One Fine Morning in the Atrebla Arena...
"Now, then, here is the story. Some of it is true."
- Mark Twain
It was a bit early for practice, but Topaz was already at the practice room, having sufficiently recharged her coffee quotient, when she heard the shuffling of weary feet in the hall and looked up. Moyrloch the conjuror had obviously seen better mornings. His cloak could charitably be described as rumpled (although it was neater than his hair), and as he stumbled across the floor his boots dragged as if he were being summoned to the Last Judgement and was more than a little apprehensive about his record. She deliberately flashed him a too-bright smile and put a hearty cheer into her voice. "Good morning, Mory!" She noted (with satisfaction) that his immediate response was to wince.
"Aye..." Her student appeared to be having trouble with his ears, or his eyes, or his stomach, or quite possibly with all three. "Jus' dinnae be too loud. Please," he added weakly, eyeing the floor as if it might be contemplating a surprise attack.
"Too much celebrating last night?" she asked innocently. "You look like you might have had a tad too much fun."
Moyrloch slumped gratefully into a convenient chair and shook his head gingerly. "Dinnae know ye if'n I'd call i' fun r'nae. Och, that hurts."
"Sitting?"
"Breathin'." The poor man, she thought, obviously needed nothing so much as a little peace and quiet, preferably about three years' worth. Alas, such was not to be.
The young man who strode into the practice room was noticeably nondescript. Aside from his athletic build, which bespoke a more than passing familiarity with swordsmanship, he could have passed for an average person on the streets of any human town. Max was that rarest of characters, an actual no-kidding local native, born on RhyDin itself; but his lack of flashy costume or at-least-slightly-weird physical characteristics made him look to the casual observer like a recent immigrant, who could have easily evoked the RhyDin equivalent of "Y'all ain't from around here, are ya?" He greeted his teacher with casual friendliness and obvious sincerity. "Heya, Topaz." Taking a glance at the older man in the chair, he added, "How'd I know you'd have a headache this morning?"
Moyrloch glared at his fellow student. His memory of the night before was obscure, but he felt certain that Max had had something to do with it. He was considering frying the boy to medium charcoal on general principles when Topaz, seeing his obvious distress, intervened. "Perhaps a bit of Irish cofee would help?"
The conjurer turned a slightly deeper shade of green. "'Air o' th' dog, aye? Nae, I'll b' fine."
The other two eyed each other in obvious doubt, and the fairy began to rummage around behind the arena bar. Within moments she reappeared with a steaming cup of coffee and presented it to Mory. "Drink this, it'll help."
Mory eyed it dubiously and tried unsuccessfully to sniff the vapors. "What's in it?"
"Coffee. Trust me." Reassured, he started to sip, so she went on. "And honey, and milk, and Scotch." He began to smile, until she added, "And raw egg yolk," almost choked on the swallow, but manfully persevered. He might have managed to drink it, too, if Max hadn't gratuitously offered, "I could go grab you some leftovers from the Harris Stew."
"Ahurk!" declaimed the conjuror as he bolted out of his seat and shot like a bolt of unsteady lightning into the nearest bathroom. Topaz gave Max what she hoped was a stern restraining look and received what he imagined to be an apologetic shrug. Neither was particularly convincing.
After a suficiently lengthy prayer session at the porcelain altar, Moyrloch returned, pale but moderately alive. His first act was to seize the coffee cup and down a good half of the contents, which seemed within moments to have a properly restorative effect. Ignoring the barely-concealed smirk on his teacher's lips, Mory pulled a mint leaf from within his cloak, popped it into his mouth, and began to chew. He glared disdainfully at the other two and said, "Well'n, le's ge' on wi' i'. 'As 'e seen wha' ye found?"
Max looked puzzled and Topaz hastened to explain.
"Now, then, here is the story. Some of it is true."
- Mark Twain
It was a bit early for practice, but Topaz was already at the practice room, having sufficiently recharged her coffee quotient, when she heard the shuffling of weary feet in the hall and looked up. Moyrloch the conjuror had obviously seen better mornings. His cloak could charitably be described as rumpled (although it was neater than his hair), and as he stumbled across the floor his boots dragged as if he were being summoned to the Last Judgement and was more than a little apprehensive about his record. She deliberately flashed him a too-bright smile and put a hearty cheer into her voice. "Good morning, Mory!" She noted (with satisfaction) that his immediate response was to wince.
"Aye..." Her student appeared to be having trouble with his ears, or his eyes, or his stomach, or quite possibly with all three. "Jus' dinnae be too loud. Please," he added weakly, eyeing the floor as if it might be contemplating a surprise attack.
"Too much celebrating last night?" she asked innocently. "You look like you might have had a tad too much fun."
Moyrloch slumped gratefully into a convenient chair and shook his head gingerly. "Dinnae know ye if'n I'd call i' fun r'nae. Och, that hurts."
"Sitting?"
"Breathin'." The poor man, she thought, obviously needed nothing so much as a little peace and quiet, preferably about three years' worth. Alas, such was not to be.
The young man who strode into the practice room was noticeably nondescript. Aside from his athletic build, which bespoke a more than passing familiarity with swordsmanship, he could have passed for an average person on the streets of any human town. Max was that rarest of characters, an actual no-kidding local native, born on RhyDin itself; but his lack of flashy costume or at-least-slightly-weird physical characteristics made him look to the casual observer like a recent immigrant, who could have easily evoked the RhyDin equivalent of "Y'all ain't from around here, are ya?" He greeted his teacher with casual friendliness and obvious sincerity. "Heya, Topaz." Taking a glance at the older man in the chair, he added, "How'd I know you'd have a headache this morning?"
Moyrloch glared at his fellow student. His memory of the night before was obscure, but he felt certain that Max had had something to do with it. He was considering frying the boy to medium charcoal on general principles when Topaz, seeing his obvious distress, intervened. "Perhaps a bit of Irish cofee would help?"
The conjurer turned a slightly deeper shade of green. "'Air o' th' dog, aye? Nae, I'll b' fine."
The other two eyed each other in obvious doubt, and the fairy began to rummage around behind the arena bar. Within moments she reappeared with a steaming cup of coffee and presented it to Mory. "Drink this, it'll help."
Mory eyed it dubiously and tried unsuccessfully to sniff the vapors. "What's in it?"
"Coffee. Trust me." Reassured, he started to sip, so she went on. "And honey, and milk, and Scotch." He began to smile, until she added, "And raw egg yolk," almost choked on the swallow, but manfully persevered. He might have managed to drink it, too, if Max hadn't gratuitously offered, "I could go grab you some leftovers from the Harris Stew."
"Ahurk!" declaimed the conjuror as he bolted out of his seat and shot like a bolt of unsteady lightning into the nearest bathroom. Topaz gave Max what she hoped was a stern restraining look and received what he imagined to be an apologetic shrug. Neither was particularly convincing.
After a suficiently lengthy prayer session at the porcelain altar, Moyrloch returned, pale but moderately alive. His first act was to seize the coffee cup and down a good half of the contents, which seemed within moments to have a properly restorative effect. Ignoring the barely-concealed smirk on his teacher's lips, Mory pulled a mint leaf from within his cloak, popped it into his mouth, and began to chew. He glared disdainfully at the other two and said, "Well'n, le's ge' on wi' i'. 'As 'e seen wha' ye found?"
Max looked puzzled and Topaz hastened to explain.