[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/231110/8d749d906d93af45726a04f7ecf5f219.png[/img][/center][hr]Jannick walked the halls of Veradis castle after his smoke with more purpose than he expected. His chat with Bianca had been surprisingly fruitful, in a roundabout way; he couldn’t claim to remember much of anything she said, but it got him thinking about Holly, being a Templar, and the true weight of the responsibility he bore. 

He’d admit - only inwardly - that he had always thought of Templars as the desk jockeys of the Church Knights. Their job always seemed to be “follow your Scion around, look pretty, try not to be late to any interviews” and then to reap lavish praise from all of Gaia when they were done. They lived in plush apartments and did what could be generously called escort work, never needing to face any real danger or difficulty. And, in Jannick's experience, his prior judgement was largely accurate. 

Or rather, it [i]used to be[/i], until tonight. For the past six months, Jannick’s biggest challenge was reining Holly in and staying awake during meetings, but tonight shook the very foundations of his understanding of his role - and probably of the Ordo Templi itself. He was no scholar, but it must have been hundreds of years since any material threat to the Scions at large had manifested itself in Gaia, and now they were under all-out assault in the very heart of Veradis. Jannick was no small amount incensed that they would dare set foot upon his homeland, especially considering that just a year ago, he would have been part of the VPD response team sent to the scene, rather than stuck in the thick of it. 

And stuck he had been. Irina was right - as Templars went, he was pathetic. It was one of many wake-up calls the New Year seemed to have in store for him: he needed to brush way up on his skill with magic, which essentially meant learning it from the ground up. Funnelling cigarette smoke into the nearest vent wouldn’t cut it anymore. Holly was hopeless in a fight, if she couldn’t run away from it; he was her only hope. 

Doubly so, if his other wake-up call was correct. If Irina was to be taken at her word, and Jannick wouldn’t risk any other approach, then if he fell, he could not expect anyone else to come to Holly’s aid. He was, quite literally, her only hope. The only thing separating that scared little girl from the clutches of the enemy. 

Jannick had resented his role ever since the day he got it; he ideologically opposed the idea of prioritizing a single person over the interests of all others simply because that person was somehow “special.” He thought the Church’s focus on the Scions was as much a joke as the supposed mercy of the Mother was - that their interest began and ended with the preservation of their crown jewels, their spectacle pieces, their pawns for use in dazzling and subduing a faithful audience, all while the Goddess watched on with little more than mild interest. But even if that was true - and Jannick had no evidence it wasn’t - it didn’t really seem to matter anymore. Because Holly [i]was[/i] special; not because she was holy or magic or whatever else, but because she was in danger. And she needed him. 

All she had was him, and if he had to forsake others to do it, then so be it. At least the rest of society had someone else coming for them if he fell. 

The realization brought with it a deep and abiding shame. Shame that quickened Jannick’s feet to a run on his way back to Holly’s room, that urged him to make things right before they could no longer be righted. He was painfully reminded of every eye-roll, every exasperated sigh, every dismissive comment he’d ever made in the course of his employment - no his [i]vow[/i] - to Scion Hollyhock. Suddenly he wanted to clobber that stubborn, petulant, self-absorbed Templar who spent his days wishing he was back at a police precinct instead of doing his job. He especially wanted to get a hold of the one who yelled at Holly in her most vulnerable moment and beat him senseless before he had the chance to open his mouth. 

Instead, he stopped with a huff at Holly’s door, waving off the servant he’d contracted to lead the way (and uncharitably forced to run with him at a policeman’s pace all the way there). His bruises and sprains complained at him, but he paid them no mind; rather, he stared at the door for a moment as he caught his breath, flagging a little as the reality of what he’d resolved to do stared him in the face. 

After a moment, he steeled himself, with a few colourful inward remarks about being a coward, and knocked twice on the door. [color=9A906B]“...Holly?”[/color] he called hesitantly, surprised at the hoarseness of his voice. He cleared his throat and continued more resolutely. [color=9A906B]“Holly, we need to talk.”[/color]
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