University of Magick (Chyril 25th MT, open)

[Morg]

Dressed, for once, in his apprentice's robes, Morgan made his way down to the University canteen, deep in thought.

Morgan hadn't been idle over the past few days. He'd been researching spells, rituals to scry the Citadel for the Liber Maleficarius. A consequence of this was that he'd decided to shelve his little research project in favour of dedicating all his energy to the hunt. But none of that was what had him puzzled this morningtide. The source of his indecisiveness was a letter he held in his hand, a little scrunched between long fingers.

Greetings,

I hope this letter finds you well and in good health.

I feel that what we accomplished together was something special, and I think about you often because of it. The citizens of Citadel may never know the extent of your bravery, but Elaine and I do, and we thank you for it...

The story told was heartrending. And Morgan knew this Ulder to be a good man, by all accounts the true hero of the battle at Carling's Point. Worse, he could feel the stirrings of his wanderlust rise up. Whatever else, this expedition promised climes unknown and great adventure.

The problem was that Morgan had convinced himself that he was perfectly happy in the Citadel. He was apprenticed to a competent professor, and his arcane abilities were coming on in leaps and bounds. He had Becca, with whom he was very content, to say the least. And at present he even had a mission, something to set his heart on: the Liber Maleficarius had to be found. So why would he want to drop it all? Why was he even considering doing so?

Lost in his thoughts, Morgan settled into a seat, his sunken hazel eyes scrutinising the words of the letter over and over again. He couldn't shake the image of a book, bound in leather that was unnaturally pale, watching him as he tried to make up his mind.

[Becca Acerbi]

Becca had had a very productive night. Well, she'd filled a good few sheets of parchment with crossed out scribblings instead a letter, and she'd completely failed to look at the book of herbs she'd meant to (It was rather disconcerting for someone working on the Mender's ward to dismiss all the jars and plants as "poison," or so she'd been told.). At least she'd managed to migrate her scribbling to the canteen; they brewed tea strong enough to wake the dead in there - and it wouldn't surprise her if it actually could - so there was a greater chance of her staying awake to finish this letter.

Not that she had any idea how she was going to get it to Professor Imrelinda. All she knew was that she wanted to be at a safe distance when her professor read it, and Pax might not be far enough away.

She was finishing her third cup (and feeling more buzzy than actually awake, if it came to that, but she'd take what she could get) when Morgan came in and adopted a table, looking like he wasn't even seeing what was around him. Not that this wasn't a normal thing - in the University, people who actually watched where they were going were in the minority - but Morgan didn't usually settle down in the canteen and stare at bits of paper, as far as she knew. Becca hesitated for a few flickers, then shrugged and went to get more tea.

A few burns later, Becca was carefully putting a mug of tea on Morgan's table and telling him "I'm sure it's far too early in the day to be looking so serious." She smiled, crookedly as ever, into her own mug - sometimes she suspected that trying to stop Morgan being serious was like trying to stop the sea being wet. "You all right?"

[Morg]

Some things could quite easily break Morgan's concentration, no matter how involved he was in whatever he was doing, and Becca was one of them. He laid down the letter and glanced solemnly up at her. "It is never too early," he intoned, "to be looking serious."

His face melting into as warm a smile as he was capable of, Morgan grabbed Becca by the arms and guided her down into the seat next to him, kissing her on the cheek as he did so. "I'm fine. Just thinking about things. Thanks for the tea, by the way." No flash of inspiration seemed to be forthcoming, so artificial stimulation was as good a way to go as ever. He cradled the mug in his spidery fingers and raised it carefully to his mouth, wincing as the strong liquid met his tongue.

"I received this letter," he explained, motioning to the paper on the table. "It's another invitation... but this time not exactly to a party."

Suddenly Morgan realised something he hadn't yet realised, and immediately felt very stupid for taking so long. Becca almost certainly got one too. Why wouldn't she have? She was as much of a hero as he was. Not much of a hero, admittedly, but, like him, enough of one to be on the list for promotional mailings about "other adventures you may enjoy". Hmm. Perhaps I should have just ticked the "no, thanks" box and opted out.

But of course it's not that simple. Shaking these worryingly anachronistic thoughts out of his head, Morgan turned to Becca. "Did... were you sent one, as well?"

[Becca Acerbi]

Becca laughed as Morgan tugged her into the chair, hugging him as best she could without slopping her tea on them. "Being serious and thinking about things? At this hour?" She shook her head, wearing her most reproachful Mender look. "I might have to start worrying at this rate."

"Invitation?" It was probably a sign that Becca had spent too long looking over her own copy of the letter last night that she could guess what the invitation was to just from the thick brown paper it was written on. When she picked it up, she barely even needed to glance over it. 'That's probably a little sad...'

"I've got one -" Becca gestured vaguely in the direction of the table she'd occupied before; her own copy was hiding somewhere in the scattered paper she'd left behind. "- and so's Mister Motricé." Becca smiled wryly. "He's probably going to go - he's not set anything on fire for a few months, so he's got to be going through withdrawal by now." She hesitated for a moment, then started carefully folding the letter along the crease lines that looked deliberate. "Are you going to help them?"

[Morg]

"I... wasn't planning on it," Morgan replied, a little awkwardly. "It's a good cause, I think," he qualified, "but I don't really know the people involved. That, and I'm just an apprentice. How much help could I really be?"

Morgan was under no illusions about how much help he could really be. His fire weavings had destroyed the ratmen at the tower with consummate ease, and, perhaps even more importantly, his warning of impending attack conveyed across the winds could have saved many lives. Granted, Oneist soldiers were a class up from ratmen - Morgan had seen the Inquisitors fighting at Carling's Point and seriously doubted his ability to stand against them - but a mage in the right place at the right time was worth any number of average soldiers, even one such as Morgan whose skills had yet to reach their peak.

No, the young magus was in fact more concerned about being overshadowed by Elvin, yet again. The book incident notwithstanding, Morgan revered the adhiel professor to the point of devotion, but had become more than a little tired of being outclassed. Just for once he wanted to be the most powerful, or the most knowledgeable. That he wouldn't achieve by following the leader of the Shadowstar into a new arena.

"What I mean is," he explained, "we still have a lot to learn, both of us. Our magical abilities grow with each passing day. When we graduate, we'll be a force to be reckoned with. Then we can start taking a hand in matters like this. But that will never happen if you..." He took a deep, sharp breath and continued, with concern evident in his dark eyes. "If we get ourselves killed. Just fighting for the sake of..."

Morgan trailed off, and glanced into his tea. Worst argument ever, Morgan. Not even you are completely convinced by it. How likely is it that she will be?

[Becca Acerbi]

Becca couldn't keep the disappointment off her face when Morgan said he wasn't planning on going. She managed to bring her smile back, but - well, she hadn't expected him to say no. "I should've known you'd say that - you're the one with sense, after all."

She picked up her tea, turning the mug around in her hands without drinking from it. If it had been anyone but Morgan asking How much help could I be? Becca would have accused them of begging for an expansion of their ego, or of having just made themselves indespensable - she was going to have to stop reading bad novels, really, but it was true. As it was Morgan - he knew she thought he was indespensable, or he'd damn well better - Becca did something she wasn't used to and listened to him. Apart from reaching out to lace her fingers through his, she let him talk in peace.

"By the time we graduate, love, it'll hopefully be nothing but a memory, or something Mister Motricé's using to rub it in that the rest of us need him to stop us doing something stupid." Becca tried to get a smile out of him, brushing his hair back hesitantly. "And you have a point, as always - we'll be pretty useless to everyone if we get ourselves killed." The thought of Morgan getting hurt sent a hard cramp of fear through her heart - actually seeing it happen, she'd found, was even worse, and it wouldn't happen again if she had anything to do with it."Ulder's been telling everyone that he's not going to start a fight if he doesn't have to, so you never know - we might get out of this with our skins intact!"

Becca looked down at their hands, biting her lip. "I just - if they could get hurt, and there's something I can do to help..." She looked up at him, shrugging. "I know, I know, I'm crazy, but - it's the best reason I can think of for fighting. I want to help." She tried to drudge up a little more optimism, and almost managed it. "Someone's got to keep Himself from setting fire to the place, right?"

[Morg]

We need him to stop us doing something stupid. He needs us to stop him burning things. A kind of symbiotic relationship. Classic Becca logic. If you looked at it from a certain angle, it even made sense.

"People get hurt all the time here in the Citadel," Morgan murmured in reply, not looking up from his drink or giving her the smile she was hoping for. He took a quick glug of tea and put his mug down. "Just the other night, many were killed at the Red Banner. Please understand..." he hastily added. "It's not that I don't care. It's just that... we don't need to travel to the other side of the world to help keep people alive." He tentatively reached out an arm to encircle her waist. "We can do that without leaving the Citadel." If we want to. Perhaps saving lives isn't what we should be doing with our time, in the grand scheme of things. Finding and neutralising the Liber Maleficarius... and perhaps even using the knowledge it contains against enemies... now there was something more important than saving a few lives. To Morgan, at least. But he wasn't going to say that.

"I just get the feeling that this isn't our fight," he continued, squeezing her hand affectionately. "Or at least, not my fight."

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

[Becca Acerbi]

"But the people in the Citadel haven't asked for our help, have they," Becca said quietly, putting her own mug down on the table. She couldn't quite bring herself to meet his eyes. "And there are other people willing to help them here. Once Ulder and Elaine and Mister Motricé leave here, they're on their own, aren't they? Soldiers aside, I mean." Becca leaned against him when he put an arm around her, shifting in her chair until she could rest her head on his shoulder. Her voice was practically a whisper when she said "I just - I don't want anything to happen to them. That's all."

For a few burns after Morgan said it wasn't his fight, Becca didn't speak. She tensed, hand tightening on his, but she didn't say anything. For those few burns, she wasn't sure what she could say. Finally, she relaxed with a sigh, forcing a smile into her voice. If that was how he felt, she couldn't make him change his mind. She could try, but...

"Well, I'll stop pestering you about it then. I mean, it's not like I can tie you up and drag you there, is it?" Becca paused for a burn - just long enough to give the impression that she was actually considering it. "No, no, I'm pretty sure I couldn't." She hesitated, gently tracing out shapes on the back of his hand, before she continued in a tone light enough to cover the fact that she was completely serious: "Although if you can think of anything I can do to change your mind, you'll have to let me know, all right? I've promised Mister Motricé that I'll go, and it'll probably go better for all of us if I'm not worrying about what trouble you could be getting into without us."

[Morg]

The tea in Morgan's stomach suddenly seemed to want to up and leave the way it came. The dark-haired man was feeling more uncomfortable with the situation than ever, because a new realisation had trickled into his early-morning mind. I can't talk her out of this. She's going to go whether I come with her or not.

Perhaps he should have seen it before, but this put a whole new spin on things, really. Because although Morgan was unsure about the idea of the mission, he suddenly knew with great certainty that he wasn't going to be happy if he knew Becca was off adventuring on the other side of the world. And that was putting it mildly. For someone as paranoid as Morgan, the idea was worse than nightmarish.

The warding student let out a long-suffering groan and slumped forward onto the table in a measured fashion, his bare forehead making contact with the heavy wood with an audible thud. "Becca... I'm so sorry," he mumbled into the surface. "I didn't realise you were so... set on this, or I wouldn't have wasted your time. I put it all wrong." Morgan straightened himself up, rubbing ruefully at his forehead, and looked the red-haired girl straight in the eyes. "If I can't convince you not to go, then I'm coming with you. No question of it. I think I was wrong to say it wasn't my fight. Well... perhaps it isn't... but as soon as it becomes a fight with you in it, then it becomes my fight."

Observing Becca, a sudden wave of feeling swept over him, and he leant in and pressed his lips to hers. "Just try to leave me behind," he whispered against her cheek.

Perhaps we're more similar than I thought. Morgan didn't give the sudden turnaround in his attitude any further consideration. For him, at least, it was the outcome of a logical thought process. Besides, best case scenario... it won't be a fight at all.

[Maeve]

A serious conversation between lovers, with no skill advances.