Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (87/?) WiP 1 (Patreon)

Hey everyone! Here is the Work in Progress for Chapter 86 I hope you guys enjoy! :D

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Main Garden. Local Time: 1700

Emma

The gardens were peaceful, tranquil, almost enough to lull you into a sense of unearned calm if you fell for its carefully manicured ambiance. 

However, just like everything else in the Academy, there was a rhyme and a reason for this; a carefully seeded intent meant to instill meaning into what would otherwise be arbitrary setting for discourse. 

In other words, the gardens were a trap for the foolish and less-than-wary. 

Or perhaps… the gardens were literally just that  — a garden. 

And maybe, just maybe… I was just projecting my second most negative experience here at the Academy with a locale that didn’t warrant it. 

Whatever the case was, it was clear the man chose this location for a reason, and the closer I got to where we needed to be, so too did I realize the real intent behind this strange venue for an unprompted meeting.

He was standing, or rather, sitting atop of the exact same spot Apprentice Larial was just a week ago on that fateful encounter; on an exact replica of that outdoor chair and table set.

This couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Nothing could be a coincidence here at the Academy.

At least until it did at which point—

“Ah, Cadet Emma Booker.” The white-robed dean announced with a polite, cordial, almost fatherly tone of voice. “Always a pleasure, and most certainly a departure from routine, to be host to these engagements.” He slowly but surely began shifting his gaze from whatever it was he was preoccupied with on the table, something that was generating way more than its fair share of mana radiation warnings than should have been reasonable, towards me. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured towards the empty seat across from him.

It was only after I’d walked past him that I finally saw what it was he was preoccupied with, and the source of all of those mana radiation pings. 

On top of the ornate wrought iron table, was a circular wooden tray two feet or so diameter. Atop of which, were about twenty or so different cups, pots, saucers, and containers, surrounding one of those dual-flask siphons containing a clear amber liquid. An accompanying ensemble of floating utensils made their way from one container to another, each of them seemingly involved in some niche, single-purpose use. There were specific tools for stirring, for straining, for mixing dry ingredients, and even to pick apart different dry ingredients in order to layer them meticulously one atop of the other. All of these enigmatic, or frankly unnecessarily complicated processes, were dedicated towards one aim however. 

An aim that I anticipated almost immediately as soon as a cup and saucer began magically levitating my way, landing in front of me as I took my seat.

The whole setup, all of this effort, was an overcomplicated means of brewing—

“Tea?” The dean inquired warmly, levitating a smaller pot of swirling liquid that continued to slosh and whirl even in spite of there being nothing to keep the whirlpool going.

“I’m quite alright professor, but thank you for the offer.” I responded politely, cordially, but without any of the familiarity that I’d otherwise reserved for the gang or potential allies. 

This was a purely professional affair, and despite what this whole whimsy setup and the warmth of the backdrop might otherwise indicate, all of this was just set dressing for a meeting that was bound to be heavy.

“Ah, not one for specialty brews, I imagine?” The dean replied with a quirk of his brow. 

“I would if I could, professor. And as much as this might break cultural norms or social protocols, I am afraid I am physically incapable of accepting this offer.” I retorted frankly, and despite not displaying any outright malice or annoyance, the statement managed to carry that undertones all the same. “I believe we both understand why this is the case.” 

“Indeed we do.” The man responded curtly, his eyes sharpening, if only just for a moment, before retracting the saucer and cup. “But it’s the gesture that counts, no? There are traditions and courtesies that must be upheld, and expectant rules that must be enforced. I do not mind if my efforts go to waste in this case. Though what I will mind, is if my efforts following this will bear the same fate.” 

The mood and tone of the whole scene shifted drastically at this, as several mana radiation signatures beeped, signaling the departure of the shadowy apprentice and the erection of a cone of silence no doubt. 

“Do you know why I summoned you here today, Cadet Emma Booker?” 

“I haven’t the slightest clue, professor.” I responded with barely any emotive resonance, only a neutrality that countered the professor’s more showy exterior. 

“You have been informed by Apprentice Arlan Ostoy as to your transgressions, have you not?” He countered. 

“I have been informed by Apprentice Arlan Ostoy that I am to censor myself, yes. Though I cannot for the life of me imagine what transgressions he, or you, are currently referring to.” 

The dean narrowed his eyes at this, at my attempt to lawyer my way out of this whole situation.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

What appeared to be a hologram hovered between us now, set atop of the tea-siphon, displaying a scene seemingly ‘recorded’ from the POV of the apprentice himself. 

“I apologize for breaching Expectant Decorum by disrupting your points of personal privilege. However, your current aim-to-disrupt has triggered this outcome. I suggest you avoid broaching this particular talking point, Cadet Emma Booker.”

“If it needs to be said, Cadet Emma Booker, we are here to discuss your aim-to-disrupt, and the bad-faith statements made in order to incite social confusion, discohesion, and ultimately, disorderly unrest amongst your peers.” 

I took a moment to regard that statement, and like before, a part of me wanted desperately to match the man tit for tat. I reached for my tablet, aiming to play out the recordings of that day as a part of my counterargument. But moreso, simply to flex the capabilities of technology on the stubborn old man. 

But I didn’t.

There was a chance he still was in the dark about that particular capability. 

And with the drone still in his office… it’d be best to keep that particular flex hidden for now.

“I understand that is what was, and clearly still is, being alleged, professor. However I still stand by my statements. I cannot for the life of me understand, nor interpret, how or why my words during the course of that mixer, were considered to be an aim-to-disrupt. I have made my purpose here at the Academy clear from day one, and expanded on my intentions on the day of that emergency assembly. I am here in order to facilitate diplomatic dialogue, to learn and to participate in benign and mutually constructive acts of cultural exchange. If the consequences of my actions and statements are in fact disruptive, then perhaps it is merely due to the inherently disruptive nature of my existence which I cannot mitigate. To ask that I stop would be akin to asking that I drink that cup of tea that was offered. It is a physical impossibility, or at worst, a disingenuous act with an intent to subvert the truth.”