected, finally confident enough to do so. “I’ve had time to reflect and ponder, and now I see that… perhaps such a life might not have been ideal. Wise and objectively ‘correct,’ yes. Spiritually fulfilling? It was not.” I chuckled, forming a sly, unbecoming smile. “I hope I can count on you for my next chapter then, Cadet Emma Booker. Because I accept your offer of employment in this venture with House Esila, on the condition that you must personally oversee my contract and its clauses, to be as acceptable as it would be in your idyllic, fantastical world.”

I half expected a reprisal, a rebukement, even a physical confrontation or a hard slap as had sometimes been the case with some previous employers.

That never came.

Instead, the blue knight responded as promptly as she always did.

“I was always planning on it.” She acknowledged with a nod.

“As for my life goals? Well… perhaps I could become a permanent shopkeep?” I offered confidently. “That often is quite an ‘end goal’ as it were, especially in such a Crown Herald town as Elaseer. Though, if I were to dream bigger… perhaps I could even visit Earthrealm?”

It was that latter sentiment that finally forced the earthrealmer to pause.

“That’s still my goal, Rila. What’s stopping me, however, isn’t the willingness to do so. It’s the technical limitations. You’re going to have to wait, unfortunately, but… know that I’m going to be on the case to see to it that it becomes a reality.”

That response felt almost ironic. As those words felt achingly familiar, with only the voice to distinguish it. Had it not been the case, I could have easily mistaken it for my own.

Never to say ‘no’ but to rephrase your refusal as something else.

That was the first thing that came to my mind. And so often were such hollow reassurances the tokens that nobles and my peers traded with.

But Emma’s words, despite common sense and experience, were full and… true. Though… perhaps that was the truth that the lurking dreamer inside wanted to see.

Foolish musings or not, I allowed the words to settle most of my worries.

If anything, this entire interaction once more represented the strange dichotomy that was my interactions with the blue knight.

This pattern and our exchanges continued deep into the night. Time seemingly passed by quickly.

Too quickly perhaps. Lost in the flow of conversation was I that the healers would later see it fit to return me to my world, leaving the blue knight alone to act as sentinel for her princess.

A Few Hours Later

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Medical Wing. Local Time: 0345 Hours.

Emma

…

…

[PROXIMITY ALERT!]

I jolted awake to the EVI’s alerts, springing up to meet the incoming—

“What are you doing here?” Teleos questioned dryly.

—threat.

I didn’t immediately respond, instead moving to check the infildrone for any suspicious movements inside of the padded cell.

None was found.

And so I turned my attention squarely on the anglerfishman, yawning up a storm as I did so. “Good… morning? Evening? Eh, good time of day to you too, Lord Teleos Lophime.” I managed out through two bleary eyes.

“Do not think you can evade my interrogatives simply by deferring to a game of courtesies you yourself have proven ill-equipped to handle.” He countered.

I almost immediately moved to answer the man truthfully.

Alas, I had to take into consideration the social games at play, prompting me to deflect and instead throw the ball right back into his court.

“I could ask you the same question, Lord Teleos. If anything, it’s you who always seems to be here when I decide to pay the ward a visit.”

Teleos narrowed his eyes at that before crossing his arms and then lowering his voice. “I have no qualms with you, Cadet Emma Booker. But should you insist on continually testing me with your presence here, I will be forced to—”

“Do what, precisely?” I interjected with a yawn-filled response. “Last I checked, hanging around the medical wing wasn’t a crime. So… how about you just go on your merry way, and I do my own thing, ‘kay? I mean, if I were really interested in what you keep doing here, I would probably know by now. So, let’s just pull a move straight from your playbook and swim in our own separate streams, alright?”

The fishman was fuming by the end of my response, as he at least seemed to take it in stride and simply strode off without continuing the confrontation.

“Well… crisis averted?” I spoke to no one, yawning once more before slumping back to sleep, making sure to reset the EVI’s proximity alarms just in case.

A Few More Hours Later

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Medical Wing. Local Time: 0745 Hours.

Emma

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I practically pounced up. Only this time, I was greeted warmly by the water elemental from before.

“Ah, Cadet Emma Booker. I see you’re awake.”

“Yeah, yeah, so, is this whole thing done yet?” I responded groggily.

“Polite conversation notwithstanding… yes.” He nodded before twirling his hand and causing the door behind me to crack open with a satisfying creak.

Standing in the doorway was an already awake and perfectly groomed Thacea, looking far more well-kept than the mess that was my sleep-deprived form.

The armor thankfully hid this.

Though it did nothing to alleviate the overbearing sense of grogginess that came about as a result.

“The observation period has elapsed.” The healer began. “Nothing out of the ordinary has been observed. You are permitted to leave and resume your duties, Princess Dilani. It has been a pleasure to serve.” The elemental bowed.

This was reciprocated in kind by Thacea, who just as promptly bowed before making her leave following a simple, polite sentiment. “It is always a privilege to be in the care of someone so well-studied, especially when such decades of academic rigor have led to a vigil ending in a conclusion so thoroughly uneventful.”

There was a bit of a side eye between the two of them, a play of power. Though it was unclear whether this was warranted or an actual moment of courtly frustration vented in a way only a royal could.

I took that brief parlay between the pair to usher away the infildrone, making sure to dock it away from prying eyes as the heated back and forth drew sharply to a close.

Sure enough, she soon made her way through the corridors with that same royal poise, keeping silent, until we finally passed the medical wing’s threshold back into the long corridor that connected the tower to the rest of the Academy.

“How was your rest, Emma?” Thacea questioned first.

“Whoah whoah whoah, that really should be my line, princess.” I countered.

“I had the privilege of sleeping on padded quilts. You remained in armor for an entire night.” She shot straight back.

“It was only one night, Thacea. You know things were far worse during the flower quest—”

“Yes… and I would rather not think of the implications of such a… lifestyle.” She interjected, her expressions saying it all.

“You get used to it.” I offered.

“You shouldn’t need to. Though that should be a topic reserved for another day… did you have anything in particular you wished to do today, Emma?”

“Well… it is a free day, so the world’s our oyster and all of that. But I’d rather this be a group decision than something left to me.”

“A meeting at the dorm is in order, I presume?”

“Yup!”

“Very well. I hope whatever comes of it does not interfere too much with our assignments, lest we find ourselves the target of Vanavan’s semantic reprisals.”