• PM To Join • The line between (Aeodan)

[Caius Gawyne]

Vhalar 69, 717

This was perhaps not the most presentable way to show up for the first trial of his new job on Rynmere University's campus, sleepless and only slightly unkempt, but it would at least be the most honest way for Caius to show up just about anywhere. Tired but awake—existing somewhere on the thin line of adrenaline that existed in between those two states of being. Always. Blue eyes wild from the mineral spirits used to clean up and far too much coffee to keep the night at bay, fingernails ugly with Gazette black ink (a smudge of which may have found itself glaring from the lapel of his coat had it not been dyed a dark enough blue to disguise it). Still, he’d wandered through the early morning streets of Midtown from the Rynmere Gazette all the way back to University campus, pausing only to change shirts, walk the dog, and run tired fingers through disobedient hair with a scowl of impatience.

He would be late.

The morning edition of the Gazette would be delivered before he even made his way toward the teacher’s offices, his hand set type making up the pages. And he wouldn't even see it.

Pausing in the hallway awkwardly, Caius patted down his own vest pockets, realizing he couldn’t remember the name of the Religion professor he’d been assigned to assist with research for the rest of the season. He hadn’t sat in any of the man’s classes before and the name wasn’t familiar at all to him, so either the professor was new or the young Gawyne had been awake too long.

The latter was of course the most likely.

Finally, stained fingers found what he was looking for and he swayed on his feet, squinting at the name he’d scrawled at some Fates-be-damned break trials ago onto a scrap of parchment torn with a wince from a journal,

“Veiken. Veigen. Neiken. Oh, sard it all.” Caius scowled at his inability to write better reminders for himself—he probably hadn’t even entirely been listening when he’d been given the professor’s name. A first name would have been useful. Or a room number. Or anything more than a surname with a half-dry quill. Idiot.

The teacher’s offices were probably organized by department, and so the mixed blood noble began his search that way, passing by the History offices on his way to the Religion wing of offices instead. A few of the small spaces were occupied and he considered asking directions, though most of the doors were closed and he had little to no desire to interrupt. Pausing at one of the open doors, he rapped on the wooden frame with the knuckles of his free hand, the other smearing last night’s Gazette black ink onto folded parchment. Swallowing his distaste at his inability to be entirely self-sufficient in this particular moment, the young Gawyne cleared his throat,

“Excuse me,” Blue eyes warmed in greeting and expectation, “Would you happen to know where the office of a Professor Veiken … or Veigen. Or maybe Neiken—bogs if I know, to be honest—would be?”

How sarding embarrassing. Caius’ faint smile was more of a grimace than the real thing … it wasn’t like he was even a new student.

❦

[Aeodan]

The heavy oaken desk was more than sturdy enough to support his full weight, and he leaned against it heavily. The pain in his legs has been substantially less for the past few seasons, but there were trials that were tougher than others. In the office of Professor Elrick Herlinger, Aeodan found all the support he needed. Erlinger, a rather large man from somewhere in the Hotlands, sat at his desk, bespectacled and peering at Aeodan.

"It's entirely possible, sure. But consider the source of the language. Umaya as a language seems to be used more for the Qi'ora to barter among themselves than anything. Qi'ora, specifically, are a very focused and dry people. You'd do well to meet one and learn the language. The Qi'ora are an admirable people."

His voice and accent were strange to Aeodan, who immediately pinpointed his birthplace as a small village in the desert, and he knew the man to be a true scholar on the Qi'ora and their ways. Aeodan, whose research was taking a small break for the trial, found that in Edalene's absence he had enough free time to try and learn something he didn't know the trial before. It was not a glamourous life, that of a scholar, but it was his.

"What's the point of a language you wouldn't share, though? Xenophobia stifles diaspora." He shook his head, and Professor Herlinger smiled.

"The Qi'ora don't seem to mind. The few I've met were loath to part with many phrases, though one did stick out. Ọkpụkpụ aka, ma obi na-emepụta." His Umayan was strong, the accent lilting in some parts and strong in others. "The hand crafts, but the heart creates. That is a creed with the Qi'ora."

Aeodan smiled at the creed, his heart warming slightly. For some reason, his mind turned towards Mable the cow, and he could not help but wonder how the farm was doing. He'd need to stop by before the weather turned too cold. Perhaps he'd pick up some fresh cream and some berries for Edalene on the way home. However, his attention was pulled from both the professor and Mable by an elegantly disheveled boy. Aeodan smiled brightly, though Herlinger's annoyance was obvious. Rather than allow the deep voice of the professor to ring first, Aeodan answered.

"Professor Verigan? He teaches the Religion classes." Aeodan grinned, gently helping the man to the right name. "You're a wing over. If Professor Herlinger does not mind a raincheck on our conversation, I'd be happy to show you the way."

He looked back to Herlinger, whose annoyance had faded only microscopically. Still, though, the desertborn nodded, and Aeodan lifted from the desk with a whisper of a sigh on his lips.

"Splendid. Professor, I will see you soon." He sauntered by Caius, casually offering him a smile.

"Professor Verigan's class, eh? First trial, then? Let me guess... 'Introduction to Idalosian Religions'? Extremely interesting class, though Verigan is a little too focused on the Immortals whose spheres directly impact mankind in a negative way. Still, it was an interesting class, that's for sure."

Aeodan rambled when unchecked, and he realized about halfway through that the guy may not care about his opinion. Still, though, Aeodan finished because it was the polite thing to do.

"Aeodan Burnett. Certificate in Linguistic Anthropology. Earning my Diploma in it this season." He grinned broadly, recounting all the work he'd done with the Jourkadri that had gotten him to the point he occupied.

[Caius Gawyne]

The young man’s expression did not turn into something apologetic as the professor glared at him when it probably should have, instead, quite the opposite, in warmed in almost involuntary, haughty defiance. The expected deference didn’t spill from his lips, and Caius’ hand not holding his folded paper briefly curled fingers into messy hair to tug it away from his face, bright blue eyes shifting from the Qi’ora to the brown-haired man who had just been discussing language with him,

"Thank you." He quipped, aware that he was in the wrong wing but choosing not to correct the comment, glancing past him for a trill, "My regrets for interrupting, Professor Herlinger." Not that he lingered for an answer, the young Gawyne stepping away from the open door to allow his visitor to exit and lead the way. He opened his mouth to make right the other man’s assumptions, eyes darkening visibly,

"Not exactly. This isn’t my first year—" This one could ramble, that was for sure. He waited with rare, well-bred patience, nodding that he’d heard the same about Professor Verigan’s class, though it was clear he had bristled a little by the slight shifting of colors in his eyes, "I’m actually his new Assistant Researcher."

Chronically late. Habitually so.

He finally corrected flatly, though not without a more amused smirk at Aeodan’s introduction, "I’ve heard your last name before, Burnett. Gossip in the halls, of course. It’s small here—the population, not the minds within. Unfortunately, it seems as though our studies have yet to overlap, but I’m behind in comparison."

He finally smiled, a smudge of black ink on his ear as he tucked blond hair behind it, "Caius Gawyne. Still working through my Letters in Religion and Printmaking, no thanks to family obligation." He rolled his eyes at his own sarcasm, aware that his name gave his history away,

"I figured a bit of research couldn’t hurt in speeding things along. Is this your last season, then? Or will you be continuing your studies?"

The Religion wing certainly looked the same as the History wing, save for, well, the signage. Caius was quite talented at pretending he wasn’t tired, long nights printing for the Gazette worth the nap he’d attempt to catch between classes later. The taller man ran palms over his vest as if to straighten it, not nervous so much as aware of his general state of ever-disheveled existence, "Hopefully, the Professor waited for me. I may be … oh about half a break later than our appointment."

❦

[Aeodan]

Gawyne? Aeodan was intimately familiar with the names of the Rynmere nobility, especially since Edalene had studied them for so long. Gawynes, the scholars of Rynmere, the logical and well-educated. All nobles were well educated, but the Gawynes prided themselves on their scholarly pursuits. That was, in Aeodan's opinion, the best noble house, if only for their interest in knowledge. That was something with which Aeodan identified.

"His new research assistant?" Aeodan grinned, knowing that Caius' gait meant he was late even before he said it. He quickened the pace to show the young noble where the office was. "Well, you certainly know how to make a first impression. Perhaps a last impression. Professor Verigan doesn't like unpunctuality." The younger Burnett smiled.

"Good rumours, I hope? Though you may have heard the last name, but not of me. My sister is a decently well-known historian here at the University, and has been. She's interested in both the history of the nobility and the origins of the Immortals." He smiled, chuckling as Caius explained his studies.

"Interesting, printmaking. I must say, as many scrolls as I've copied in my time here as a researcher, I've never thought about the scientific study of printing. To me, it's what the print says. I'm a linguist, myself. Or, aspiring linguist, as the case may be." He chuckled.

"So why religious studies? Interested in the Immortals, or their toils?" As he said it, the blue-ish silver mark over his eye seemed to shimmer, though there was no open light source to cause it to do so. He smiled and continued to walk, stopping outside the professor's office. Peering in, Aeodan shrugged.

"You may have more luck than you know, my friend. The professor isn't even in to-trial. Perhaps he caught a stomach bug or some such?" Aeodan chuckled knowingly. The boy appeared alert, but enough sleepless nights in Oakleigh had taught him what exhaustion truly looked like. There was something more to this noble, and Aeodan's curiosity was piqued.

[Caius Gawyne]

"All of my first impressions have already been made for me somewhat, have they not?"

Caius questioned almost demurely, the assumptions of his person made based solely his surname and noble birthright generally preceding him across all of Rynmere as the second son of Baron Frederick Gawyne. At little as he’d traveled, it had been somewhat nice to be less burdened by the caricatures made of nobility. Although, he’d been the one to say it when he didn’t need to, Aeodan’s grin a taunting one even as he picked up the pace of their strides. The young Gawyne kept his thoughts from wondering if the trouble was worth it,

"Well, rumors tend to be subjective, but that’s perhaps just my personal experience with them. Some are good, others don’t matter. Sister? Hmm. Interested in the history of the nobility? She’s welcome to take a carriage home in my stead next time, then." Caius’ expression was wry, half serious, half joking, and he laughed mostly at himself, "Gawyne history is naturally the most interesting, but I’ve been accused of being biased. As for which of you I’ve heard more of, I’ll admit I probably wasn’t paying attention. The more that gets crammed in here," an ink-stained fingertip bore into his temple hidden under strands of hair for emphasis, "the more it all seems to blend together—history, religion, language, and apparently names."

He shrugged.

"It’s not scientific—printmaking—it’s art."

Caius’ smile then was it’s most genuine, but it was fleeting. He had no interest in defending the purpose of the Institute of Art or his place in it, the usefulness of various forms of self-expression something he valued as more than just a shallow but cultivated hobby that made a noble well-rounded and desirable,

"As for religion, well, it wasn’t sarding politics or military tactics. History could have been a choice, I may still end up studying both. The Immortals interest me, yes, if only because my family’s proof they exist. That said, I was required by my father to study something of virtue alongside my creative pursuits in order to even leave home in the first place—" The young Gawyne did note curiously the mark on the other man’s face, but he was not unfamiliar with it after having spent time studying in Viden among Yvithia’s own people. He didn’t stare, but he wasn’t shy about studying his guide as he spoke and questioned the noble while they walked together.

They had stopped at the correct door but the office was vacant. Caius’ eyes darkened visibly and he paused, wordlessly calculating the date in his head,

"—This is what happens when the Rynmere Gazette needs a four-page newspaper before dawn. Mayhaps I got the break wrong. Or the trial. What’s to-trial?" He probably should have been embarrassed, but he wasn’t, his tone distracted and distant for a moment as he mentally thumbed through an invisible calendar after admitting indirectly that he’d yet to have slept at all. He’d even hand set the type for to-trial’s date but couldn’t remember, "Or maybe I don’t really need a second job anyway."

The young Gawyne felt compelled to leave a note, however, and he fished in his bag for a small journal and a quill, returning to the subject of printing with Aeodan while he wrote something short and apologetic just in case,

"Scrolls are fragile over time. Copying them by hand is exhausting. Metal, moveable type is almost magic, though producing matrices in every language would be quite a project in itself. Books are sturdier, for the most part. Is that what an aspiring linguist does? Copy scrolls all day? That’s a waste. I thought the joke was they’re better with their tongues?"

He hovered with a grin, hesitant to leave lest the Professor appeared after all, unsure of what to do with himself otherwise. Sleep, obviously, but eventually there'd also be class.

❦

[Aeodan]

Aeodan's dark eyes sensed the bemusement in the disheveled noble, and he paused to cast a quick glance at the man. Often, he fell into the pitfall of casting all nobles by their families rather than their individual merits. It was something Aeodan was not proud of, but he had fallen into the practice when discussing the noble lineages with Edalene. Though, he surmised there must at least be a small reason that the surname often told much about those whose carried it.

"Oh, have they? You'll have to forgive me. Not being of noble birth, I'm used to having to make first impressions. Nobility problems, eh?" Aeodan's smirk was hidden well as he quartered away from Caius, under the pretense of looking once again for the professor. When he turned back, though, his smile was genuine.

Aeodan's dark eyes scanned Caius' features as he spoke again, trying to find something in the young Gawyne's expression that would unravel his mystery. Aeodan, whose thirst for knowledge often drove him into situations that were sticky, needed to understand everything and everyone around himself. He had been growing a lot in his time since leaving Viden, but he had not yet bested that character flaw. It was primal in him, his desire to know and classify everything. This Gawyne was no different.

"Your family is proof that they exist? Are you a Mortalborn?" Something roiled inside him, bitterness rising as bile in his throat. He swallowed hard, the lump of rage threatening to gag him. The only other Mortalborn Aeodan knew was Narav, and though he'd not thought about the man in a long while, he knew that the spectre of what must be done to save Farafan still loomed on the horizon for he and Edalene.

He swallowed again, forcibly realigning his attention to the young noble to not seem disinterested. Though Caius seemed aloof, it was not in Aeodan's wheelhouse to remain as such. Focusing his attention, Aeodan allowed the coloured lenses of the 'Emotional Palette' ability to tint the skin of Caius. As he observed the man's emotions as if he were wearing a sweater, Aeodan smiled.

"Sixty-nine Vhalar. Lucky or no, this seems to work in your favour. If you've got time, I'd be happy to pay for lunch and hear all about the art of printmaking." It was the only thing that Caius had seemed genuinely interested in, and Aeodan was always happy to learn something new. He tried to learn at least one new thing every trial, and this seemed like a wonderful opportunity.

But it was his final comment that caused Aeodan to grin. Though not usually garish, having spent time with Judah in Oakleigh, he'd picked up a penchant for euphemisms and limericks. "I've never had any complaints. Like I said, I'm used to having to make strong first impressions." The devilish look burned on his dark features.

[Caius Gawyne]

”I’d rather be given the opportunity than not, but, it’s probably safe to say that everyone has their own sarding opinion on Rynmere’s noble Houses—even me.” Caius admitted with a casual shrug and a wicked grin, aware that it was common for those not of nobility themselves to make sweeping assumptions based on House and family. He was used to it, but that didn’t mean that he enjoyed it, that he wanted to be set on some alabaster pedestal next to his brothers or sisters, to be seen in the light of their own imperfections when he was capable of admitting he had his own.

Still, Aeodan turned back to him, catching the young Gawyne off-guard with both his question and his tone, which held something sour or even angry. Caius’s normally blue-eyed gaze churned amber, surprised, “Am I what? Me? Mortalborn? Fates no, but Warren Gawyne, the first Gawyne, was the Half God, after all. Ziell’s Immortal legacy runs in the veins of my family, yes.” It was his turn to smirk, though his tone wasn’t as bitter as the other young man’s had been, “In mine, also, but I assure you, I’m just as mortal as you are.”

More so, he felt, yet left that unspoken in the air between them, a ploy to test the limits of Aeodan’s brightly burning curiosity.

Most mortals weren’t burdened with the knowledge of their own end.

The northern noble was amused, annoyed, and tired—a tumultuous but constant state of being that he’d become used to living in—and he wore it well enough, even if it was clear he either took his appearance for granted or didn’t give a damn. Perhaps both. Definitely both. Eyes shifting to the door again, there was the edge of a sheet of paper or perhaps an envelope peeking tauntingly from under the door,

“Sixty ninth. Then I’ve gotten the trial correct.” Caius hummed, flashing Aeodan a broader smile at his comment on favor. Or maybe it was lunch. Bending before he answered, long fingers pulled the envelope from under the door as if he had every permission in Idalos to do so. He did. It had his name on it,

“I’ll never deny a commoner his right to offer tribute to my lineage with a meal.” The young Gawyne was sarcastic, but the expression on his aquiline features bordered on the haughty, as if he almost meant it. Then he laughed, rolling his eyes, “Please—I can sarding pay for myself, Aeodan. Especially because you’ll be bored if that’s all you want to talk about.”

The northern noble was opening the envelope as he answered, blue eyes reading words but the Burnett boy’s riposte to his innuendo tugged at his attention, warming his grin and creasing amusement into the edges of his face, “Yes, well—”

Lord Gawyne,

Your well-documented lack of punctuality has preceded you, and I unfortunately had prior engagements I couldn’t miss. Instead of impressing me with your ability to keep time, I suggest you prove your usefulness as a scholar. I expect the fruits of your labor and your face on time tomorrow.

— Verigan

“—ah, be careful with that. With such a weighty reputation often comes far weightier expectations in performance.” Unaware of the other man’s commitments, Caius could only speak from experience, turning over the parchment in his hands to skim Professor Verigan’s strange test, distracted.

Offering Aeodan the page, he was far more crass than proper, at least this far from the foggy north of his home, “Lunch, then? I, for one, struggle to do my best work in the Library on an empty stomach.”

❦

[Aeodan]

Aeodan's smirk followed Caius' bluster, the Burnett boy's dark eyes landing on Caius with a glint to them. Aeodan was not one to trade witticisms, mainly because he did not wish to insult, but Caius seemed intent on using his rapier wit to cow the young scholar. Aeodan, not competitive, decided to play along with the Gawyne.

"It is nice to see that you didn't gain the powers of politeness from your divine heritage, My Lord." Aeodan emphasized the last bit, meaning it as a jab towards Caius' insistence that his heritage meant something more than it did. "Though to be honest, I do not care if you're born to nobility or not. I've seen some of the most noble commoners, and some extremely common nobles. Birth only affords advantage, nothing more."

His eyes flashed, locking onto Caius' letter for a brief moment. Aeodan knew that he did not need to pay for the Gawyne, but he offered as a courtesy to the boy. On the first meeting, Aeodan often liked to be the polite one, as it set a precedent for the rest of the relationship. Many of the scholars he'd built comradery with over the arcs had been doing over a table for lunch. Hell, he'd first learned he loved Duncan in a restaurant not far from the university. Food brought people together. Focusing, he used The Telesthetic's Boon to hear Caius' thoughts as he read the note, hearing in his own head the words, repeated in Caius' voice.

"Very well, lunch it is, My Lord." He grinned, leading the way to the door so that the two of them could go enjoy lunch. Off to the side, the glinting gold of Envoy prism-eyes caught Aeodan's attention as it loped through the halls by them both. The eyes spun madly, but the one identical to his own just stared at Caius. Envoy was attracted to intellect, born from the desire to learn languages. The bipedal frog humanoid's anemone hair drifted slightly towards Caius, eating his sarcasm as they moved. Aeodan just smiled, content to know it was watching over him.

"There is a place, not far from here, that does the best smoked pork you've ever had. My sister loves it. Or perhaps you'd prefer fresher foods? Salad and the like?" Seeing the bags under his eyes, Aeodan smiled. "Or fruits, maybe?" He knew that fruits carried natural sugars that improved energy. Aeodan himself preferred meats and vegetables.

"But I truly recommend the pork. It's to die for." He smiled again.

[Caius Gawyne]

"Truth be told, I don't sarding care much about my title, either. It's my loss, I'm sure. Maybe I should, but sometimes I just don't see the point." Caius shrugged at him, grinning at the dark-haired young man who played along begrudgingly. Aeodan's humor was a reluctant one, and the northern noble found it far to easy to tease, "Ziell isn't the Immortal of Politeness. That's not his damn domain—is it anyone's? No."

He laughed then, coarse in the quiet hall, rolling his shoulders in a shrug, "Advantage is relative, and nobility is a choice. It's not my strength, I'll admit. I don't have the patience for it, which is probably one of the reasons I'm here in Andaris and not at home."

Caius might have grated a little at Aeodan's persistent use of his title, aware that he'd invited it upon himself but not at all particularly comfortable with it, anyway. It was somewhat unusual for him to make such a show of himself, no matter how much he enjoyed carrying on about his House's unusual history on occasion. He didn't get the opportunity as much as he liked, He folded Professor Verigan's letter and tucked it into one of the pockets of the vest he wore, ink-stained fingers fiddling listlessly with the well-polished buttons once he was finished. The young Gawyne followed the other man, who was a curious creature,

"I'm easy to please when it comes to food, no matter what the rumors are about my House and our cuisine. You know, the lie is that anything is better than the food back home—we just perpetuate that to keep the rest of you sods from spoiling our beautiful but cold, rocky expanse of a Dutchy." Caius grinned, honestly having no preference, both because he was far from Umberidge and because he was always hungry for just a little more of everything like a candle burning at both ends.

"To die for, well," The printer's diri eyed Aeodan, irises warming from blue to green in amusement, "I can't say no to that."

He chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets once outside for lack of anything better to do with them. It certainly wasn't cold, no matter what the Andaris locals thought about the weather,

"So, are you actually a linguist or do you just pretend to be one—aspiring and all? Of all the places to study language, and you're in the arsehole center of the Common tongue?" The young Gawyne was familiar with much of mid-town, and so was interested to see where the young Burnett led them just in case it was somewhere new, "Why aren't you traveling, hearing the rest of Idalos tell you all their dirty words?"

❦

[Pegasus]

Caius

Overview

LOL - what a first day! Disheveled (check), late (check), can't remember the professor's name (check, check) and the reputation for tardy had preceded you (check!). Glad that you decided to do the right thing, though, and go to lunch! Shame that the thread ended, I was enjoying it, but sometimes that happens. PM me if I missed anything!

Points

XP: 15

Fame: Nurp.

Loot

Nurp.

Knowledge

Etiquette: It helps to get names correct
Etiquette: Polite interruption
Navigation: Asking directions
Navigation: All these halls look the fekking same
Rhetoric: University gossip
Rhetoric: Witty innuendo
Sociology: Noble impressions
Sociology: Having an unusual lineage

Non-Skill Knowledge:
PC: Aeodan Burnett
Aeodan: Linguistic Anthropology Student
Aeodan: Full of reluctant wit
NPC: Professor Herlinger: Qi'ora
NPC: Professor Verigan: Professor of Religious Studies at Rynmere University
NPC: Professor Verigan: Focused on Immortals whose spheres directly impact mortals in a negative way
NPC: Professor Verigan: Doesn't like unpunctuality
NPC: Professor Verigan: Caius is his research assistant (maybe)

Aeodan

Overview

Always a pleasure to review a thread with Aeodan in it, he's so well written. I love his dry wit and quiet strength. His take on nobility being advantage and how he's met noble commoners as well as common nobles was just... I know this makes no sense, because it's written, but his timing is perfect and his points are always just delivered with razor sharp accuracy. He's a really well written pc, I love reading him! PM me if I've missed anything.

Points

XP: 15

Fame: +6 (good deeds)

Loot

None

Knowledge

None requested.