Lame Duck [Florian]

[Eitan Angevin]

60th Searing, 121 Steel

They were up betimes to quit Zaichaer proper on a mission. Sometimes they were given enough warning to prepare; other times, they left on short notice. Sometimes they saw action; other times, the mission went without incident. Sometimes they wanted to see action, especially since the disastrous arrival of the Kalzasi princeling; most of the time, the men were happy to come home unscathed.

The Noble Gambit flew swift and true, bearing supplies to an outlying outpost and the small village huddled close to the protection it provided. The men might grumble about playing caravan, but it was generally an easy trip and while they griped about offloading crates and barrels of various and sundry goods, they also kept an eye out for any pretty young things from the village. Of course, their parents kept them scrupulously separate from the occasionally lusty airmen. They were occupied now, but the airship was going to hover for the night to await reports from scouts before returning home with news and post.

No parents wanted surprise pregnancies left in the wake of an airship. The local troops at the outpost were bad enough, albeit necessary this far from civilization.

Albrecht too became a beast of burden, unloading cargo. He surely saw Commander Angevin about, overseeing, speaking to the outpost commander while the captain stayed appropriately aboard the vessel, and even lending a sudden hand when someone tripped and nearly unbalanced a heavy crate. His job as XO wasn't to get his hands dirty, but he wasn't afraid to do so when his crew or the mission required it of him. It had only been a few days since Albrecht had been assigned to the Noble Gambit and he was certainly not assimilated into the crew yet, but they were visibly less anxious around him when the Commander was close at hand. He might have the filthy stain of magic upon his soul, but he had accepted it in service to the State, and he was more trustworthy than the best of the Lysanrin.

The Commander was on hand when evening came and campfires were made near the landing site, airmen and groundsmen mingling and sharing ale and news and stories and the like. Even some of the villagers stopped by, giving it an almost festival feel, though there weren't all that many people truth be told.

[Florian]

Florian was no weakling, and he was certainly able to pull his weight. Unloading and loading the crates and barrels was a rare occasion where he was both useful and free from being teased - everyone was too focused on just getting it over with so they could chase skirts and drink. It was the rare occasion where the Lysanrin was just another airman. He appreciated this moment, because once his hands were free and there was nothing left to do, it had passed.

Florian Albrecht did not drink. This was a lie, but an easy enough one to pass off - no one really wanted to drink with him anyway, and the Ashborne feared anything but sobriety. The truth was that Florian Albrecht loved to drink. He loved being drunk, and feeling safe enough to reach that point. He also hoped that someday that would be true on the Noble Gambit.

By what could be construed as some virtue, Florian frequently found himself in close proximity to the XO. Commander Angevin did not joke about the theoretical leash, a fact that he could not yet tell if he were thankful for. Lessening the fear of his crewmates was an important step, however. They had to believe that he was on their side, and this was difficult to establish. It would take time, if ever. Too much time, and Florian was rather impatient.

He did not mingle or interact with anyone in particular, and he hoped that no one was drunk enough to approach him. He did listen to what his crewmates shared with the ground defenders, and what they shared back. Bits of rumors and stories - some of which involved him, given the occasional points and glances in his direction. Those were out of earshot, but the Lysanrin could only imagine that him being assigned to their airship was interesting enough to share in awe, fear, and incredulousness. Like, really, a Lysanrin? In the military? At least Commander Angevin's keeping an eye on him...

There was some rustling in the treeline not too far off. Something struck Florian. He had no experience in the matter, but something felt...off. He couldn't tell if he was simply being paranoid - after all, any and all sorts of wild animals could be found nearby. He seemed to be the only one who noticed, or the only one who cared, but either way, he felt an urge to inform Angevin. The XO was not difficult to find, as he was always just close enough to give the impression that if Private Albrecht were to do anything he would be able to stop him while still mingling with the rest of the crew.

"Commander Angevin. Can I speak to you in private, sir?" He did not want to put his paranoia on full display, but after years of experience, Florian felt like he could tell when something needed to be acted upon. "I have a feeling we're being watched."

[Eitan Angevin]

Commander Angevin was not drinking. There were times when he would share a keg with those under his command, but tonight was not one of those nights. While this was territory staked out by Zaichaer, it was remote enough that the threat of Zaichaer's power was more real than its power. There were these troops, of course, and the airship, but there was only so much they could do in the dark and far from home. And so he walked among those who had done the heavy lifting that day and were now being afforded some leisure as night crept on. They had a perimeter, but it was loose this close to an established outpost. They had watchmen on the craft that floated ponderously above.

He laughed easily at a midshipman's jest, then caught Albrecht's gaze. The Lysanrin's presence cut off the smattering of laughter, but as the XO moved off with him, it quickly returned. Perhaps they were more startled by Albrecht's sudden nearness than anything else.

When Albrecht brought up his fear, however, Angevin laughed. He put his hand on the slenderer shoulder and said. "I want you to board the ship and alert the watch." Still grinning as if Albrecht had made a joke or made a joke of himself, he continued, "Try not to look too suspicious, eh?"

With a rough, companionable clap on the shoulder, Angevin wheeled around, grinning as though he had been partaking, he called out to the ranking officer present as if he had a joke to share. But for all his dissembling, time was not on their side. From all sides, shouts sounded in the darkness. Some sounded like rallying warcries, others nervous attempts at them. With at least Albrecht's warning, Angevin had his pistol up and out, seeking a target almost immediately. The first figure he saw running from the trees went down with a bang.

"To arms!" he shouted, fired his second round, and then knelt to reload. His eyes cut to Albrecht, as that one was particularly his responsibility, and while he didn't like to think ill of the Lysanrin, if he was to desert, now would be the time. His hands went deftly through the motions he had known before he even entered the battle academia.

That was when he saw a woman gesturing at an untended campfire, seeming to gather the fire into a ball to flight at the airship.

"Fuck," he muttered even as someone aboard the Noble Gambit yelled "Magic!"

Headshots were more showy, but he needed to put her down quickly and expeditiously, so he aimed for her chest—the larger target—and fired both rounds into her. Crimson bloomed like cornflower poppies on her chest and she went down. Rather than reload immediately, he focused on the gauntlet on his left wrist, the which he frequently anchored a ward and began to weave his aether into a shield against aether. He hated the scar on his soul that made this possible, but he would use it in defense of his men.

The fireball had dissipated against the wards that he maintained. The ship was, for now, undamaged. There was no telling how many among them were mages. Some of the men, unarmed, had picked up small logs and even flaming brands to use as cudgels. From the deck of the airship, crossbow quarrels buzzed like angry hornets to sting their ambushers.

[Florian]

Florian tried to crack a smile - perhaps it was simply his paranoia - but he was proven right near instantly. He reached for the gun at his hip, but he was not nearly as quick to the draw as Angevin, and it was not just that which led to his hesitancy. No, it was the mages, and the words spoken to him just a smattering of days before rang in his head, clear as a bell.

But I will order you to use them in the defense of the ship, its crew, and the citizen of Zaichaer if I deem it necessary, and you will comply.

He did not want to use aether siphoning, and certainly not in front of the crew, not so soon —

And yet, the pupils of his eyes turned from black to silver, and he was viewing the aether as it flowed through the world. More importantly, he was able to see the people manipulating the aether, the way it flowed through them and through their hands. A man, suspicious in his inaction, stood near the very smoldering campfire that the now-dead mage woman had been just moments before and he could see the very aether pull smoldering ashes into yet another whorling ball of fire. It was not targeted to the airship this time, however, and Florian looked to see Commander Angevin, distracted with his own aether, forming it into a veritable shield, only visible through his aether sense.

He was not far from where Angevin stood, and he found himself suddenly between him and the rapidly approaching fireball. It was not yet second nature, but as the fire scorched his outstretched hand, he absorbed the aether as reflex. The mage had died to a bullet in his chest before the fire even reached them, but all the same, the Lysanrin turned around and placed his hand on the gaunlet, catalyzing the stored aether into Angevin's wards without a word.

Florian suddenly realized the other benefit his aether sense provided. He did not have to wait to see the effects of the spell in the dark to know from who and where it came - he could see their aether, glowing, pulsing in the night. "Mage in the back, behind the two men at 3 o'clock —" He pointed and proclaimed, just loud enough for Angevin to hear, and then again, "Next to her, too. Another mage."

It seemed that the raiders were littered with elementalists, and without the XO's wards, they had to shoot the mages faster than they were burned. As much as he presently loathed to use his own magic, it was far preferable to save the lives of the people around him. If they were going to fear it anyway, he would rather that he - and everyone else - be alive to deal with it.

[Eitan Angevin]

During a battle, Eitan Angevin transformed. All the years of training, honing himself like a weapon for the hands of the State, and his consciousness came alive. His reflexes were quicksilver. His eyes found targets and his bullets found their marks. As the rebels boiled out of the darkness, it wasn't difficult to sight them from the ruddy reflections of the campfires against them. Few were wise enough to attack from cover, and those were the ones who would be more difficult to rout, though the crossbowmen on the taffrail had a better vantage and might more easily achieve a line-of-sight on those targets.

The fucking Lysanrin pulled heroism out of his arse and leapt between him and a fireball directed not at the ship, but at him. It disappeared, consumed by Albrecht's darkling curse. He hadn't ordered him to do it, but considering they were in the middle of a surprise attack, he wasn't going to say so in his report. The question of whether the private was comfortable performing such was now a moot point.

"Behind my ward!" he shouted, and the Lysanrin did so. With his hand placed upon Angevin's gauntlet, he felt a rush of power unlike any he had felt before. It flowed both directly from Albrecht to Angevin's shield and through Angevin himself, coming with a rush of impressions—some from Albrecht, some from the dead mage who had sent the rush of phlogiston at them. He had to focus, but he also suddenly had too much power to contain and so he quickly wove a weave against metal through his shield and poured the rest of that raw, chaotic power into making it bigger and pushing it farther from his gauntlet so there was a faintly glowing barricade between him and one front.

They were surrounded, but the Noble Gambit was to his back and his men, well-trained even when intoxicated, had gone for cover where possible, engaging in hand-to-hand melee where necessary. The local infantry was rallying too, and they knew the lay of the land better, even in the dark. They had put those civilians who hadn't outright fled down on the ground where they were less likely to catch a slug or a quarrel or a fireball for that matter.

"Kloster," he shouted, "behind me." A wounded airman was struggling to move an even more grievously wounded airman out of the fray. He gritted his teeth, nodded, and pulled his compatriot into the relative safety of the magical barricade. He didn't even spit at Albrecht's feet. But Albrecht was already calling out targets, perhaps able to sense them as clearly as if he were cursed with the rune of Semblance. Angevin wasted no time questioning the ability, but fired twice, reloaded, and fired again.

Once Kloster had his companion holding some wadded up cloth against his wound, he pulled his firearm as well and began to scan behind them and around, firing when he had a clear shot. Others nearby saw the safety afforded them by their XO and the new private and began to converge behind it, offering a rallying point.

"You have a gun, private," he reminded Albrecht while he was reloading. "Use it."

[Florian]

Though unintentional, the catalyzing of someone else's magic was personal. Florian had learned that in the only other time he had managed to impart his stolen aether in such a manner. He could just barely feel how focused Angevin was on expanding the wards, and the frantic pace at which he wove the second. With the combined power, they were nigh untouchable from range.

His pistol found its way into his hands before he made the conscious thought to pull it out. Florian was not a fantastic shot, but he was able enough. With his eyes still silver from the aether sense, all he had to really do was point at anyone manipulating their aether and pull the trigger. The aether in the wards that Commander Angevin had created and that he had strengthened were distracting, and Florian found himself ducking away from the ward so he could spot active mages more clearly.

Another man began manipulating his aether, though for what purpose the Lysanrin could neither tell nor care. He pulled the trigger twice, one shot hitting him in the leg and the other in his chest, the magic dissipating with his life. Away from the wards were dangerous, however, and Florian turned his head to see the bloom of red blood soak his shoulder. A superficial wound, he realized, clipped by a wayward projectile of some kind. He chose now to ignore it.

Florian hid back behind the ward to reload his pistol, only now realizing that more and more of their crew had joined them. He did not know how many people had originally seen him absorb the aether out of the fireball, though now that there were more than the XO in his immediate vicinity, the Lysanrin blinked the silver out of his eyes. They were now a dark blue. He was focused.

No longer able to see the mages use their aether, Florian chose the closest ambushers as his targets. Florian shot another man twice just as he knocked over one of his crewmates, the dead man's sword shining in the dim flame and moonlight before it fell to the ground as he collapsed.

Only those two more shots left his pistol before he noticed that the raiders had been substantially thinned, either by death or retreat. The few who remained seemed to become overpowered by the combined power of the Noble Gambit's crew and the outpost's assigned defense corps. Drunk or not, they were clearly able to defend themselves well enough, though judging by a few of the men behind the wards, they did not escape unscathed.

It was over as quickly as it started, and Florian felt a surreal mix of fatigued and exhilarated. His pistol reholstered on his hip, he looked to Angevin for what to do next.

[Eitan Angevin]

There was a ragged cheer from aloft and from the ground when the attack broke. The outpost commander ordered his men not to pursue into the darkness where they could more easily be ambushed or picked off one by one. Instead, he ordered his able-bodied men to form small groups to get the villagers home and search the village properly. Angevin found an uninjured airman and ordered him to organize their people to augment those groups—safety in numbers.

Albrecht was ignored for the time being while Angevin did his job. The outpost commander came over and they quickly made plans for the injured while the able-bodied men were reconnoitering the village and the space between the triangle formed by village, outpost, and Noble Gambit. The injured soldiers would bivouac here, medics coming down from the airship and over from the outpost to triage the wounded. When day broke, they could decide who needed to stay and who needed to be evacuated to Zaichaer.

"Angevin!" The captain stood at the taffrail. "A word?"

"Aye, sir!" he called up crisply. To the outpost commander, "I must report to my CO. I trust you and your men can handle things here, but we won't be leaving until we deem the area safe." They saluted each other and he turned to the private standing there waiting on him.

"Albrecht, absorb this ward and then use the aether to fortify the Noble Gambit's shields. Fuck—" He immediately pulled a pristine handkerchief from out of his greatcoat. "You're wounded."

He wasn't a trained medic, but nobody graduated the battle academia without first aid training. He pulled back Albrecht's coat, ruined his handkerchief with unclean Lysanrin blood, then pulled his coat closed and put pressure upon his wound.

"Can you execute my orders while wounded or should I drop the warding?" He didn't like magic and he certainly didn't like wasting it, which might require more later. And he wasn't going easy on Albrecht either, but he didn't treat him like a leper.

[Florian]

Florian was taken aback by the sudden touching, his eyes flicking to the handkerchief and pulled back cloak. He could not recall a time when anyone other than his mother had tended to an injury of his, no matter how minor. He could hear his blood pulsing as years of anxiety kicked in, though he managed to stop himself from flinching too hard. He refocused on the XO's words.

"Absorb your ward, sir?" He asked, making sure that he had heard him correctly. He was fairly sure he would be able to, but to be asked to so blatantly use the Lysanrin magic - or curse, as some would put it... It only further served to spike his anxiety. And the pressure that Angevin put on his shoulder hurt almost as much as the cut. He was pressing hard.

"I can absorb it, sir. It will take me some time." replied the Lysanrin. He had no idea how long it would really be. With Angevin returning to the ship, he was just thankful that everyone else was preoccupied with things more important than harassing the Ashborne. Before the XO had a chance to respond, his eyes flecked silver once again and his hand was thrust into the mass of aether that formed the wards.

Absorbing the aether of the ward was a slow process that required Florian to focus. He watched as the ward dimmed, his power chipping away at the ward's purpose and tasking until it was broken down into aether and absorbed into his body. Recycling the aether in this way was a strange feeling, and oddly intimate. Instead of the backwash he had received from channeling the aether prior directly into these wards, he received a full breadth of bits and pieces and impressions from Angevin, and what he had felt when he channeled his rune to begin with.

Over time, he could see the edges of the ward disappear, the aether being pulled inwards towards his hand. Whatever was happening outside of this was outside of his attention, and it was not until he had absorbed every touch of aether from the ward that he looked around, his eyes their normal blue, and realized that he was being watched. The same man who had ordered him to clean up the spit off the floor on the very first day was watching him. He was scared. The Lysanrin was simply following orders and this man was still scared of him.

He met his eyes and he backed up a few steps as Florian walked past and returned to the ship. To bolster the wards on the with aether he had just absorbed was not particularly difficult, and he had yet to feel the fatigue that came with the use of his power. He would have to rest later, but the adrenaline from the fight and duty kept him on his feet.

Once he had made it back onto the airship, he admired the aether of the wards protecting the ship and focused on those that had the least visible aether pulsing through them. Assuming those to be the wards that required the most bolstering, the Ashborne reached for their anchor points and catalyzed the recycled aether into them.

[Eitan Angevin]

Angevin watched Albrecht work as best he was able, seeing only the visible elements of his wards power down and unravel, though he could feel some of it too, as it was made of him. At least, a large part of it was made of him and the patterns were his, though some of the energy maintaining them had come from Albrecht indirectly. He kept pressure on the wound wall Albrecht worked, nodding reassuringly to a few injured crewmen.

"We'll use the mage filth's own power to bolster our shields," he said while Albrecht was still in his trance. One or two of the onlookers nodded thoughtfully, some emboldened by the knowledge, others still fearful. But he was a state-sanctioned warden from a heroic family, and he had earned most of their trust already. If that trust wobbled when he showed his trust in the Lysanrin, he was confident it would recover.

As soon as it was done, he quit Albrecht's presence to report to the captain. When that was done, he checked to make sure the private had executed his orders and studied the wards that he hadn't built from the ground up but had been maintaining since his commission to the Noble Gambit. They all practically hummed with power, and all he could do was nod thoughtfully to himself. He would keep checking them as he always did, but now with an eye to how they degraded or changed when boosted by a Lysanrin, if there were differences at all to be observed.

He was going to have to go back to ground eventually. The captain would remain aboard the ship as was both his prerogative and his duty, and the XO would run things on the ground. But first, he went to find his ash-complected project. From what he understood from the briefing he had received prior to Albrecht's arrival and the more in-depth studying he had been doing in order to be an exemplar with this assignment, he knew the private was likely exhausted and so he wasn't surprised to find him in his bunk.

Angevin stepped in without knocking.

"Excellent work on the wards, Private," he said. "We'll have a full debriefing tomorrow, but I wanted to check on you before I go back down to check on the wounded." The way he stood straight and tall in the middle of the room made it seem as though he owned the space. Perhaps he thought he did. Privilege was a many-splendored thing. His military stiffness softened somewhat. "How are you feeling?"

[Florian]

Florian lay in his bunk, stripped of his uniform and in more appropriate sleepwear. He was already groggy when Angevin appeared, and the Lysanrin lifted his head and saluted from his position in bed. Not very professional, all things considered, but he hoped that he wouldn't mind too much. After a bout of yawning and a stretch, Florian sat up. The room was empty besides them, with nearly everyone else being more preoccupied on the ground. At least his bleeding shoulder had managed to scab and now refrained from bleeding more.

"Tired." Came his response. "I was not expecting to...to ever..." He trailed off, as he had a habit of when even referring to his cursed power indirectly. "Let alone so soon. I think it was too soon." Florian frowned, rubbing his eyes. Despite his frown, they stayed bright blue. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and stared at the hands he folded in his lap.

Florian nodded a few times, not at anything in particular. "I apologize for using it before you told me to, sir. I remembered what you said before, and I wanted to help." Now he met the eyes of Angevin.

Florian himself had no idea if there was a difference, if any, from magic that was fueled by his own. He had rid himself of any foreign aether as he bolstered the wards of the ship, but he was not exhausted from the effort, even more than the actual fighting. "Thank you for trusting me." He spoke after a few seconds pause.

"How are you feeling? Surely you did not escape that fight unscathed and unfatigued?" Florian asked, genuine concern in his voice. He briefly wondered if he were being too casual, but he was also much too tired to care about formality after the situation. It would return just as easily tomorrow during the debriefing, something he was not looking forward to in the slightest. At least Angevin was merciful and was giving him the night to rest. Though he was sure it had less to do with mercy and more to do with the XO being more immediately needed on the ground.