Scribe of Thoth

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 9th - After School}

---

Ah, yes, Hoshino had to lead them not only to crappy konbini food, but quite possibly the sketchiest store in town. Unless 'shot in the leg' and 'missing kidney' were euphemisms for something, which judging by the look of the manager, Daigo doubted. The only disgrace to his uniform here was allowing himself to be led inside in the first place. Not only that, but Noriaki seemed so unfazed by the whole display that he actively sought employment there. Was this the norm in Osaka or something? Daigo had always viewed it as a charming city with excellent food, yet here before him was this neanderthal that ate FamilyMart grease patties inbetween shifts at an embezzlement scheme. What kind of place hired a teenager on the spot like that if they weren't planning to pin some crime on him? Not even an interview - hell, this guy didn't even know his name yet! At this rate, Hoshino would be moving drugs for the yakuza by the end of the week.

"Can we get real food next time?" Daigo whined at Kazu's mention of Lawson's rather than dare voice his opinions about the integrity of the establishment with the scary manager present. That was hardly an improvement. If this type of venture happened again, he was absolutely putting his foot down the moment they were in the vicinity of passable cuisine. Then again, any reputable establishment would probably kick them out; he swore Asakura looked like he was about to keep eating that floor-seasoned chicken he'd accidentally dropped. The act didn't do any favors to the appeal of the half-finished sandwich in Daigo's hand either. One look past the crispy false promises of flavor peddled by the breaded outer facade revealed nothing but greasy despair and low-quality meat.

"And no, Lawson's is not real food either," He specified before anyone got the wrong idea. Asakura seemed to think he was on Team Lawson with him, which had troubling implications if he thought a Hinari would ever consider that trash a quality meal. "That store even sits in full view of the best karaage stand in this half of town. It's insult to injury, mocking your bad decision through the window like that." Daigo faked a shudder and devoured the rest of his sandwich in as few bites as possible. Nothing worth savoring there. After the boy finished, he went to push his glasses up on instinct, only to end up with an oily smear at the bottom of one of the lenses from the leftover chicken grease on his fingers. Even from beyond the grave, the famichiki taunted him. Daigo begrudingly granted the poor excuse for a meal a final resting place in his revered stomach, among culinary achievements no mere konbini food could ever match, and it reciprocated with only spite and malice.

"I hate this place," Daigo mumbled, mostly to himself.

---

@Wxer@Asura@psych0pomp

Of Blood and Magic

---

What the fuck. Max had expected unpleasantness, maybe akin to a cat being rubbed the wrong way, not having its fur ripped out and set on fire. And, like touching a fire, he'd recoiled away on instinct and withdrew his presence from the shrapnel without thought rather than doing something useful with his magic like stopping the explosion. If Artiae hadn't been there, he'd probably be dead. Wonderful start. There was sweat pooling on the back of his neck too; hopefully that came from the sudden burst of heat and not fear, he didn't need Poodle over there thinking he was soft.

In the short time it took for Max to catch his breath the surprise and panic gave way to annoyance. That collared idiot was going to get them both skewered; all he had to do was cooperate - surely that tool was capable of that. Asstongue or whatever was a senior, so he had to have taken this class already, which meant he already knew how to do this. Was he being intentionally difficult? Got his kicks making underclassmen look like idiots because he had no power in his home life with Count BDSM? He was tempted to snap at him, but as he opened his mouth, Max realized he didn't have much ground to stand on. The guy had volunteered for this; not even Max was willing to waste hours of his day for a whole semester just out of petty spite, so this coward certainly didn't have it in him. Weak men like that could be angry conniving little shits, but he doubted to that extreme.

So that meant Max was at fault. Great.

"Is that gonna make a difference?" Max questioned the professor as his classmate flicked his queer little wand around. Maybe he'd been focusing too hard on holding everything in place and his magic subconsciously rejected any outside movement to the contrary. So, it would stand to reason that if he was the pusher in this case, Ashton would be responsible for compensating for him, rather than the other way around. Logically, anyway; nothing in magic made any fucking sense at first.

Adequately prepared for another near-death experience, Max extended both hands to prime the levitating fragments with his magic before he brought both hands together, curling his fingers inward to slide the pieces gently and steadily into place. His movements were notably hesitant and incremental now, probing each movement for resistance or more heat before proceeding. Yep, he definitely looked like a coward now. So annoying - why was the second person necessary? It wasn't like he knew any other metal mages, nor did he feel like mixing his magic with any other mages on principle even if he did know one. There was probably some asinine lesson about teamwork in here somewhere. Though, the last academy-approved lesson on teamwork he received ended with mental magic conspiracies and Eris losing his fucking marbles, so Max didn't exactly have his hopes up.

---

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 9th - After School}

---

Best chicken sandwich from a konbini, huh? Noriaki had sounded way too confident in that for the subject at hand. What about chicken from an establishment that had some meager smidgeon of pride in their cuisine? It was a step up from corndogs at least, but as Daigo stared at the row of crispy filets in the heated display, he couldn't say it looked particularly amazing. Maybe it'd suffice in a hurry, but during a mundane day with literally thousands of superior options all around them, it was nothing special. Getting something else was tempting, but convenience store yakitori or instant soba would probably taste even worse with the knowledge he could get the real thing two blocks down. Then again, even something as mundane as a KFC would probably oust famichiki any day.

"Itadakimasu..." He mumbled halfheartedly as his eyes shifted between the two purchased items in his hands. Daigo had no qualms with curry bread; it was simple and hard to mess up. But stuffing low-quality poultry that had probably been sitting out long enough to turn the meat into desiccated shards in the middle seemed like a good way to both make a mess and ruin perfectly good curry. It was nice that someone had acknowledged his insight in the culinary arts, but Kazuyoshi asking his 'expert' opinion at this point was basically a slap in the face. He couldn't have done that ten minutes ago when they passed by the best karaage in town? It was too late to even whine about that, now that they all had food in their hands. With no other options, Daigo took a bite of the famichiki.

It certainly wasn't as dry as he'd expected, though the ginger wagered most of the moisture came from grease rather than truly juicy meat. Likewise, the texture wasn't superb but it was less of a travesty than the redhead had anticipated. He definitely saw the appeal of the bread to soak up some of that grease, though. After the first bite, Daigo tore the bread in his other hand open with his teeth and forced the slab of meat inside the curry-filled pocket as best he could. It did solve the dryness issue a bit, but the boy didn't see how the culinary creation in his hands was an improvement over eating the curry bread on its own and foregoing the chicken entirely. Still, the second bite was a definite improvement over the first, if only because the curry drowned out the other flavors. He could certainly see how an unrefined palate would confuse that for decent chicken.

"FamilyMart certainly has more visual appeal in their food, at least externally," Daigo mused as he swept his eyes over the display, "and in terms of ingredient quality, I think they're about the same." He swore he saw advertisements about higher quality food they were trying to market, but Daigo had never really paid them much mind. A konbini was for prepackaged crap or food that one would have to actively try to mess up, not 'freshly' made chicken. Still, from his limited knowledge of their respective menus, he had to say he'd enjoyed Lawson's karaage more than whatever the thing in his hand was.

"I assume you guys are only talking about flavor, though." Like the uncultured animals they were. "Neither one's great, but if I had to pick one, I gotta say Lawson's. Sorry Hoshino-kun." The ginger shrugged at the conclusion of his longwinded critique. Hopefully that would satisfy Asakura enough to stop glaring at him, because even though Daigo was determined to die on his hill of konbini chicken tasting like crap, the pressure was there regardless.

---

@Wxer@Asura

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

---

Humans crumpled so easily. It wasn't like the sturdy wood of a training dummy designed for such violence. The man didn't shudder from the force but remain standing, ready for the next swing despite the new gash carved into his bark. The collarbone shattered easier than expected; that had to have been what the crunch was. Such a disgusting noise shouldn't have brought such satisfaction. Auberon was an avid participant in his duty, but he took no joy in the fruits of his labor once the dust had settled. A man laid dead at his feet and he knew what that sounded like now. It was no hymn, but he could treat it like a prayer as long as it heralded an end to the chorus of innocent screams around him.

The blond raised his axe from the scene of the carnage, freshly red and dripping. There was another sound now; one that echoed over the thumping of his heart in his ears and the chaos and bloodshed and clashing of steel on steel. An actual hymn carried on the wind - an impassioned plea for the bandits to lay down their arms and save their eternal souls rather than meet their untimely end at the hands of the Goddess' reckoners. His hands. The swelling of pride within him from that thought was the only thing keeping him from humbly lowering his own weapon in an ultimate act of mercy, such was the power of Clarissa's censure. Unfortunately, the scene around him was unabiding to his shortlived desire to swear off violence. She had phrased it aptly; anyone who could stand to hear that and not be overcome with the weight of the Goddess' word was a beast, not a man, and yet these animals kept their weapons raised. Paradoxically, the impromptu sermon had steeled his resolve more than ever. Daphnel's blood smoldered in his veins, justifying each act of violence he undertook, calling for more glorious combat to nourish the embers. Every being that met his axe here was deserving. Guilt and regret had no place in his heart; only theirs, even if they neglected to feel it yet.

"Beautifully said," Auberon murmured as Clarissa quieted at last, doubtful the words would even reach her but unwilling to raise his voice above a reverent volume. It wasn't until Michail's hand landed on his shoulder that the boy realized he was still dazed. He tensed on instinct, angling his axe in preparation to drive the haft into the knight's sternum like the shattered nose of his last victim before he noticed the man touching him wasn't a foe. Auberon wouldn't have had the chance to strike anyway, Michail surged ahead and Auberon had to follow, though there seemed little point with how handedly his professor finished the group before them.

Once they reached a short reprieve and his lucidity had fully returned, Auberon's arms went limp at last and his gaze snapped backward to the rest of the students. Nobody on the ground or crying or red like the corpses in the dirt. His Lions were fine - everyone was fine. He could harden his heart to the death throes of unrighteous brigands and drown the cries of unfamiliar villagers with cool detachment and knowledge that they were headed to a better place, but there was no satisfaction or comfort to be had from Kellen or Derec slipping away in a pool of their own blood.

"Nice work," Auberon told Derec soberly. He wasn't sure what exactly he was congratulating, but there was a corpse with a spear wound through its chest over by where the commoner had been standing, so Derec had to have done something praiseworthy. The 'stay safe' he'd intended to follow that statement died on Auberon's tongue. He had no idea how to voice that sentiment, nor whether he even needed to. It went without saying, right?

The sudden rumble was a far more appropriate subject for his attention, anyway. That explosion before was magical? Auberon figured they'd filled a wagon up with oil barrels or something and threw in a torch. That meant the mage - mages? No way a single person was responsible for a blast of that caliber - should be their top priority. No, that was up to Euphemia; they just needed to clear a path for the villagers. The stray arrow was an even more immediate concern, but Auberon didn't have much luck in thinking up a solution for that one either. At least there were only two archers, a proper volley would decimate the group.

So when the more melee-inclined banditry made their appearance, Auberon almost welcomed it. That was a solvable problem. He rushed forward to interpose himself between the charging brigands and his classmates and swung his axe to batter away a spear poised to lance right through his midriff. The spear's wielder advanced cautiously, holding up a battered old shield that should've long since been retired. The wood was cracked and even rotting in some areas. It might've been sturdy enough to handle an arming sword or something, but he couldn't possibly think it could hold against Auberon's axe for more than a handful of swings. Then again, the young noble supposed it wouldn't have to. The moment he reduced the shield to firewood and his axe was still wedged in the scraps, he'd be skewered.

The spear came again and again in quick, hounding jabs. The man held the reach advantage and he knew it; he didn’t even need to rely on his shield. Still, it remained raised before him, goading Auberon to bash the man into submission and step right into his trap. What was worse, the man’s thrusts were far less energy-intensive than the motions Auberon needed to parry them; the bandit simply had to wait for his opponent to tire out. With few other options, the blond chambered his axe at his side in preparation for a wide swing, aimed at buying him space first and foremost, but he never got the chance to follow through.

The holy blood within him reached a familiar fever pitch at last. Knowing what would inevitably follow, Auberon abandoned his earlier swing and raised his axe high above his head like an executioner. His limbs burned not with exertion but the assurance that the searing gaze of the Goddess, for this brief moment, rested solely on him and his opponent. It was the euphoria of combat he chased every time his fingers closed around a weapon, but even moreso he longed to stand alone in that gaze, and the fire swelled to abide. The axe fell with the weight of divine retribution, with more force than even a man of Auberon's stature should have any right achieving, fueled by muscle and gravity and the inferno raging inside him. The bandit's dilapidated shield splintered under the force of the blow, just as expected, but Daphnel's lance would never stop at such a pathetic barrier and neither should Auberon's. The axe continued on its path undeterred, cleaving right through the poor sinner's arm underneath as surely as it would've if he'd cowered behind a sheet of parchment. Auberon gave him little chance to wallow in his agony, as he immediately thrusted the sharpened tip of his weapon upward through the man's chest and heaved the body to the ground.

Auberon's second kill went unprocessed and unmourned. There was simply no time. He swiveled around immediately to face the other aggressors, raising his axe defensively. The flames within him had subsided for now, but his Crest would not truly be extinguished until every last crime performed in Luin today had been answered for. His ancestor had allegedly saved these people before, so the burden fell to him more than anyone else present to do so again. That was his ordained purpose here, so his victory was already decided by the will of the Goddess. Simple as.

---

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 9th - After School}

---

Daigo found it a bit hard to believe that the proprietor of a pet store would have much luck aggressively peddling their wares. Most tourists, if one could even call Osakans that, would fall for cheap souveniers and food, not pet beds and squeaky toys. Was Asakura playing another prank? And since he'd gotten an invitation to join them, did that mean the joke was at his expense now? Well, the ginger still hadn't properly introduced himself to Hoshino, and it wasn't like he had anything better to do. Worst case scenario was that his mind would be taken off less pleasant matters for a bit while he trailed after the cool kids. Or they'd call him a loser and ditch him, but that scenario was neither worth dwelling on nor anything he wasn't prepared for.

"Yeah, sure, I'll be the muscle," Daigo agreed facetiously as he glanced between the two much larger teens. Surely anyone Kazuyoshi couldn't fend off would hardly be cowed by him. Which again begged the question of why he had been invited along in the first place. Maybe that was just Asakura's way of introducing the new kid to everyone, or Daigo really was walking into the setup for an elaborate prank. The nearsighted boy was pretty sure none of Asakura's friend group would even give him the time of day normally, so Daigo's theory about his hunt for tall people to recruit had apparently been debunked. The blue-haired boy himself wasn't exactly mean, though, so maybe he really was just performing an innocent act of friendliness.

"You have a liiiittle bit of an accent," The redhead muttered in response to Noriaki's admonition as the other boy turned away to purchase his litter box. Daigo ducked and weaved through the stream of pedestrians with completely unnecessary dramatic flair in his effort to catch up with Noriaki and engage him in conversation again. "I'm Daigo, by the way. Hinari Daigo. So, uh, other than this, what were you guys doing today?" Unless they outright told him to go away, he'd probably be tagging along for the remainder of Asakura's patented Trespasser's Guide to Kyoto. It was probably smart to get an idea of what exactly he was participating in before he was in too deep and ended up arrested or drunk or arrested and drunk or whatever kind of mayhem Kazuyoshi got into in his spare time. At the very least, Daigo could give them a couple suggestions that beat corndogs if they got hungry. He didn't even know where to get a corndog around here, and it was a feat for any facet of the culinary world in this area to evade him. Though, any place that actually served corndogs was probably beneath his notice to begin with.

Seriously. Corndogs. The audacity of some people.

---

@Wxer@Asura

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 9th - After School}

---

Huh, not only did Hoshino pet cats, he owned one. Apparently not for very long, though, or he would've already owned a litter box. Maybe his old place didn't allow pets. Wait, wouldn't he have just bought all the cat stuff along with the cat? Oh, of course, it was like those animes where the angry delinquent secretly feeds stray cats in the rain to reveal to the audience that he wasn't such a bad guy. Come to think of it, Daigo really had no proof Hoshino was a delinquent, or even an unpleasant person. Sure, he was hanging out with Asakura, but that didn't mean anything; he was too new to be already involved in schoolyard politics. His little spat with Nakano-senpai was hardly damning either, since she kind of started it. Daigo hadn't seen him be mean to anyone else during the day either.

Then again, this guy was in the heart of the veritable culinary capital of Japan and craving a corn dog of all things. One had to either be some manner of villain or a complete philistine to do that. He could excuse that behavior from some Tokyo-born idiot but an Osaka native should know better.

Focus, Daigo, focus. He didn't ask for dining recommendations.

"I think that's a pet store. Or... was it the gardening store?" Daigo mused to himself, "No, no, that's down the street. Yeah, definitely the pet store. See, they got those scratching post tree thingies." The boy made a loose gesture toward the open door of the shop in question as a woman stepped outside, beyond which a glimpse of elaborate and probably overpriced cat trees were visible. "If you can't find it there, there's a supermarket around the corner that probably has all that stuff too." The ginger kept himself all smiles and animated gestures, even going so far as to rock back and forth on his heels restlessly while he spoke. He seemed genuinely happy to help; whatever previous anxiety he'd derived from the crumpled up paper in his pocket was gone, replaced with the same exuberance one might find in a customer service training video that framed the job as a pleasure rather than an obligation.

Daigo turned back toward the other student present and raised himself up on his tiptoes playfully. "What about you, Asakura-kun, you in the market for a dog now or just being neighborly?" He seriously didn't even know where to buy cat food? Maybe Kazuyoshi wasn't playing a prank and had genuinely gotten lost. That had to be embarrassing in front of the guy from out of town. Daigo didn't really trust anyone from Asakura's clique, but he'd probably assigned ill intentions to both him and Hoshino unfairly at this point. Unless the dark-haired boy just wanted to recruit another freakishly tall kid into his circle and resigned to follow Hoshino around until he did.

---

@Wxer@Asura

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 9th - After School}

---

The cooking club pamphlet he'd grabbed earlier was practically burning a hole in his pocket. Daigo had read and reread it at least twice now, considered tossing it in just about every trash can he passed along his walk home, and taken it in and out of his pocket countless times. He could only focus on the people walking in his vicinity for so long before his attention span wavered, and eavesdropping was never his strong suit to begin with, even when he needed a distraction. It felt like a weird betrayal to even consider joining, but at the same time, he wanted to turn around and march back to school just to catch the last bits of the first club meeting. Instead, he defaulted to mindlessly fidgeting with his phone in an effort to push the issue out of mind.

As Daigo veered past the shopping district, a familiar duo crossed into his peripheral vision that caused the boy to outright stop and do a double-take. Did... Did Asakura and the new kid have clones or something? He definitely saw them turn off the main road a while ago and head toward... nowhere. Some random residential backroads. He figured one of their houses must've been that way, but apparently they'd simply taken the most convoluted route possible into the heart of town. Daigo was half-convinced the road he saw them take didn't even lead here! Did they just hop every fence they could find on the way? That had to be illegal or something.

Kazuyoshi must've been playing a prank on the new kid; leading him on a wild goose chase through town to get him lost the next time he tried navigating on his own. It was none of his business, but Daigo figured he should say something. Being outright accusatory was probably too mean, since Asakura very well could have had an upstanding reason for travelling that way. Maybe there was a cool park that way or something. Still, even without all the rumors flying around, he wasn't exactly a model citizen that could do no harm; a dumb prank definitely sounded in-character for him. Besides, Daigo wanted to see Kyoto's newest resident for himself before word about his confrontation with Nakano-senpai got out and the inevitable rumor mill colored his opinion.

The redhead ducked out of the stream of foot traffic and casually approached the two while they were oogling the pet store. Again, Asakura didn't really seem the type to go in and pet the kitties. They were either laughing at the mascot or Hoshino decided he hadn't been rude enough for one day and needed some puppies to kick. His business or not, it was enough to get the boy's mind racing with curiosity and increasingly stupid theories about what Asakura was dragging the new kid into.

"Hey, didn't I see you two turn off back by, uh... that dry cleaner the Takemuras own? Is there something down there I don't know about?" He asked with a curious tilt of his head. Daigo hardly waited for an answer before his gaze came to rest solely on Hoshino and inquisitiveness overpowered his manners, "Oh, and welcome to Kyoto! I'd talk your ear off about the local food, but I'm sure you probably have a good idea already if you're from Osaka - you said that in class earlier, right? I mean, you sound like you're from Osaka. I think we get all our crab from down there, actually... Um, either way, I hope you're enjoying yourself here!" The boy seemed to barely stop for a breath while he prattled on.

---

@Wxer@Asura

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

---

While Auberon would never insinuate that his fellow students were cowards, he was a bit surprised nearly everyone joined the attack so eagerly. Then again, that was what they were attending Garreg Mach for. Duty had called and they had answered, as expected of the ideal nobleman. Lienna apparently hadn't gotten the memo, though perhaps she was simply not confident in her abilities and chose safety instead. She wasn't a delicate flower; she had a Crest for fuck's sake. They really needed to have a chat about the obligations of the upper class. Lienna had an excuse this time, but lowborn behavior could only continue for so long before her actions became an embarrassment to both herself and her betrothed. Speaking of betrothed, Kayden's bride-to-be staying behind garnered little frustration from the blond. She was prickly, offputting, and unsurprisingly lazy. Probably only in attendance at the academy for show, and intended to live out the rest of her life pampered in the Imperial Palace. Besides, she wasn't his to manage anyway.

Of course, every Deer boarding the carriage was a bit irritating. How did Jorah of all people manage to get his dysfunctional hooligans on board? No, that wasn't quite fair; Clarissa had done all the legwork from what he saw. Auberon would have to be more forceful in the future. Still, he had to have done something right; Derec and Kellen followed without any deliberation. Sure, Kellen looked a bit more fidgety than usual - or was he always like that? Kellen could've had a seizure outright on the ride here and Auberon probably still wouldn't have noticed over the jostling of the carriage - but Derec looked almost like he'd done this before. That was good, confidence and morale have won battles that tactics and skill deemed impossible.

At Imogen's prodding, Auberon returned her grin with one of his own, subdued eagerness barely hidden behind his usual stoic veneer, "Of course. The Goddess put us here for a reason, we'd be fools not to answer the call." The timing was a bit too good to be purely coincidental. With no small number of Crestbearers present, the eyes of the Goddess were no doubt upon this group whether they liked it or not. "So, I think we're all going to be fine," He tacked on mostly for the benefit of the more nervous members of the party. Naturally, he knew that he would be fine from the beginning, and Imogen herself had been gung ho from the moment they saw the riders.

Once they started moving and Michail explained their strategy, Auberon straightened up as best he could in his seat and listened intently. A pretty barebones formation, though with their numbers, they really didn't have much of a choice. There wasn't much room to argue over the rickety clattering of the carriage anyway, not that Auberon was particularly keen on preaching tactics to a Knight of Seiros or a commanding officer. His role suited him just fine - Michail didn't want them to merely hold the line, they were to punch through the bandits and cut them down for their crimes. With how Euphemia seemed to want them coddled and the Faerghusian emphasis on shock cavalry, he was worried they might be relegated to standing in place and waiting for Michail to cut the bandits down from behind.

When he exitted the carriage at last, Auberon certainly didn't expect their adversaries to already be waiting for them. Had they been set up? Those riders looked a little too beat up to be faking, but the brigands could've expected that they'd return with reinforcements and set up an ambush to be safe. His instincts were telling him to charge in, rout them with shock and awe before they had a chance to realize they weren't just fighting dumb kids. Unfortunately, overextending himself was probably suicide if the rest of them couldn't keep up and this uniform was hardly doing him any favors in the area of defense. Without even a shield to duck behind, he'd need to play it safe. He knew his range, he could win. All he needed was patience.

"Jorah, pick off their archers first if you spot them," The blond muttered as he disembarked, "Climb on top of the carriage for a better vantage point if you need to, we'll make sure they don't get close." A shoddily-dressed peasant with a sword already dulled by pointlessly cutting down innocents was hardly a concern. The cowardly ones taking shots at them from behind a tree were more worrisome. Most of the students looked like they'd have no answer to a sustained volley, Auberon included.

"Derec, you've got the most reach, so try to buy as as much space as possible. Keep them scattered," He continued with a more forceful edge in his tone, assuming Derec to be more receptive to orders than Jorah. They had the numbers advantage for now, so surrounding the poor bastards and cutting them down like they'd probably done to the townsfolk was only poetic.

With his suggestions delivered, Auberon stepped forward challengingly and raised his axe over his shoulder in a way that was almost inviting. His stance was rigid and formal, one that suggested the would-be squire would react to anything unorthodox with confusion. Everything about him telegraphed that every move he'd make would come word-for-word out of a fencing manual, not that the boy was planning to explode like a feral beast and start hacking off limbs in the Goddess' name.

So when one of the mooks stepped forward, Auberon did just that. As the bandit approached, Auberon shifted his grip on his weapon further up toward the head, as if he was expecting the man to venture well into his personal space. Before he had the chance, the blond shifted his weight forward suddenly to thrust with the butt of his axe's haft and batter the guy in the nose. From there, his hand slid back into position and he snapped his axe downward immediately in a follow-up chop while the bandit was staggering. Hesitation was a sign of incertitude, and Auberon was nothing if not devoted in sending these men to answer for their crimes before the Most High.

---

@Eleven@Obscene Symphony

Of Blood and Magic

---

Making alloys by bullying a collared weirdo on the astral plane. Sounded like Max's kind of class. Professor Artiae's mention of 'firmly independent' mages elicited a raised brow from Max, though he didn't comment. He certainly wasn't talking about Fido over there, so what, was he just calling Max uncooperative? As empowering as it was to hear he could make the room explode just by being difficult, it couldn't be that hard. He hadn't made that stupid crystal explode in last semester's partner exercises, in any case. All the other guy had to do was let Max take the lead; he was probably used to that.

Labrador's monotone encouragement didn't exactly put Max in the mood to behave, though. Sure, this guy would rather be eating kibble out of his leech's hand than sit here; Max totally understood having better things to do, but he could at least keep quiet instead of being patronizing. That explained the comment, then; Artiae knew Max was disagreeable at best and fully expected him to perform the magical equivalent of French kissing with this jackass regardless. If the sparks didn't fly, there was probably reason for concern.

Max checked his phone rather flagrantly one last time before he fully engaged with the lesson, unconcerned with looking rude. Salem didn't even play along with the joke. What, was Aaron on his pity list because he got sent back to the pound when his owner allegedly died? Lilie, surprisingly, at least got him to exhale forcefully from his nose. Asston definitely had a leash somewhere; with self-respect that low, his vampire probably walked him to class and let him piss on street lamps. The brunet slipped his phone away shortly after, not looking to push the envelope too far.

The cube in question was already inhabited by a plentiful dose of Max's essence by the time he began, and the first part of the exercise was child's play. The mage extended a hand, bidding the metal to hover above the table. Pure metal, uniform crystallization, near-limitless possiblities for a clean faultline to form. He suspected that wouldn't be the case in a moment, but that just meant he needed to do another hasty internet search on metallic structure when he got back to the dorm later. His pointer finger flicked to draw a plus shape in the air as indentations etched themselves into the cube in parallel, and after a few moments of seemingly nothing happening, the cube segmented into four equally-sized prisms in a loose orbit about each other.

"Whenever you're ready, I'll hold them in place," The mage muttered before anyone gave him shit about the pieces moving too much. Spontaneity was far easier when his magic already had a flow to it, in his opinion. Inert metal needed to build up momentum, but objects that were already charged were easily and effectively manipulated. Granted, the whole point of the exercise was to stop movement, but he knew what he was doing, damn it!

The fingers of Max's other hand flexed at his side to drill the motion into muscle memory. While the professor could probably catch shrapnel in his sleep at this point, the boy didn't see any reason he shouldn't be prepared to at least deflect anything flying at him regardless. Ashton could fend for himself; it'd probably be a mercy for him to get brained with a metal rod.

---

@Achronum

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 9th - After School}

---

An unflattering noise escaped Daigo's mouth as the bell jolted him fully awake, thankfully masked by the chime itself and the rustling of students packing their things to leave for the day. His eyes were open, but in that last five minutes, he definitely wasn't all there mentally. On a whim, he checked his face with the front camera of his phone. There was a red splotch on the boy's cheek where his palm had been supporting his otherwise drooping head, and at some point between the last time he looked at the board and now, his head had slipped against his hand enough to push his glasses up at an awkward angle that probably made it obvious he was napping. Great start. At least Momoji-sensei hadn't called him out on it. Not that the ginger's school performance really bothered him much; he certainly wasn't planning on applying to any colleges. His dad had even suggested he drop out before high school. Still, it was embarrassing; he looked like Asakura sleeping in class.

It wasn't like he had to rush home anymore, with how little time he seemed to spend in the kitchen these days, so Daigo was free to take his time and languidly rise from his seat into a catlike stretch. A soft, tired hum accompanied the movement and ended with a nonchalant clearing of his throat as he tilted his crooked glasses back into place. Nakano-senpai oddly enough came into focus, though her business down in the second year classrooms became quickly apparent as she made a beeline for the transfer student. Nice of her to welcome him personally, he guessed. Though, as Daigo turned his attention back to packing up his things, the bits of the conversation he managed to overhear weren't exactly welcoming. Nakano sounded... terse. Sure, he'd heard she kinda had a stick up her butt, but why approach someone just to nag? Then somehow flirting got brought up. He wasn't quite sure how it worked, but he was pretty sure no one outside of anime for tsundere fetishists flirted like that. This was uncomfortable.

As if he needed any more reason to vacate the area, the sudden bang was definitely the biggest hint. Daigo winced at the harsh noise, sending nervous glances between his bag and the escalating conversation across the room. The nervous tapping of his foot quickened with his haste to pack up and leave, and hearing Nakano say something that sounded like she was about to end the conversation sent Daigo hurriedly powerwalking out of the room.

"'Scuse me," He muttered as he slipped past Asakura during the other boy's air traffic controller impersonation. Daigo sure hoped the new kid got the message, whatever it was. Or was he the aggressor there, Daigo couldn't even tell. Maybe both of them were bad news.

He didn't slow his pace until he made it down to the first floor, far from Nakano's new regime of terror. The bulletin board caught his eye for once, full of club advertisements and first day announcements they'd doubtlessly heard in homeroom already. Maybe something to do after school would be nice, since he wasn't working as much. Normally, Daigo would never take a lull in work as enough of a constant in his life to consider a club, but with the way things had been going recently...

Daigo shook his head to dispel any lingering thoughts. No, the restaurant was always his highest priority, he couldn't afford to put extracurriculars on top of that. Besides, if he couldn't even stay awake in school, he doubted a club was going to interest him. To his great shame, he grabbed a flier for the cooking club anyway. It sort of like... studying for his job. Or at least that's how he justified it to himself. The fiery-haired boy stuffed the partially-crumpled paper into his pocket like he was hiding illicit drugs rather than a folded piece of paper and trudged toward the door to change his shoes.

---

@Wxer_ish