Eirik Maste furrowed his brow as he walked along in silence next to Melody. Of course they were bound to share in classes. It was just Eirik's "good fortune" to be thrust into a classroom with a familiar face. While the young Gioran didn't outright dislike Melody, he knew the friction was bound to come. Being treated as a child was inertia, the eternal consequence of his accelerated achievements. The mona, unlike the galdori, didn't treat Eirik as a child in need of instruction. Instead, the boy delved into things at his own pace, breathing in the lessons that others couldn't quite bestow upon him. Abrasive, some called him. Outright rebellion eluded the meek Maste child, but certainly, sarcasm was the prison he kept himself in isolation with.
"I forgot you were new, with how you just charged into my space that day," he grumbled aloud, his arms crossed as he led them down the hallways of the offices of Static magic. Professor Sonfield dismissed her class early, splintering them off into groups with their own assigned classwork to perform. Twelve sets of two had filed out of the classroom, dismissed until their next class period. Such elusiveness was rare for the Maste to experience. Professors, in his experience, were very hands-on and in one's face. Now? Left to his own devices, Eirik might've even been comfortable if he were with anyone else.
"We'll head to the Lawn, first. We've got some 'Practical Application' to figure out, anyway," he mustered. Eirik didn't enjoy being thrust into leadership, but he had no reason to expect Melody's guidance to be of any use to him. Though the Lawn and the Offices of Static Magic were very close, the pair had quite the time to enjoy the awkward silences give way to sarcastic bickering. One-sided, perhaps it was, but it made Eirik feel better and better as they advanced. Once the two were at the Lawn, he'd see others in the distance. With plenty of space apart (a necessary thing for their practice), Eirik looked to Melody before he said,
"Sonfield expects a few things from us, right? A practical evaluation along with written summaries of what we're doing? Mina and Dee took phase change out from under us... Leaving us with fission? Clocking fission," the boy summarised. The task they needed to undergo was one of the more difficult options, but it wasn't like they'd spoken up sooner.
If I'd been paying attention... maybe we could've gotten something nicer. This... he trailed off, fully aware of the tendency to drown in his own apprehension.
It's not the most outlandish project we could be working on... But I need to get on task. I can do this, he assured himself before he closed his eyes. The brush of the seasonal chill buffetted his form. He covered himself with his school uniform, but refused to wear a coat. He supposed he had evolution to thank for his body's reception to the cold, and was glad for it as he let the chill permeate along his skin. He took a deep breath, flooding his lungs with the cold air before letting it out in a plume of steam. He rubbed his ungloved hands together before reaching into his bookbag, retrieving from it his grimoire before setting his bag on the snowy floor.
He read snippets of inscribed spells, looking over the multitude he'd scrounged about for in his textbooks and the library. Unfortunately for the Maste, his lack of foresight had his grimoire unsorted, and his collection of spells were splayed across the pages, bleeding over margins and quite possibly incomprehensible to prying eyes. He knew the madness of it all, but it took time even for him to sort through.
"You got anything to add, mom?" he mused, his words stuck between a sarcastic jab and a playful tease.