drabble prompt || always accepting
Robin with the Levin Sword
(requested by @archerofmitrenzi, so I’m responding to this post from @panta-rhei-psychi which I’d been waffling about doing a companion drabble for anyway.)
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A diminutive sigh, with something akin to a disappointed groan, seemed to reverberate off the walls of the mostly empty room due the sheer silence and concentration taking place. He sunk into the bed that wasn’t even his, his gaze was fixed on the razor-edged steel thorns that zig-zagged along the jagged blade that left a familiar numbness to his fingertips.
Isaiah then turned his head to Robin, who was at her desk across, and her back facing him. At work, as always. It was such an unusual sight to see her white blonde hair down straight like that, that he forgot that’s kinda how it’d work without it being up in ponytails. He was sure she wasn’t necessarily intending to see anyone at this point, but it was his fault for coming to her quarters so late. It was nice, though. As was she, for letting him bother her with his company since he just couldn’t find the right mood to unwind.
Eyes back down, his right hand clenched the hilt of his mentor’s blade and bringing forth a golden radiance as his left hand began to go from lack of senses and a dull prickling to a sharp sting on his palm. He winced but endured it for a moment longer before examining the blade over once more and setting it down where he initially picked it up from. He flopped back onto Robin’s bed and laid on his front, with his head facing the busybody in her natural habitat.
Deep inhales while faced down into her sheets brought a comforting scent to the surface of his mind, while the exhales tried to help Kazé with the process of letting it all go. While his thoughts were on the subject, this entire atmosphere and Robin, herself, brought about a sense of relief that no troubles could hope to combat. It made him think for a split moment, just how much he relied on her and cared for her. He felt a sense of pride when thinking of her feat and accomplishments, and counted himself lucky to have someone like her in his life.
He wondered if idle conversation would be too distracting. He knew just how little sleep she got in general, and didn’t want to keep her from her responsibilities. He thought over the subject and for a while, was able to keep his mind on something other than the bite of that lightning.
Ylisstol’s politics could be as much a warzone as any other battlefield, Robin soon came to realize. However, the lodgings are at least nicer. Surrounded by wood and mattresses, a real desk and a working door, she could have half-bedroom, half-office. Spoiled, really. Tea, candles, baths, and potpourri delivers at her beck and call, but all the luxuries of relaxation just make it all the more bearable to keep a work schedule as late into the night as ever.
Abundant time (and even the expectation) to keep up appearances, along with the lacking need to be ever-ready for battle and boosted spells, meant Robin could, literally, let her hair down more often. Heh. She could see the internal double-take on Kazé’s face when she answered the door. Perhaps it would make more sense, given the brush sitting upon a dresser he would pass to have a seat on her bed.
It may seem more intrusive with full furnishings, but is no different than when he used to walk through her tent flap to flop on a cot after a march. Robin near always ascribed to an open-door policy, and her apprentice (and best friend) especially would never be unwelcome.
Each other’s presence is something comforting in a world now unfamiliar to both of them. Still sought out as often in quiet evenings, just to sit and to think, and to exist together as they adjust.
Hence - wordless greeting and entry. If he had something to ask or to say, he would never hold back, and so she sits and returns to work, ears perked should such sounds come to pass. Instead, the first sense strong enough to pull her from her focus - is light. A burst of golden magic sparkles in the corner of her eye, then followed by the gentle clack of a special metal sword tucked back into its resting place against a pewter stand. Pivoting hips upon her chair, she watches the concentration flow through brown eyes, wrists twitching with an attempt to discharge leftover power.
A serious face breaks with the prick of a grin at Robin’s lips. An amusing benefit to having someone to teach is to witness a past version of yourself in the flesh. Someone going through the same inescapable motions and basics before they could assimilate them to their own techniques, their own mastery. A sympathetic chuckle breaks conversational silence, “...Didn’t think you would have to work on your magical callouses too, eh? It’s not just your hands, though they get the most painful part of it. Your whole body will become better at conducting and diffusing the kickback. The magic will start to find preferred routes through your tissues, and be able to travel faster and with less aching as they learn to compensate. It’s called resistance. It’ll develop just like any other muscle as long as you keep training it.”
Walking over, she takes her sword in hand. “You need to discharge the weapon, too. I learned that the hard way after leaving it out in the sun all day once.” (He should remember from prior lessons that the sun and moon are great sources of power for magical charges). “...The residue compounded the entire time and the shockwave upon touching it next nearly sent me to the healer’s tent with tremors and a migraine.”
After a twirl, the cone tip of the hilt bottom taps twice on a stone windowsill next to her headboard, “Presto! That’ll do it. Earth and stone are the best, ah... grounders. There’s a reason I had you practice outside first, you know. I’d recommend waiting until you’re a little more practiced to come up this many flights, at least if we’re talking thunder tome-work. Or... you could try again, but keep your other hand on that limestone.”
