Chương 6: Chapter 5 ~ Hello Roomie! (Part 1)

(Part 1) 18/10/1111 EotTS, 12: 51 There was a red-headed woman in the common-room; she (assumably a she, as she lacked the typical feminine figure) leaned over the cooler box, and placed food in it: the brown paper wrappings of fresh cuts of meat from the butcher going into the freezing section; cheeses, breads, butters, bottles of milk, and glass containers displaying the treats within in the refrigeration side—does this woman usually purchase treats? would she share if asked?

is it worth getting to know this roommate in exchange for access to the treats she purchases? is she observant enough to notice if one, two, or a hubristic third 'vanished' in the night, and would she care? is she knowledgeable in the subjects being taught, or is she a bourgeois dilettante, like most of the students here likely are? are any of these worth answering now? no, no they are not—Gysel needed lunch. Gysel quietly closed the door and crept toward her room.

She put the key in the lock and twisted it—the deadbolt fell away with a loud, metallic thunk. The roommate stood up, and locked eyes with Gysel; Gysel immediately broke eye contact and looked the roommate up and down. She had an interesting visage to say the least: nothing about it was a masculine broad, nor a feminine slender, but was something in the middle: the perfect androgyny that made a man beautiful and a woman handsome.

Dirty terracotta freckles were speckled across her pale cheeks and the bridge of her button nose like a cowbird egg, matching the color of her eyes. Her hair was a dark red, not quite an auburn: a copper; the expensive kind one buys in thick ingots and can tell from the color alone that they were far from a sub-standard quality.

There were wavy curls in it that came from braiding one's hair around the top of the head after a bath, and then sleeping with an extra blanket so one does not wake up sick; sections of her hair were still in these thick plaits, mostly along the front, with one of them tucked behind her ear, the front sagging and looping at the bottom like a woven copper bracelet. She was taller than Gysel, like most were, but only by an upright hand, and this was still enough to force Gysel to crane her neck.

Her build was also thinner than Gysel's, and this only accentuated her androgynous features. She wore a light brown sweater dress that came down to her knees, and was cinched at the waist by a wide dark brown leather belt. The belt's double-pronged buckle, end tip, and reinforced punch holes were all made of bronze. Her legs were covered in brown woolen leggings, or maybe stockings, that bloomed into leather boots of a coppery color, which were half undone and folded over at the top.

"You must be my roommate!" The girl said, at a volume that bordered on a yell. Startled, Gysel sniffed—no one who has ever meant well is this excited to meet someone new. Gysel nodded but did not say anything.

"Were you going to try to sneak by and not meet me?" Gysel nodded, again—uh-huh, and it should have worked if they oiled the lock more often—but this could not be said, so a meek 'Yes' was offered in reply. The girl laughed.

"Well, how about we introduce ourselves so we aren't complete strangers? I'll go first." She patted her chest.

"My name is Lymalova Togwaer, but you can call me Lyma or Lova, because saying both is a mouthful. Pick whichever rolls off your tongue better, and don't call me Lym, Malo, or Lyva." Gysel silently went through the motions of saying both Lyma and Lova five times each, seeing which one felt better to say; Lyma did.

"Hello, Lyma. I am Gysel Neekhilst. You can call me Gy or Sel, but most people call me Gysel." Lyma laughed—but what is funny about this? Lyma asked for an introduction and got one—Gysel smiled anyway.

"Wait," Lyma's smile vanished.

"You're the girl with the perfect score in Operative Alchemy." Letting go of the door, Gysel shuffled her feet, and her smiled disappeared—is that a question or a statement? where did the smile go? is Lyma now angry, or simply trying to figure something out? Gysel nodded: while this was the default response in a conversation, it usually worked, but allowing the other person to impose their desired answer upon the nod.

"How did you manage that?"

"I do not know. I did not know that I was going to be graded immediately." You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"I've heard they judge you based on your portfolio. What did you submit?" Lyma's stern countenance faded.

"Nothing."

"What do you mean, 'nothing'?"

"I mean, I did not submit anything."

"Then how did you get in?"

"I received a letter that offered me enrollment," said Gysel; the information about the scholarship was not needed—and Lyma can not be trusted, yet.

"They offered you a spot here?" Lyma raised a coppery eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Well, your name certainly precedes you."

"No, usually I have to introduce myself. You did not know who I was."

"I know you now, and I'm happy to have someone smart as my roommate. We can study together." Gysel looked at Lyma's pale and freckled face; she looked happy—is it because Lyma has a smart roommate to study with, or is it because she has a smart roommate to get to do her homework? how does one respond to that? is 'Thank you' the correct answer, or is it 'You are welcome'? it is 'You are welcome.' Gysel began to answer: "You are—""Where are you from?" Lyma asked, interrupting.

"Wihrakolm."

"That is far. How was the coach ride?"

"Long." Lyma pursed her lips and nodded. She walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat.

"You don't know anyone here, do you?"

"No." All that walking was certainly tiring; to sit or not to sit, that was the question; a question that would be answered upon an invitation. If Lyma thought she was living with an encyclopedia, then perhaps Lyma had other people that she used as an encyclopedia; people who knew enough as to where the exchange of information was mutually beneficial. Lyma opened her mouth to speak, but Gysel spoke first.

"Do you?" Lyma smiled—why? is she pleased that someone was showing interest in her, or is she just pleased that she did not have to carry all of the conversational weight? please be neither—Gysel's stomach twisted; the familiar feeling saying run, but this environment was new, with like minded peers—so not just yet... intuition will be ignored.

"I do!" Lyma said.

"It a group of five of us, two women and three men; we all specialize in one of the 'pillars' of the Royal Arts, well, the other girl specializes in two. One of the guys is my brother. He and I specialize in Ritual Magick more generally, but we got in for our portfolio on Ritual Alchemy. Are you not going to sit down?"

"You have a brother?" Gysel asked, as she walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat.

"A twin brother, Lyvahn. I'm the older one, though. Only by a few minutes, but still older. Do you have any siblings?"

"No."

"Must have been nice having all of your parents' attention," Lyma laughed.

"My brother and I had it for about two years before my sister came along, then it went to my younger brother two years after that." Gysel's face twisted into a grimace—it certainly is not, as there is no way to tell if it is all of Mother and Father's attention or none of it; it felt like they paid attention, but they never paid attention. Gysel's stomach rumbled, but Lyma did not seem to react. Lyma waited a moment, swallowed sharply, then continued.

"You will probably see Lyvahn around; he looks just like me with shorter hair. Actually, if you want, why don't we go to the cafeteria for lunch?" Gysel looked at the clock before answering; it was five minutes past the thirteenth hour.

"I do not have any money." Lyma stood and waved her hand.

"It's all right. Fifth-floor privilege."

"What is fifth-floor privilege?" Gysel stood, tucked in her chair, and then Lyma's—she had forgotten—and walked into room '547.'

"They put the best students on the fifth floor. We have the biggest rooms and the nicest lavatories. It even covers everything on campus, including—" Lyma paused.

"Gysel?" She sounded confused. Gysel paused before her trunks and turned back to Lyma.

"Yes?"

"Are you not coming to the cafeteria?"

"I am shutting my window."

"Then are you coming to the cafeteria?"

"No." Lyma looked disheartened by this; as to why, it was not clear; everyone knows one does not wear boots indoors.

"I thought you were coming to the cafeteria."

"I am." Lyma's face pinched—is she mad?

"I'll be out in the hall."

"I will be only a moment." Lyma left the dorm room anyway. Gysel closed the window and put on a pair of indoor loafers: the shoes were purchased specifically to wear them around the academy: they were brown leather, with a gold buckle, and the interior was lined with sheepskin, but most importantly, the shoes were comfortable, and the sheepskin interior allowed one to fidget with the wool with one's toes when bored. Gysel hurried to join Lyma in the hall.

"I'm glad you're still coming with me."

"I have always been coming with you." Lyma laughed.

"I was unsure for a second." It was said, about twice, as a clear answer to questions. The two walked down the hallway and descended the ramp.

"What was I saying?" Lyma said when the two reached the bottom of the ramp.

"The—""You were telling me about the 'fifth-floor privilege,'" Gysel answered.

"Yes... I was, wasn't I?" Lyma waved to someone while she was speaking, but did not stop to interact with them beyond this.

"You get your meals free of charge and books from the bookstore for free." Excellent, the concern of money had now burned away, leaving only the desired product (literally and figuratively) as calx at the bottom, or books in the hand.

"Does this apply in the town as well?"

"I wish," Lyma sighed.

"They have a lot of wonderful stores: the finest fashion houses and bookstores with more than the academy's. This is the Kingdom's capital; I'll be shocked if you can't find something."

"I have no money to spend at the bookstores," Gysel fell somber; if the stores had more than the Academy, they would have the rarest and best books.

"Do you sew?" Lyma opened the door into the cloister.

"No." A lie.

"Well, if you want to learn, I can teach you; you might be able to work with my aunt if you need spending money. That's what I'm doing."

"I do not want a job as a seamstress." Lyma looked over her shoulder at Gysel, and she seemed taken aback.

"Is everything alright, Gysel?"

"Yes." Why would something be wrong? It was a simple statement. Lyma turned back around, scratched the back of her neck, and stepped through the door.