Locas Jule
Locas had most definitely heard of Weaving. In fact, one of his best friends was a Weaver before he was slaughtered with everyone else. He was never very good at Weaving consistently, but, given enough time and encouragement, he could do things that impressed even Locas, who never thought of magic as something particularly special or amazing. As far as he could tell, this was quite a rare Blood, but that didn't necessarily make it useful. He'd seen firsthand just how much work it took to be able to Weave with quickness and energy efficiency. It had it's uses, but as a novice, you were probably better off practicing in your spare time and only physically sparring.
It suddenly struck him just how fast this girl was. Sure, if Locas used his Blood, he could easily outpace her, but from how she'd flown at the man-bear thing earlier that day, her unassisted speed was not something to be taken lightly. This Meirin had been trained to be agile. If she had also been trained to better control her Blood, she would be quite formidable, and since that seemed to be the main point of going to this college, Locas figured it would be best to make a friend out of her. Leaning forward, he stared at her hand for a few moments, noting the tension in it. Meirin's awkward discomfort was beginning to annoy the male student, even though he knew it shouldn't be. Once again placing knitting his hands together and placing them under his chin, he smiled at her, in a genuinely comforting way.
"Well, Meirin," he began, suddenly feeling like her name was just a bit too long. He felt the air that was constantly present around him move away as he slowly willed it to raise the bench the girl sat on. "I hope you never decide to use those abilities against me. I know how dangerous Weaving can be in terms of battle, and I'd hate to be on the receiving end of your abilities." At this point, the bench was at least seven feet above the floor, and it was still rising. This was more difficult that he remembered it being last time he pulled it off. The girl hadn't yet noticed the height difference, or, if she had, Locas couldn't tell, a fact that reassured him that his conversational body language, tone, and choice of words were doing their job in this little prank. However, just because Meirin hadn't noticed didn't mean the people around them hadn't, and a small audience of upward-facing eyes had assembled. "Now, don't freak out," Locas said, his tone and body language unwavering. "And look below you."
The bench was now twelve feet in the air, the dining hall's tall ceiling and massive amount of manipulable air it contained contributing to the success of this small parlor trick. As the female student looked down, Locas couldn't help but chuckle. He saw the look in her eyes change from questioning, to briefly dumbfounded, to utterly terrified. Locas stopped raising the bench, but Meirin still held to the bench for dear life. He took pride in knowing he'd managed to get discernible emotions to show on her face for once, even if they weren't the best of emotions, but he then realized how off his sense of emotion had been today, and decided that these observations might have been as good as guesses.
"Meirin, I suggest you step off the bench," he called to her, smiling in a friendly fashion. His head was hurting, but he dismissed it as nothing. The human didn't even shake her head; she just stayed in the same spot, white knuckles wrapped around the edge of the seat. Rolling his eyes, Locas used the air behind the bench to push it over, causing the girl to fall two inches to a safe, stable spot of air that he'd constructed a few moments before, To the audience, she was flying, but for Meirin, if must have felt like she was lying on hard ground, as she looked very confused. As he slowly lowered her, Locas took the girl's now limp hand in his own, which was shaking very sporadically due to the massive amount of effort he'd just expended, leading her down a floating spiral staircase that only he could see elegantly, until she was only a foot off the ground. He then put his hands on her waist and, using the last of the energy he'd allotted himself to use for general purposes, made sure her skirt stayed down and covering her as he pulled her off and down to the ground. The audience around them applauded the moment Meirin's foot touched the ground, and there were a few hoots and cheers for the show Locas had just put on.
When the ruckus had died down, he offered her back the seat she'd been sitting in.
"Don't worry," he half-chimed, half-wheezed. "It's not going back up any time soon." He smiled as clever a smile as he could muster in his exhausted state, and for once his air of confident neutrality was broken in favor of his true, cunning nature. "I'm sorry...if I scared you," he said, his words broken by breaks of heavy breathing. "But I've always...found that just...telling someone...I'm an Aeromancer tends to...lead them to some...GAH...false conclusions."
He was starting to regret using all that energy. It had been a while since he'd last practiced, and that quote unquote safe to use level he'd set himself was not accurate any longer. He suddenly felt incredibly dizzy, and hurriedly sat down. Nausea followed suit, and he placed his head in his hands, his pride being cast aside in favor of comfort. It had been years since he'd felt the effects of Blood Sickness, and he'd forgotten just how utterly ridiculous the pain was. It took several minutes for him to return to a state of reasonable thought, during which all he could think about was how much he did not want to vomit right now. As his nausea subsided slightly, he decided he'd try to talk, and immediately regretted it.
"Most of those..." he had to stop to gag. "...who can manipulate the air around them...can't do so with the same finesse,"
And neither can I, it would seem, he thought. Why did I ever stop practicing on my own? Then, of course, he remembered being passed out in the woods years ago due to his overexertion, and the reason suddenly made a lot more sense when he remembered awakening with a bleeding head wound. He was just not doing it right; he'd gotten some things down, but he'd need professional training. That was why he came to the College in the first place. How could he have expected such a long period of time without practice to have contributed to his little show here? He figured that the only reason he was able to even lift the bench a foot was because he thought he could do it, and pushed himself to, ignoring his body's warning signs.
"I...was educated in physics... You'd be surprised how far a bit of air pressure can GO." He could have sworn he was about to vomit in that instant, and put his head between his knees with barely enough speed to keep most of it in. Unfortunately, a small amount of bile and blood came up, causing him to close his eyes. When he opened them, he saw a village of small people in front of him, all of whom seemed to be very angry with him. They stabbed his legs with their tiny spears, dripping with green poison, and Locas almost howled as pain rushed through his body. He had begun to spasm, though he couldn't really tell through all the pain. His mind was mush, which really didn't matter, as he wasn't really thinking anything anyway. As he slumped to the floor beneath the table, he began to foam at the mouth, and tasted blood in his throat. He was writhing so much that he barely saw the medic rush through the feast crowd before, for the third time that day, Locas Jule blacked out.