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Caterina: This one is a little longer than the other! x3
Also, you guys are all super awesome.
Edited on 6/19
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Winters in France (Paris, to be exact) were, I found, no different than our winters in Germany. It was cold and it snowed, though Paris was a far cry from the tiny town I'd lived in. There were bigger buildings, and more people. Spring and summer were much the same too, only I had no linden trees to sit under anymore. My new living conditions were the most different part though – and quite honestly I was not used to it, even after half a year.
Because I lived underneath the Eiffel Tower.
The Order that Solange – that I, now – belonged to was nestled under the city of Paris in a labyrinth like system. It just so happened that the main entrance was located at the Eiffel Tower; they had constant guard shifts monitoring the entrance, making sure only those who belonged got in.
The name of 'The Order' is Ordine Umbram, which Solange explained was Latin for 'Order of the Shadows'. I just thought they were being kind of dramatic with it. Though the moment I voiced that opinion I got saddled with extensive mental and illusional exercises; needless to say I didn't mention it again.
"Betlinde!"
An involuntary twitch moved my shoulders at the very cheery male's voice. He was of the few illusionists living here, as he too was still training; he was also a local name Pierre. The thing with Pierre was that he was so cheerful it was as if his energy could come to life and supply several rooms with electric power – his smile was almost blinding in the right light.
"Don't call me that," my pace turned brisk as I made my way to one of the many large training rooms, "That old hag should never have told you that name."
"Oh, come on, that name you want to be called isn't even a name." Pierre placed his hands on my shoulders, easily following along with my fast pace, "And can you stop calling granny a hag? She's really nice, you know."
"The old hag will always be an old hag." My voice was deadpan as I managed to shake off the teen's hands, "Besides, she creeped me out at first. She stared."
"She just saw your potential. Granny is –"
There was a rush of air as I slammed shut the training room door, whatever Pierre was saying muffled into intelligible mumbles. Part of me wondered how it would have felt to catch the teen's hands in the door – he wouldn't be so touchy then.
Solange laughed her loud, high pitched laugh – nay, cackle, "Pierre wants nothing more than to be friends, child. You're so harsh on him."
"Your grandson is a nut-bar," I crossed my arms and felt a semi-scowl form on my face, "If I let him, he'd drape himself over me. And he refuses to call me by my name."
"But your name is and always will be Betlinde, child."
Her voice always sounded wise, something that I assumed came with age, though it didn't always mean what a person was saying was wise. Though, admittedly, the old hag was right. Betlinde would always be my name – but that didn't mean I wanted or had to be called that.
"I'm not going to respond to it anymore." My arms uncrossed as I exhaled, "Now, can we get started already?"
Solange chuckled again, her long hair rippling and shimmering as she shook, "Fine, fine child. Since you've taken to smaller illusions like a fish to water we'll start on large scale ones."
She motioned behind her with a quiet 'like this' as a small scale Eiffel Tower formed behind her, even the blemishes seemed spot on to the real deal aboveground. As her example faded away I contemplated my options, as she obviously wasn't going to tell me what to make – that was completely up to me this time around.
And I knew what I wanted.
I formed the picture in my mind – the long, twisted body sprinkled with natural blemishes, and the beautiful leafy covering, vibrant and practically blowing in the wind.
The air where I was picturing it wavered and swirled and I pushed and willed into existence my creation – and come into existence it did. I couldn't help but let out a somewhat awed but quiet gasp at the large linden tree as it's leaves and branches moved, as if pushed by the wind.
"Very well done," Solange herself seemed very pleased with my creation, "Viper."
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Despite what had been an initial success, I had been finding it harder to create other larger illusions, and the ones I did manage I couldn't sustain for long periods of time quite yet. The linden tree was the only one that I had made and sustained – and that illusion even had movement. Solange had told me that it was because of my emotions attached to those trees, and that I absolutely had to work to where I didn't have to rely on emotions.
And I really understood that.
Because I couldn't have an emotional attachment to every single illusion I cast. That would only lead to a swift downfall – I'd come crashing down like a tree cut down at the base.
"Why is this so hard," I fell back and stretched out my limbs, my face scrunching at the pressure of my popping joints, "Why can't I do this?"
"Wow, you actually sound like a kid for once!" Pierre's voice was loud, as per usual, and caused me to jerk and smack my head on the floor, "Oh man, Betlinde, that looks like it hurt."
As the ponding of in my head faded my tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of my mouth and my eyes watered, but I pushed that back easily enough. The look I gave Pierre was what I was sure was my best possible stink eye, but the older boy just grinned at me.
"Shut up, Pierre," I groused, rubbing my head as I sat back up, "I'm trying to figure this out."
"Kid, be a kid for a while!" Pierre landed with a thump on the ground and crossed his legs, "You've got so much time to get this. Heck, you're already learning faster than most people do."
My lips parted for a brief second, "Learning faster? This feels like it's taking forever. It's been almost a year."
He laughed, loud and bright, the kind that makes the room feel like it's shaking –
"Man, Betlinde, I'm fifteen and I just really got good at large scale, moveable illusions. You're – what, eleven, now?"
I didn't speak – I couldn't. Was I really moving that fast? Stressing myself out over something that someone older had just really mastered? It was a little confounding to think about and I couldn't help but wonder if this was what the Viper I remembered felt like during this training. Had they pushed hard to master everything as soon as possible?
If I accounted for their love of money that was very possible. That was a factor in my rushing too – money and freedom.
Pierre, as annoying as he was, seemed to understand at least part of that –
"You haven't really gotten to go out much since you got here, right? Let's go out; you seem like you need the fresh air and sun. Besides, you're pretty pale."
The smile that had started to pull at my lips turned into a scowl, "Shut up, Pierre."
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The city was bustling, with French people and few foreigners, and was almost refreshing. Memories of my life from before were blurry, aside from the ones relating to this life. But I knew I had lived in a bigger city, at least for a while. It brought a sense of comfort that I hadn't felt in a long while, and I was very thankful for Pierre at this point in time. But I was also rather wary because France was so different. Paris was so different.
Compared to my rundown German home town Paris was like a whole new world, even after a year. There were similarities, sure, like run down homes on outer areas and the occasional appearance of a scruffy, unwashed homeless person – but it was too much of a contrast to make up for much of anything. The buildings were bigger, better, and there was far less green here. It didn't help that my French was distinctly accented either – submersion could only do so much for my thick German accent in the span of a year.
"I don't see why you're wearing a hat," Pierre whined, his arms crossed behind his head, "Let your hair loose, Bet–"
"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that!" The childish whine was back in my voice and I winced – because since when could I hit such a high pitch? "And I'm wearing a hat because a hood would be weird."
Pierre just laughed his loud bright laugh before grabbing my arm, "Come on, I think I know a place you'll appreciate."
At this point I was kind of worried – because what type of place did this nut-bar think I would like? Pierre was never someone I tried to understand, and as such I couldn't even begin to guess where he was planning to take me. In fact, it was hard not to feel a bit wary despite how much I trusted him; not that long ago I'd been attacked in an alley and had killed a man – one doesn't just forget these things.
"This place is kind of rough," he was all smiles as he led me down an alley of all things, "but it's a place people like us can really appreciate."
Before I could really question what he meant by 'people like us' I was pleasantly surprised. Because the place he'd brought me was a back alley café – it was grungy in a good way. And it reminded me of home (in the best way possible). It was dank and quiet, a cool sort of place that held the faint scent of alcohol.
"They're kind of hidden in the shadows too," Pierre's voice was bright, even as he kept it to barely a whisper, "Thieves, informants, the like. The owner is actually an Order member, you know."
I couldn't get a single syllable out, as Pierre had called out a cheerful greeting to the people inside – there were only three, at the moment – and was either ignored or greeted calmly. It was obvious enough that these guys knew him fairly well, and I mentally filed away the fact that, yes, I needed to pay more attention to this teen.
He'd thrown me off with this – he'd shown me something unexpected. Unexpected of this city, and of him.
"Oi, kid, you just gonna stand around?" The voice came from behind me and was distinctly adult and feminine, "You look lost when you do."
She was tall, blonde haired and blue eyed – statuesque, really. Like me she had an accent, though hers was like a tickle where mine would be a rasp; her was also not Germanic in nature like mine. And she had a little girl huddled behind her leg, a little girl with pretty teal hair and blue eyes like her mother's that was probably four or five years younger than me.
"Sorry," I scooted to the side, bumping a chair as I did, earning a somewhat amused smile from the woman.
"First time visiting this place, kid?" She didn't even seem to need me to respond, seeing as she continued on without waiting for any sort of reply, "You came in with the touchy idiot, right?"
"Oh," I spoke before I could check myself, but I didn't regret it too much, "I'm not the only one that thinks that?"
She laughed at that – the good kind of laugh where they throw their head back and their eyes squeeze shut –
"You seem alright, kid. Even if he's a touchy idiot, he knows how to read people," she gave me a not-quite smile – it seemed she was one of those people that could only really smirk – and held out her hand, "The name's Clarisse, kid."
Her hand was slim and her fingers oddly calloused, "…I'm Betlinde… but don't spread that around."
I shot a dark look over at Pierre, my tone turning bland, "The only reason I said it is because he'd call me that anyways."
Clarisse laughed again, her eyes shimmering with amusement and understanding, "I'll just call you Bet, then. And, Bet, since you're new and young I'm going to ask something of you."
"And by ask," I stared up at her impassively, "you mean tell, right?"
Her smirk spread wider, verging on a sarcastic looking grin, before she squatted down to push the little girl forward, "Bet, meet my darling little Arlette. Arlette, meet your new big sister Bet."
At first I was going to try and weasel out of this – I wasn't sure how good I'd be with kids – but then the darn kid had to smile at me. Her nose scrunched and a shy blush reddened her cheeks as she ducked into her shoulders and I sent the blonde woman a withering look, but said nothing as I took Arlette's smaller hand.
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Ahahahaha. Do you know what I've just done? ;D
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