[SE][OPEN] They Did Not Train Me For This

Catching the sun in baskets. What sort of asinine fairytale was this - oh, that's right, literally a tale of the Fae. If she didn't put some stock in the fact that it might be better to pay respects to some traditions if only for the sake of not being on someone else's shit list she absolutely would have turned up her nose and scoffed at the whole affair. But instead she trudged her way out to the Fields, hunting for grasses suitable to making a basket. That bit would be the easy part. She could logically deduce what a good basket material was based on baskets she had seen before, but as far as weaving it? Let's just say home-makery nonsense had not been in the Launceleyn training pedagogy. After gathering enough materials Zariah sat down right where she was, glaring at what she had gathered. She did not like feeling stupid, because she knew she wasn't, but she certainly felt stupid now as she glared at the grass. The family head picked at a few pieces, starting to try and logic her way to crafting something resembling a basket. Zariah I won't be held down by who I used to be

Ever since summer had come, Peter had been bored. Ever since he’d come to Caido, he’d felt like he was drifting, but it seemed worse now than before. The few connections he’d made had either been missing for some time, or were too busy to keep him company. Wandering the settlement had lost some of its lustre now that he was familiar with it, so Peter had widened his roaming range. People had been talking about the barrier coming down, a great forest now open to explore.

It seemed his destination was not to be though, Peter barely making out of the fields before he was distracted. A woman, sitting in the field with a pile of grass in front of her. He watched her quietly for a moment, trying to make sense of what he was looking at. She was dangerous, Peter could recognize that from a mile away, and enough so that even he was wary, though he still crept towards her on quiet feet.

Peter stopped well out of arms reach, holding his tongue a moment longer to consider his words carefully so he could speak clearly. ”Excuse me,” He began, his head bowed respectfully but his eyes watching her hands, ”do you need... help?”

PETER

They don't know you like I do
The little secrets that you keep
I'm gonna haunt your dreams at night
You'll have to hide those kitchen knives

He was smart to consider her dangerous – observant too since she was simply sitting there, glaring at the poorly woven reeds in her hands. It seemed she was destined to construct a woven mat, not a basket…though perhaps she could shape the mat into a basket shape with one particularly taut piece of grass? Ugh. This was absolutely ridiculous. That people with the sort of talents that the Fae possessed participated in such childish nonsense was boggling. But she lost focus as soon as she heard someone approaching, remaining as she was but keeping her eyes down, trying to decide if whatever it was was worth her notice. They stopped short of her, and she decided then to look up, seeing human legs in front of her. A rather short fellow stood there, head dipped respectively. How odd. Zariah could sniff out weakness a mile away and this man reeked of it. Was it truly weakness or the sort of broken spirit she was accustomed to amongst the lowest of her family members? ”I’m trying to make a basket for these stupid Fae rituals.” she said dryly, tossing the work on the ground between them. ”Who are you?” Zariah I won't be held down by who I used to be

Peter was glad he’d been so cautious, now that he was closer, and she was speaking to him. She reminded him of people he’d worked for in the past, so long ago now it nearly felt like a dream, or maybe a nightmare. ”Peter. I’m Peter.” His name fell from his mouth quickly, the only part of her words that he could respond to without thought. ”Who are you?”
A basket? Peters brows pinched together as he looked at the tangle of grasses she’d thrown between them. It could be the beginning of a basket, albeit a very large, loose one. ”You’re not...” He stopped himself before he said something stupidly rude and started again. ”I can... show you how to make a basket.”

PETER

They don't know you like I do
The little secrets that you keep
I'm gonna haunt your dreams at night
You'll have to hide those kitchen knives

Peter. Peter what. Whatever she thought of him did not show on her face. She was like a porcelain doll, her expression a smooth, perfected mask with empty eyes, behind which her thoughts were impossible to decode. ”Who I am is none of your concern, for now.” she said, tone lacking any inflection. Clearly she was on guard, but not necessarily because she considered him a threat. No, she just wasn’t willing to play her cards yet, wanting to see what his were first. ”I’m not what?” she said, watching him closely. It was a test. Right answers would yield rewards at best and nothing at worst…wrong answers would likely cost dearly though. When he said he could show her how, she merely gestured to the tangle of reeds between them. Whatever he would do to it certainly couldn’t make it worse. Zariah I won't be held down by who I used to be

The blankness on the woman’s face and the shortness of her response were both familiar to Peter. It gave him a reference of how to hold himself. His own postured straightened out quickly, his hands folding neatly in front of him.

Peter recognized the test for what it was, and tried to weigh the pros and cons and quickly as he could. There was no way he could read what she wanted, and his immediate instinct told him to lie, flatter her, but... he was more afraid of what would happen if he was caught in a lie. “You weren’t... doing it right.” Peter knelt, and reached out to grab the weaving she had done already, undoing it surprising quickly given the thick layer of scars that covered his hands. He just wanted to move past the words he’d said, and hope she would as well.

It had been a very long time since he’d done anything crafty like making a basket, but the memory had never left his hands. He started the base, moving slowly so she could see how he wove it. Nothing hard, but something that needed to be learned, or at least shown. Peter held it back out to her, once he’d finished the base and started the sides.

PETER

They don't know you like I do
The little secrets that you keep
I'm gonna haunt your dreams at night
You'll have to hide those kitchen knives

The way he suddenly straightened, standing almost in a military form, respectful, ready…she almost chanced a smirk but resisted. This fellow was well-trained and knew exactly the sort of person he was dealing with. It intrigued her, having not seen such a quick response to blatant authority like this in a long time, save from Edrei and Beatrix. She wondered for a moment…what if…what if… His response was a dangerous one, insofar as it was a criticism of her. But it was a criticism of a skill she lacked and did not care she lacked – and she supposed it was less a criticism than it was an observation. ”Clearly not.” she said with a light shrug, green-hazel eyes watching as he took apart her work and reconstructed it into something that actually resembled a basket. He handed it to her to complete and she proved a quick learner, following the pattern he had started with thin fingers. ”So what’s your story, Peter No-Name. Scarred hands. Military precision. Obvious recognition of authority. Hardly typical.” she said blandly, as if talking about the weather. Her eyes flicked up from her work to glance at him. Zariah I won't be held down by who I used to be

Peter let out a breath he hadn’t been he’d been holding when she didn’t respond poorly to his words. There had been so little to work with, and most people had some kind of tell for what they wanted. The whole interaction was beginning to feel like a test he hadn’t agreed to, but that he wanted to excel in regardless.

It seemed his silent example was all the woman needed to take over, which was another relief. He didn’t know any other way to teach. Once her fingers had the trick of it, she turned back up to him, Peters eyes lingering a moment on the basket in her hands before lifting to meet her glance. His story? He didn’t know how to tell it without trembling, how to cut it down to just the important things when it was all important, but... he would have to try.

”Carrengay. Peter Carrengay. And it’s not... I’m not military.” He wondered absently if that would have been preferable, the idea had never come to him. ”I was... raised, and trained to... take care of problems.” Blue eyes had gone distant, Peter looking back on faraway things. ”I was the... favourite. Good at listening. Good at following.” That barely scratched the surface of his story, but hopefully it was mostly what she was looking for.

PETER

They don't know you like I do
The little secrets that you keep
I'm gonna haunt your dreams at night
You'll have to hide those kitchen knives

Carrengay, No-Name, it was all the same to the Head of the Launceleyn family. She seemed able to work and hold his gaze, not needing to look down at the basket to check her work as he spoke yet weaving it together with perfect precision. The way his gaze faded out, staring off into space, looking at a time and place long since passed – Zariah recognized trauma in a heartbeat. Interesting. His story sounded…familiar. One she felt she could predict the end to and have filled in with details that would have blended well enough to obscure truth from conjecture. ”Trained in what?” she said, glancing at the basket only when she had reached the top. Unceremoniously she placed it in front of him. The edge needed finishing which she didn’t know how to do, but she theorized that he might. ”And what problems were you fixing?” Zariah I won't be held down by who I used to be

”Trained in... anything that seemed useful. Stealing, fighting, killing.” Peter looked down at his hands, wondering if he should complete the list, then decided against it. ”The man -monster- ”who I... worked under was... ambitious. And loud. I did things... quietly.”

Reaching out for the basket, Peter tucked the edges back into themselves, glad for the momentary distraction of the work. He couldn’t keep quiet forever though, so he passed the basket back again when he had done about half of the edge, and continued.

”He made a mistake. He was... we were taken to a... a... a facility.” Peter shrugged, not really sure he was using the right word but figuring it would get the idea across. ”I escaped, and... worked for a different man. And then I came here.” And that really was it, wasn’t it? A life of fighting for other people, of listening to orders, and then... this sudden freedom. He missed the order, the simplicity of doing as he was told. It was the only thing he missed.

PETER

They don't know you like I do
The little secrets that you keep
I'm gonna haunt your dreams at night
You'll have to hide those kitchen knives

Finally, Zariah’s perfect porcelain mask cracked. One brow arched above her eyes. Was it confusion or interest? Likely, Peter wouldn’t be able to tell. Her head then tilted slightly to the side, again though, confusion or interest. Green-hazel eyes, wide and blank, glanced over him. Assessing, calculating, considering – she had ambitions herself and not enough hands with which to pull them all off. Perhaps she could use this one. There was one potential catch though. ”Do you use magic?” she said. That was the all-important question. Was he gifted, a chosen one of nature to have higher powers or a common street thug? She had no use for the latter. But the former…even if he was weak she could train him up. If he didn’t…well. She might just kill him for fun. It would put him out of his misery. Zariah I won't be held down by who I used to be

Peter caught the shift in her face and froze before he could really parse it, a rabbit that had seen a hawks shadow. His eyes flicked between her face and the ground, afraid to linger too long, but more afraid of missing some hint of what it meant.

The question caught Peter off guard. ”Magic.” He repeated softly, as if he didn’t understand. His abilities were not well liked in his home, and as much as he wanted to hide it, keep himself protected, he couldn’t. He nodded, then with a flourish of his fingers called a blade, sharp and untouched, to his hand. Fingers wrapped around the blade automatically before Peter caught himself, remembered what he was doing, and flipped it, holding the blade delicately and offering her the handle. ”Like this?”

PETER

They don't know you like I do
The little secrets that you keep
I'm gonna haunt your dreams at night
You'll have to hide those kitchen knives

At long last, a slow smirk curved Zariah’s lips – she was a beautiful woman, but wickedness oozed from every pretty pore. A smile was clearly no indication of happiness or safety, her concept of pleasure and joy long since twisted by darkness and vile. Magic. Music to her ears, a balm of her soul – what was left of it anyway. She watched as he produced a knife from thin air, holding it out to her. She reached forward and grabbed the knife with thin fingers, pulling it close to inspect it. It was perfection, her smirk turning to a grin. Oh yes, she could use this one. ”A creation user. Interesting. I had that once, before we were brought to this wretched place.” she said lightly, twirling the knife in her hand. It was perfectly balanced. Sharp. Deadly. Zariah held the knife back out to Peter, pinning him with a stare. ”I know exactly who you are Peter. You’re a lost little puppy, whose chains are as broken as their will, unable to make your way in this world without the guiding hand of the man who broke you. Since coming here you have floundered – no one to tell you what to do, what to say, how and who to be. But that’s fine, you weren’t made to be a leader. You were made to follow, to be efficient, a weapon honed to a fine edge. Freedom is beyond you and always will be; you lack the basic traits to grasp it on your own. You have been floating around, barely treading water, waiting to be scooped up and given purpose again, for someone to recognize your talents and potential for what they are – and here I am.” she said, her voice low and velvety smooth, perhaps saying cruel things but in a way that felt like a loving caress on one’s heart. More importantly, she spoke with confidence, assured that what she said was true, leaving no room for him to question. ”My family is of a line of the most powerful magic users our world ever knew, magic more powerful than even exists in Caido. Coming here has torn us asunder but we will rise to greatness here…and I would like to offer you a place in our ranks. Not a recruit, but an adopted member, loved as if you were our blood, a Launceleyn through and through. We will give you purpose. We will protect you. We will help you grow and reach your potential, and in return all we ask is your undying loyalty – a small price to pay for fulfillment greatness, don’t you think?” Zariah I won't be held down by who I used to be

All of the worry dropped away from Peters heart in an instant as Zariah’s face cracked in a grin. Either he had done well, passed whatever test this was, or he hadn’t, and he could face whatever consequences came with that. But the test itself was over.

Peter reached out to take the blade back when it was offered, his fingers stopping, hovering around it as she began to speak, her eyes pinning him still. Her words seemed to be dragged from his very core, shredding away at him, but somehow soothing him at the same time. She knew him, knew what he needed. She could provide it, he would have a rock, something, someone to turn to, to listen to. He leaned in, drank in her words like water and silently wished for more. Honestly, what she was suggesting sounded almost too good to be true. Peters eyes searched her face for any hint of a lie, a trick, and dishonesty, but her face, like her tone, were ironclad.

And then, somehow, it got better. It became an offer, but not just for work, for a family. Peter had already been convinced, the prospect of a purpose singing to him like an angel, but the prospect of a family was something he could not refuse. Without a thought, he was nodding, hand closing around the offered blade like it was as good as a handshake. ”Yes. Yes.. His voice wavered for the first time, his emotions getting the best of him. ”I-I want that, I want to... I want to join, I want to...” Peter clapped a hand over his mouth, stopping the ugly torrent of words, but still nodded, almost frantically.

PETER

They don't know you like I do
The little secrets that you keep
I'm gonna haunt your dreams at night
You'll have to hide those kitchen knives