.. with his beat up work boots and dirty hands, grease stained pants pokin out from underneath a car, and his shirt riding up to expose prominent hip bones
“Call me that again, and they will find reason to have me expelled early,” Red growled. It wasn't his choice; don't go assuming things about him, magician. That was a dangerous hobby, and one he would not take lightly. They were different, he and you. The sooner you learned that the better, albeit it was better learned from a distance. Castor had the appearance of a decent spellcaster, but Red was not one to find camaraderie in physical attributes. Your pallid skin, while exotic to him, was still just cosmetic.
So much for whatever facsimile of decorum he'd had, quickly giving into his wilder tendencies without even a glance behind him. You were not of his coven. You were a stranger, and there was nothing more dangerous than someone you did not know. Why, Gods, why had they chosen him for this mission? Certainly, he was up to the task, but the company was less desirable than even that of his brother Ares—a brother which he rather preferred to keep vaguely estranged.
“If you insist, although I hope it is not too much of a burden to show me to my room first,” he sneered. Ra forbid that Castor talk to him like an equal, no. Of course someone of his kin would be so arrogant to treat him as an apprentice! “Unless you prefer to keep me carrying my things throughout our journey.”
>>
Inhale, exhale. This mage wasn't nearly enough to be considered a true ordeal, especially if he was going to lose his temper over something as inane as a clerical error. Castor would keep his voice bland to the point of near-flatness for his reply. “Mage Red, then.” It didn't matter to him if this mage wanted to be called an adjective or a noun or a participle, though simply naming yourself after your function was rather unimaginative in Castor's mind.
“Your quarters are our first stop.” If you had been patient and waited another twenty seconds- was the following sentence, but Castor bit it back before his irritation could come to the surface.
The few staff and servants they met on their way through the fort greeted Castor with a nod and Red with veiled or open scrutiny or interest. Most of the residents were of the same pale model as Castor, and a mage from the southern lands was a novelty. In through the main entrance, up a flight of stairs and a turn towards the left, then another right down a smaller hallway. Here Castor stopped in from of a solid wooden door.
“Your quarters. If you have a need for anything beyond the basic furnishings, please inform the housekeeper.” A moment's pause. “Minor enchantments to discourage thievery and unpermitted entrance into your quarters are allowed in this fort with the stipulation that they are strictly of the non-damaging kind.” Better to establish that rule early, less some maid find herself spontaneously on fire when attempting to clean the rooms.
“If you will put away your bags, we can continue the tour.”
>>
It didn't have to be creative, your majesty, merely functional. “Red” was more than functional, and easily classified himself apart from the others there. Yet, there was one other thing that perhaps rankled him just as much as using the wrong name. It was that damned title. Was it polite? Maybe, but he hated it. Too formal. Too grating, and no one else called him that. So, please, don't start this bullcrap. “Just Red. I know you're fond of your little pleasantries, but drop it. We're the same rank.”
It felt patronising, even more-so than the stares he endured walking through what amounted to a small castle. Just the feeling made his entire body itch. If Castor noticed him walking faster than he'd had been before, that was why. It was one thing to be surrounded by one's own peers, but to be surrounded by those whose gaze was—Red's grip on his staff had his knuckles turning white. Nobody talk to him. Nobody touch him. Don't move. Don't do anything.
Red very nearly didn't even bother to listen to Castor before barging into his own room, a few shades paler than normal. He'd have to get used to it, but by Gods if his face couldn't be described in bolded do not want. Shucking his belongings to wherever looked the most reasonable, the red mage needed a moment to compose himself again, clearly uncomfortable and very agitated. He refused to call it anxiety, but perhaps that was the best describer for the sensation. Anger would have to take a backseat until this was over.
Yet, he couldn't be seen as weak, either, exiting as soon as his feet would allow him to do so. “Let's get this over with.” And don't expect him to join you for supper. This was enough sensory overload for one day.
>>
“You have earned your title, just as I have. It would be remiss to not use it.” Honestly, what was his objection to this? Titles were meant to be used, and it was just second nature for Castor to add them to his speech.
He may have been deliberately ignoring the staff, but it was a little hard to miss the way that Red barreled past him into the room, almost as if he were seeking shelter. One of the Black Magician's failings, according to his master, was a distinct lack of observational skills when it came to the body language of others. Thus he was aware that there was something wrong, but what it was he couldn't say.
Hmm. Perhaps he'd ask the staff to be a bit more discreet with their guest.
Or perhaps it was nothing, since Red's tone or expression hadn't seem to change. “Very well. On this hall are the guest rooms; at the moment yours is the only one being used. The other wing has the permanent quarters, including my own.” Castor drew himself up slightly, somewhat detached tone taking on a hard edge. “I have one apprentice in residence. She is not to be meddled with during her training.”
He didn't think Red would attempt to poach Mana, but you never knew. It was a common enough issue that he felt that a warning was needed.
“The grand stairway only extends to the second floor. The library and workshops are on the third floor, which can be reached by a stair at either end of the second floor.” Gesturing, Castor will lead the way towards one of those stairs. “The northwest tower houses a small observatory. The ground floor has the servants quarters, stables, courtyard, conference hall, and kitchens. There is a dining hall used for formal events, but for the most part residents and staff alike eat in the kitchen.” A slight glance back at Red, and something in him took pity on the paleness still under Red's dark complexion. “It is also not uncommon to request your meals brought to your room.”
>>
You really just wanted to make this as difficult as possible, didn't you? First arguing his name, and then arguing it even more! If it weren't for the fact that Red was doing his best not to ascend into a panic attack, he might have been more offended than he already was. Would it kill Castor to be agreeable just once? Maybe Red hadn't been the most agreeable, either, but he was the guest, damn it all!
Yet, he said nothing for a while, stewing in his own crowd-induced paranoia. He'd only just caught the word 'apprentice', taking several long seconds more to process whatever the hell Castor was prattling on about. Apprentice. So, this bastard had one over him, then. It irked him, but he wasn't lowly enough to try taking her for himself. For one, Red couldn't be sure she'd even be worth the effort, nor was he particularly keen in that moment to think about entertaining yet another person. The one person right now was only just within tolerable levels, although he could feel the desperate need for solitude creep up his spine, waiting.
Please just let this end, because then he can sulk in peace without worrying too damn much about others watching him. “Whatever. I don't care,” he grated out, his words completely unfiltered from start to finish. “The less of you I see, the better.” You, in this case, meant everyone in general. Red wouldn't be sorry for being a lousy guest, but in the future he would be at least a little less brash. Without time to recover, his ability to function as a half-normal person was unreasonably diminished.
The final comment had him scoff, “I'm fine.” That was the most blatant lie he'd ever spoken, but don't think the mage hadn't caught a whiff of something pansy-ish coming from Castor. He didn't need some stupid special service; if he couldn't stand the normal dining area, then he'd go hungry and that was that.
(( A friend and I have a fantasy AU/plot on skype concerning Red & a purple DM named Castor. In this AU, Red is a magician from another coven coming to study at an elite academy/uni that Castor is a staff member of. Shenanigans happen & my friend is graciously letting me post our thread[s] here if you want to read them <3 ))
>>
The fort was small, but that didn't make it any less important, nor well defended. It was located at a vital trade point, where the shore and nearby islands conspired to allow for water deep enough that ships could fully enter the bay without having to moor further from land. However, the river wasn't suited to more than shipping, which is why the town that had sprung up around the fort had remained limited in size.
Still, the fort was important, for the fort was there to defend the bay and the trade conducted there. In addition, it was also one of the retreats favored by the king.
For those reasons, the magical defenses of the fort were a bit better than one would expect. In residence were no less than a Sage, a Black Magician, his apprentice, and something that was more of a 'surprise' than an official staff member. Suffice to say that the fort was well guarded.
Which was why Mage Castor, 7th level Royal Black Magician, was perplexed on just why they were getting another Magician added to their outpost.
"He's requested permission to do research at the outpost's library," had been the explanation in the letter he'd recieved three days ago. "Mana is a good assistant, but I figured that you could use some more experienced help."
Help. From a strange Magician, one that wasn't even from the same coven. The normally stoic man's lip curled slightly in an unpleasant snarl, but he quickly smoothed the expression out. He had to make a good impression, and then hopefully boot their guest out of the fort as quickly as possible.
The mage was supposed to be arriving today, and the easiest place to wait for him would be on the wall surrounding the castle proper.
>>
Red wasn't the most friendly Magician to deal with, albeit that helped to come up with a decent cover for requesting a transfer. There were simply too many other Magicians in his coven, and they'd thought outside contact would be a good lesson for him. Sure. It sounded all pleasant and wonderful, but that really wasn't the style of his coven and he knew it. There were other powers at work, and, for now, Red would have to grit his teeth and get used to the prissy faces of his purple rivals.
Swell.
There was a saying, 'a wizard arrivals precisely when he means to', and that was no exception to this encounter. Fashionably late was another saying, although Red suspected the figure in the distance would have more quarrel over it than not. He was only half an hour late, but it was still late. For his first meeting with the other clan, Red had managed to braid his silvery hair into a neat braid behind him, foregoing the rigmarole of armour entirely for some nice robes. His only nice robes.
Upon getting closer he bowed, but only out of habit, his face betraying a niggling sense of irritation. Apparently, he'd been fed a name to go along with the lanky lout, but in his leisure had forgotten it entirely. Instead, a light grimace formed on his face, nonplussed with Castor as much as Castor was likely nonplussed by him.
“I was told you would be expecting me.” Whoever you were.
>>
A red. The interloper was a red, a class of Black Magician that specialized solely in war magic rather than the more balanced spells that Castor himself utilized. That matched up with his darker skin and the tattoos under his eyes, both hallmarks of an Academy in the Southern nations that was well-known for producing war mages.
Well. At least he could count on some level of competency, if not timeliness. “You are late.” Perhaps not the friendliest way to begin their interaction, but it was well known that mages could be someone 'territorial' over their studies. Castor couldn't send the mage away, but he wasn't required to be friendly to him.
“I am Mage Castor. I have been informed that you will be staying here as a reserve while you complete your studies. I have also been tasked with showing you the fort and your assigned room.” The bags with the red will get a glance before Castor turned to head back inside. “Follow me.”
>>
“Red,” he exchanged flippantly. Call him by any other name and he will have you flat on your back within ten seconds, Cas, and don't you think otherwise. Forget whatever you had been told about him, because it was better this way; although Red couldn't expect someone like you to understand, his other name brought up more bad memories than good ones. Consider his silent threat your only warning, his dour glance more than enough of a hint so far as he was concerned.
“Will it take long?” Not that learning the layout wasn't important, but Red's tolerance for interacting after having been stuck aboard a ship for several days was low. He needed to recharge his social energies, if Castor wanted to get anything even slightly more civil out of him in the future. Albeit, Red didn't at all expect either of them to spend much time together outside of a professional environment. Classically, their covens hadn't gotten along very well.
Still, he followed without qualm, wishing only for the day to be over already so that he could rest.
>>
A warning it might have been, but it wasn't one Castor understood just yet. The adjective would at first be puzzling, though his face didn't change to reflect that (he'd always had one hell of a poker face, but his time here at the fort had honed his ability to keep his expression impassive to a tee). One he figured out what the other might mean, his confusion settled into a kind of resignation. “I was informed that your name was Mage Pandora, not 'Red'.”
Honestly. All Magicians were counciled to choose a new name once they reached a certain level of adeptness, and Castor's own name had been changed as soon as he'd been promoted from apprentice. If this 'Red' didn't like his name, he should have picked a better one.
“This fort is small, but it does have its complexities. If you do not wish to blunder into a restricted area and find yourself in trouble, then you will allow me to give you the tour now.” Calm, collected, patient. The tone of an instructor to their pupil, and one that Castor found himself slipping into whenever his apprentice was being particularly stubborn. “You will have time to rest in your quarters before the evening meal.”
Chaos Gods, what had he done to warrant getting saddled with two apprentices?
