Not Even a Little Ordinary

This chapter is very special, because it will be the first to contain an all original character portrait at the bottom! Isn't that exciting?

“Hey, it’s High Arcanist Lillian Proctor,” the girl (Lillian, apparently) said from her seat across the room. She sounded as tired as she looked, speaking in a slow monotone. Her voice had a faintly nasal quality about it, and it was deeper than John expected, but it still had a distinctly feminine timbre. She rolled her turquoise eyes to Reginald without moving her head and shot him a look that John assumed to be a disapproving glare, if she had put any energy into it. “Technically, yeah, I’m an Archivist, but if you’re gonna slap fancy titles on me, I wanna use the fanciest one.”

“My apologies, Ms. Proctor.” Reginald accepted the correction unflinchingly. He bowed his head in recognition of his mistake. “Mr. Newman, may I present Lillian Proctor, High Arcanist.”

“Uh, thanks?” John said. He’d since sidled a few steps away from Reginald to put some distance between them. Reginald did not respond. Instead, he quietly closed the door behind him, then took post beside it. A few seconds passed, during which neither he nor Lillian gave John any indication of what he was expected to do next. He could feel his cheeks begin to flush.

“If you would, Mr. Newman,” Reginald said, extending his arm towards Lillian. He was perfectly professional, as always. Even so, his presentation carried the air of an irritated parent. To John’s eyes, Reginald had by no means behaved even the slightest bit different, but John still felt sheepishly disciplined. He stammered a bit in confusion, but chose to slink away without saying anything. Lillian watched in silence as he crossed the porcelain tiled floor.

“Um.” John stopped beside one corner of the tableside opposite Lillian. He’d put himself in what he considered the ‘safe-zone,’ close enough to speak plainly but well out of arm’s reach. “Hi.”

“Oh, am I supposed to stand up to greet someone when I’m sitting down?” she asked no one. “I don’t know the etiquette and I can’t remember the last time I did this.”

Lillian shrugged, then rose to her feet and mirrored John’s place at her corner of the table. John could finally get the measure of her, now that she wasn’t slumped behind the table, and what he saw was curious. Lillian had long, jet black hair, tied in the back into a pair of twin tails that reached past her hips. They weren’t just long, but voluminous, trailing down in shiny waves. Both tails seemed well maintained, but that only cast the contrast between them and the rest of her hair in an even starker relief. The sides were cropped short, irregular, at about the height of her chin, but the worst of it were her bangs. It was as if a toddler had cut them, all ending in flat cuts that were uneven in both width and length. Some hung just over the brim of her red, thick-rimmed glasses while others exposed strips of her forehead.

And she was pale – very, very pale. Not fair of skin pale, like Moira, but damn near corpse-like for lack of color. It wasn’t as if she had enough weight on her to counterbalance the apparent lack of life in her either. She was skinny, barely on the healthier side of malnourished. John could just make out the outline of her sternum on her chest, which also presented very little in the way of curves. (John had caught sight, however, of a somehow respectably shapely butt when she had crossed the table.)

She wore a casually Alternative style of clothing: chunky boots with far too many buckles, tight jeans, and a dark gray tank-top that read ‘The Gazebo is Not Dead’ on it in red brush strokes. A signature black wristband of studded leather adorned her right wrist, matched with a similarly studded belt. That same arm bore a tattoo on her shoulder. It looked something like a dead leaf, by John’s reckoning, minus the leaf part.

John stepped forward to offer her his hand to shake, but she responded by stepping back at the same time and raising her hands together to form an ‘X’ with her forefingers. It wasn’t a fast motion, but her reaction time was spot on.

“No touchy,” she said, face neutral. “Nothing personal. I’m touchy about physical contact with people I don’t really know; pun intended.”

“No offense taken,” John replied. He instead raised his arm to wave stiffly to her. “I’m John, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Lillian, niceness of meeting you to be determined,” she said, briefly waving back. Both of their arms fell limp. John interrupted the impending silence by clearing his throat. Lillian did not move whatsoever.

“Right,” John muttered. He walked over to a chair and took a seat. Lillian followed suit.

“That was stupid,” she said.

“Yeah, it was,” John agreed. He offered a flimsy smile.

“Oh, cool,” Lillian said, wearing a subdued smile of her own, “you get it.”

John felt leagues more comfortable in an instant. Weird as she was, Lillian’s complete lack of formality put him at ease. For someone with such an imposing rank, the High Arcanist carried herself with such a lethargic lack of concern that it was hard to feel threatened. He was still a little anxious, as was his tendency, but it was much closer to his typical, everyday levels of nervousness. That was nothing he couldn’t manage.

“Soooo…” John trailed off.

“You’re here because Lord Stuffybritches thinks you’re a liability as long as nobody understands how your magic works,” Lillian said. “I’ve never met someone who doesn’t know how their magic works. How do you not know how your magic works?”

“How am I supposed to tell you how I don’t know something?” John asked, with some irritation.

“Huh,” Lillian said, collapsing against the backrest of her chair. “Good question. Okay, you’re off the hook. Not that I have any hooks to grab you with, anyway. They’re metaphorical hooks.”

“I figured,” John said. He got the idea that, despite not having to contend with his nerves, conversing with Lillian would require an entirely different sort of energy. He grimaced. It would be much more convenient if Liam hadn’t already drained that particular mental battery.

“Cool,” she said. “I’m glad you get it. Not everyone gets it. It’s annoying.”

“Can I ask why they sent the High Arcanist to check me out and not some kind of Medium Arcanist?” John asked. He’d been wondering about it for most of the time after classes. At first he’d figured it might be another power play to make him sweat a little, but Lillian herself was far from intimidating.

“Sure,” she said, nodding. She looked as if she was about ready to fall asleep, but she maintained eye contact as long as John did. After a few seconds of silence, just as it became apparent to John that an answer would not be forthcoming, she yawned, then asked, “Well?”

“Well what?” John asked, blinking a few times and suppressing a return yawn. Not only did she not answer his question, but she was expecting something of him in return?

“Oh, my bad,” Lillian said. “I thought you were going to ask me why I’m here."

“W-what?” John stammered.

“Usually when people ask permission to do something, they do it right after,” Lillian said, frustration evident even in her muted expression. “Maybe you’re planning to ask me later. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But I just-” John started to raise his voice in aggravation, but he cut himself off when he realized what was going on. “God (or whatever) help me,” he mumbled. “Why did they send you instead of someone else?”

“Oh, there it is.” Lillian nodded. “They sent me because I’m the best, that’s all. And it’s not even like ‘Oh, Lillian is the best but it’s a close call’ kind of best. I’m the best by a lot. Like, a lot a lot. If I’m in first place, then the next best is in sixth, maybe.”

“Humble, too,” John said.

“No, I’m a pragmatist,” Lillian replied. “It’s just true. The other Arcanists are good at what they do, but they can’t be the best because they don’t have my eyes. They’re lucky like that; they never had to live with them. It must be nice.”

“What’s so special about your eyes?” John asked, more than a little skeptical.

“They’re special,” she said, bringing her hands up to the sides of her face. She wiggled her fingers for effect but dramatically undersold it with her expression. “I can see maaa~gic.”

John was not particularly impressed.

“Can’t everyone?” he asked. “I’ve seen Moira do her holy explosion thing a couple of times now. I didn’t take that as the kind of thing that’s supposed to be subtle.”

“No!” Lillian ground her fists into the sides of her head and clenched her eyes shut, groaning. “Not the effects of magic, the actual magic!” she said. She tossed her head back and fell limp with a deeply irritated sigh. “Why do I have to explain the difference every-”

There was a Thunk as Lillian’s head dropped to the table, hair trailing behind and pooling around her.

“single-”

Thunk

“time?”

Thunk

John recoiled. The sudden display of aggravation might have been relatable if it hadn’t come out of absolutely nowhere.

“Um…” he started, hesitant. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s fine,” Lillian said. Her voice came out muffled, as it was spoken directly into the table’s surface. “It’s not your fault they don’t teach you basic magic theory in this place. They should, but they don’t. You don’t need to know Terracciano’s second principle of mana stabilization to swing a glowing sword.”

“I guess not,” John shrugged. “You don’t have to understand the first law of thermodynamics to fire a gun either.”

“Yeah, basically,” Lillian said. She perked up enough to fold her arms under her head to serve as a chin rest. “You should study magic theory sometime; you’d be good at it.”

“I already have enough school to deal with,” John griped. He’d intended to continue, but he’d changed his mind mid-sentence. “Actually, do you have a book about it? Maybe I can squeeze in a little reading at night,” he said. What he really meant was that maybe he’d be able to absorb it and save himself the trouble. Lillian’s face fell flatter than it usually was.

“Seriously?” she asked.

“What?” John asked in return.

Lillian didn’t respond right away. All she did was blink a few times and stare at John with an incredulous expression, as if he’d grown a second head. Eventually, she spread her arms wide and flicked her eyes from one side of the room to the other, then shrugged.

“Library,” she said. John smacked his forehead.

“Okay, I deserve that,” he said. He shook his head out of disappointment at himself, then looked around the shelves full of books surrounding them. He’d assumed that the books here were largely concerned with knightly histories and theology. He was right, but a few of the titles he could make out from where he sat suggested that there was at least a small section dedicated to the origins of magic and its functions. “But I mean one I can keep. I, uh, read slow.”

“Oh.” Lillian said, dropping her arms. “I dunno. There’s probably something around here somewhere. Maybe.” Lillian shrugged again and slouched a little extra in her chair. “Hey, can we get to the part where I look at you? I’m getting bored and I wanna get back to work.”

“Uh, sure,” John said, taken aback by her blunt honesty. “Look as much as you like.”

Lillian nodded, then straightened her posture, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Suddenly, a much more serious air surrounded her. It was in the way she took off her glasses, how she neatly folded them and placed them gently on the table, and how she slowly released the breath she’d be holding. For most of the conversation, she’d felt off-kilter and out of place, but in that moment she had an aura of serene normalcy. It lasted only until she opened her eyes.

The first thing John noticed was that they were a brilliant magenta, not the bluish green they’d been a moment ago. They also seemed a little too big, even though they hadn’t changed size. On further inspection, John spied a ring of color in her sclera, surrounding her irises and presenting the illusion that they were larger than ordinary. Most unnatural, however, was the way her eyes seemed to coalesce, as if they weren’t wholly solid. The bright magenta rippled with deeper, darker tones, all the while swirling unevenly like a lazy hurricane. It was hard to make out where her pupils began, until they suddenly expanded to the size of dinner plates.

“Oh. My. God,” Lillian whispered, slack jawed and a little vacant. John wouldn’t have been surprised if she started to drool.

Lillian didn’t drool, however. Instead, there was a whirlwind of motion as she bolted out of her chair, knocking it down, and dove onto the table on hands and knees. She scrambled forward far faster than her scrawny body would suggest, accidentally sending her glasses skittering to a stop somewhere on the floor behind her. She was already halfway to him by the time John was able to acknowledge what was happening, and far too close by the time he began to rise from his chair and lift his arms in defense. The High Arcanist pounced. She, John, and the chair he’d been in all toppled to the ground.

“YOU’RE SO PRETTY!” she exclaimed, clamping painfully onto his cheeks with both hands. Her face was uncomfortably close to his, enough that he could feel the hot air as she panted with tangible excitement. She looked crazed, brimming with energy and unstable in an entirely different way than before. It didn’t help that she currently had him pinned by his face, hunched over him with her knees straddling either side of his ribcage. It definitely didn’t help that her pupils had since constricted into tiny pinpricks amidst a storm of manic, pinkish purple.

“Um, thanksh?” John managed to say. He didn’t dare make any attempt to escape, not yet at least. Part of that was out of fear, but he had to admit that part of it was because there was a pretty girl on top of him and his lizard brain liked it. Reginald didn’t seem to be intervening, but he wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or annoying. “Are you going to eat me?”

It felt like a sensible question to ask at the time.

“Eat you?” Lillian pulled back a little, offended. “Why would I eat you? I have to study you! Nobody is eating anybody here-” she paused for half a beat, pensive, “unless you want me to slide forward a little and sit on your face? Are you into that? I could do that.”

It wasn’t something John had really considered before, but the sudden proposal was a little bit exciting in spite of the sheer confusion scrambling his brain. The world felt as if it had turned upside down, and it wasn’t just because he’d been unceremoniously knocked on his ass. The Lillian atop him was thrumming with an unsettling glee, not even close to the sloth-like girl he’d been talking to moments ago. Not only that, but she was propositioning casual sex like they were old friends in the privacy of her own home and not in someone else’s manor, well within hearing range of Reginald.

“Rain check?” John offered. He wanted to decline her outright, but his overactive libido refused to let him. Delaying was the best compromise he could manage. “Um, what happened to no touching? You’re definitely touching me right now.”

“What? Oh, psshhh.” Lillian released John’s face and waved off his question. “That’s only something I care about when I’m being a sourpuss. That’s boring. Plus, why would I stay away when I can latch on to somebody and steal all their warmth for myself? If you couldn’t tell, I’m not great at retaining body heat. And it’s fucking cold outside! I have to leech away as much as I can, whenever I can." She sighed. "But we don’t have time for that anyway. I need to get a better look at’cha.”

“Okay?” John said. It was hard to keep up with her now that she was talking at least three times faster than she had before. John tried to scoot backwards, but Lillian squeezed her thighs and kept him in place. Apparently, her idea of getting a better look didn’t require letting him go. Instead, she leaned back and planted her butt on John’s crotch, right on top of-

“Omigod!” Lillian’s back straightened as she realized what was pressing against her cheeks. “Did you get a boner because of me? I’m honored!” She emphasized her point by gently bouncing, expression giddy as it was sultry.

“N-no!” John protested, futile as it was. He cast his eyes to the side, face burning red and jaw clenched tight. “Maybe. Shut up!”

Without warning, Lillian leaned all the way forward again in an impressive display of flexibility, all the way until her lips were millimeters from John’s ear. She spoke softly, quiet as a mouse but dripping with allure.

“Want me to suck it for you?”

Lillian gently nibbled his ear lobe, shocking John with such shameful pleasure that he could feel himself throb and spurt a fair amount of pre in eager excitement.

“I felt that, you know,” she whispered, wiggling her hips and chuckling quietly to herself. All John could do was shut his eyes tight and hope to die from embarrassment before things got any worse. He had to open them again when Lillian swung herself back upright. He found her with a finger on her chin, pouting in consideration. “Hm, no, still no time. What a shame. But hey, now I know you’re a pervert. I like that!”

“Please kill me,” John groaned. He buried his face in his hands even as he fought off the urge to thrust a little against the girl practically throwing herself at him. If he had any idea how this meeting was supposed to go, it was assuredly, definitively not this.

“Denied!” Lillian said, all bubbles and sunshine. “You’re my new project, and you’re no good to me dead, so, c’mon, up we go.” John felt her weight lift without warning, accompanied by the clomp of heavy boots hitting the tile as she hopped to her feet. He was only just starting to lift his hands when her dainty fingers clutched them in a not-so-dainty grip and yanked him upwards. John really didn’t want to, but he still allowed himself to be pulled up. He didn’t make any attempt to be subtle about tucking his dick under the waistband of his boxers. She already knew, the only reason to hide it at all was to feel slightly less mortified by not pitching a tent for all to see. Lillian watched and grinned, hands clasped behind her back and rocking slightly on her heels. Her eyes were still slowly churning maelstroms of magenta, menacing in spite of her smile.

“Can you please tell me what’s going on?” John asked. He was still red in the face, unable to look Lillian in the eyes even if he wanted to. “What the hell just happened? Why are you suddenly all over me like a cat in heat?”

“Because!” Lillian said. “Because I’ve never seen anyone like you before. You’re so… so… generic! You’re like a walking textbook illustration of a mage. All of your channels are perfectly aligned, your gateways unimpeded, and all of your affinities are even across the board! Look, look here!” She pointed at his chest, as if John could see what she was seeing. “Your Crux Arcanum is a sphere. A sphere! How is that even possible?”

John was still as bewildered as ever. He looked down at his chest and saw nothing unexpected, just his shirt. He was grateful, at least, to be tentatively free from further humiliation.

“Sooo…” he started, trying his best to keep her talking before she took matters into her own hands again. “What does that mean?”

“That’s the best part.” Lillian hopped once, grinning mad, and clapped her hands together next to her face. “I don’t know!”