Scene #1239:

Owner	Pose
Quentyn Westwind	Victory Day! Classes are out and the celebrations have begun! But not in earnest-- that comes this evening. Still, decorations and preparations and such are abound, celebrating the defeat of Chaos, AKA The Enemy. All the more effort put in and excitement in the air (or is it worry?) at the thought that one of the school clubs will be hosting extraversal visitors this year. But at least one of the students hasn't been quite caught up in all the bustle. The boy's laying face up on a grass-covered rise, a textbook propped up over his head with both arms and looking at it with an expression of 'What is this? I don't even.' The book's title, if one looks: A Beginner's Guide to Technomancy by Horus Aranthia For those that know the white mage's... inaptitude with computers, well, no wonder his expression is all WTF. Quentyn takes one hand off the book to rub his eyes and groan at some particularly difficult passage.
Kyra Hyral	Kyra doesn't know about other people (though she has her suspicions about Landon) but SHE is friggin' excited at the thought of the first Victory Day where extraversals are welcome to attend. Victory Day was by no means Christmas but she hoped that it intrigued others enough for them to come visit out of curiosity. There was also the fact that she was helping arrange this party. Quentyn will smell a peculiar odor before he finds a shadow falling over him from behind. Kyra stands there, peering curiously over his shoulder. "Watcha reading?" she asks. She's currently wearing latex gloves on her hands and carrying a big stainless steel container that looks vaguely like a pressure cooker.
Quentyn Westwind	Quentyn is so deep into trying to untangle whatever it is that he jumps when Kyra speaks, and only then does his nose wrinkle with the smell. "Um..." Quentyn just holds the book so she can see, rather than voice the title. Then, with a sigh, he closes it, sits up, and sets it aside near his bookbag. "It's um, one of the outworld fields of magic." He fiddles with his glasses, straightening them out and looking at the container curiously. "It's really dense. Um... making potions?"
Noiela	Noiela had been systematically not gang pressed by Quentyn and his peculiar charm over the last few days of hibernation into attending the Victory Day proposed especially for extraversals. It had merely taken several calls, one visit and a very nervy white mage to extract the tactician. Behold, the results clad in the usual bulky robes and creased trousers. No sign of the closely stitched dress from Christmas. Set on course at a stately pace towards Quentyn, under imminent threat of Kyras cooking. "Hello." Noiela stops, conspicuously not inhaling too deeply whatever odour is wafting underneath her nostrils. A brief shudder, then on she continues in her quiet voice in oddly ear penetrating tones. "I trust um..." Glancing quickly at the books title, "Might I be able to borrow it after you." Pause. "Please." Angling her head slightly back, she turns to address Kyra. Unluckily, smells seek you out. Not the other way round. "Hello also to you, Miss...Hyral?"
Kyra Hyral	Kyra gives the title a look and her eyebrows shoot up in shock. "What? Technomancy? That's a...thing? Does their tech just work differently or something?" No taste for the subtle, it seems ,as she outright voices the contents of the extraversal book. "Interesting. Can I borrow that from you when you're done?" She directs her gaze to the stainless steel pot. "Potions? Nah, I'm making chili for the party later!" Uh oh. The...contents of the pot smell more like burning poison ivy than chili. Noiela arrives, confessing similar intentions for Quentyn's book. She eyes Noiela, spending a moment to place the voice, then nods, grinning in a friendly manner in spite of potential book competition. "That's right. And you're Noiella, right? The voice sounded familiar....anyway, just Kyra is fine. Unless you have some kind of social obligation to call people by family names." She frowns, "A lot of people use the family names it seems which sucks because I dislike hearing mine."
Quentyn Westwind	Quentyn greets Noiela by holding up a hand in a sort of wave and giving her a quick smile. He nods to Kyra, "Um... I think it all works different but some have kind of... machinist spells?" He glances back to the book and just lets out a breath. He eyes Kyra's container again. "I um, I see. Is it um... courage chili?" When /both/ of them ask for the book Quentyn hesitates. Unsure of how to handle this. Which, of course, means that this white mage puts it on someone else. "I'm um... I think I need to find something else anyway. Either of you can have it if you want." Quentyn gives a tentative smile and shrugs. And he nods empathically to Kyra. "It's always just 'Westwind' on the radio."
Noiela	"Courage chilli." Latching onto the placeholder name with a rather pained frown, Noiela abruptly shakes her head. For Kyra, she grants a polite nod and relents on the formalities with nary a murmur of outward reluctance. "It is...radio etiquette, to refer to people by their surname? Radio and military, according to most of the multiversal inhabitants." Belatedly granting Quentyn a small, pinched smile of her own that probably lasts about a second before her mouth resumes its ruler straight lines again. "Technology from what I gather in a few worlds is-it follows the rules or generally observed causes and effects to manipulate them like magic does, but...where magic imposes, it serves to-to be uh, frank it all is relative to what constitutes reality as hypothesied by a slightly deranged sorcerer in my world. He used to argue there were no hard and fast laws and the world was composed of an onion." A slight flush enters her cheeks. "One week. I don't own the full list of his claims...strangely, I remembered that much."
Kyra Hyral	"Courage chili?" Kyra asks, apparently not catching on to the joke. "Hm, I guess you could call it that. I could tell you what's in it but that's a secret." Also ignorance is bliss. Shifting, she adjusts her grip on the urn so she holds it with one arm against her hip as she stands. "...ah, /military/, that would explain it." Kyra makes another face of distaste. "I kind of hope since I'm not /officially/ enlisted that I could get out of being Hyraled and Ma'amed." She goes on to mutter something about 'feeling old' under her breath. "Eh, you go ahead and take it first. I'll hunt around for another copy. There can't be that many guys out there named Horus writing about technomancy, can there?" She shrugs casually, listening to Noiela's explaination which...she seems to follow. "So on some worlds, technology may be a class of magic in and of itself? Since that's the way their reality works? ...onion worlds aside at least. Uh. Yeah."
Quentyn Westwind	Quentyn, expression completely blank at first, nods emphatically to Noiela's explanation to Kyra. "That," Quentyn agrees wholeheartedly but without comprehension. Quentyn looks back to the book resting against his bag. He picks it up, but then he hesitates. And instead of handing it over, the boy stands up. "Um..." "If I let you have this, can you, um, guide Noiela around the celebration?" He nods to the tactician with a reassuring, if ephemeral, smile. Then back to Kyra, "It's in New York five sev--um, one of the New Yorks. I can show Noiela later..." Pause. He holds out the book to Kyra with both hands. "But if she gets sicks from anything you have to give it back."
Noiela	Noiela shifts uneasily when the full sum of her ramblings pour out, disorderly and having skipped the refinement process to plug her vocal chords directly into her raw musings. Swifting changing tack, she holds her hand up, palm out in gesture of refusal when Quentyn attempts to lump her company onto Kyra. "No, no...I'll be alright. I assure you." She babbles, then her ears and mind register his last line and confusion replaces bubbling social anxiety at being foisted upon an innocent. Relative. She is the creator of the aptly named Courage Chilli. "Um, I just ate. Feasted like a Pr-King. Emperor." More shifting of booted feet, arms curving protectively round her stomach.
Kyra Hyral	Yes. "Innocent." Kyra doesn't seem to grok the 'burden' involved with Noiela being foisted onto her. "Sure, I'd be okay with that." she shrugs. In fact, it might be more of a danger to Noiela. Who would be /obligated/ to try her host's cooking. But then Quentyn adds 'if she gets sick' and Kyra gets...sheepish, "Well...uh...do you have any allergies or sensitivities, Noiela?" Note she's not limiting this to /food/ allergies. Noiela turns down the company and Kyra breathes just a little easier, /some/ of the worry over potentially poisoning a guest going away. "You can try some chili later at the party proper. It's still incubating. Er. Fermenting. Gathering flavor."
Quentyn Westwind	Quentyn looks over to Noiela skeptically. "Um... it will be easier if you have someone to show you around, and you'll meet some people you met last time again... And um. You might accidentally eat Malboro spiked food without a guide..." Quentyn shivers just a little bit. Quentyn smiles his thanks to Kyra, and offers the book fully forward with both hands. Looks like he's not giving up the idea just yet.
Noiela	Tapping her cheek in a wonderfully poised mimicry of thought that stoutly overlooks the panicked flash moments earlier, Noiela mumbles "No allergies...within my own world." then promptly and with visible relief etched into her features drops it. Inwardly, her mind busily hums with various patented strategies and get out clauses she may utilise down the line to spare herself a weeks recovery from fermented poison cunningly served as food. When Quentyn touches upon Malboro spice, she twists round sharply and serves up a crooked smile. One bearing just the faintest glint of teeth. "Hmm, given the high stakes-maybe you would be inclined to extend your healers concern and tag along?" She leans forward, extending a hand to rest light upon Westwinds shoulder. "Come, more the...merrier?"
Kyra Hyral	"It won't be my fault. I don't /spike/ things with Malboro." The way she phrases it makes it sounds like she intentionally cookes malboro into food. Yikes. The malboro ice cream rumor is alive and well. She takes the book with some reluctance but offers it to Noiela. "Really, it's no big deal, I could get my own copy." As the two continue to talk she's actually starting to get the feeling that neither of them wants to be alone with her. She's...not sure how to feel about that besides 'vaguely insulted.' "And if you do go into anaphalectic shock at something, either of us could easily treat you. Um. I...actually should keep moving. I'm helping set up."
Quentyn Westwind	Quentyn flinches at the touch. He doesn't otherwise break stride, but the perceptive might notice the faintest intake of breath with the flinch, then a letting out again after it. But not even a full second later, Quentyn gives Noiela an apologetic smile. "I-I um, I have to catch a ship to Shiva in..." The teen does shift his weight from one foot to the other. He pauses to fish around and pull out his phone. "Um, less than 2 hours." He slides it back into his bag. "But um," Quentyn smiles tentatively again to both, though he avoids looking directly at Noiela. "Anyways um, Kyra's a really good white mage. You'll be OK with her. And she's a chemist so she can come up with medicines in case there's anything Esuna doesn't work very well on." Kyra gets a briefly odd look from the other white mage, Quentyn nods once more as she mentions set up duties. "Thanks Kyra."
Noiela	Perhaps divining a portion of Kyras budding sense of injury, Noiela strives to relax. Loosen the old shoulders, place her arms by her sides instead of stiffly knotting her fingertips together, an action she guiltly disengages from after touching Quentyn, with an imperceptible widening of the yellow stare for his flinch. Unable to stop herself from muttering 'thunder' underneath her breath as she straightens up to smile and sweep her arm out in the direction of the current celebrations. Roughly in the area, give or take a large margain comprising anywhere even vaguely behind her person. Refusing the book gently with another hand clasping over the top; light push given. "Maybe you could give me more insight into what it teaches, Mi...Kyra, since my world bore not a scrap of technology. Swords and sorcery, I believe is the term?"
Kyra Hyral	"Uh, huh. I hope you'll be back in time to join us, Quentyn." Kyra says with a small frown. Cooking aside, she DID want him to come to the party if only to get him more comfortable with social situations. She wasn't too sure since the party was only a few hours away now. She half-grins just a little at the compliment. "If it hurts, I can fix it. Somehow." she proclaims cheerfully. That book, however, is refused again leaving her with it...as originally wanted but it feels like a hollow victory. "Well Noiela, I'll have to read it first and tell you later. Our technology was born out of magic, giving people access to patterns in a more convenient way than casting the original spells would. I'm sure you could adapt to it easily, if you're curious."
Quentyn Westwind	Quentyn jumps just ever so slightly and blinkblinkblinks. But he just focuses on Kyra for a moment and shakes his head slightly. "Family," he explains simply. "I'm um, already going to get a hard time for not being back sooner..." He scratches the back of his head beneath his hood, looking as to the side in some brief thought or recollection. Quentyn adds his own affirmation to Kyra's proclaimation with a thumbs up to Noiela. "Um... let me know if you two figure out that book, please... And um," he starts to Noiela specically, "Try to um, enjoy it? I think the celebration will be good here. A lot less dangerous than Shiva," Quentyn nods.
Noiela	"I...it would be good to have you join us later, yes." Noiela says quietly, echoing the sincerity of Kyra sans her gusto. Then again, few people probably operate on the level of Cold Iron Chef and healer chemist Hyral and so it is entirely unsurprising the pale haired girl wanes into the background. Then, family is mentioned. Cue the momentary pause where her mouth twists downward, then up like a puppeteer tugging on the invisible strings governing his puppet. "Um. Yes, family is...it's vital you attend. We could spare you a few leftovers and stories. I'll try to enjoy it, Westwind...Quentyn." Lastly but not least, she nods at Kyras suggestion. "Yes...I believe our method of casting is very similar to your magitech-we cannot produce a stable pattern of our own using raw magical essence. It provides the means."
Kyra Hyral	Kyra makes a face. "Ah, yeah, I understand." Stupid white mages with families that don't /suck/, Kyra thinks resentfully. "Safe travels, Quentyn. Don't get caught up in any land wars." Though she hasn't visited Shiva personally she's heard plenty about it. Kyra looks to Noiela, interested, "Then our technology sounds pretty similar. You've been hanging out with Land-er, the Prince, right? Has he let you try out his phone or anything?" She readjusts her grip on the stainless steel urn and groans. "Uh. Walk with me? This thing is getting heavy."
Quentyn Westwind	Quentyn simply waves in that way of his to the two, "Bye!" and he gives them one last smile before he himself heads off, but in his case towards the dorms. Probably to pack up and finish getting ready for the trip.
Noiela	"I can strap the book to my belt, lift the load a little...and take turns with your tureen of uh, delightful chilli." Noiela chokes on delightful, regaining her equlibrium soon after to walk and talk as Kyra requests, leaving Quentyn with a light bend of the waist and hesitant hand outward. She gropes air, the mage vanishing like a certain speedy ninja within the academy. Pivoting sharply on her heel with arm upraised, she mumbles a belated farewall into her sleeve. Tugging sharply on her hood to conceal the flush colouring her cheeks, she falteringly attempts to give the question of his royal Highness Landon an answer. "Uh, n-no...I do not hang out with royals or other nobility." Weak justification follows. "He...has many people eager for his time and uh, it would be presumptuous to impose upon him s...simply for a lesson and demonstration of your technology." If Kyra does not resist, she would relieve her of the terribly weighty book burden and with a rustle and nudging her coat aside, secures it firmly at her hip. Taking a few steps forward, she will fall into line with her companion.
Kyra Hyral	"Hey, that'd help." Kyra agrees, passing the previously rejected book back to Noiela. "Nah, with both hands, I've got this. You're not wearing gloves, anyway." /Gloves/? "Oh, you /don't/, huh. Hmm." Kyra shrugs casually and walks to the event building, crossing the courtyard. Once inside the school proper, Noiela will see that it has been decorated with streamers. "I dunno about that. The Prince seems perfectly happy to meet and introduce extraversals to the stuff of our world. Though maybe we should just do a group demonstration or lecture at some point for our allies! That would be much more efficient."
Noiela	"Uh...yes. A group demonstration." Noiela seems keen to emphasise the word group, giving wide and roomy berth to even the slightest whiff of a scenario where she plays more than an audience part. "He would be better off securing ties with um, extraversals as you name them...from unified worlds." A brisk nod affirms her complete and utter impartiality. No stakes in this at all. When they pass the entrance, she studies the multicoloured streamers with interest, following the light ripple in their sails; courtesy of several fans and whatever faint zephyr blowing in. "Do...do you know what this group, the Light Warriors...what they might like individually? I owe them a late Christmas gift...you and the rest."
Kyra Hyral	"Mm, I don't know about that." Kyra smiles fondly ahead of her. "The Prince isn't all that fond of using birthright or origin to judge a person. Everyone is worth listening to to him." Though not voiced, Kyra does imply that Landon would give Noiela the time of day because that's just how he rolled as a royal. Kyra takes a few turns down the hallways, which are also decorated, dipping into a large room that was probably a lecture hall at one point, though most of the auditorium-style seating has been torn out (or moved), replaced with long tables. It is upon one of these tables Kyra sets down the Courage Chili. "Individually? I know Landon would appreciate books. Kamon is into blacksmithing and Soan likes to tinker with traps. Dominic, he seems to really like /experiences/, so...I dunno, a swordplay demonstration of some kind? As for me, uh...food I suppose? I don't really need anything...I feel kind of bad because I didn't participate in the whole Christmas thing to begin with."
Noiela	"He...is most suitable as your next King in that regard." Noiela does not imply beyond general respect, colouring her voice suitably as she studiously glances away from Kyra. Her body stiffens then relaxes as the lone female Light Warrior runs down the list, listening with a quiet intensity displayed in the thoughtful frown she gives her surroundings. Ensuring at all times she keeps walking, even if it does result in a light collision with the corner of a table once the Courage Chilli is deposited. Wincing, she hops backward with one hand clamped on her knee. "Most people were more on board due to I imagine, it being the custom within their realm to celebrate. All baseless speculation."
Kyra Hyral	"Oh yeah, Beatrice. Hmm. She would also like books. She's pretty shy so I don't think she'll be at the party tonight. Then there's our newest member Mirielle. I have no idea what she might want, I don't know her well enough." She adds, quite hastily, and turns to face Noiela with a grin. "We don't have a Christmas here. Not that I don't like free gifts. It just seems kind of...unfair to get things having given nothing in return, you know?" She shrugs, "Let's head out. Things will be getting underway soon."
Noiela	"Um...must we?" Is the last weak entreaty of the introvert to the extravert. Noiela playing her part with weary resignation; acquiesing almost immediately under the knowledge her dignity is compromised either way. "Please, lead." She entreats, unconsciously yanking her hood further down to shadow her features from distant viewing by blue blooded parties. Pulse roaring in her ears, she follows. Reluctantly.