Brave, Brave Sir John

It was an eerie sensation, being alone inside Wentworth's office. There was absolutely no sound, not even a ticking clock, and it smelled distinctly of paper. Wentworth herself had not exited her barrier after John, likely electing to tend to her paperwork in absolute privacy. The temptation to rifle through her things while she was 'away' was real, but John held it off. There was no way to be sure she was not watching from the other side of reality, the risk simply wasn't worth it.

Instead, John left the office in silence and closed the door behind him like a good little boy. The halls were nearly as quiet and just as empty as the room he had just exited, but spacious in a way that made him feel exposed and ****. He could imagine Frank and his goons storming around the corner of every intersection in sight, finally locating and cornering their prey. John had evaded Frank twice now, which was two more times than he had ever managed before. There wasn't a chance in hell that Frank wasn't absolutely furious to miss a beating for the third time in a row.

Swallowing his shame, John darted for a nearby supply closet. He swung the door open, ducked inside, and pulled it shut behind him in one motion as Stealth activated. Nothing else suggested that Frank was anywhere nearby, but better safe than sorry, right? It was dark inside and smelled of mold, but all that mattered was that John felt secure enough to take his time and figure out how to get to Moira's.

[John N.]: hey, i just finished with wentworth.

[Moira B.]: Good. I am curious to hear what she had to say to you, but that can wait until after your training.

[Moira B.] Speaking of which, when do you expect to arrive?

[John N.] good question...

[John N.] half an hour? maybe?

[Moira B.] That is not a very encouraging estimate, but it will do. Make certain that you are prepared.

[John N.] yeah, I'm ready.

The conversation had just ended when John heard footsteps and a familiar voice.

"C'mon, Frank, it's been like, an hour. Can we just go home?"

"Quit whining already, would you?" replied a second voice that was definitely Frank's. "He's here somewhere, he has to be."

The steps grew louder as John listened with bated breath. He was right, even if he wished he wasn't, and now he had a sudden, deep regret over his choice of hiding places. He had no escape route if Frank were to find him. If anything, John had given Frank a place to pound him into the dirt without having to worry about prying eyes.

No, wait, I have magic. I can just make a barrier and...

<Create Instance Disabled>

Bright, red words flashed in front of John's face the moment he reached inside himself to pull up the Instance interface. They lasted only a second, but they were just as jarring as the feeling of his mana smacking against what felt like a brick wall.

What do you mean, 'Disabled!?' Since when do my powers have an off switch!?

The brief moment of hope crashed to the ground as quickly as it had come, and beads of cold sweat began to form on John's face as the panic began to set in for real. Frantically swiping through menus to find out what the problem was revealed the answer, but that didn't help in the slightest. John had forgotten about the final line in the entry for Create Instance: 'Disabled while under distress.'

Shit.

"The janitor said he saw Shithead McFuckface come this way after school and nobody saw him leave," Frank said, obviously irritated. "That means he's still here, so no one is going anywhere until that twerp gets the shitkicking he deserves."

"Maybe he's with Wentworth?" a third voice offered.

"Like hell I'm checking. You check."

"Fuck that, you check!"

"I'm not going anywhere near that bitch. You hear about the crazy fuckin' homework she gave Troy today? Fuck her."

"Shut up! She'll hear you!"

"Like I give a fuck? Let her hear, I'd like to see her try and fuck with me."

"Okay, if you're not scared of her, then go check her office."

"...Fuck you."

John let out a slow, shaky breath. The band of assholes had passed by, and their footsteps were getting quieter. John tried to spin his situation in a positive light. Now that he knew roughly were Frank was and that he had just checked this wing of the school, all John had to do was wait a minute or two before booking it towards the nearest open window and he was scott free.

"Yo, Derek, go back and check the supply closet. He could be hiding in there."

John's blood froze. He scrambled as quietly as he could for a way to cover himself up. Unfortunately, the closet was tiny and packed full of cleaning supplies. It was all he could do to press himself against the adjacent wall before the door opened.

"Jesus Christ, Frank, let it go," Derek muttered. John never saw him, however, as he hadn't even bothered to stick his head inside before shouting "It's empty!" and departing. John's mouth hung open in disbelief. He'd always considered himself to have pretty rotten luck, but apparently not today. It took a minute for John to reclaim all of his senses.

I guess I'm not the only one sick of Frank's shit. That's good to know.

John's heart rate slowly returned to normal as he listened and waited for the indistinct chatter and complaints of Frank and his crew to disappear. He knew he had to find a more permanent solution to the whole Frank issue before the jackass did anything drastic, even if it meant giving himself up to the **** he'd been avoiding. John could not see a scenario where keeping up the game of cat and mouse ended well for him; the longer he put it off, the worse it would get. Maybe Moira could help him? Probably not, she'd be livid if she knew the trick John had pulled on Frank's feet earlier. It would be best to keep her out of it, most likely.

John tabled the issue, at least for the day, with a hushed sigh. He still had bigger things on his plate than a school bully, and at this rate he was going to be late. He popped his head out for a quick peek to make sure the coast was clear. Without anyone in sight, John bolted for the nearest empty classroom. Out the window he went, to the cold, late afternoon air of safety, hoping all the while that this wouldn't become a habit.

The Uber driver, a tall, late 20's man of some undeterminable non-caucasian ancestry, gave John a vaguely judgemental look when he got in the car but said nothing out of the ordinary. It was probably rare that anyone asked to go to Brighton Manor via rideshare, let alone some random prep school kid in the middle of nowhere. John had jogged a few blocks away from the school to be certain that he would be left alone before calling the cab, somewhere nearing the downtown commercial district. Did that mean he gave off the impression of some rich kid using the labor of the plebeians or a nobody daring to set foot where he didn't belong? John wasn't sure, but he shifted gears from worrying about it to assuring himself that he would never see this guy again and it didn't matter.

John and the driver shared a bit of smalltalk about anything aside from his destination until they arrived at the heavy metal gate set in the brick wall that marked the perimeter of the estate. John hadn't seen it yesterday, when his eyes were clenched shut to spare him the experience of riding passenger to Moira, even the thought of which made his heart skip a beat. This time, however, the gate blocked their way. It was well over ten feet tall and heavy looking, wrought iron through and through. A curving arch, wreathed in iron vines and full of iron roses, gave the construction a sense of artistry, along with a large central rose emblem with a golden inlay. Even so, the bit of expert artistic craftsmanship did not change the fact that the gate was sturdy and far from ornamental.

"Guess I'll just let you out here?" the driver asked. The gate swung open before John could answer, welcoming them inside. "Guess not, huh?"

"They're kinda expecting me," John said as the car shifted back into drive. "But seriously, I'm not some VIP dignitary or something, it's just a school thing."

"I wouldn't care if you were, kid." The driver caught John's eye in the rearview mirror. "Not s'long as I get paid. Just remember: the salad fork is the little one on the left"

"I'll, uh, keep that in mind." John nodded. He made sure to leave a nice tip of his own as the car pulled up to the stairs leading to the manor proper. John exited the car with a "Thanks," and set himself to the short hike up.

John was relieved to be greeted by a comely young maid in place of Reginald. She was a brunette with a round face and a pleasant, if muted, smile. John put effort into not blatantly checking out her apparently alluring figure, but her clothing was by no means helping. Her dress was far from fetishized, it showed very little skin, but it had all the accoutrements of a typical maid uniform: apron, frilled hem, lacey headband, and all. What he wouldn't give to strip a girl out of an outfit like that...

"Welcome, Mr Newman. This way," she said, interrupting John's reverie. She extended an arm to her right, then turned to walk in that direction. At a loss of how to respond, John simply smiled back, cleared his throat, and stepped in line to follow. He was led across the front of the manor to a brick walkway on the side that wound further away from the building. Hints of floral scents hit his nose as they approached a garden, replete with rose-covered archways and a variety of plant life which John couldn't hope to name. Further on, there was the tall, geometric shape of dark green bushes, an honest to goodness hedge maze.

They really spare no expense to meet as many filthy rich stereotypes as possible, huh?

They passed a central, stone fountain that marked the halfway point of their journey through the garden, which also marked the point at which John gave up trying to stop himself from watching his guide's hips sway as they walked. He followed thoughtlessly for the remainder of the journey, so much so that he didn't noticed the clacking of wood on wood slowly growing louder as they walked. One particularly loud CRACK brought John back to reality, standing at the edge of an isolated courtyard. It was flat, slightly sunken, and walled off on all sides by tall hedges. The grass gave way to a large circle of packed dirt about 20 meters in diameter, flanked by four smaller ones in each corner of the yard.

In the center stood Moira, in full armor, squaring off against another young woman much taller than her. Moira's armor was not the simple chain hauberk she had worn the other day. Today she wore full plate above it, gilded on the edges and on the vine-like filigree that wrapped around her bracers and collar. Long, wide, and segmented tassets hung from the circumference of her waist which, given the way they moved with the chain beneath them, gave the impression that Moira was wearing a sort of armored dress. No helmet adorned her head, only a circlet of steel with wing-like flairs at the temples, and her hair was tied back in a tight, braided bun. A wooden axe crashed against her wooden shield as she blocked, paired with a likewise wooden hammer that replaced her normal equipment.

The axe's wielder was a nearly six foot tall, nigh-amazonian blonde clad in leathers and fur. The firm, shapely muscles in her arms and legs were obvious at even a cursory glance, exposed save for a set of leather bracers and fur lined, steel reinforced boots. Her waist was wrapped in a leather and chain skirt to protect her thighs, held in place by a thick belt. The young woman's torso was covered in a similar mix of mail and leather that barely contained a set of more-than-ample assets, assets which John had to tear his gaze away from to get a look at the rest of her. He was surprised to find an attractive face atop all of this, a captivating, savage beauty wearing an expression of focused aggression. She had a strong but feminine jaw and sky blue eyes above a sprinkle of freckles that crossed her high cheeks. A pair of black feathers helped bind her long, dirty blonde hair into a single, multi-layered braid that whipped around with her impressive footwork as she pressed Moira for an opening from all angles.

-
Erica Carpenter
[The Bloodaxe]
Level 12 Berserker
A dependable contractor and honorary knight of the Order of the Golden Rose. She is an easygoing and casual girl in everyday life, but a fierce and imposing **** of nature on the battlefield who specializes in taking down large monsters. Though a capable team player, her history has left her with a preference for fighting alone.
RP: 5
-

"Your skills continue to improve, Erica," Moira shouted to her opponent. She looked more at ease than John had ever seen her, despite her combat stance- happy, even. "Most knights don't last this long. I'm impressed"

"I'm not most knights, you know that." Erica grinned. She rushed in and successfully pried Moira's shield away with the back hook of her axe. Moira's expression did not change, however; the hammer already careening towards Erica's head denied the Berserker the ability to take advantage of the opportunity. She had to halt her momentum and backpedal in order to avoid a concussion. "Just say the word and we can take this up a notch."

The bout continued without either combatant noticing John. Erica closed the distance again with a too-high swing that Moira was easily able to duck under, but the look in the axewoman's eyes suggested the mistake was intentional. Moira's hammer sought to counter with a sweep at the knees, a maneuver that Erica foresaw and bypassed with a surprisingly graceful hurdle. The moment she landed, Erica pivoted her body and leveraged the haft of her weapon to smack the blunt end against the Paladin's cheek. The look of satisfaction on Erica's face was met by genuine surprise from Moira, but the Warden wasted no time in retaliating. Even reeling from the hit, Moira rose with a backswing uppercut so fast the John could barely see it. The blow caught Erica cleanly beneath the chin with enough **** to lift her off the ground in an arc that saw her land on her ass several feet away.

By all means, Erica's neck should have snapped and John had just witnessed a ****, but to his astonishment she propped herself up on her elbows with a groan. Neither combatant seemed to hold any enmity as Moira stepped over, set down her hammer, and offered Erica a hand up. She took it and rose to her feet, only to stumble in a way that seemed unnatural to John. Moira caught her sparring partner, and for once John didn't berate himself for the feeling welling in his groin. He could not deny the allure of two beautiful, sweaty women in an impromptu embrace.

Now kiss.

"Just a little dizzy, sorry." Erica offered a shallow laugh as she lifted herself off Moira. "I think you might've knocked something loose."

"Nonsense." Moira shook her head and reached out her hands to cup Erica's chin. A pale, golden light radiated from her palms for a moment, and if Erica's expression was any indication, the effect felt wonderful. "You've suffered much worse. I simply took you by surprise is all, as you had me."

"My Lady," the maid at John's side chose that moment to finally interrupt and make their presence known. "Mr. Newman has arrived."

"Oh!" Moira released Erica and turned to face the pair. "Thank you, Anwyn," she said with a smile. "You are dismissed."

"By your leave." Anwyn returned the smile, curtsied, and left the way they had come.

"Excellent timing, Newman." Moira approached and lifted her circlet. The air around it shimmered in her hands and what was once a simple ring of metal revealed itself to be a full helm. She tucked it under one arm as she continued, "I'd like to introduce you to your instructor, Dame Erica Carpenter."

"'Sup?" Erica waved a casual salute towards John, leaning on her upturned axe with the other arm. For all the conflict, neither she nor Moira seemed any worse for the wear.

"As well as your training partner, Erica's current apprentice, Squire Adelle Kingston," Moira added, gesturing to a third girl that John had failed to notice, another blonde of average height. She stood at the edge of the ring, wearing an unadorned and practical set of half-plate armor over a blue tunic. Her hair was pulled back like the other girls', hers in a loose and voluminous french braid that fell down to her waist. The armor made it difficult for John to get an idea of her figure, but Adelle seemed to have an athletic build. Her neutral expression fell just short of resting bitch face, perhaps due to her large, dark eyes. They, with their long eyelashes, sucked in John's gaze like a pair of bottomless wells.

"Pleased to meet you," she said. Her voice was soft, with a distinct German accent. Unlike Erica's informality, Adelle bowed her head by way of greeting. John returned the gesture, happy to have someone show him some degree of authentic respect.

"So this is the guy I'm supposed to whip into shape, huh?" Erica walked closer and gave John an appraising eye. "No offense, dude, but you seriously need to add some meat to your diet."

"None taken, I know what I am," John admitted.

"Erica is one of the most skilled fighters we have on contract," Moira explained, unaware that John already knew. "We've decided that her… less formal demeanor would be a suitable match for your inexperience."

"What she means is that they don't know what to do with you, so they threw you at me because I actually know how to interact with people from this century." Erica grinned. John had to stifle a laugh as a tinge of red spread across Moira's cheeks. Adelle did a much better job of hiding it than he did.

"I-" she stammered, at a loss for once.

Oh, I like her.

"It was a joke, relax." Erica gave Moira a firm pat on the back. "I'll get him in fighting form, don't worry. Just don't complain to me if he's a little rough around the edges when I'm done, you know I'm garbage at all the etiquette stuff."

"R-right, of course." Moira calmed herself and gave a curt nod. "I'll leave you to it. I have some things to do regarding the Cambion investigation, but I'll be back to check on your progress later."

"Yeah, sure. I'll try to keep all of my bones intact until then," John said with a glance towards Erica.

"No promises, dude," the Berserker flashed a smile and slapped John's shoulder hard enough to make him flinch, "but we can always put you back together if we need to."