Private Mind over Marks

[Adean Castor]

LOCATION: Jutrand Academy
TAG: Soldane Talon

Of all the exercises and lessons they were put through, Adean found practical exams to be the worst.

Group exams were tolerable - she could skirt along the edges of participation, contribute enough for passing marks (and then a little more to appear as if that wasn't her only goal), and let others rise and fall by their own designs. Individual exams were more difficult though not impossible in the lower cohorts - the expectations for each acolyte may have been high but the instructors' patience was low.

Adean's heart sank when they were informed the next exam was to be done in pairs. It was somehow worse than individual testing, for now there was an audience to watch her fail. An audience that could expose her to the rest of their class without a crowd to slide into.

There was no point ruminating on the rotten circumstances any further. Emerald eyes were quick to scan over her fellow acolytes, searching for someone who may be competent enough they'd receive a passing grade and reserved enough the chances of her own shortcomings being broadcast to the entire academy were minimal.

At last, she settled on one who met her qualifications. A fair-haired boy, named Riven, if her ears were to be believed. Slipping into the posturing that was to be expected of her borrowed name, 'Brassius' approached the fellow acolyte. "Shall we team up? I'd rather not be stuck with whoever's left."

 

[Soldane Talon]

Soldane had become used to the idea of partnering up for some assignments. Somewhere deeper in him, a fear had taken place that spoke ill to him - and partners were good as sacrifices incase someone came at him with a knife again. The thought was morbid and cruel, but it was gone as soon as it had come, leaving the multiple stab scars in his stomach to ache. Adean Castor broke his train of thought, however, when she approached him.​

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Adean Castor. Third Cohort. Rank 26. Six above Soldane.​

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"I don't see why not.", he offered with a nonchalant shrug.​

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In reality, he was already sizing her up - waiting for the betrayal, the mere look of contempt. There was a growing paranoia in the boy, but one justified in the blood he had been forced to spill. He'd be ready to stab before he got stabbed again. Nobody knew, but the boy had wrapped a shard of transparisteel in a bandage, making a crude but effective shiv.​