Command Central

Luxis's fingers seemed to tingle as the message was lifted from them effortlessly, but not by fingers, by magic. It still amazed her how the physical could be manipulated in such a way as previously she knew only of what could be altered by your hands and your tools. She drew her hand back to her side, allowing it to hang loosely for only a brief second before she clasped both of them together tightly behind her back. They just felt more right there. She proceeded to observe the Emperor and the Headmaster in quick succession examine the contents of the message in silence, mostly watching through the strands of her golden mane like a veil drawing a defined line between them. Much of her focus remained on the Emperor however, perhaps because she had never seen him before, or perhaps because he represented everything a member of the First Petal should strive for.

The Emperor was supposed to have especially strong telekinesis, which was logical considering he was the Lotus, passed down through the bloodline. It was enough to make a girl jealous. Ah luck, how it was decided upon exactly to what parents you would be born to, whether peasant or royal, privileged or not. So much of what you were relied on the environment you were brought up in. Imagine instead if she had been born to the nobility! Why, she certainly would be a completely different person. Understanding the intricacies of social class was clearly something she would have to study further. For instance, growing up in the lap of luxury could easily deaden ones abilities, make one lazy and have issues working with others, and incapable of making the right decisions when it came down to it. Spoiled and rotten...but none of these qualities seemed present in the man before her. 

"Your left wrist." Well, she obviously was being studied just as much as she was the one doing the studying. The blonde didn't bother to look at the tattoo she knew was there, its deep black color a great contrast to her fair skin. She had had the mark for only two years by this point and already she treated it much the same as a birthmark; the only thing was birthmarks did not symbolize everything that she should have been. "A member of the Lighttouch Craftsman Guild, hmm? How interesting." Interesting. Like, in a good way, or a bad way? It was hard not to fidget under his hawk-like gaze. Luxis decided to instead meet it head on, her sapphire blue irises deep with steely determination. "A follower of the First, I take it. And a young one, judging from the fact that you're not in command of a squadron." 

Her lips quirked into a small smile at being recognized even as her stomach tightened with nerves. This was the moment when she would either be dismissed, or drawn further in. The First listened to the Headmaster attentively as he told her to introduce herself, ending with an almost ominous sounding, "Impress him." Tell me something I don't know.

If it was possible Luxis stood even straighter than before focusing on the lengthening of her spine, the firm planting of her high heeled boots, her shoulders rolled back and chin tilted slightly up. She may be nothing but a third year follower of the First, and a failed craftswoman of the otherwise entirely respectable Lighttouch Craftsmen Guild, but she had nothing to be ashamed of. Her grades spoke for themselves. "That is correct, I am a member of the Lighttouch Craftsmen Guild, specifically the Ra family. However, I have found my talents are not in my family's business, although I do uphold the same standard of hard work and quality the Guild is so proud of." It was easy to start with her family because it was what was compared to what is. Her words came out strong and clear, without hesitation, not revealing the inner warring of the butterflies within the depths of her belly. "My name is Luxis Ra, third year follower of the First, and eager to hear any wisdom you have to share, Emperor."

She hesitated then, uncertain of whether to continue the new direction her thoughts were taking; she would certainly be treading dangerous ground if the girl went with it. Ah, she didn't have time to consider it! Fortune favored the bold, right? "Judging by the consistent screaming, I do believe some of the strategies currently being employed are somewhat lacking." Each word out of the blonde's mouth seemed to be punctuated by a mini-explosion, or the cry of a human voice in a potent mixture of fear and anger, or the feral growl of an enraged mistling. That, or her imagination was acting up again. Totally plausible. 

Martin inhaled deeply. He loved the smell of powder early in the morning. Earlier was, in his experience, so often better -- it usually was a signal of more explosions over the course of the day.

He tugged on a glove and looked to his right, over the ranks of cannoneers. He smiled at the simple efficiency of their reloading process. They worked with a certain mechanical elegance, their motions practiced and smooth. Martin turned around, glancing over a flak cannon, its barrel glinting in the firelight. He motioned towards it, and spoke to a nearby cannoneer.

"Is this loaded?"

The cannoneer looked at the device for a moment. "I believe so, sir."

Martin nodded, "Excellent. If the Mistlings deliver another dropped assault, I want to see bits raining. I want to see bits raining tomorrow from that volley."

The soldier gulped, "Y-yes, sir."

Martin walked along the wall, looking down on the battle below. He spoke, to no one in particular. "Mmm, interesting." He looked skywards. "Is the powder covered?"

A nearby soldier looked up at him, "Uh, no sir. We should have thought of that." The younger man looked terrified. 

Martin nodded again, his mustache twitching. "Yes, cover it and pass down the order along the wall. We can't waste all these potential explosions and dead Mistlings, no!"

The soldier looked relieved to have not been on the receiving end of a verbal beatdown. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

The old man smiled, "Give them hell, boys! In fact, show them the way!" He laughed, and walked back to the spot he had claimed for himself, picking up his gun. His weapon of choice was essentially a flak shotgun: A large cylinder with two barrels poking out. Sure, it took forever to reload, and was quite heavy, but it was fun. 

He leaned it over the top of the wall, firing it onto a cluster of Mistlings in the melee below.

He grinned as a very satisfying explosion occurred and the group began to scatter, some of the figures having stopped moving completely. Looking out into the airspace around the wall, he noticed that the aerial assaults were coming in thinner waves on some parts of the wall than others. He threw his gun over his shoulder, took a deep breath, and began to march over to a section nearer the command post, where the Mistling waves were heavier.

Martin was enjoying the sights and sounds of another barrage as he heard his name called. He looked around to see the Headmaster approaching. He bowed low, partially out of respect and partially to let a flak cannon fire over him. 

(("How goes your barrage, Martin?"))

The aged engineer swept an arm out over the wall, gesturing the to battle as a whole. Somewhere below, another cannonball struck, scattering Mistlings, both whole and in parts. "Wonderful! Results, results results. We'll be sweeping up for weeks after this is over. Assuming we make it."

He clapped his hands together, "But I assume you have us making it well in control."

(("Here, let's go over to the command table. I need to show you exactly where to fire."))

Martin grinned, "Oh, but of course." He threw his gun over his shoulder and looked out over the wall, before motioning some quick directions to a cannoneer and pointing somewhere below. 

He followed the Headmaster into the command post, noting the resemblance between the Headmaster and the man at the table.

(("Professor Fizzlewheel, meet his Royal Highness the Emperor..."))

Martin bowed low again, this time entirely out of respect and not out of a particular interest in clearing his head out of a line of fire. He leaned over the tactical map, momentarily losing focus on the conversation between the Headmaster and his apparent brother, the Emperor, in an effort to get a clear grasp on what exactly was happening out there. A counterpush, by Mistlings? He stroked his mustache thoughtfully, considering the implications of Mistling tactics.

His musings were interrupted by something he always loved to hear:

(("I want them dead. I want them so far exploded that we'll be wiping away Mistling bits for weeks."))

Martin nodded. This was not only going to be a good day, this was going to be a great day, and it had only just begun.

He looked to the emperor. "I'll see what I can do. Consider them blasted. I need to go find a catapult battery. Or a trebuchet. Or perhaps a large cannon. Permission to use an inordinate amount of supplies to make a very large mess?"

(("You also have full control of the Academy's battalions. Make good use of them. I assume you'll be wanting to break out the big boys back at the Academy?"))

Martin rubbed his hands together. "I won't disappoint." He looked out over the battlefield, "Ahhh, this might make a scene. We should order a tactical withdrawal immediately before firing. That would be best for the students and the other forces below." 

Martin, of course, didn't really have a plan yet. All he knew was that he was going to make a very large, very fatal explosion in the courtyard; and that blowing a good portion of the students to smithereens wasn't a good path towards any potential promotions the Headmaster had in store for him.

(("...I'd like to watch as you run the fireworks."))

Martin beamed. "Absolutely. Of course, Headmaster. Please follow me, if you would."

He bowed to the Emperor, and left the tent to go look at what he had available to use. The stockpile was still quite large, the powder reserves scarcely touched save for a few casks that were being passed up and down the wall to operate the cannons. He looked to the quartermaster, "I can borrow these, yes?"

The quartermaster turned around to look at the pile of barrels. "...All of it?"

Martin shook his head, "Of course not! Just most of it."

The quartermaster gulped and nodded, "Uh... return whatever you don't... use."

Martin patted the man's head in much the same way one would pet a child. "Won't be a problem!"

He loaded the casks into a cart normally used for moving less volatile supplies along the wall, and turned to the Headmaster. "So... I saw some sort of quad-barreled artillery device on the back wall. Do you think we can fire these out of it? And does it shoot that far?" He grinned, turning back to the battle below, leaning over the wall.


((I'm sorry this is dreadfully short.))