ORIGIN

damask was not cut out for this.

a few quick points, in case it makes you feel any better: the kids weren't entirely, categorically kids anymore at this juncture. auré had entrusted her with this, and they needed to learn, given what she knew. they weren't strangers, anyway. she'd seen and spoken to them plenty of times before on drop-offs, right? she had no rational reason to worry. and yet, here you are. tense; anxious; you. none of that helps? fine. eat this, then — you're out of excuses.

what are you gonna do to get out of it now? sit your daddy down, have a heart-to-heart, tell him what a mess you've been? tell him you're scared you're gonna ruin 'em? tell him you're not even good enough to exist within fifty feet of them? please.

don't be such a candy-ass.

the bird of prey shifted her weight from side to side, gripping the ridges of the perch in her toes. the rock stood vigil over a broad clearing — free of water, uneven ground, and (most importantly for your phobic little self) even a single chip of bone. it was nothing special, nondescript, purely a functional choice. and yet ... do you remember? oh, yes. it'd been over two cycles since the meet, but she could evoke every detail with ease: see bodies and souls familiar and not; hear the shouts, the muffled sobs, auré and giggle calling for order; feel her own presence as a total non-entity in the crowd, a capsule of emotion in a tightly-sealed bottle. ahh, good times. her talons rapped a one-two beat into the stone underfoot. she wasn't meant to be up here. it was his spot, not hers, and oh, how she wanted to get down there and pace.

she glanced sidelong at the lights, glowing bright, the day at its peak. tick, tock. eythan had instructed avi and the others to find her by noon, and you know what that rhymes with? soon. with a sharp little intake of breath, she cast out her magic — seeking out those telltale heartbeats and the sanguine silhouettes they constructed. her vision promptly lit up in pulsing, pounding red, everywhere at once. ooh. you really are stressed out. clicka-clicka-CLICK! went damask's claws, and she shook her head, features tightening in a cringe. a few blinks later, the red was gone, but the headache was not. that would take a minute. sort of like the kids, who would be there any moment.

relax for a second, would you? she shoved away the pain and held herself still; the length of her tail brushed the stone behind her as she straightened, wings tight, shoulders back. quicksilver eyes rested on the expanse of negative space below, scanning for movement. no nerves here, see? just a perfectly respectable educational professional.

all you have to be is flawless, and it'll work out fine.

a minute passed. then, another, the throb at her temples slowly subsiding. restless energy fizzled through her spine. they were coming, right? they'd gotten the memo, be there or be square? she pictured herself on the ground, counting off imaginary laps: one, two, three, four, cut! see that? a figure appeared on the broken horizon, twisted up, tottering along in uneven steps. ah. kid impending in T-minus ... whatever. the accipiter blinked, eyes sharp. ozzie. lights, camera —

action!, and he tumbled over tailfirst. ouch. damask flinched slightly, wings shuffling in secondhand embarrassment. it was too subtle to catch at a distance, but you're gonna have to do better than that if you're gonna be working with kids, kid. a little more restraint, please? she composed herself at once and found ozzie's eyes — or, correction, eye, the left a glossy globe of black. he looked ... so much like auré. his youth showed, however, in the juvenile brown mingled into his rusty coat; and frankly, he was, well — sort of a mess.

positive reinforcement, damask.

positive reinforcement.

"ozzie," damask said, pushing a note of tentative warmth into the salute. "glad you could make it. points for punctuality, hey?" he was definitely eager, running in place, glancing in every cardinal direction. she cinched on a smile, tight and wobbly — at which point a whoop of delight rang out from above, punctuated with heavy strokes of dark, still-developing wings. she jerked her head up. enter: lemonface, flapping out a few labored circles before his flight began to waver.

"COMIN' IN HOT, BOYS —" (oh?? —) and with a perfect execution of the classic crash landing, the kid skidded to a halt at her feet, then hopped back up. somehow, this mistake did not elicit the same kind of feeling that ozzie's had. he offered a wing, and damask's snapped out in reflexive opposite exchange. hey, what? where did that come from? "how you doooinnn'?" "couldn't tell you, lemonface," she replied without missing a beat. "but probably not as well as you are." who is this? are you hearing yourself right now? the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at her lip and colored her voice — not exactly sarcastic or teasing, but ... something else, something more mutual. she flicked her head up to indicate the airspace he'd occupied moments earlier. "nice flying." hello? hello? —

"surprise entrance!"

all at once, a new contender pounced into the scene, flying mere feet over damask's head with a near-audible whoosh!; she inhaled through her teeth and ducked down, sails already beginning to spread from her sides — only to stop short at half-mast. come on, be cool, be cool! their final attendee swept to the floor and spun around, seated in an instant with a proud face and deftly-tucked wings. ... ah! look who it is! damask switched back into position just as quickly. only momentarily spooked, get it? a pause, chest rising and falling in a measured breath, and then —

"... that was very good." ahem. "way to show the others how it's done, avi."

everybody's favorite. the golden child, and it's no wonder — warm, vibrant, full of life, every single thing that you weren't ... why, what's not to love?

damask ushered her attention to the others for a second, then regarded them as a collective: looking sorta rough, are we, scamps? windy fingers combed softly through their plumage, smoothing out the ruffles, nudging every tuft and feather into its place; her magic faded right around the time she got to avi, but, well ... it wasn't so necessary there as it was with ozzie and lemonface, anyway. all the while, her appraisal was steady, collected — even as anxiety began to swell again in the back of her head. man, they really were just kids, still. had she been like this, closing in on three cycles — ? nah, you didn't really have much of a childhood, did you? you were too busy meeting your family weeks too late, having a crisis over your parentage, and working up a sweat to prep for your dream job — heh, you know, the one you're nEVER GONNA enough.

forget the rock.

with a spring-coil crouch and two easy, buffeting wingbeats, the bird of prey dropped neatly to the floor and stood up in front of the group — not a whole lot taller than any of them at their level, even with all the growing they had left to do. "all right, fellas," she began, speaking up as best she could — strong, clear, or at least as much so as her tiny pathetic little voice could manage. feel that strain in your throat there? ohh, yeah. let's see how long you can keep it up, kid. she turned and went a few paces left, a few paces right as she continued, head angled to keep her eyes on her audience as she moved. "i'm damask. let's get started."

pace, pace, pace, but her stride was even, every step measured into precisely the same length, feet falling over and over into the same eleven prints. "here's what i need to know. say you've got to get into a fight — can't avoid it, can't negotiate, done deal, and you've got to win. what are you doing? what's your weapon of choice: spells, claws, or something else? do you want to be the strongest, the fastest, or the" — (snap, crackle, pop!) — "or the smartest?" that break ... she went quieter, now, more natural. "one at a time, first answer that comes to mind. the floor is open."

at last, she fell still and faced the class, head cocked, brows raised.

so, here's what you've got to work with. turn by turn, the kids exchanged their heys and hellos, then launched into their answers — and damask saw it all, every word and every gesture, every little differential in their respective perspectives. what're we thinking, teach?

student number one: ozzie, sweet, soft-spoken, happy to be here. wow. he almost oversleeps, he falls flat on his ass on the way in, and then he acts like it's something to be proud of? get a load of this natural disaster. and what's more — you were counting, right? that's eleven words out of him since he got here. eleven. exactly one of which answered your question. (question, singular, out of three, plural.) fine, so he was awkward, and not the most verbal — but he was also paying attention to an extent that the others weren't, eyes focused, feet gone still. it didn't escape her, the way his mouth moved after hers, a silent echo, as if to lock in the ideas on his tongue. his head wasn't wired for standing in place, being talked at, taking it in. and yet, here he was. doing it. those eleven words? all inflected with an earnest exclamation point. and his answer? for all its brevity, it was the only one that kindled a trace of warmth in her chest. he might need a little extra support, a softer touch, maybe — and yes, this might be harder for him, but he would also try harder than anybody else. she was looking at a good kid with a lot of heart.

student number two: lemonface; colloquially, lemon, per avi's choice of greeting. now, this one, he was clearly far too cool for school. naturally, he had to buck the first hint of a system by dunking himself straight into the dust, flying in the face of damask's efforts. and no point trying to do anything about it, unless you wanna look like an uptight idiot. kinda suits him, anyway. look at him. kicking his feet up. oh, if only that were you. well — oh, yeah. the little rebel, little punk, little fast-talking twink. you wish you could be that smooth. all right. okay. so maybe there was something sort of ... bafflingly enthralling about that hit-and-run swagger, but — ! focus was clearly not his forte, considering he's obviously more interested in talking to his friends and looking at a bat than he is in listening to you. she looked up through her brows at the offending diversion. trying not to glare. whew. some damn stiff competition up there. lemon was going to be ... challenging. two things to remember, with him. first — don't be boring. and second — don't cramp his style.

and student number three: — ... all right, how's about you step back and consider this covered? okay? okay. here, we have avi, the pinnacle of all that is good and noble. perfect, perfect, perfect. not a tryhard like ozzie, not a slacker like lemon — naturally, effortlessly supreme, and boy, do they know it. stronger, hm? seems about right. easy to say smarts don't matter when avi's got 'em anyway, but hey, do they, though? matter? where did that big brain of yours ever take you, genius? disregard their little disclaimer about bones, by the way — whatever you think you know, you've got a phobia, cancels out. strength is where it's at, and strength's what you're missing, kid. avi's got what you want, get it? you've got nothing to offer. nice of 'em to even show up.

she needed a moment to swallow that. the end of avi's answer hung open-ended in the air.

then, cleanly: "congratulations. you've all passed the preliminary exam." damask looked them each in the eye. a soft incline of her head for ozzie, a cool upright jerk of it for lemon, and for avi ... a very normal, regular nod. oh, how this hurt. how much less it would've hurt if only they weren't here. stronger. a breath, and almost without willing it, she kicked the volume up a notch — back on the edge of low, incisive confidence, without that rasping tension in her throat. not entirely real, but what does real mean to you, anyway? anything? not right now. "here's the part where i tell you that you're all correct, that there are no wrong answers, and that your diverse skillsets will benefit both you and the bonebound for a lifetime to come — and here's the part where we skip the rest of the lecture."

damask stepped back, stopping just short of the base of the rock — making room, getting out of the way. dust's about to fly. "avi, lemon, let's go. magic and weaponry are both fair game. that said, i don't want to see any blood. you should be feeling this in the morning, but not in three days, got it? when i say stop, or when someone taps out, the fight is over. speed versus strength: we'll see how it goes." her attention cut over to ozzie, and she waved her muzzle at the space beside her, jawline twisting. "ozzie, over here, please. what you're going to do is watch and take notes. try to pick out what they're doing well and what they've got to work on. afterward, tell them what you're thinking — them, remember, not me. all of you, pretend i'm not here unless i speak up." back to just ozzie: "it's on you to announce a winner, and that's who you're going up against when they're finished."

she held herself high, lifted her chin, and — with a final, fizzling push from her stone — brought her little monologue to a close.

"now show me some action."