Musoka
“Necromancers are full of surprises.” Desdemona said, “Even without the barrier I would’ve fought the same way.”
"Would you?" Nodah said, feigning some surprise. "How bold of you to admit so, in the sight of gods and men." This, he said, with neither judgement nor scandal. It seemed a callous thing to declare - that another's life could be fairly-traded for the sweetness of one's own victory - but Nodah could not find it in him to be touched to his morbid bone. Demons seemed hot-blooded. As it were, Zephyr had had a row with Leval and the slight girl he had yet to meet, over a simple matter. But who was Nodah to say? He had only heard strains of their ill-fated exchange.
"Indeed, necromancers are a cunning lot," agreed Nodah, blue eyes shifting to emerald green in quirked-brow amusement at Desdemona's confidence. "But, pray do not lose faith in the rest of us. Illusionists can rob you of trust and dependency of your senses. A gravitin may tug the world from beneath your feet, so that only they know how to master and maneouver their way through, whilst others are kept off the ground." Cleanly, Nodah swept the ball of his thumb along the blade. Raising his finger to the light, he peered at the scarlet smear of Desdemona's blood. Demon blood. There had been old, shrivelled folklore of its magical properties from the secluded backwaters he had sprung from. A lick of it, he had been told, and you shall find yourself half-immortal. He doubted the very validity of the statement, and he was not keen to taste liquid copper. He spun the blade about the knuckles of his fingers, and slid it neatly into its sheathe beneath his shirt. "Ta, Desdemona," he said, beginning to back away, his grin wide. His collar slid to the side, threatening to fall off his shoulder, to reveal the feather designs that were tattooed over his skin. "I would like to see the infirmary wing for myself, now. It's been an absolute pleasure." Spinning around, he lengthened his stride and - facing no one and nothing but the open doors - he allowed the smile to slip off his face.
Nodah took the portal up, and after a lurching ride which helped his aching joints in no way, he stepped off the platform to notice two other students seated to have their injuries tended to. Among them, was Nuna Mori. Nodah crafted a quick smile for her. Walking to the cot opposite her, he sat on its edge to face her. "I see we were both unfortunate enough to sustain battle-wounds and seek medical attention for them." A second nurse - a portly woman with steady hands and cushioning palms - came up, and Nodah showed her the patterns which weaved their way up his inner-arms and shoulder blades, lifting his shirt for the briefest of moments to reveal a traced torso as well. He explained the joint-ache to her in a quiet voice that still persisted in reverberating throughout the sterile room. He cast an eye around the snow-white sheets, and wondered what tales of suffering they could behold.
At the nurse's soft question of, "What happened?" Nodah simply replied, "Lightning." She gave a quizzical look, not quite believing. Nodah returned it with a shrug, and as she walked away to gather medication, Nodah turned his eyes to Nuna. "Are you well?" he asked. She seemed in poor spirits. Had her duel ended in crushing defeat?
When the nurse returned, it was with a salve in hand. Nodah rolled up his long sleeves in preparation. Fingers lightly dipping into the bottle, she rubbed them in small circles up his arm, and Nodah watched with some fascination as the feathery patterns slowly diminished, leaving behind nothing but faded imprints, only to be noticed by sharp eyes. His gaze flickered to Nuna around the nurse. "I did not have opportunity to speak to you of what happened at breakfast," he said, voice light and eyes flashing from green to ocher. With a rumbling chuckle, his grin became mischievous. "It seems to be a habit of yours, to accost half the student body here. If you aren't careful, you might have all the male population fleeing from the sight of such a lovely image as yourself. And wouldn't that be a pity?" Gradually, he sobered. "I will not lie," he continued, in a slightly more somber voice than before, though his lips remained mildly upturned. "It seems neither wise nor sustainable to set your sights on a different boy each day; you would exhaust them before the end of term."
The nurse motioned for Nodah to lift his shirt, but Nodah declined with a mild stare that turned frosty for seconds. As she slipped away - barely aware of her shuddering shoulders - to give Nodah a prescription of the salve for private-ministration, he turned back to Nuna, awaiting her reply.
