"Well, that was plenty enough for me. I gave that big ugly oaf one good look in the eye and then socked him in the gut as hard as I could, and let off a charge through my glove that sent him reeling. Now he doesn't bother the first-years any more," boasted the boy on the table, his pose a heroic-looking one, even if sort of childish. The other kids that had formed a small crowd around the edge of the table looked on with eager eyes, wanting more to the story, more about how this strong, heroic second-year had single-handedly saved all of their hides from the biggest bully in the whole academy.
Their fervor was cut short, however, by the girl sitting on the overhanging tree branch. "Did you tell them about how Cassian and I had to come peel you off the floor after you were done with your 'beat-down?' Because I think I missed the part where Noah didn't have his tech stuff and that's why you won," she said casually, brushing her painted nails against the hem of her artificer's jacket. A murmured chuckle spread through the crowd. She looked down at the top of the boy's head.
"What? No way, you guys, don't listen to her. I was putting all kinds of hurt on that Noah kid!" he started again, but the attention he'd garnered was diminished greatly by his embarrassment. He sighed. "Another day, another crowd lost," he mumbled.
The girl snickered. "Score up to date: world, one; Lywell, zero. Better luck next time, Ell," she said, and dropped to the tabletop to pat him on the shoulder. "But don't feel too bad-- the next group of transfers is coming in tomorrow, so you'll be able to ensorcell them with your tales of harrowing bully-beating as long as Cass and me aren't around."
"Yeah, thanks, Iwaen. You're a great friend," said Lywell, brushing himself off and plopping down on the edge of the table. "You always ruin my chances of gaining a reputation with the new kids. How am I going to gather an army of arcanists to take over the world if nobody takes me seriously?"
Iwaen sat down next to him, put her elbow on her knee, and chuckled. "You could always build some, mister Arcano-technician. An army of those little brass mice you like building so much, now that would be a sight to see." She chuckled, opened her lunch bag.
"Ha, ha. Very funny," replied Lywell. "Once I get done with this round of tours, I'll be off of detention duty. Wanna hit the cafeteria after? It'll only take a little while, I promise," he said. "Call Cassian, let him know too?"
The girl zipped up her bag and turned, a chunk of brown, seedy bread hanging out of her mouth, and nodded. Since the transfers were coming in all that week, every day was a half-day so that the newcomers could go through the school without the inconvenience of classes being disturbed. It being a half day was more than enough reason for Iwaen to believe that Lywell would invite her and Cassian to lunch at the cafeteria, and she knew she could weasel out of paying for it if she just pulled the right strings.
“Listen up, everyone, I'm only going to explain this once. If you have questions, ask me after I'm done talking and maybe I will answer them. All right, here we go. As I'm sure you know, there are three sections of Bodruin Academy, and each section houses their respective magic classes and students.” The courtyard fountain was a perfect place to give this spiel, because you could see all the other sections without walking through them.
“The east wing, Vil-Caery, that's the Arcana History area. You newbies who use rituals, chants, or any other 'Olde Methodes' will be staying over there. The north wing, Vil-Tirro, is where the Artificers do their thing. If any of you guys are the kind to use magic weapons or tools that don't draw from Mana gems, that's your home up there. Finally, The west wing Vil-Gonns, well...” said Lywell, brushing his jacket off. “That's my territory, and the territory of any other Arcano-Technicians that might be in this crowd. That's the fancy word for people who make items that run off Mana gems.”
He hopped off the fountain and turned toward the south. “Down south of here is the market. They are not technically part of the school, but they do business exclusively with the school and its students. That's us. Yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but the school makes us buy all of our own supplies for schoolwork, be it scrap metal or parchment or whatever. They do, however, give us an allowance of 500 Seeds a month, which, for studious, diligent people, is enough to buy your stuff. That's assuming you never want to have any fun in this place.” The transfer students listened closely; some perked their ears up at “diligence,” others at “fun,” and some, like the small first-year up in the front ring of the small crowd, were enraptured by just Lywell's voice.
Well, just his voice, and his scruffy, short black hair, and his thin-but-toned body shape, and his bright, almost glowing green eyes, and... The girl raised her hand.
Lywell considered ignoring her, but she did not look like the kind to ask a lot of annoying questions. With a sigh, he pointed toward her and squinted to read her name badge. “Fraelya Attebery, is it? What?” he said, and mock-impatiently put his hand on his hip.
The girl shook for a second, but then took a deep breath and spoke. “Mister Braewyn,” she began, but Lywell cut her off there.
“Just Lywell is enough, thanks. Carry on.”
“L-l-lywell... Um... How do you know what class you belong in?” She twirled a piece of her long white hair in her fingers nervously. Honestly, she'd never known that there were different ways to do magic until her father saw her having a conversation with her reflection in a mirror and immediately whisked her away to Bodruin. It was all so new to her.
Lywell stared blankly for a moment. “You... you don't know what class you are?” he asked, truly taken aback. When he'd been taken to Bodruin, he'd known since forever that he was Arcano-Tech. Cassian's parents were both Arcana Historians, so it was pretty set what he'd be, and Iwaen... well, Iwaen sort of chose what she'd do by herself. She could have gone in any of the three ways, but for one reason or another Artificy caught her by the tail.
He kept his stare locked for just another second, and then shook his head. “Well, I guess you should talk to the headmaster or something,” he said, scratching his head. “But really, how do you not know what class you are?”
Whether he meant it to be embarrassing or not, Fraelya turned tomato red and looked away, busied herself with her curls. With a last sigh, Lywell motioned to the South again. “The headmaster's offices are also down that way, by the lake. If you need anything like medical attention or whatever, that's where you should go.” He looked at his watch, an ornate silver clock face attached to a silver wrist-bracer he made himself. The hands snapped into one o'clock position.
“...and here's where you and I part ways, newbies. I'll catch you guys later,” he said, and turned to skip off to the cafeteria. Something grabbed his wrist, however, and when he looked back, Fraelya had latched onto him. She looked insecure, scared. Obviously something like this would be natural for a frail-looking girl like her being tossed into a grand and new place with no connections.
“...take me with you...” she muttered.
For one long second, Lywell contemplated the results of bringing along the small white-haired girl. “...I'm going to the cafeteria. You can come if you want,” he finally said, and shook his hand free. “Meeting friends, so you'd better not slow me down, you hear?”
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