[@HereComesTheSnow]

[b]Gratia Mindaro - Beacon Cafeteria (Monday, Early Morning ~6-7am)[/b]

The cowlick was drooping. Despite the reserved manner in which Luke was attempting to act in, it was immediately clear to the Mistralese girl that her response had instilled in him enough emotional stimulus for his hair to move, if her hypothesis continued to hold true. The question was what exactly that movement represented. Hesitation? Fear? Despair? The underlying suggestion of a spar was already beginning to bear fruit for her research; if assisting him in his training would provide her with more evidence, then there was little reason for her not to. She was already fucking helping him with his schoolwork; doing the same for his combat skills for some reasonable gain was perfectly acceptable.

"[color=66cd00]The staff aspect would be something Nuit could also cover to some extent,[/color]" she said, eyes glancing down from the strands of hair to meet Luke's grey orbs. "[color=66cd00]But you should work quickly to find a suitable polearm. You don't have time to fuck around on that.[/color]"