They carry it like a shroud; that pain, those memories, being forced to share a classroom with that thing every day / forced to fake comradery when they’d rather just be alone — they take the few moments of isolation allotted to them to heart, calmly taking a little too long to tend to the stables, walking out a little too slowly, barely noticing anyone standing there, caught up in their head too much, too much. ( All blood, all angry . )
They easily catch the sword thrown to them despite the slight look of surprise at suddenly seeing their teacher and the distracted nature of their prior gait, hand clasping the wooden blade mid air ( thankful it isn’t steel ) before their other takes it by the hilt, testing the weight of it — lighter than a blade made for war, not meant to test endurance but skill — for, as she said, knocking each other around rather than making any real progress; something about that irritates them. They scoff.
“What do you care? My feelings have nothing to do with my ability in battle. Unless this goes toward my grade, I’m not having anything knocked into me.” They lean down and stab the sword into the dirt, but the blunt tip barely scathes the ground; it topples over, clattering down, landing in front of their boots — they kick it for good measure. “Did someone put you up to this? I’m not about this we’re a team thing you’ve all got going on — you’re not my friend, so unless I’m affecting your work, take your ‘concern’ and stuff it.”
well, she certainly can't say she didn't expect as much. guiding the students was an art she had mastered, by this point. ashe and annette required a gentle touch so as to not discourage them, while dimitri and ingrid were far too strong-willed to accept comfort when they messed up, so on and so forth. felix, on the other hand...she could never pinpoint what, exactly, he needed. accepting help was a great taboo in his eyes, yet a firmer hand only caused him to lash out. it was an awfully frustrating balancing act.
cerulean hues eye the discarded sword — kicked for good measure, yes, she noticed — before shifting back to meet his gaze. intimidation was his go-to tactic for dealing with people, regardless of who they were. enemies, allies — anyone who approached the fraldarius heir would be met with icy glare from golden fires. what, exactly, did he hope to accomplish, anyway?
" well, you're my student, for starters. i do believe i'm entitled to concern. " as for the swords...she flips the one in her hand absentmindedly, trying to articulate an explanation that didn't sound completely asinine. " you're only ever truthful — to others and yourself — in battle. i thought perhaps i could spur you to tell me what's on your mind. worst case scenario, you learn a thing or two about humility. "
truth be told, negotiating was never her strong suit. bael was the only personable eisner. but, well...a blunt blade would have to do. " you are, in fact. i may be forced to turn to ale if i have to deal with your attitude much longer. " that...may have been a joke, although her neutral tone made differentiating difficult. " you're right, of course: i'm not your friend, i know nothing about who you are or what has made you this way...mostly because you refuse to tell me, but i digress. you have friends, ones that care for you, yet you refuse their help, as well. ' friendship ' is not the issue here. " she falls silent, though only briefly, another moment to gather her thoughts.
" why are you so adamant on refusing to acknowledge your own self? "
