---

Crystal was at her wit's end. Rivka, who had requested a team logo, was certainly full of ideas, but while the girl was similarly of the artistic persuasion, her disposition was firmly rooted in music, rather than the visual realm. Some of them were even good ideas, though those tended to be far too complex for an emblem. Simplicity was key when designing something that would represent oneself. Crystal, meanwhile, found herself in a creative rut. She couldn't help but keep going back to the group's magic, and that was going nowhere. It was easy enough to think of things that could represent the other four; it was Crystal who was the problem. After all, their Elementum complimented each other well. Fire and water? Simple, steam, or a rise to a boil. Earth and gravity? A diamond fit perfectly. But neither of these would work, because it would be too easy to be seen as Crystal having too big an ego. Diamonds? Diamonds resembled crystals, and putting her own name on the symbol was obviously a no-go. Steam? That's fine by itself, but her mind wouldn't allow her to think that logically. It was too close to the effect of dry ice in her brain, especially when combined with a diamond that could be confused for the very same dry ice.

No, she was the problem, and it would be so much easier if she weren't there, she knew. And that thought echoed through her mind nigh constantly in the time since their first lunch as a team. She had felt this feeling before, far too often as she was well aware, but now she was an Ars Magi, and such thinking was not acceptable. She found herself spending much of her free time away from the other four, away from everyone, hiding away on the rooftop of the school in her transformed state, letting the feeling of power fuel her as she sketched the surrounding landscape. The power of being an Ars Magi was not only a rush of feeling that could combat her melancholy, but was also a very physical and very real reassurance that she would survive a fall from such a height, similarly combating her natural phobia. It was an opportunity to see things from a new viewpoint, both metaphorically and literally for her, and she would not pass it up.

Finally though, inspiration struck. What was another combination of earth and gravity? What had two sides as polar an opposite as fire and water? Magnetism, a magnet. But not just any magnet. No, now the train of creativity had stopped in Crystal's own mind, but only just long enough for her to board before flying forward at breakneck speeds. Names. Selma Rosmarie, Chie Masuzu, Rivka Sokolov, Aoife Sturmgaard, and of course herself, Crystal Caelestis. Three S's, three C's, two R's, one A, one M. The only obvious word wouldn't work, as "Mars" was already too large a cultural factor. No, once again her own self was getting in the way.

Remove all obstacles.

She struck out her own name from the list. Scar? No, too likely to be taken. Which left...

Several hours passed, the moon was now high overhead and she was exceedingly late to bed, but she had a rough sketch done. A to-be golden scarab, a Chrysina gloriosa made of jewels and metal much more literally than its name was meant to be taken, mid-flight, an overhead view showing a to-be ruby and to-be sapphire wing on each side, the jeweled top of its thorax a to-be emerald and its eyes a to-be amethyst. A representation of all four of the others' strengths, a plus on the left wing and a minus on the right, mid flight to represent its ability over gravity, a blazing flame embroidered around the minus on the sapphire right wing, and a flowing river similarly running through the plus on the ruby left wing. A tree trunk of silver stone on the top of the thorax, visible beneath the open wings, and a distorted effect around the carapace to represent a simple well of gravity completed the ensemble. It was perfect, a perfect show of the four, a strong yet graceful animal that lived both high in the air and low in the dirt. It even had circular polarisers, completing the magnet theme. The only thing missing was... her. She stared at the image for what felt like hours, before finally deciding to add a small detail. The elytra soon became covered in small lines, and the final product was of a crystallization of the shard, which would be lightly colored a soft azure.

Finished with the sketch, Crystal jumped from the roof and transformed back to her mundane self. The emblem wasn't complete, but it was workable for showing the others. They still needed a name, according to Rivka, and Crystal's mind was filled with only one candidate: the regal symbol of old Egypt, the symbol of existence, manifestation, development, growth, and effectiveness: Team Kheper. She would spend all of her free time refining the piece and bringing it to color over the next few weeks until the Inaugural Ball, where she would reveal her creation and name to the other four and see what they thought of it. If it was a flop, at least it was a good art piece, and if it was well received, all the better.

The next week continues on pleasantly, if uneventfully. Lessons at the academy continue briskly, both in the classroom and physical exercise outside of it. Each of the cadets has a chance to practice their newfound abilities in less stressful circumstances than before, supervised by Nova Lux’s instructors and Ars Magi.

As the days tick past and the Ball grows nearer a muted sense of excitement begins to take hold amidst the students. For most this will be the first time attending a formal event, not to mention getting to rub shoulders with important dignitaries and members of the Duodecim. There will even be several Ars Magi in attendance, both from Palmyra’s own defense force and visitors from foreign cities.

Uniforms are cleaned and pressed in anticipation, instructions from the faculty are handed out, and then, soon enough, it’s time.

---

The central hall of Nova Lux is a sprawling rectangular chamber, its vaulted ceilings and enormous windows adding to an already impressive sense of scale. From its walls and ceiling hang blue and gold flags bearing the academies emblems, these banners now interspersed with others marked by Imperium and Duodecium iconography. Enormous golden light fixtures shine down on the marbled floors below, illuminating the crowd of cadets, faculty, and honored visitors that have gathered this evening.

To the disappointment of those expecting gowns and high fashion, the ball is a military affair, and the students of Nova Lux are dressed accordingly. Cadets mingle in their dress uniforms, familiar faces dressed in crisp blues and golds.

The new faces are from the Officers Academy, the gleaming structure on the opposite side of Nova Lux’s lush gardens. Young men and women dressed in their own uniforms, similar but slightly different than those of the assembled Ars Magi. In contract to the cadets from Nova Lux, most of the officers are probably used to such affairs; many come from noble or important families, having gained entrance via wealth or status rather than largely non-existent magical ability.

The rest of the guests, excluding faculty, are dressed in civilian formal wear. Most of the Duodecim have at least one family representative in attendance, even those from hailing from the far-away cities to the west. There are several high-up members of the Imperium as well, along with their stern-faced Ars Magi escorts.

The whole thing exudes an air of pomp and ceremony, from the bombastic opening speeches to the twenty minutes or so devoted to running down the line of important people, shaking hands, and making clipped greetings. It’s almost an hour in before anyone is allowed to leave the long rows of tables that have been assembled on one side of the room, each assigned to a different team of cadets.

Selma, Chie, Aoife, Rivka, and Crystal, now an official team, are all seated at the same table. There’s not much time for conversation at first, until speeches begin to wind down and dinner, a light fair accompanied by a mild wine, is served.

Afterward the guests are finally released from their seats and allowed to begin mingling. The hall begins to fill with bodies and conversation, the noise soon joined by the sound of a stately waltz played from a grand piano near the front of the hall.

---

O

moy

Bbbbbbog.

Lifetimes ago in something that used to be called the American West— or maybe it was Europe?— executions were carried out by hanging. But for a time the tradition had been poorly written, so the legend says, that the sentence itself was hanging. If you were hung and survived you had carried out your grim sentence and were free to go. Eventually of course it was amended to "hung until death", thus ensuring a proper execution until some Hastan went and invented the guillotine.

Evidently, Rivka decided, the Duodecim were true traditionalists. They seemed to believe that cadets should be hung on every formal occasion.

The damnable noose around here neck couldn't possibly be as tight as it felt, but every time she tried to subtly finagle it into a position that did not deprive her of life-giving oxygen it seemed to tighten with renewed vigor. No more did she cast her attention away from it, seeking anything at all else to pay attention to in this affair, then it redoubled its efforts to strangle the world's most promising hero in her very seat. Worse than her boredom,, worse even than the accursed tie, was the fact that she had to be on her best behavior. A very stern injunction had been issued against any chicanery when they were informed as to what was required of them. To what end then, Rivka had almost demanded to know, was the point of the damned party? Was there not to be joy? Merriment? Entertainment? If the point was to show off the new crop of cadets, should she not show off?

Bluuuuuugh.

She had tuned out at the first stiff, atonal, and formalistic speech and never properly tuned back in. Who cared? She didn't. Let her sing. Let her dance. Let her fight! Something! She was going to waste away into dust still upon her very chair and they would still be ta-

Oh, finally.

She could get up and move. Maybe she could finally find someone to talk with, or—

The waltz began, and her eyes rolled so far back into her head that she could witness before her own eyes the breakage of her own mind.

Truly the waltz had been scandalous... Once. A few centuries ago. The dancers had, bozhe moy, been touching so indecently! They were joined at more than the hand! They faced each other! There was no room for God between their bodies, how dare the peasants seek to replace the minuet! Oh, the pianist played marvelously; of course they did, the Duodecim would never hire less than the best. At least, the best they knew about. But the selection! Worse, the Officers Academy was here. The notion of dancing with, or worse being lead by, a flatfooted officer-and-gentleman-to-be? Absolutely detestable.

In that moment, as her act of mild defiance, she finally yanked the tie off of her neck and stuffed it into the pocket of her (admittedly very nice) double-breasted uniform jacket. If they were looking closely enough to notice something amiss below her buttoned jacket she had other complaints to make, but they would not hang her again. Not unless it was to the death, for they would not get that rope back around her neck again tonight alive. This she vowed. Maybe Selma would help her knock out the pianist so she could take their place. Liven the mood up.

Still, best to mingle in the hopes of somehow salvaging some entertainment from this officious occasion. So with poise and grace, and a better sense of the footwork involved in the dance than she cared to believe anyone else had, she stood from her team's table, gave them all her most winning smile, and began to walk out unto the breach that was the hall's incipient social scene.

---

Crystal was nearly beside herself. It was hard enough to find a pair of pants in her size, because she would most certainly not be attending a dance of any sort in a skirt, nevermind that she left on the stockings that were part of the girls' uniform underneath the borrowed pants, but she was specifically and explicitly told that chewing gum would not be allowed. Yes, she understood that the purpose of the Ball was entirely appearance, she'd of course been to similar pointless events before, but it's not as if she couldn't hide the fact that she had a piece in her mouth! She was a master of the art of making it seem like there was nothing there when she was in fact chewing gum, but the risk presented with practicing this art was too high, this time. And worse still, she was forced to let her hair down for the first time in public since being accepted to the Academy, solely because she knew that at the least a representative of her uncle would be there, and Hell would take her before she let it get back to her father that she still wore twintails when able.

...

Perhaps her new teammates were a bad influence, for her to be so upset. She could feel the very air around one of those teammates radiate with metaphorical, and perhaps even literal, heat. Though the ban on her favorite coping mechanism was certainly not helping, nor was the very real raised heat from the bodies in the hall. She was very tempted to use what magic she could without transforming to cool herself down, but decided that that too was a risk too large; should it be necessary to show her magic for some likely meaningless but impressive folly, she would be remiss to have already used it up for her comfort. Though her reasoning ability was certainly wavering, likely due to a double dose of her medication that morning in preparation for this event, and the temptation was growing stronger.

Still, she sat there dressed impeccably with the full outfit required of her, albeit mismatched between the tie, top, and stockings of the female uniform but the pants of the Officer Academy; she even had on a read hairbow to keep her hair tied to at least fifty-percent of the level she preferred. Unlike how she was certain her teammates felt, Crystal did not mind the tie. This presumption was proven at least partially true by Rivka nearly tearing hers in her attempt to get it off as soon as the speech ended. And the speech! As bland and pointless as any she had been forced to endure before. But at least it was something to take the attention of the other four at her table away from her, or away from anything more likely, so that they likely wouldn't notice her apprehension growing as the speech went on. It was natural; the more the speech went on the closer it was to coming to a close, and the closer she got to having to present her ideas to her team. Luckily Rivka took her earliest opportunity to leave the table and took the approaching event horizon with her. If her whole team wasn't there then she could put off the reveal until they were all together again, which she hoped would be the end of the Ball. Giving her a thumbs up in response to her smile, Crystal took an opposing position to her fiery teammate by choosing to remain seated. If there was any need for her to interact then let it be not by her own choice, especially not in the state she was in. Nervousness and manufactured calmness were fighting in her enough to not need to worry about anything other than keeping the latter at more force than the former.

And so she sat.

---

---

Rivka, Selma, Crystal and Aoife were all misfits, which you'd think would make Chie an exception among them, but the general sense of feeling out-of-place at the military ball hadn't escaped her, either. Her eyes were generally found wandering during the speeches, boredom striking her as much it does any girl her age. She didn't show it on her impassive face, honed through starting to get used to her teammates, but Chie was wanting to just bolt right out of the whole endeavour. Rivka and Crystal had a harder time masking it, though. Everyone did, really. The served dinner felt less gratifying than their usual, even though it was of a higher quality. There wasn't much conversation happening between the five of them, making for a stiffer atmosphere.

As not much was happening, Chie took a moment to ponder about her time at Nova Lux so far. She'd spent most of it either in training, or with Selma in their room. Selma was nice, but Chie felt like she was a bad fit- the tree of a girl was always trying to encourage Chie, who just nodded along each time without much input. While it's true Chie hadn't really gotten over her screw-up in the initial demonstrations, she'd been trying to make up for it by losing herself in the aforementioned training. Every chance she got, she'd practice and practice. Practice until she was sore all over, until her magic had been exhausted. The instructors, of course, told her not to push herself, met with a response of her saying she'd try, but she never actually did try to reel it in. Chie felt some burning drive, some obligation to live up to her peers. Even when Selma had told her she didn't need to.

As much as she liked to muse, though, Chie noticed a shifting figure in the corner of her eye, which had pulled her away from the realm of dreams. "Rivka?" she muttered. It wasn't really her calling out to the other girl, mostly just a reflex. Chie noticed the music that had begun to be played and assumed Rivka wished to go dance.

"Aha, I didn't think Rivka was the type for a waltz..." she said to the other four. Chie leaned forward a bit, resting her head in her hand. She gave Selma a sideway glance. "I've never actually done one before. Do you think we should try it out?" she asked. The question was aimed at everyone, but Chie's stare made it seem like she was talking directly to her roommate, asking her for a dance as opposed to one of the officers there.

---

Aoife had probably gone through a dozen suits and dresses before she found something she felt worked for her. She had gone back and forth between trying to wear something that felt as though it matched her personal combat style. Something that would read wavey, free, like a river or ocean. However, she’d not found something that felt as though it’d look good on her in movement – kind of defeated the purpose to portray flow if it only looked good in a picture. She finally settled on a navy dress with a waist slit that allowed her entire left leg to emerge from its depths. It was something of a daring number, but Aoife felt that she looked a little clumsy in it. Regardless, it was her best option at the moment

It didn’t take a detective to suss out the fact that Aoife had two left feet and had spent even fewer hours at an affair quite like this one. She’d once been to a 16th birthday party that had some similarities to this event. In that there were some middle-aged men performing, as well as a couple teens who were trying to avoid speaking to one another. Outside of those key similarities though, there really wasn’t much there for Aoife to draw on.

During quite a bit of the proceedings Aoife stole glances from her teammates, each of which had somewhat unique reactions to what was happening. Rivka looked like she was contemplating turning her own weapon on herself, Crystal for what it was worth looked to be deliberating between bringing about another ice age, or toughing it out. She was walking that line like a trapeze artist, nearly tumbling to either side as the speeches carried on far past what anyone would consider to be reasonable. Chie seemed to, not unlike Aoife herself, taking stock of where the rest of the team was at. She couldn’t help but wonder what Chie would read from her own decidedly blank visage. She figured most people would assume there wasn’t much that Aoife would know about these kinds of situations, but she looked content enough she supposed.

As soon as the final speech silenced, the band jumped to life and Rivka leapt from her seat. Chie made some kind of a quip about how Rivka didn’t seem the type to waltz, but Aoife wondered if that were true. Rivka was someone who wanted to be an auteur. Aoife hadn’t spent enough time with the girl to know that was true about every other aspect of her life, but it was certainly true in a fight. Aoife suspected it bled over to everything else she did as well. The waltz, Aoife assumed, was a way for Rivka to express herself like any other. Aoife spied as she ripped her neck from her tie, her hand stuffing it into a pocket of the double-breasted number she’d worn, and pulled off, excellently.

Aoife watched as Chie asked Selma for a dance, or perhaps she’d been asking everyone still at the table? It wasn’t clear as she made direct eye contact with their coniferous teammate. Aoife gulped down some lasting semblance of an internal monologue begging her not to get up with the rest of her teammates. She gulped down the last of her water that splashed about in a crystal glass as if it was a shot of the strongest whiskey she’d ever had and regarded her teammates, speaking for the first time in words that weren’t pleasantries for the entire night.

“Ladies, if I, or one of you don’t make it back from this, it has been an absolute honour,” she said. She strode out to the dancefloor without a single sense of rhythm in her body, and looked for some hope for salvation, whatever form that may take.

---

"Knock 'em dead, Fraulein!" Selma's unrepentant, cheerful voice called after the cloud of purple and white drifting away from their table, after she'd made a spirited showing of the flash of lighting that was her winningest smile to her teammates. The giant of a girl had answered it with a toothy grin of her own and a brazen thumbs-up, revealing diligently manicured nails in the process— normally, she was content to let her work wear them down, but a ball meant looking one's best. As Rivka caught the eye contact, and was turning to leave, the larger girl cupped a hand to her mouth and sent her off with a wink and one final stage whisper. "Remember, Hastan girls love a little spice!"

Spice, of course, that Rivka had in spades. Selma had been privy to the redhead she'd been smitten with over their first weeks at the academy; more than once the subject of the songs belted out in mezzo-soprano in the shower the next room over. With her old phone toasted by their trials in the subway, Selma had to admit— as much as it was confusing the first few times, it made for a very good substitute alarm clock.

Can't deny that kinda passion. She's gonna hit this place like a hurricane—

“Ladies, if I, or one of you don’t make it back from this, it has been an absolute honour.”

"Don't sweat it, babe!" She snapped off a sharp salute, mimicked to a tee from old military documentaries her brothers had often passed the time with back home. "You can count on me; we're all gonna make it!"

And as Aoife marched off into the void, into Rivka's wake, there were only three left. She took a moment to consider the two other girls, her final pair of irreplaceable sisters, and how they seemed. In truth, she didn't wanna leave either of them to hang out to dry— much like her, they'd both been clearly bored almost to the point of tears by the grand speech about commemorating this years class of recruits or whatever, dry tones and drier, dustier words that five generations of Ars Magi had probably heard before. For that, she could hardly blame any of them, let alone herself.

Crystal, however seemed tense— more than tense, actually. She was good at masking it, and the may people here she'd likely only see once or twice and then never again would likely believe her misdirection, likely believe she was carefully neutral about everything. But Selma, big dumb tree that she was— Selma saw how carefully she was breathing, the way her eyes had darted between her teammates every so often while the droning adults dominated the microphone, how introverted she naturally was already. She had to be hating this "being put on display" thing like hell itself— and she couldn't even freeze it over in response to not chewing gum.

As for her roommate...

"Never done the waltz, huh?" she repeated back to her roommate, meeting the gaze she noticed herself being pinned with inquisitively. Chie had been slaughtering herself all through their training, through every last bit of their studies, still not over their early-on mishaps. Her words to the contrary, that she didn't need to push herself to the point of burnout, and that what had happened was no fault of her own, had fallen upon apparently deaf ears. A girl like her... probably didn't wanna deal with some unfamiliar guys schmoozing her, if she had to guess. "Hmmm."

They both needed to take a breather, really... Something to get them relaxed enough that they didn't implode, either at the party or later on, behind closed doors. Something fun, even in this stuffy affair...

She shot the two a sly grin. "Y'know, you came to the right girl with this— Rivka may have her musician's sense for rhythm, but only yours truly has as much experience on the gentleman's end of a dance." She nodded once, twice, plan forming inside her head. she'd played this role many a time before in her dance electives at school—

She stood, rising to her full height smoothly, double-breasted navy jacket pressed clean and crisp against her torso, long legs concealed in the academy's golden trousers. Her strong shoulders, bolstered with pads beneath epaulets of aurum, filled the officer's top admirably even as she folded her arms and cupped her chin, emerald eyes sliding over to Crystal momentarily.

—and knew how to play it exceedingly well.

"I gotta say it's been a bit, though, so if you don't mind lending an eye and making sure I don't step on her toes..?"

An open invitation to tag along. She hadn't pried much into the other girl's affairs, not feeling it right to dig anywhere a person didn't elect to share unless it was life-threatening, but she'd seen clarity in her footwork thrice over before they'd even been pronounced Ars Magi. If she had to place a bet on it, Crystal knew how to dance, and with that diligence of hers, she knew it well.

Up to her if she accepted. She didn't want to leave the poor girl to her lonesome if she could help it. But as for the matter of the moment...

The hand then shifted to a fist as she made a show of clearing her throat, closing her eyes momentarily. These officers seemed just as bored with the affair as they were, so somebody needed to let everyone know how things were done around here— that they had standards, right? Definitely. It wouldn't due to just coast through this bit. It wouldn't leave the right impression.

It wouldn't have the spice.

Selma, Selma, Go Give 'em Hellma!

And then, she stepped forward and pinned Chie with a confident smirk, looking directly into the brunette's eyes. She extended a hand with careful, deliberate grace, opposite hand behind her back in a picturesque bow, leaning forward just enough that her gravitic roommate, so coy in her request, could take it as she rose with ease. Already, Selma had embodied the gentlemanly aura in her posture, all straightened shoulders and controlled decorum of motion, but then—

"Milady Masuzu," Her voice had dropped low, lower than either had heard from her before, into a cool, smoky contralto. "May I have this dance?"

She was gallantry.

The marbled floor in front of the small band is slowly filling with bodies; the brave first, and then the rest after. The dancers vary in performance, their skill levels ranging from clear classical training to those who get by only with simple, awkward swaying. The officers from the neighboring academy make up most of the crowd, the Nova Lux cadets smaller in number but high in demand. Amidst the cadets are the occasional dignitary or individual of importance, though the full-fledged Ars Magi in attendance remain off to the sides.

As Rivka sets out toward the sea of dancers she quickly finds that she is missing one crucial element to the waltz: a partner. This, however, is soon rectified by a gentle tap on the purple-haired girl’s shoulder as she draws nearer to the edge of the dancefloor.

“Excuse me.” From behind emerges a girl, one of the cadets from the Officer’s Academy judging by her uniform. She’s plus tie, unlike Rivka. Her hair and eyes are brown, the former a voluminous bob and the latter framed by freckled and pale skin. “You played at the Victoria the other night, didn’t you?” She refers to the establishments downtown, one of the few that allowed Rivka entrance and permission to perform a set on stage.

“You were very good. You would mind if—I mean, are you looking for a partner? To dance?” She extends a hand after her stumbling question, adding: “I need a partner.” Her demeanor indicates her nervousness, as does the subtle shake of her neatly manicured hand.

Aoife finds a partner quickly enough among the sea of dancers, an easy task given the privilege of having an Ars Magi on ones arm.

The problem is that she doesn’t tend to keep them for very long. There’s a lot of stumbling around and stepping on feet, and one partner leads to another, and another, each polite hand-off coming at the end of a poorly performed spin. She ends up, after several trades, in the arms of her former teammate: one Noel Nilsson, who is almost as bad of a dancer as Aoife.

“Hey babe.” Says her former partner, between bouts of swaying. “How’s the new team? Settling in okay? I’m getting a reassignment for the next exercise too, they said. It’s going to involve robots, did you know? The last guy I was dancing with was talking about it. Maybe we’ll get to work together again, that’d be fun, right?”

Back at the table containing the other three, Selma and Chie are able to begin making their way toward the dance floor. Crystal, however, does not quite get a chance to make her escape before she’s accosted by a cry of: “Little Crystal Caelestis, is that you?”

From amidst the tables comes an older man, perhaps in his sixties, mocha-skinned and mustachioed. Crystal recognizes him as Siervo Castra Neptune, a diplomatic, frequent visitor to her home, and friend of her father. Growing up she’s born witness to his visits often enough, most of which were preceded by important (and boring) political discussion that she was less privy to.

“How have you been? I heard you went away to Nova Lux, but I wasn’t sure I’d see you. I remember when you were just this high.” His hand is raised accordingly, to demonstrate the recalled shortness. “Now you’re an Ars Magi! How are you finding the academy? Are they treating you well? Have you been enjoying your time in Palmyra?”

---

---

"Never done the waltz, huh?" Selma asked Chie.

"Mm, no... it's not much of a tradition back in Calcaria," she answered quite frankly. It was true, though; large gatherings like this were quite unusual where Chie was from. Sure, there were the graduating ceremonies, but those just had people sitting in a room listening to speeches. There wasn't much song, dance or socializing to be found. None of the schools she knew of had a flair for the dramatic, in any case. Even if they did, while Chie had heard of what a waltz was, she hadn't actually seen one in action. It was, to put it in a complete package, entirely foreign to her.

When Selma boasted about her experience with the "gentleman's end of a dance," then, Chie could briefly feel reassured. Between her and Crystal, the both of them could probably demonstrate with each-other to Chie what it was like. At least, that was her initial assumption, until it very quickly became clear that that was not wat Selma was trying to hint at. When she turned to Crystal and asked the black-haired Ars Magi to keep an eye out so Selma doesn't step on "her" toes, it was clear that the giant among them was intent on asking Chie out for a dance. Chie wanted to course correct, saying she hadn't specifically been asking Selma out for a dance, but a lump in her throat (as well as a few unspoken anxieties) prevented her from truly speaking up. By the time she'd mustered her courage anyway, Selma had already made her move:

"Milady Masuzu, may I have this dance?" she said in a cool, smooth contralto. Chie's cool face was in stark contrast to the tsunami of curses she threw at herself inside her mind's eye. She just barely managed to contain how flustered, flattered and frustrated she actually was. The thought of booking it straight out of the room came to mind, but instead:

"If you'd be so kind," Chie answered. She shot Selma a gentle smile and took her hand. After she rose from her seat, Chie glanced Crystal's way. She asked her "Don't laugh too hard, okay? It'll be my first time," and then followed Selma's lead toward the dancing area. Chie hadn't taken notice of Crystal being held up by an old acquaintance, but she had spotted Noel and Aoife's swaying out of the corner of her eye. Two Ars Magi were strangely a more common pair on the dancefloor than a mix of the two schools; despite some officer's best attempts, they couldn't seem to get one of the girls to join them. As soon as Chie was done scouting out the competition, she focused her attention entirely back unto Selma. "I'll follow your lead," Chie quietly whispered to her.

As expected, Chie's first few moves were hesitant as Selma showed her the ropes. Despite that, however, Chie wasn't in any way clumsy. She seemed to get the hang of it pretty fast, though granted they weren't dancing at anything nearing a breakneck speed. She didn't exactly master the foreign dance in the blink of an eye, but Chie had enough dexterity and grace to balance herself and not overlap her heel with Selma's toes. It, from Chie's perspective, went much smoother than her lack of confidence would've made her anticipate.

She wasn't sure if it was appropriate to speak up during the dance, but against all better judgement, she did so anyway. "This is maybe a little fun," Chie said. She looked straight into Selma's eyes. "I was a little nervous, but I feel better knowing you're my first." the girl told her dance partner. Chie's expression had softened a fair bit compared to before; her passive expression had made way for a faint, genuine laugh.

---

Before acts of nature mere mortals freeze. They stare in awe, or else avert their gaze and seek shelter from the very elements. Such was Rivka Sokolov's lot seeking a partner for the waltz. Unfortunate, but unavoidable. But how was she to solve it? How was she to modulate the force of her gaze, her very presence, to accommodate another?

The problem, fortunately, was solved for her.

"The Victoria?" She said in a lilting tone, turning the name over in her mind. It was familiar. Yes, she had played a set at the Victoria only a few nights past. Not a bad one, if she said so herself, but it wasn't quite her best work. Only a few songs was not nearly time enough to warm up properly, to find the wavelength that most resonated with her audience. Still she had clearly done well, as this officer-to-be's praise proved. "Yes, I did. This past Wednesday, I think it was."

For her musing she had already made a decision; rather than answer she took the proffered hand with her own and drew the cadet in, left arm extended to the side and her right at the small of the brunette's back. The waltz's timing was easy, nor were the steps especially intricate; but she would have patience while she waited to see how well her partner knew the steps. Should she not know, or should she need a reminder, that was fine; she could learn. And there was no better teacher than herself.

"I'm pleased to be recognized. What's your name?"

---

"Cross my heart and hope to die. C'mon," she replied, shooting the smaller girl a reassuring grin as she gently led her onto the floor. "The waltz is pretty easy. You'll get it in a flash."

All around them, the pairs had linked up in earnest, familiar faces and complete strangers partaking in the festivities alike in equal measure. They slowly milled around Selma and Chie, less a centerpiece and more rolling with the tide, and they all navigated the floor in their own subtle ways. Noel and Aoife out of the corner of Selma's eye one moment, the confident blonde swaying without care for her form or reception, only her former partner. She was glad to see the other girl well— she'd made a hell of a good impression during their first evaluations.

A few paces later, there passed a silver-haired stoic in similar threads to the jolly green giant, leading that cheery redhead with the long legs from Hasta around in crisp, precise steps, meeting the latter's flowing, breezy stance with a rigid, practiced orthodoxy— a contrast that seemed to uplift the former, casting a spotlight on her brisk style. A little crazy, considering she was clearly already loving every moment of...

Well, the moment, I guess.

A few seconds after that, that selfsame cloud of purple and white drifted by. Rivka! Another who'd crossed paths with someone new, she'd given Selma little in the way of surprise. As a connoisseur of the melodic arts, her sense for rhythm and passion for music had clearly given her an easy time when learning the basic steps of the dance— once you got a handle on it, it was a cinch to do well. Just a three-count was nothing for her fiery sister from the frigid north, a land where dance and song were once prized arts beyond compare.

And finally, they'd nestled into their space within the throng, two girls in a crowd with just enough room to breathe.

"So, let's get into it!" Selma chirped, about-facing and taking Chie's arm in her other hand, the free arm coming to nestled her hand just below the other Magi's shoulder. "First thing's first, just make sure you follow my lead— so, step when I step, and step as far as I step— and keep this distance here..."

Off they went. She was slow and methodical at first, a far cry from the discordant spontaneity she showed in battle, and gave her partner ample breathing room to learn the count and steps. For her part, Chie was attentive, if a little shy with her posture and movements. But the waltz was genuinely a simple progression:

Forward, side, close.

Backward, side, close.

"One, two, three."

One, two, three.

Make sure the foot that steps out is always stepping after the lead, forming an L-shaped stride. Let the slight vertical sway from going up on the toes asd then back down to your heels carry you through the rhythm, don't go and fight it. Never stray too far from your partner, nor venture too close.

Simple, basic waltz stuff.

Easy to lead, and once Chie had gotten herself a feel for the tempo, easy to follow. Selma made doubly sure that she in turn didn't step too far— her legs were far longer, so she made sure to keep it conservative, never more than a shoulder's width stride. The slow tempo was forgiving for the slight missteps, and before either of them really knew it, they were both drifting along the floor, their dance carrying them in a pleasant, prim spiral.

"Nothin' to it, eh?"

She had dexterity, she had grace. She had the training of an Ars Magi, something with far more frantic footwork, at her back— Selma could see the lights in her grey eyes as she realized that inner monologue of, Hey, I'm getting the hang of it! All told, it was nice and smooth— she had nothing to fear. And now she knew it, too.

"This is maybe a little fun," Chie said, pinning her dance partner with a full-bore, double-barreled gaze right in the eyes. "I was a little nervous, but I feel better knowing you're my first."

...

The big girl laughed, just as Chie was, a gentle, almost lilting thing compared to her usual raucous howls. It wasn't the type the young lady, mistress of gravity, had been worried about before, that much was clear. It hadn't an ounce of derision, only honest surprise and, ever so faintly, a little tinge of embarrassment. She'd gotten comments like that once or twice before in her dance electives, and despite her carefree willingness to take the compliments as they were...

"Ahahaha, wow, you really got me with that one."

Every so often, it reminded her that even she had a few things she was weak to.

"I'm honored as a teacher... And as a friend; you're gonna make me blush, dammit." she said, beginning in that same smooth husk from earlier before slowly breaking down into her natural cadence, emerald hair swaying ever so slightly as they waltzed.

Her gentlemanly act could never hold up indefinitely, as that big, toothy, classically Selma grin burst forth from beneath the gallant, handsome propriety. She'd never been one much for balls, even if she knew all the dancing by heart— but it went to show that the right people, those you let see your uncool sides and weren't afraid to have fun with could make anything worthwhile. She'd have hated all the stuffy crap, were it not for those four.

"Thanks, Chie. I'm happy too."

She chuckled again, unbidden, and continued to lead as they circled through the floor, one of many spokes within the slow, spiraling wheel of Duodecim's chosen few.

---

Oh no. Crystal thought to herself. Someone recognized her. Still, she quickly went into damage-control mode. From what he was saying, she hadn't done anything out of place yet, and she certainly recognized him. So she stood and curtsied with an imaginary dress in his direction.

"Sir Castra Neptune, it's great to see you." she began, before answering each of his questions in turn. "I've been as well as I could have hope for, I suppose. The Academy is wonderful so far, and of course they're treating me as well as any other student." she paused a moment. "I honestly haven't gotten to explore Palmyra much yet, but I'm comfortable enough to say that I'll enjoy it when I get the chance to do so. How have you been? And..." she glanced over at where he had come from. "How are the other... non-students, doing? Any interesting conversations?"

Stress is an interesting thing. Her former stress at being here had waned, only for her to be taken over by a new kind of stress, worrying about appearances for the first time in weeks. She hoped that she remembered her etiquette correctly, having been in a new environment where it was less necessary for so long.

---

A few minutes more passed, as the two Ars Magi floated through the hall, a wheel within a wheel within a wheel as they, now comfortable with eachothers' pace and the waltzing rhythm of the orchestration. They spent it in relative silence— at least, what counted as it for Selma, stuck in a crowd of people and with a dance partner in hand. Idle chatter floated between them in undertone, mostly championed by the leading conifer as she commented upon a pair there, a step here, a minor tip every now and again as Chie settled into her burgeoning proficiency.

It was a comfortable one, at the very least, that not-silence. Where the pressure of standing out, of being shown off within and unto the many unfamiliar present, may have weighed upon the pair before, Selma could feel it easing off of her strong shoulders as it melted atop the solid bedrock of friendly company. She knew it had to be the same for her roommate, to focus solely on matching the steps and learning the technique rather than worry herself with the stiff, alien atmosphere.

But such things didn't last forever. Every song had to end, and every dance needed its denouement. The pair slowed when the crowd slowed, and stilled when the crowd stilled, locked in place as the murmur of changing hands and changing faces surrounded them. Selma, for her part, smirked as she performed a small, courtly bow, shading of her prior chivalry returning to her expression.

"And so, my dear student, you have passed this test." she spoke in grandiose, lordly tones, those that served to very poorly beguile, barely disguising a simple mirth in the act of the facade itself. "I am honored to have taught you, and to have had this dance—"

A tap upon her folded bicep came from the crowd, before she could continue pushing that bit any further than she'd really planned it. Nice timing, come to think of it, that tended to spiral out of control when she wasn't looking.

“Excuse me,” a voice began, “As a member of the Officer’s Academy, I have to make a formal complaint. It’s not fair for the prettiest Ars Magi to only dance with each other.”

Rising and straightening her back, Selma turned halfway to face the young man who spoke, part of an almost picturesque pair. Two handsome gentlemen, clad in the navy blazers of the officer's academy (much like the one she wore), stood, having emerged from the bubbling mass of unrecognizable faces, almost perfectly set against eachother. One dark and stormy, saying nothing, a looming tower of mystery and intrigue. The other offering her the same hand he'd caught her attention with, outstretched in request as a charmingly easygoing grin set itself upon a pretty face.

So, this was what their sister school had been up to, then. While she and her team had been training for Battle day in and day out, these were the young men who had been training for War, without nearly the glamour or such storied prestige. These would be her future commanders— perhaps in the vein of Captain Wei, back on the train. The cool and efficient woman's directions seemed so distant now, as though it'd been years since she'd heard them.

Hopefully she was getting on alright. As much as Selma and Rivka had both been ragging on the whole rail itinerary for losing their stuff, the good Captain was A Real One in the eyes of Rosmarie.

Selma, beneath her raised eyebrows of mild surprise, met his almond eyes with her own in appraisal, taking a moment to search for what she saw ticking...

"My, my." she then crooned faux-coquettishly, breaking out into her characteristic broad grin barely a moment later. Fair play to him, he definitely wasn't backing down an inch! The sure could do a hell of a lot worse than a confident operator, if every battle was as chaotic as the ones they'd survived already. "They teach you guys flattery over there too? Color me impressed!"

She tossed Chie a cheeky wink as she took the shorter officer's hand, miming a curtsy as she pulled against the hem of an imaginary dress, far removed from the gold of her slacks. For all they knew, the girls would be working under one of these gentlemen's command in the future. Way she saw it, it certainly didn't hurt to play along with a little cheesy routine to break the ice. Plus, it'd give her an excuse to practice the lady's perspective of the dance, which occupied what Selma knew as the Cool Zone of proficiency:

More than you'd think, Less than I'd like.

"I think I can spare one, if you'll have me. I'll warn you though—" Selma spoke more quietly next as she stepped in, position practiced as ever in spite of her stature as she inclined her head towards the young man, halfway expecting a sudden burst of Rivka-flavored orchestration to switch them up from Waltz to Samba. "I just got done leading the pretty one through the steps. I'm gonna have to be a li'l selfish and kick the ball in your court, Herr Offizier."

Where had that thunderhead of purple gotten off to, anyway? She hopefully wasn't accosting the poor band too roughly... Then again, none of the brass had begun a startled squawk through their pipe instruments, so she'd probably be fine.

Well, anyway—

She'd be more than willing to give the dude a chance, but for both their sakes, she hoped he'd stay true to that cavalier attitude he'd approached with, and forgive her her directness. It'd be a lot easier to get along when everyone was speaking within their comfort zones.

"Name's Selma, by the way."

---

“Music is its own magic I think.” A part of her initially bristled at the question— the suggestion that it might not be her own skill— but she understood and let no trace color her words. To witness such a performance was to question every other, to wonder what precisely was the unknown element, that secret variable, that elevated it so highly. To think of the supernatural was a compliment, an admission that her performance seemed to deny reality itself. The cadet— Amalee she said— knew the steps to Rivka's tremendous relief. She might not much enjoy the waltz but she would certainly do it justice and Amalee's own skill would be a significant help. The lazy smile that crossed her face spoke of a pleasant surprise. “But no it doesn't involve my magic.”

“I learned a long time before I came here. My parents taught me some, my babushka more. It was our preeminent occupation before the Void.” The Ars Magi shrugged, a motion that sent ripples through her long purple hair that she had studiously ignored (had any occurred, she hadn't heard them now had she?) any hints that perhaps her usual style was not proper for her uniform. She kept track of the timing without seeming to pay any true attention, matching any changes to the tempo within a beat or two and leaving her mind free to pay attention to the finer points of her conversation. “We still practice it all but it isn't our means of income anymore. Not really. A little money on the side but the true purpose is artistry itself. Art is the most human thing of all, Amalee Kraus, for nothing save life itself encompasses the breadth of human experience so vividly. Words can be twisted, speakers can fail to convey with true fidelity the feelings of their heart. Art can never fail to make you feel exactly what it is meant to if you are willing to learn to express it.”

“Magic is its own art that way. There has never been, nor can there ever be, an Ars Magi the same as myself. Even with the same Elementum they will never have my Armagus, my Gladius, my Parma, none of the vital essence that makes me my own self. An imitator could, perhaps, come close. Could learn to echo the things that I have learned to do. But never be precisely the same.” As if to illustrate her point a small, blue-hot will o' wisp of flame appeared stark against one red eye and moved to the other between blinks before disappearing entirely when Rivka winked. “Not that they could hope to match me, anyway.”

“What brings you to Palmyra, Amalee Kraus? The devushka— Miss Rosemarie, over there— is from Hasta too. Why become a cadet?”

---

---

One-two-three,
Three-two-one,
One, two, and three.

The dance didn't last long after Chie'd broken the silence and the two began to chat, but those last few minutes of practice bolstered her confidence enough to where she could stand tall upon the music slowing down. Selma, being her goofy self, continued the merry mood by being silly about Chie 'passing the test.' She giggled a bit, then in the corner of her eye, saw movement. Two shifting bodies behind Selma. Bodies behind Selma shifting towards her and Chie. At that point, Chie could only think one thing:

"Oh no."

Her worst fears were confirmed when it turned out to be two young officers from the academy, one tapping Selma's (rather impressive) biceps to get the giantess' attention. While there are certainly worse things than being approached by two striking young men, Chie didn't exactly have much experience with boys her age. It also doesn't help that the both of them approached Chie right at the height of her confidence, since it all drained in the blink of an eye. She still kept a straight face, though. Barely.

“Excuse me, as a member of the Officer’s Academy, I have to make a formal complaint. It’s not fair for the prettiest Ars Magi to only dance with each other,” one of them said.
"HNNNNNNN-" Chie screamed inside her head.

She shot Selma a glance. Selma didn't glance back. Great. Chie looked back at the two officers- damn it, straight into the eyes of the taller one- and gave him the least forced smile she could muster. Selma took the situation better than Chie did, what with taking the compliment in stride at all. She even accepted his offer of a dance, saying how she'd just taught Chie the ropes and-

"...Eh?" Chie mumbled as her eyes darted back to Selma. "Selma. You traitor." she thought to herself, her eyes wide open and her head bobbing to give a nod. The shorter girl helplessly watched the taller one take her partner's hand, already positioning herself for the next round of music to start. Like a not-so-well-oiled machine, Chie's neck slowly turned to look the other boy into his eyes. The taller one, which towered over Chie. She was going to get back at Selma for this later.

Chie was clearly a little more nervous than she was able to hide, scratching her cheek lightly and having her eyes dart briefly away and back to her prospective partner. Despite that, she still managed to make the first move on speaking up. "Uhm... if you're okay with me, I'll leave myself in your care," Chie said, folding her hands onto her skirt for a quick, polite bow. She then meekly reached one of them out for the boy to take. As she did, she also added one more thing: "I'm Masuzu Chie. Can I ask for your name, too?"

---

Crystal nodded as appropriate while Castra spoke. The idea of machines that could fight the Void was fascinating to her, the sort of thing that would be in fiction, but might become real? She wanted to ask further about it, but couldn't find an opening to ask before it happened. Castra mentioned his nephew and somehow got the idea that she wished to be dancing like the others, apparently not realizing she was abstaining by choice. She steeled herself for the inevitable introduction and likely dance she'd be forced to participate in.

The game of life is harsh. As Castra looked around for his nephew, Crystal tried to find a way out by glancing towards her teammates, only to find them now all dancing with strangers. She couldn't tell if Selma and Rivka were toying with their partners or not, but Chie looked somewhat distressed. It seemed misery did, in fact, love company.

---

Aoife spun in and out of the crowd, each time her team had spied her, she’d be with a new partner. Both left feet in full swing as her moves were significantly jauntier than need be. Still, with this unceasing damage to her charisma unfolding for everyone to see, what a prize she was. A symbol, of an unwavering, unabashed, joy. Everyone wanted to dance with the clumsy Ars Magi, not because of her talent, but because of what her dance said, albeit with stutters and run on sentences aplenty. Even this girl, who had seen the yawning void beyond their walls, who had begun to carry the weight of a humanity who would persevere, even she, could enjoy a night of dancing, still.

Eventually, a shock of blonde hair found her arms and swept her away from the drooling masses. Her hair spinning wide around her, curtailing Noel’s move to dip her into a lower stance. “Hey babe,” says her former partner.

Aoife laughs a throaty chuckle, flicking either eyebrow up and down and puckering her lips. “Oh, hey baby,” that last note hanging in the air. “It’s good to see you again!” Time apart from other Ars Magi was always nebulous. Even a week-long goodbye was heavy for these girls. If you knew you’d not be there for their next mission, not there to potentially make the difference that could save someone’s life.

Noel lightning blitzed through a few key details of her week’s past and upcoming. Aoife got caught on her general static energy. Just the nature of a girl conducive to being absolutely charged at all times. Aoife nodded in great excitement at the prospect of getting to work together once again. “Water and lightning, is there a better combination?” She giggled.

The music’s pace quickened, and so too did Noel’s movements. “You’d think for the Ars Magi of water I’d have a better flow than this.” Aoife chuckled under breath and, for a moment, she considered perhaps trying a bit harder. Perhaps, if she thought about dancing like her movements in battle, it would be easier. All of the sudden, she was fighting this strange longing. This urge to perfect the dance she so clearly was stumbling through.

Aoife reached up to her hair, pulling on a small ribbon that kept the ensemble up and eloquent. It fell gracefully upon her shoulders as she tied a small knot around her and Noel’s hand with the ribbon. “If you lead, I’ll follow.” She gave herself over to her partner, closing her eyes completely. Darkness enveloped her, the music faded and people turned towards them, but Aoife saw none of it. She braced herself, breathed deep, and then Noel began to move. Aoife felt the step through Noel’s hand and into her own body, as if it was simply an extension of herself. She moved in time, stepping as well. The two began a fairly simple, yet completely elegant dance. They spun around one another, Aoife a whole new girl. Her eyes closed, hair down, still somehow moving in time with her partner. She looked like an oracle.

For such an unprofessional girl, it was sometimes surprising how much she was capable of changing. Like the tides. She wondered if her team could see her, or who they had ended up dancing with. She felt her lips crack into a big, toothy grin, as the music seemed to follow Aoife and Noel on their journey around the ballroom, stepping in and around everybody with a care and ease like a river flowing around a rocky shoreline.

---

---

"Cayman Sow..." Chie repeated inside her thoughts. An odd name to her, something unlike anything else she's heard before. She repeated it a few times in the safety of her own mind as her new partner guided the two of them through the initial steps of the dance. Chie was stiffer than when she'd danced with Selma, and this officer-to-be didn't take long to catch onto that. He commented on Chie's nerves, tried reassuring her. Didn't really help, in the end. Chie's clumsy dancing was but one of many factors leading to her continued discomfort.

"Is this the first time you've been to a ball, Chie?" the boy asked of her.

"Mhm... yeah," she gave as a short but clear reply. The boy went on about how most of the Ars Magi aren't used to this, prompting Chie to look up at him and tilt her head a bit. "Is that... so?" she asked. "I'm from Calcaria... I never went to something like this, there. My team all seemed familiar with it, though... so I thought I was just an exception," she explained, opening up a bit to her dance partner.

Chie briefly pondered her last statement, then opened her mouth again to ask something herself. "And you officers? Are you split into teams like us Magi?" she asked of him. "I don't know much of the officer school. Could you tell me a bit about it?"