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

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.” 

The professor regarded my retort with a calm and expressionless stare. Though behind those peaceful eyes was a growing frustration which made itself clear in the stubbornness of his response. “The subversion of the truth, can be defined as an intent to misinform, a very act that was observed through your public discourse; a privilege granted by the Nexus in recognition of your rights as a candidate and a student. You are currently testing those privileges, by the very nature of the subjects you choose to consistently fixate and broach.”

“And what exactly do you classify as a subversion of the truth, Professor? At what specific point did I cross the threshold of benign dialogue to outright disruption?” I shot back, cutting right through the fat.

“By your very admission, Cadet Emma Booker, the point in which you started discussing your supposed nature and the implications stemming from your supposed manaless disposition.” 

I paused at that acknowledgement, at just how utterly ridiculous it was given everything he knew.  

“You… you do understand, professor… that my manaless disposition is something that isn’t a lie. Let me cut right to the chase — nothing I’ve been discussing thus far, or in the mixer for that matter, was in any way a lie. I’ve been attempting to address this politely, but I believe it needs to be said outright. I don’t acknowledge Apprentice Arlan Ostoy, and by extension, your claims of my supposed transgressions… simply because those so-called ‘transgressions’ were the truth.” I paused, making a point to lean in closer, if only by a single inch.  “And I know for a fact that you know this to be the case.” 

The professor matched my movements as he leaned forward, pushing aside his alchemy tea set, to meet my gaze.

Behind those eyes, was a knowing look. Yet the words that emerged, betrayed nothing of the sort. “It is your truth, Cadet Emma Booker. The truth that you purport to believe. A truth that stands against the truth of this great coalition of realms, and the greatest realm of all, the Nexus itself.” 

“So you’re saying that the truth from a singular newrealm, is enough to threaten the social cohesion and belief of all these other other realms?”

“You delude yourself in your visions of grandeur, Cadet Emma Booker, which comes to prove my point of your lack of self control. No, the point isn’t that you nor your ramblings have the capacity to threaten, let alone topple the cohesion of our great confluence of realms… the point is that the threat of it, as minute as it may be, is what needs to be taken seriously. Status Eternia was, and still is maintained, not by addressing only the largest of cracks or the grandest of threats, but by focusing on even the most minor of inconveniences — thereby ensuring stability through comprehensive discipline.” The man took a moment to pause, leaning in even closer, as he made it clear what was coming next was no longer up for discussion. 

“But enough of these arguments. Cadet Emma Booker, regardless of whether or not you may wish to admit your transgressions, my decision on your behavior henceforth is final — I will not take any formal actions against these transgressions, but I expect that no further transgressions will take place following this discussion. You are to cease all public discourse on all matters pertaining to your supposed manaless status, and you are to cease public displays that are aimed at subverting the truth for your own aims.” 

There we go. The gag order.

“And what if I refuse?” I shot back diplomatically, testing the waters before laying down my own boundaries. “Because by committing to your expectations, we are leaving an existential elephant in the room to roam freely without being addressed. This leaves a massive walking contradiction to your narrative to roam the halls, making things as much of a headache for you as it is for me. Moreover, any future discourse, and any hope at diplomatic dialogue, is all but compromised by a lack of foundational trust garnered by addressing this very blatant discrepancy that is my very existence.” 

“I believe the general pervasive theory is that in lieu of your manaless claims, you merely are mana-deficient. Or, that’s what seems to be the word amongst the student body at present.” The professor replied promptly, almost as if that answer was supposed to ‘help’. Which… it did, but it more so helped further his aims than my own. “Moreover, I believe you will find much, much greater obstacles ahead for your diplomatic endeavors than the issue of your supposed manaless status, Cadet Emma Booker.” The elf’s tone darkened, and so too did the general mood and ambiance around us. “That is, of course, if you do not comply.” 

“Blunt threats are unbecoming of you, professor.” I shot back with an Ilunor-grade sneer. 

“Oh I am afraid you are misinterpreting my intent, Cadet Emma Booker.  Indeed, you will find that I am the last person here who wishes to threaten you of all people. You are my student after all, a pupil of the Academy. I am, in fact, protecting you against a threat you very well should be aware of.” He spoke cryptically, maintaining both the warm persona and the more severe aura of authority. 

Is he talking about Mal’tory? The null? The inquisition or whatever investigation is going on right now?

I didn’t reply, not refusing to acknowledge it either way.

“I am, of course, referring to an event which would have otherwise spelled the end of your diplomatic endeavors here at the Academy — the death of Lord Lartia, and his entourage.” 

It was at that point that my heart practically sank.

As the ramifications of that night started to really hit hard. 

Practically, I knew that Lartia had died. That fact was more or less certain. But it hadn’t truly sunk in yet what that meant. His death was so removed from everything going on, and so sudden, that it just never clicked with me the way it was right now.

“An investigation is naturally underway from the powers that be, with the intent of ascertaining the sequence of events on that tragic night. However, as it currently stands, there seems to be a lack of any evidence hinting at the involvement of anyone other than the individuals who were meant to be there on that fateful night. There are, of course, unverified and unsubstantiated accounts of an anomalous interloper present within the vicinity of the area prior to the explosion. Though I have personally dismissed such tall tales, especially given the reports of the cries of a local werebeast being heard in the immediate area prior to the explosion. However, such claims could easily be investigated further, at which point…” The man paused, making it clear what his intentions were. “... I believe diplomacy will become the least of your concerns, Cadet Emma Booker.” 

A moment of silence descended on the conversation following that, as the man made a point to leave that thread hanging, refusing to even punctuate the scene with a sip of his tea.

Yet in spite of the obvious blackmail, and the clear power play and threats at play here, there was one question that came to mind above all else. A question that tied back to the veracity of his dubious claims of ‘protection’, and the the lip service he paid to the whole ‘respect’ he had for his pupils.

“So why haven’t you yet?” I snapped back bluntly. “Why have you refrained from simply outing me outright to the investigation? I doubt it’s simply due to the kindness of your heart. So were you just holding onto this as ammunition just in case?”

“This has all been a matter of reciprocity, Cadet Emma Booker.” The man announced firmly. “I had hesitated to commit your name, and your involvement, out of respect for your actions in resolving our brief dispute with the library.”

I took a moment to regard the man’s features as he spoke. His body language, indeed, everything about him at that point felt honest, and not in the usual half-baked honesty he usually fronted.

“However. I cannot guarantee that hesitancy and a refusal to divulge information alone, will be enough to ensure a lack of any further testimonials on my part.” He quickly added, as despite the honesty presented, that authoritative overture once more returned in spades. “The investigation is still ongoing after all, and I cannot judge just how far my reports of omission will continue to hold their weight without more active involvement on my part.”  

“Are you saying you would willingly commit to testifying on my behalf if it came to it?” I blurted out bluntly, prompting the man’s features to curmudgeon, as if he wasn’t expecting something that blunt in response.

“In a manner of speaking, in your words and not my own, yes.”

“And you expect me to believe that when presented with the choice of acquiescing to the pressures of an investigation, and defending what is supposedly a newrealmer, that you would choose the latter rather than the former? Just to maintain a gag order of all things?”

The man actually sighed this time around, finally coming around to taking a sip of his still piping hot tea. “I do believe I have alluded to this point already, Cadet Booker; just the week prior in my office in fact. But if it needs to be said, then so it shall be done.” He shifted his seat forwards, placing both hands in front of him. “My aims as the Dean of this Academy have always been the same as any other. I wish to accomplish the goals set forth by our founder, to bring about enlightenment and brotherhood to all that enter through our doors. It may not seem like it to you now, newrealmer, but I hope to one day see your realm joining the ranks of all others that came before it. Just as I one day hope to see you becoming a productive member of the student body. I wish to see all of this done, under the successful completion of your candidacy, under my tenure and reign.” 

And there it was. 

The difference between the dean and Mal’tory — the fundamental difference in their underlying interests. 

The one difference that made the dean tolerable, and Mal’tory impossible to reason with.

Their endgame.

SIOP Lesson 27: Once the chance for dialogue opens, then anything is possible. The difference between a party open to at least the smallest of dialogues, and a party that refuses any discourse, is not just significant… It's astronomical. 

This wasn’t to say that the dean had suddenly become a saint or an ally with that revelation.

But it did mean that there was at least a dialogue that could be had, and an angle through which I could approach him. 

Moreover, it meant that I could play ball and push the limits of his agreements with enough wiggle room to work with.

This meant that despite the draconian gag order, that the consequences to an attempt to subvert would be less catastrophic than what it would have otherwise been with someone like Mal’tory.

Beyond that though, the fact that he’d adhered to the whole favor system, proved that the man at least followed some sort of social framework. 

Though once again, the mileage of how far that could go, remained to be seen.

“So to clarify your terms, what you’re asking from me is to quote: cease all public discourse on matters pertaining to my manaless status, and public displays aimed at subverting the truth for my own aims?” 

“Correct, Cadet Emma Booker. That should be simple enough to follow through with, no?” 

“Oh yes.” I nodded. “Doesn’t look like I have too much of a choice, after all.” 

=====

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. En Route to the Armorer’s Workshop. Local Time: 2000

Emma

“It would indeed appear as if you lack any choice in the matter, Emma.” Thacea remarked dourly, as we just about wrapped up dinner and a complete review of the events at the garden.

“Compliance is something the Academy, and by extension the Nexus, is an expert at attaining.” Thalmin added darkly, just to round out the dour mood from the group.

It was, however, Ilunor that remained surprisingly quiet, as if he knew what I was about to propose next.

“Yeah. Compliance really is my only move here, isn’t it?” I replied, my tone slipping into the facetious which each passing syllable. “But unfortunately for the dean… he didn’t really specify what he meant by my own aims, now did he?” I began grinning, as each step we took was punctuated by a small unnoticeable skip of underhanded joy. “We’re still ultimately students at the Academy are we not? And as a result, we’re expected to try our best in class. So, when factoring in the fact that I lack the fancy schmancy magical abilities everyone else has to fast track their way through lessons… what’s stopping me from showing off a bit of tech-based shenanigans here and there?” I announced with a mischievous self-satisfied cackle. “After all, if it’s for the class and for academic performance, is that not for the class’ aims rather than something that’s explicitly my own?” 

“Malicious compliance.” Both Ilunor and Thalmin for that matter replied at about the same time, surprising me with how they seemed to be on point in this one particular subject matter.

“Yessiree!” I acknowledged, barely holding down my signature fangy grin. “And I didn’t even need SIOP training for this one. It’s just… something hardwired, hardcoded, and seemingly ingrained in every human being out of principle.” 

“That sounds less like a race of noble-minded thinkers and more a race of spiteful gremlins.” Ilunor chastised. 

“We can be both.” I offered half-jokingly. “Still, I know you were thinking the same thing here, Ilunor. You’re one for the theatrical, correct? Well, this is the ultimate theater is it not? To act without saying, and to perform without outright spoiling the plot?”

The Vunerian paused, as if actually pondering those words, before returning to his half-aggravated persona without acknowledging my question.

The silence was enough of an answer for me though.

“Moreover, since public discourse will be completely removed from your purview, these unexplained, inexplicable, and unexpected acts of manaless miracles would lead to even more intrigue to grow—”

“—leading to more of the sort of people that I think would be best to target first. Those that actually have an inclination towards curiosity and who would seek out answers.” I completed Thacea’s thoughts for her, as we both nodded at that point. “I’ve seen how it goes when we try to address a crowd. The art of convincing someone is far easier on an individual basis, and even easier when they actively want to know.”

We just about finished crossing that long walkway connecting the armory to the Academy at the end of that whole conversation. 

However, upon arrival, we were met not with Sorecar’s golems, but a set of gargoyles blocking the way to his door.

Moreover, a massive sign that read “Temporarily Inaccessible” was carefully placed upon the ornate double doors, prompting us to stop in our tracks.

“Students.” One of the gargoyles came forward, its voice was coarse, and quite literally gravely. “The armorer is currently indisposed as a result of Academy affairs. Please return from whence you came.”

“May I ask for how long, or what exactly is going on in there?”

“The armory is expected to return to standard operating hours beginning tomorrow. Now please, return from whence you came.”

The responses felt… canned and rehearsed. Almost like I was talking to one of those ancient automated response messaging systems, which didn’t bode well for us and today’s sidequest.

I would’ve said a staredown soon ensued, but it was more like I was too deep in thought to really come up with a reply, the result being a tense ‘standoff’ apparently manifesting between the motionless gargoyle and the motionless suit of power armor.

“Emma, I suggest that we simply return tomorro-”

KA-THUNK!

The double doors suddenly opened.

However, instead of the armorer or even the apprentice, what emerged was a long, elongated, unknown object hidden underneath a massive tarp. Beneath that, were several gargoyles holding this unknown thing aloft, as tens more eventually came out all holding the mysterious object above their heads, walking forward and out of the armory in perfect synchrony.

But that wasn’t all.

In fact, a verifiable stream of gargoyles soon began marching out, each carrying their own little tarp-covered object which was almost entirely obscured from view. 

It took about a good five minutes before they were done, and by the end of it, a familiar looking  professor emerged from within the armory.

A professor that I had yet to have had the pleasure of studying with.

A certain feline that stared back at our group with her signature fanged grin, and a posture that screamed PE teacher.

“Ah! Why hello hello! Come to take a peek at the goods have we? Well color me flattered, I haven’t had students that interested in the deep lore of physical education in literal decades!” 

“Oh, erm, I’m afraid we were here to meet Professor Pliska, ma’am.” I replied frankly.

“Ah, well, still! A girl can dream, can she not?” She sighed. “Anyways, I’m afraid the man’s busy. Busy with prepwork for both the house choosing ceremony equipment and the equipment I’m preparing for tomorrow’s PE class!” She managed out a grin as wide as a cheshire cat, gesturing at the procession of gargoyles now heading off into the distance, carrying off the equipment in question. “I hope you’re ready, students… because tomorrow, we’re going to be putting your skills to the test; both wits and vigor~.”