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She [i]wasn't[/i] complaining, and that was almost worth worrying over.

The last time their exercises had taken them out in the rain Rivka had sulked, almost from start to finish. This passivity under unpleasant conditions was... Unusual. She had accepted coffee graciously, cupping it with both hands for its warmth. It wasn't the first time she had been like this, though; since her evaluation the Magi had been...

Humbled wasn't the word. It was doubtful she could [i]be[/i] humbled, that wasn't a word that belonged in a sentence with her. Her belief in herself, her absolute sense of self, was too durable for that. Too resilient. But she had been quieter. Not subdued, but slightly disconnected. Distracted. The first few days of her two week break were among the quietest, for she seemed as though her mind was always on something else. Ignis aurum probat; the golden girl had been tested, and in the process something had changed. Some quality, some kind of ineffable wisdom, had been given unto her, and she had like a caterpillar taken to her cocoon [color=7e5e7f](of blankets)[/color] to undergo metamorphosis. Unlike a caterpillar however, hers was much faster; not even Rivka Sokolov at her laziest could simply lay around for so long. There were arts to be perfected, ideas to test, all manner of life to be [color=7e5e7f][i]lived.[/i][/color] But still some quality of that silence had lingered, eluding understanding.

[color=7e5e7f]"[i]Ponyal[/i]. Thank you, Cadet."[/color] The latter remark she addressed to Liam Neptune, as she set her cup of coffee down lightly and rose from her seat shrugging the light blanket she had draped over her shoulders off in the process. There was in her carriage something new, a surety of foot that hadn't been there before. She was heading for the door from the first step, without a moment's hesitation to face the howling wind and booming thunder. They were instruments themselves, of course; life [i]was[/i] a performance, its trials and adversities the crescendos and diminuendos of the piece. Without them there could be no true flare, so who was she to complain about the instruments she was given?

The darkness beyond the door blazed lilac for the briefest moment, as though the water that reached her skin had ignited. Her standby clothes were gone and replaced by her Parma; the rain that touched her did not ignite, but it did give rise to training steam that followed her every move. It was time to work. It was time to work. It was time to aim high. It was time to [i][color=7e5e7f]perform.[/color][/i]

[color=7e5e7f]"Come on, girls. Let's knock 'em dead."[/color]