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[A little prickle goes through Matthias.]

He can use whatever bullshit Circle title he likes. Any of us can. 'Cause we escaped them, and fought in a war to do as we like, which I reckon includes whether or not to be using a stupid title as well as anything else. What d'you care, anyways?

What do I care?

[ How can he ask that? She stares at him, struggling between hurt and anger on his behalf. Anger, of course, that he never asked for, but that she feels all the same. ]

How can I not care?? You're important to me, Matty, and I don't want anyone treating you like you're beneath them.

Well-- well, yeah, I know that, I don't mean why d'you care about me--

[His ears go a little pink. He runs his fingers along the smart edge of the quill, where the feather was clipped down and shaped.]

But, look, no one's treating me like anything. I mean, I am basically untrained. Or not completely. I mostly learned what I know during the war. So--and you can't say anything about this, all right--but I don't know half of what practically every mage here knows, so. And I know that doesn't mean I ought to get treated like nugshit, right--but I do need to learn things.

[ She wants to say something about it, but listens instead. Because what's the difference between the training she's getting to be better at her job and Matthias getting taught to wield magic?

The difference is that she trusts Bastien, and not Leander.

Athessa frowns down at her hands and sighs. ]

I'm sorry, you're right. And I do trust you to be smart about it. But I don't want you to get hurt.

[ Or become something you're not. ]

[Matthias' smile has a bitterness at the edges of it. He runs his thumb back in the other direction along the edge of the quill.]

Yeah, well. If you've not heard, I'm a survivor. Nothing kills me. Reckon I can survive some lessons.

We've all got loads and loads to be worrying about, don't add me to the pile as well. I'll be all right. I always am.

[ Athessa keeps her eyes downcast, hearing the bitter cant to his mouth rather than seeing it. Seems like no matter how hard she tries to be a good friend she just keeps cocking it up. (Selfish.) ]

What else is on your list?

D'you still want to-- Yeah, okay, umm.

[Matthias grabs one of the discarded pages too, shakes it so it uncrumples.]

Goals, like. I want to be more in control. Like, so I don't ruin everything if I try to cast a spell, and it goes wild. And so I don't get so bloody angry.

[ Athessa nods and scribbles with the pencil. ]

Self-control, discipline...accuracy, maybe?

Mmm. Maybe. I think I'm fairly accurate, just that I've got to, y'know, concentrate on it. We did ages of training for accuracy so we could hit supplies and things from a distance. I can write my name with fire. But then things get going and I lose it a bit. Or forget.

[He spins the quill between his fingers, careful to angle it so that ink doesn't spatter onto the floor.]

[ Her eyebrows bob once about him writing his name; impressive. ]

Focus, then?

[ That goes on the list instead of accuracy, though her list is more of synonyms and possibles than the perfection he's seeking. ]

What's it like when you lose it a bit?

Yeah. Focus. And--well, losing it doesn't need to go on the list, but--

[He scrunches up his face as he thinks of how to answer.]

Bit like going blind. Like... I don't think about anything else. I know what I've got to do and nothing is stopping me from doing it, I just go on, and on, and on, and it's not until I'm bloody dead tired that I stop. Magic, like, it drains you. You know? Takes it out of you. That's what stops me. Like a trance. And then I don't quite know what I did, I just have these--images. Things happening around me and I'm just--burning things. Relentless. It's not bad, it's saved my arse, but it's not... good, either. I think.

But that's not just magic, is it. That happens.

I'm not putting losing it on the list, [ she assures, but her humoring smirk fades as she listens to him. It's not a foreign concept by a long shot, but it isn't something she can offer any advice on. It smacks of Deimos and his rage, of Poesia and her bloodlust, of Athessa's own tendency towards dissociation in the midst of panic. ]

Yeah. Yeah that happens. [ She thinks on it, introspective, perhaps a moment longer than she intends to, then clears her throat. Never mind that she's telling herself. ] List-wise I think that kinda falls under self-control and discipline, but I think using the word trance to explain it is useful. When you have to elaborate.

[He nods--looking at her, then back at the quill, then back at her again.]

You know what it feels like, though.

I do.

[ The pencil makes for a good object to fiddle with, which reminds her of the weight in her pocket — something to give him, but it's hardly urgent. It can wait. Knuckle to knuckle, over-under-over, she twirls the pencil idly while she speaks. ]

Sort of, anyway. For me it's less knowing what I have to do and getting it done than it is...something snaps and then I'm watching myself from somewhere else. Like I can see me, I see what I'm doing, but it's not me doing it. And it makes the memory go a bit off.

[ Is it better or worse than being in her body for the experience? Fingers twitch, flex, and release the way they have since last Harvestmere. ]

And I don't think it's ever saved my arse, either.

[Matthias watches her fingers, the pencil. He looks down at the quill again, held in his hands.]

Well, you're still here, aren't you?

[ Sometimes, is what she almost says. Because how can she claim to be here when she's pretty sure the person she used to be died years ago and is huddled in some deep dark pit within her, gnawing at her for want of a grave?

So Athessa presses her lips together into something like a smile and nods. ]

Yeah. I'm still here.

[ But is she a survivor? ]

[He shrugs. So there.]

Then it saved you. Obviously. And that's good, 'cause I wouldn't want to be in Rifwatch without you.

[ That pushes her something like a smile into actual smile territory, and she sets the pencil down. ]

That reminds me, I've got somethin' for ya.

[ She rummages in her pockets briefly and produces a set of woven bracelets. They're not the same as the ones Derrica gave him, of course, but Athessa tried (despite her colorblindness) to use similar colors when she made them. Her own personal touch is a number of carved wooden beads, etched with patterns of feathers and flames. ]

Since your old ones didn't make it.

[Surprised, Matthias smiles.]

Get out.

[He scoots closer so he can take the bracelets from her, turning them over in his hand so he can look at them more closely.]

You made these?

Yep. I mean, I didn't make the fabric, or the leather, obviously.

[ Does she look like she owns a loom? Admittedly, she could have tanned the leather herself but that's a bit overkill for something like this. ]

But I tried to use the same colors as your old ones, much as I could. You know how I am with that stuff, [ See: bad. (Makes sense for Matty to know by now about the whole colorblind thing, waves hands) ] and these bits here are made from plants in the gardens, and I carved the beads myself.

[ From an old wooden halla, long-since broken from being carried around in a pack for eighteen years. ]

The reason for the fire etchings is obvious, and the feathers are...'cos you're ya know. Goin' places or whatever.

Well, yeah, 'course not the fabric or the leather--

[He's not stupid. Take, for instance, how he shuts up and listens to her as she speaks, even though he's turning the bracelets over in his hand and studying them from each angle. Athessa's explanation on the etchings makes him grin, again. He's still grinning when he looks up at here.]

The colors're great. They're brilliant. All of it is, I mean, the beads and all. They're great. Thank you. Like-- thank you, seriously, thanks--

Alright, alright, awright— [ She reaches over and musses his hair before he can thank her any more. ]

That's enough, before you get me all mushy or somethin'.

[ Not that she's currently in danger of that. More likely she'll feel the urge to apologize again, try to explain herself more, put her foot in her mouth, something like that.

So instead, she leans back on the heels of her hands. ]

I'm sorry your other ones got burnt up. And. Thanks for coming with me to that fucker's place to trash it.

[He endures the hair mussing, because it's Athessa, pulling away after a reasonable amount of time with a grin. And he starts tying the bracelets on before he bothers to fix his hair--so you know they mean a lot to him--with this little flame of love and pride and friendship burning away in his chest.]

S' all right, you didn't burn 'em. And you ought to know I'll go anywhere with you. Especially to trash something.

[Largely, one-handed, he gets a loose knot tied, then pulls at it from the other side with his teeth, tightening it up.]

How'd you find out about the house, anyways? No one'd been there for ages.

[ Her own grin of love and pride and friendship etc. dims slightly at the question. He asked it before, in the estate, and she'd waved it off with nothing more than it's a long story.

But it's unlikely that either he or Jenny Lou didn't notice the dried blood on the floorboards upstairs, and the signs of a futile struggle. ]

Do you want the quick version, or the involved one? I gotta warn ya, Matty, it's— [ She chews on her bottom lip, trying to find the right words. ] —Well it's hard for me to talk about. And if I tell you...there's no untelling it, ya know?

[ It's the least she can do to give him the choice, and trust him not to look at her differently. ]

[Self-conscious, he stops pulling on the end of the bracelet with his teeth, and looks at her instead.]

Well--you haven't got to tell me anything. Not if you don't want to. If it's hard to talk about, I mean.

Just that-- we're friends. But I do mean that. We're friends. You wouldn't have to untell me anything, afterward. I'm not going anywhere. If you don't want to, well, you can say that as well. And I'd not press on it or anything. 'Course I want to know, as we're friends, and if it's something-- I dunno, something--I want to know. But--it's yours to tell, I reckon. So

[He does a quick little shrug, then looks back to the bracelet. It is mostly knotted on. Matthias gives it a little twist, once around his wrist. It doesn't drop off.]

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cw: rape mention

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