Halt swore as he stubbed his toe on the table corner. How such a small action on such a small part of the body could cause so much agony, he would never know. It could dissolve the sternest of men into a groaning heap - evident because he was currently bracing himself against the table, still muttering under his breath as he waited for the pain to subside.
Then dispassionately swore again at the sight of his apprentice's outstretched hand from the other side of the table, the boy not even lifting his head from his chart.
Crowley had made a point that he wanted the mentors to use clean language around their apprentices - despite the job that they were being trained for, the apprentices were still basically children. In order to enforce this point, at every Gathering, the Commandant would have the apprentices report to him how many times their mentors used less than clean language around them - the more and worse the infractions, the more embarrassing a thing the Ranger would have to do in front of the entire Corp. Crowley considered it a work of genius that was surprisingly effective.
Gilan, however, had devised his own work of genius. Instead of reporting to Crowley, Gilan would accept money from his teacher in return for not ratting him out to the Commandant. Halt hated this game fiercely, but he hated Crowley's system with even more of a passion.
Hence his brat of an apprentice becoming rich off of his master's mouth.
Halt glared at his decidedly nonchalant student. Gilan didn't even care about the language, the Ranger thought grumpily - he just liked milking his mentor for money. "You breathe so much as a word to Crowley, and you're in a tree for a month."
The boy met his gaze unflinchingly. "Twenty coppers, and I won't tell a soul."
"Twenty?" The older Ranger answered with disbelief. The number was high, even for Gilan. "Ten."
"Twenty," Gilan replied without so much as a blink. Yes, the number was higher than what he usually charged, but, well, Gilan desperately wanted a new pair of brushing boots for Blaze. Ranger apprentices didn't get paid; he had to make money somehow, Gilan thought philosophically.
"No," Halt snapped. "That's robbery, and you know it."
The boy shrugged and turned back to his charts. "Whatever you say. Hmm, I wonder what Crowley has in mind this year? I really hope it's a dance of some sort, those are always my favorite-"
Halt finally broke. "Fine! Just, fine, you menace," Halt growled as he fished through his pocket, finally retrieving the twenty coppers and tossing them onto the table.
Gilan smugly swept them up. "Thank you," he said cheekily, grinning at his teacher.
"I seem to recall that you can have quite the mouth yourself," Halt said darkly. "Might have to bring up a two way system to Crowley."
Gilan's smile faded. "How about you don't?"
Halt's wolfish smile appeared. "Oh, I think I will."
Gilan grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and turned back to his charts. At least he had made enough for the boots.
Sorry for the short, sad length. This has been sitting half done in my folder for a while, and I'm currently in the process of trying to clean it out a bit.
Reviews are lovely.
-TrustTheCloak