Disagreeing to Disagree [Athrym]

Naul and Athrym discover the hitherto undiscussed details of their cultural differences.

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Nauleth Siordanti
Posts: 189
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 12:19 am
Topics: 22
Race: Galdor
Location: Brunnhold, Anaxas
: Magus in the Making
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Fri Dec 21, 2018 4:22 pm

26th of Dentis, 2718
FIELD of PRACTICAL APPLICATION | EVENING
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Embarassed and angry, junior professor Nauleth Siordanti had left the Banquet Hall without his coat and without his fiancé, the younger woman having stalked out of the dinner in front of Alioe, the Headmistress, Brunnhold's faculty, and his godsbedamned students after shaming him in front of a scrap and having the culturally ignorant nerve to all but insult his authority. His students had been watching—how could he go back to class tomorrow after they'd watched such a disrespectful display from the woman he'd claimed he wanted to marry? It was clocking ridiculous, and the tall redhead was nearly buzzing with confusion and frustration.

He'd already struggled to have any semblance of respect among his peers, and there were several members of faculty who doubted his both magical talent as well as his ability to teach younger minds after his own so-called troubled youth. No one wanted to pay attention to how hard he'd worked to become someone else, to repair his broken relationship with the mona, and to press forward in a field of study that was both challenging and theoretically unexplored. Now, a younger foreign woman had not only told him he was wrong but had refused to even bend to his requests!

Gods, he'd not even gotten a bite of dinner.

Freckled fingers trembled with unspent emotion as he stepped out into the night air and untangled himself from his red tie, hissing a string of expletives at the chill that struck his pale skin through the thin, fine fabric of his shirt. Standing at the bottom of the formal hall's steps, he couldn't help but let his gold-rimmed gaze scan the phosphor-lit sidewalks and roam angrily over what campus he could see in the late evening darkness, admittedly hoping to catch sight of Athrym somewhere.

But not to apologize.

Tocks, no. He had no apologizing to do—this was clocking Anaxas, not Gior, and passives weren't meant to be equal to their galdori parents nor were they at all special to the gods. Obviously, else wouldn't the mona hear them as it should?

How could that not make sense to anyone?

The Lawn wasn't far, and by the light of the moons, he caught sight of the pale, petite creature he'd professed his awkward, real love to in front of his own conniving parents. He'd meant every word, aware of the risk of such an admission, and here he felt a discomfort that burned far hotter than the sting of his backlash ever had all those years ago. The corner of his eye caught the intricate stonework of the church, the moons reflecting off the stained glass windows as if in tribute to the Goddess of Time. Naul hesitated, gaze lingering not on Athrym, but with a tilt of his head on the glasswork, chewing on the inside of his cheek as if he was aware of the mistakes he had the potential of making in his indignant frustration.

Clock the Circle, he certainly didn't believe that his Kingdom of birth got everything right all of the time—he was an academic after all and his life's work this far had certainly attempted to reveal new truths—but, for the love of all that was sacred, it didn't seem as though the Kingdom of Gior knew anything at all! And here he was, up to his eyeballs in paperwork to sort out his approval process for the supposedly clocking difficult entry into the Kingdom in hopes of making new discoveries in Physical conversation, in hungrily pursuing his interest in the laws of the universe, in physics, and in electricity. With whom? With a bunch of ignorant albinos?

Oh, gods, what kind of mistake was he making? What had he done? Had this been Hadrian's plan all along? To ruin him further? How had he known?

Surely, this was all a cultural misunderstanding and everything would be fine. Athrym had just been caught off guard and she'd make sense once they could talk out of public view. All of this could be discussed and there wouldn't be any more ridiculousness. Yes. Of course. Nauleth assured himself of these things, attempting to calm his frayed field and even more frayed nerves, tucking his tie into the pocket of his well-tailored pale trousers as he stalked across familiar paths of campus that he knew so well to the Field of Practical Application, desperate to quell the simmering tide of too many thoughts and too many feelings, very much aware of all the sweet, tender, and enjoyable moments he'd shared with the Gioran Ambassador as well as the intellectual challenges they'd presented to each other in terms of research.

But this?

The young Siordanti wasn't sure what this was, other than a mess.

He didn't make any pretense about his approach. He wasn't invisible. He couldn't hide the electric almost blindingly bright slant to his field, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers and coming to a stop in front of the lovely, angry, pale Gioran, only to realize he had no idea what he at all wanted to say,

"Ruining formal dinners—is this our thing, Ambassador Bruthgrave?"

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Athrym Bruthgrave
Posts: 120
Joined: Tue Apr 03, 2018 10:30 pm
Topics: 13
Race: Galdor
Location: Qrieth
: Welcome to Brunnhold. Now go home.
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Sat Dec 22, 2018 5:28 pm

26th Dentis, 2718
THE LAWN | EVENING
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The familiarity of Nauleth’s field was noticable even before he came into view, but the unfamiliar slant of it, cracking almost with the same vibrant electricity he commanded as part of his experiments was not. So, this was the truth of him, this cruel and self entitled man. How hadn't she seen it before? Had she just been ignoring what was right under her nose? The red head had warned her in his youth he was a bully, but he'd changed. Oh, he'd changed. How gullabile she had been. Her summer gaze narrowed on the small crator that had only before been the small bush, her small fists clenching together and temple throbbing. As he moved to come and stand before her, the Gioran lifted her eyes to follow him, bolstering her own field with a chilled flex and an icy stonewall of anger and hurt.

Was this part of love? Being hurt and humiliated by your partner?

As the Anaxi spoke, the blonde pursed her lips, brow drawing together in a frown. He had no shame, no apologies. Not a thought for how the world worked outside of his ignorant Kingdom and the safety of his Brunnholdian bubble.

Was this part of courting? Seeing your partners true colors?

“I would say it’s probably your thing, Siordanti.” She said in a clipped tone, biting the inside of her cheek to stop the tears that wanted to sting her eyes or the waiver in her voice. Lifting her chin and arching a brow slightly, the Ambassador looked him over.

“Do you have any idea how much I have had to go through to get you entry to Gior? I have spent seasons corrosponding with the Da Huanes, plying them with your talents in magic that might possibly allow us to finally see what The Deep is holding. Secrets unseen for hundreds of years. You were going to be the first foriegn galdor allowed in there. But—” Glancing away and shaking her head with a scoff, the younger woman sighed.

“Anaxi. So close minded, so utterly absorbed in your own self importance. I thought you were different. I thought, after so many seasons together you might have some understanding of the world beyond your tiny little view. Instead, all I see is an ignorant fool unable to open his eyes to something different or new.” Pouting, the foreigner paused for a moment to gather herself, unwilling to let him see just how much his clipped words had stung.

“You know, I have been insulted before. I have been called tow-headed in this country. I have been called tainted in mine. I have been teased for my differences and I have been weighed and told my worth before I even got a chance to prove it. I endured it all, because I refused to let it get to me. I refused to care. Anger instead of pain, or feelings, because anger is tangible. It can be used. I have weathered it, because I am Gioran. But with you, I made a mistake. I let myself slip. I let myself care and—” Looking back at Nauleth, she shrugged.

“And you treat me like I am meant to bow and scrape at your feet. I am not one of your students Siordanti, and I am not a conquest. I am Athrym Bruthgrave, Ambassador of Gior and faithful of Imaan. I will not be bellittled into silence by some Anaxi, regardless of our relationship.” Her field pulsed, pale face a mask of anger, heartbeat raging in her chest.

“Did you come out here to say something, or were you expecting to find a shrivelled sobbing thing crying for your forgiveness?” Looking over the Lawn, she raised a hand.

“Or maybe you came to get a reminder of what Gioran casting tastes like.” The Ambassador flexed her field, the Living mona collected within brushing aggressively against his own with a clear threat. She was Gioran, and she should act like it. Disagreements were settled by adults in the Echo Chamber or on the Summit, and so, they should be here too.

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Nauleth Siordanti
Posts: 189
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 12:19 am
Topics: 22
Race: Galdor
Location: Brunnhold, Anaxas
: Magus in the Making
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Thu Jan 03, 2019 11:42 am

26th of Dentis, 2718
FIELD of PRACTICAL APPLICATION | EVENING
"Wait.Wait just a clocking minute in this self-righteous tirade of yours, Athrym. Do you have any idea just how much I've had to prove myself a capable sorcerer to even be a professor? Do you have any consideration for how your ignorant display not only questioned my hard-earned authority in front of my students but also in front of every faculty and staff present in that banquet hall? Do you seriously think that such an emotional, groundless discussion should have been had in such a public situation? Gods, you're supposed to be a clocking Ambassador, not a school girl fussing for attention because someone doesn't agree with everything you think is right." Nauleth threw up his hands with his verbal self-defense, aware that his last words had been a purposeful insult, quite aware that the pale galdor was younger than himself and had just recently graduated.

For the tall Anaxi, this was a simple matter of opinions that had gone out of control. He was angry, yes, and hurt as well, but did he truly believe that Athrym held onto such ridiculous beliefs as firmly as it seemed? No. Surely not. How could anyone believe the cursed, magic-less offspring of galdorkind could ever serve the gods as priests? What an insult to the Circle who granted their people their magic in the first place!

She accused him of close-mindedness and his gold-rimmed gaze narrowed, the young Siordanti inhaling sharply as if she'd cut him with a weapon or a spell instead of just simple words, her verbal defensiveness so strong and misdirected that Naul wasn't sure whether he should laugh or be even more insulted than he already was,

"Athrym. Gods, just stop already."

He grunted, field bristling with the kind of electric sensation that made hairs stand on end, digging his fingers into his palms as he clenched his hands into fists and attempted to desperately keep himself as focused as possible even as anger surged and writhed in his veins, "Belittle you? Clocking hell—is telling you to treat me with some respect belittling you? Did you do me the same honor? No, I did no such thing and neither did you—you're not a student and you're certainly not a conquest, but you have absolutely no clocking right to question my authority in front of my students and my superiors to insult Anaxi teachings and institutions during a formal dinner instead of in a classroom. You over-reacted in front of every clocking person in that room and you refuse to realize the only person who will be paying for such an immature explosion will be me. Not you. But me. Do you really care about me? Do you just fancy my mind or my research instead? Did our bodies together confuse you? Do you like the idea of what we are to become as a betrothed couple at all?"

He scowled as she continued to rage at him as if he was her overbearing mother, weathering her self-defense and suddenly so aware that who he was didn't matter at all. She'd taken one intellectual difference between them and transformed it like some Staticmancer, turning this moment of obvious disagreement between them and pouring the hot magma of her life of high expectations and emotional distance into a mold that could not bear the heat or the volume of it all,

"This isn't how people who care about each other talk about things—" And if it was, the tall redhead never wanted to care about anyone ever again.

Naul felt the fiery sensation fill the freckled cavity of his chest, he felt the ache of regret, and he felt his knees grow weak with the realization that the pale Gioran may not have ever loved him in the same way he'd professed his love for her. He could be rude, yes, and short-sighted outside of his intellectual areas of interest, but this was too much. Too far.

The junior professor's face began to let his hurt creep into the expression, anger fading one side at a time to reveal a confused sadness, "I think you need to clocking calm down so that all of this can be discussed more objectively. I don't expect you to beg for forgiveness, but you can't even clocking see that you've done anything to offend me, so godsbedamned focused on a servant, on a passive, on a clocking crimp. If I went out in the Stacks and bowed to every damn human I saw, what would you say? How would you feel? Would you think me mad? Maybe I should put some Everine robes on them and call them holy, too? Clock the Circle, Athrym, listen to yourself. Whatever differences in our Kingdoms, you're not even willing to listen. You're the clocking Ambassador and one disagreement happens ... and you're challenging me? Here? On the Lawn? No. You stay out here and calm down. I'm going to go home—"

Tentatively, he raised his left hand to his face and let the back of it sweep down the slower side, "I know what angry casting tastes like. I won't do it. When you're ready to talk to me like the intelligent adult galdor you are, you know where to find me. This? This is ridiculous and if I'm not invited to return to teach again, it will be your clocking fault."

He couldn't do it. Nauleth was simply not strong enough to stand here on the Field of Practical Application and continue this conversation, this one-sided, short-sighted, hurtful conversation. Aware that he hadn't been entirely kind himself, ego wounded and heart aching, the young Siordanti knew better than to pulse his field and leap into solving their problems with a duel.

He loved the angry woman in front of him. He'd opened his heart and his mind to the young Ambassador, and now he saw the consequences of such uncalculated, unpredictable risks without a single clause of Quantitative conversation.

It stung.

Naul hovered for a heartbeat or two more as if he somehow hoped that Athrym would see past the burden of her past and crawl out of the anger that seemed to blind her to having a productive conversation. He'd certainly have been more inclined to respect her had she respected him. Once he was incapable of giving any more chances, he simply shrugged and walked away, turning to trudge across the Lawn and begin to make his way home, longing to flee into the Stacks and meander his way through streets until he could crawl into his bed and forget any of this had ever happened.
Welcome to Brunnhold, stop-clocker, now go home.
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Athrym Bruthgrave
Posts: 120
Joined: Tue Apr 03, 2018 10:30 pm
Topics: 13
Race: Galdor
Location: Qrieth
: Welcome to Brunnhold. Now go home.
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Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Raksha
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Fri Jan 04, 2019 11:23 pm

26th Dentis, 2718
THE LAWN | EVENING
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"Emotional, groundless discussion? I beg your pardon Siordanti, but you must be joking. All I did was point out that it was an accident, and you could be a little less cruel. You chose to take offence, and then proceeded to try and act as though you were my handler! I am a Gioran woman, not your timid Anaxi prude. You assume too much Naul. I—” Her angry words cut short at the purposeful stab by the older man, reminding Athrym in no uncertain terms just how green she was at all this. A year, she’d been out of the Temple for a year, and she’d secured an Ambassadorship that even she couldn’t believe. Of course, now she knew her father and the Incumbent had more to do with it than her own academic prowess, but it was a low blow and Nauleth would have known that.

“How dare you.” She growled between grit teeth, the tears she so stoically held back stinging the corners of her eyes and fists clenching tightly. Her field was bolstered against him, aggressively unmingled and filled with the particles of mona that caused the man so much pain in his youth. He told her to stop, his own field crackling with the electricity that danced between the mona, and the pale foreigner swallowed against the hitch in the back of her throat.

Don’t you dare cry, don’t you dare.

“Insult your authority? With who? With me? Trust me Nauleth, you have none. None. You did this to yourself. All I asked for was some thought, a moment for you to see for a second the other side. Gior is full of passives, and I’ll tell you now a lot of them hold far more authority than you. Have a think Siortanti. I didn’t explode. You did. All over a mild comment. I stood up for you against those children, and instead you insulted me! You tried to silence me. Do not presume that I will ever be silenced by a man, especially when I have done nothing wrong.” As she tried to get words in, Nauleth continued, taking his insults more deeply, more personally. The Gioran blushed, her brow drawn together in a frown.

“Did our bodies…what? That is unfair Siordanti. What we are to become as a betrothed couple? What the clock doe—”

"This isn't how people who care about each other talk about things—”

Oh, there they were. The tears she had been fighting against so staunchly escaped, rolling down her alabaster cheeks like victorious passives escaping the confines of Brunnhold. She was shaking, so bad was her fury, temple throbbing and chest hurting.

“No, it clocking well isn’t.” The Ambassador managed quietly, glaring at the man with hard summer eyes. In this moment of time, Athrym wasn’t sure whether she liked Nauleth Siordanti at all, even though the ache in her heart told her otherwise. She couldn’t see what she had done wrong, and his slights that he said she’d thrown out were in her view non existent. Had they been in two entirely different conversations??

The blonde felt hollow inside, slowly wondering whether the man had ever really loved her at all, or if he’d just said it to make her feel less awkward when he’d proposed. Anaxas, it was just one big lie, everyone saying one thing and meaning another. She hated the country, and hated the University. But, she loved him, and if he didn’t love her then why was she here. Why the tock was she still here.

His face had fallen, the anger changing to hurt and confusion, and for the love of Imaan the petite creature felt her resolve fade for a moment. A glimmer of hope that maybe this could be salvaged, that he’d seen her side of the story.

But no, he continued to press on, blaming her entirely. Her nose screwed up in disgust, and her voice raised an octave.

“What the clock are you talking about? Why in the Circle would you bow to humans? That’s not a comparison you kenser, they aren’t galdori. Passives are, and we pay them as much respect as we do each other. Is it really that hard of a concept to understand? Eternal Child give me strength.” Throwing her hands up, the Gioran scoffed.

“Of course I’m challenging you! Did our first meeting teach you nothing?! This is how we settle disputes, as adults. In Gior.” Athrym stared at the man, mouth almost agape, in shocked disbelief. Calm down? Her fault?!? Was he serious? She watched him turn away, unable to make words she was so angry, finally finding some as she stared at his retreating form.

“I won’t be responsible for your insecurity and your stubborn cultural downfalls Siordanti!” The platinum blonde yelled across the darkened lawn, unsure if he heard her or not but too angry to hold it in. Taking a breath, her lip trembled and she stamped her foot, tears falling now freely.

“You know, what?! Home sounds like a really good idea.” She yelled, her voice breaking with emotion and hurt, crossing her arms and turning her back on the distant professor. Staring at the red brick buildings of the University, eyeing the Church, she covered her face as an errant sob escaped.

Home. She was going home.

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