The Shepherd is a name that you haven't heard often, but it's impossible not to recognise it. Her face and symbol are everywhere, after all, as the current dean of the Imperial Education Programs.
You hadn't realised that she was a proctor as well. Today has been an amazing lesson about all the things you've never realised, and you're starting to feel a little resentful.
You've never seen a helmsman trainee before, either, and now that Riccin has identified themselves as such, you're curious. Everyone knows they start the wetware installations at a young age, but if there's apiculture integrated into Riccin's flesh, there's no way to tell: they're swathed head-to-toe in cloth, from the suncloak to the boots to the gloves on their hands, and there's nothing to see on their face save for the blue spark of their eyes and the white dabs of paint.
They don't seem the sort that would be receptive to questions, though. Riccin has drawn themselves up to their full height and they're looming over you, their lip curled in a sneer. If they're trying to intimidate you - well, it's working, because you have to steel yourself to keep from stepping back, and the only thing that really stops you is the fact you know Hinnom is behind you.
"Who the fuck sent you?" they ask, voice flat.
Their eyes might be blue, you remind yourself, but if they're a part of the helmsman program, then that means you're the highblood. Most of the kids in the legislacerator program are jadebloods like you, but there's more than a few violets and indigoes: all the isolated castes, that can't be regulated by normal midbloods for one reason or another. Your roommate is one of them, and thankfully, it's not hard to imagine what Sappho would say.
"His moirail," you say pompously, and your voice doesn't even crack, because you're Sappho, and she wouldn't care about a helmsman, even if their proctor was the Empress herself.
It's that thought that sends you stepping forward to the smaller figure, chin up, horns canted.. not defensively, but assertively. You don't have to be defensive, not when you're the highest caste here by two.
(The Academy always emphasizes one thing over the rest, regardless of program: respect the hemospectrum. You're desperately hoping that it carries true among the helmsmen, because your training's never covered how to deal with aggressive psionics.)
"Your handle is RS, isn't it?" You hold out a hand, and you steadfastly ignore the way it's shaking. "My online personal identification tag is forgottenSebayt. We've engaged in prior communications."
no subject
The Shepherd is a name that you haven't heard often, but it's impossible not to recognise it. Her face and symbol are everywhere, after all, as the current dean of the Imperial Education Programs.
You hadn't realised that she was a proctor as well. Today has been an amazing lesson about all the things you've never realised, and you're starting to feel a little resentful.
You've never seen a helmsman trainee before, either, and now that Riccin has identified themselves as such, you're curious. Everyone knows they start the wetware installations at a young age, but if there's apiculture integrated into Riccin's flesh, there's no way to tell: they're swathed head-to-toe in cloth, from the suncloak to the boots to the gloves on their hands, and there's nothing to see on their face save for the blue spark of their eyes and the white dabs of paint.
They don't seem the sort that would be receptive to questions, though. Riccin has drawn themselves up to their full height and they're looming over you, their lip curled in a sneer. If they're trying to intimidate you - well, it's working, because you have to steel yourself to keep from stepping back, and the only thing that really stops you is the fact you know Hinnom is behind you.
"Who the fuck sent you?" they ask, voice flat.
Their eyes might be blue, you remind yourself, but if they're a part of the helmsman program, then that means you're the highblood. Most of the kids in the legislacerator program are jadebloods like you, but there's more than a few violets and indigoes: all the isolated castes, that can't be regulated by normal midbloods for one reason or another. Your roommate is one of them, and thankfully, it's not hard to imagine what Sappho would say.
"His moirail," you say pompously, and your voice doesn't even crack, because you're Sappho, and she wouldn't care about a helmsman, even if their proctor was the Empress herself.
It's that thought that sends you stepping forward to the smaller figure, chin up, horns canted.. not defensively, but assertively. You don't have to be defensive, not when you're the highest caste here by two.
(The Academy always emphasizes one thing over the rest, regardless of program: respect the hemospectrum. You're desperately hoping that it carries true among the helmsmen, because your training's never covered how to deal with aggressive psionics.)
"Your handle is RS, isn't it?" You hold out a hand, and you steadfastly ignore the way it's shaking. "My online personal identification tag is forgottenSebayt. We've engaged in prior communications."