Guest Quarters, Brunnhold Campus
Orali came forward; once she made her decision, she came all at once, three short steps and then her hand closed around the baton. She took the handle, and Nkemi saw the moment when she caught the weight of it all at once, but she did not drop it. Nkemi was not surprised; no one who had ever cooked thought it did not require strength.
Orali studied it, curiously, and offered it back.
Nkemi smiled at her, and took it. “I do not mind,” she promised.
“It is a balance, I think,” Nkemi looked down at the baton; her hand tightened around the base. She smiled back up at Orali, cheerful. “It is small, small enough that I can carry it on my hip. It can be concealed, if I like, in my waistband in the small of my back, or otherwise strapped to my side beneath a loose shirt. Even on one of our size,” Nkemi grinned encouragingly at the passive.
The prefect went on. “But it is heavy, for its size – it is solid wood. And, mostly, it gives me some range,” Nkemi explained. “You may think of a knife; but it is a weapon to be used up close, and up close is where a larger, stronger opponent has the biggest advantage.”
“I like it as well because – it hurts, to be hit with one,” Nkemi grinned. “I have felt it enough times to know! But it is a sort of hurt which goes away – which bruises, only, and rarely even breaks the skin. This is comfortable for me, although perhaps not because I am small,” Nkemi grinned at Orali. “But I prefer it all the same.”
“It is also useful for other things,” Nkemi said, cheerfully, “like breaking windows.” She raised her eyebrows, and giggled. “Although I have not done this very much.” Nkemi did not point out the delicate seam which separated the two parts of the baton, nor did she explain its unique purpose for staticmancers and others willing to use static spells among the prefects; the small bit of wood could be heated or cooled or given other creative properties, and the separation of them let the prefect protect their hand. But it seemed strange to speak of such things to a passive; she would not have mentioned this to an imbala at home, and so she did not mention it here.
“This is so I don’t drop it,” Nkemi offered with a little grin, showing Orali the strap. “Would you like to try swinging it?” She did not quite extend it this time, but she shifted her grip once more, and made ready to do so. They were close enough now that Orali was inside the range of Nkemi’s field; it was neat and well-organized, competent, but there was a warmth to the static particles as they mixed with the soft clairvoyant mona, and it was more friendly than overwhelming.