skymuffins | [Sept. 9/11] Training Hall, Room 15, Afternoon

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[Sept. 9/11] Training Hall, Room 15, Afternoon

Allison tapped her laminated class schedule against her cheek as she made her way down a hall she hadn't been before. Huge windows showcased an equally huge field and if she stopped and squinted through the sunny glare, she could spot areas that looked a little charred.

Well, there was a reason this area of the school wasn't for those who had no reason to be here. Allison hadn't yet decided what she thought of the fact that she was here, though anything had to be better than setting things on fire when she got upset.

She grimaced a bit while she counted doors. There were worse things than the fires, really, but they were more noticeable to others. Allison supposed that was a good thing. She stopped outside the fifteenth door and double checked her schedule to make sure it was the right one.

It was. She was stalling. That's dangerous, she scolded herself, and then tucked her schedule into her backpack. Then, before she could think better of it, she rapidly knocked on the door (to give her tutor the heads up she was here, in case they weren't one of the ones that could just tell that) and opened it.

"Morning!" she said, poking her head in.

It was one in the afternoon.

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And that? That right there? Was when Dover broke into a grin that he meant, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a candle.

"Theory."

What, did she think he was going to make her throw fireballs around on her very first lesson?

"We came all the way out here to light candles?"

Allison stopped and found her lips twitching. Maybe she should have been irritated but, really, it was funny.

"Or is the theory really theory and you're going to lecture me?"

"Oh, you wound me," Dover replied, chuckling a little as he put his free hand over his heart. He was quick to return it to his side, spinning on his heel and planting the candle in the dirt beside the stream. "You ever light one of these before? First time I tried, I blew a hole in that room we just left."

Just saying.

Allison winced.

She could understand why they were out here then.

"No," she admitted, "I haven't. Lit other things on fire but not really... deliberately."

Dover gave a little, knowing nod.

"And it wasn't small, was it? Never is. Small's hard. You could level half the school with a hiccough if your powers flared up on you, but I bet you anything that the first time you light that candle, we'll be staring at a puddle of molten paraffin in the dirt not long after."

He sat down beside her, and then rummaged through his bag, pulling out a dozen more candles.

"Lesson today ends when you light one of these without destroying it. Theory for today is this, Cuttie. Fire's easy. You want it, and there it is. But it's big. That's what I'm gettin' at, here. You want to hold it back. I'm telling you that you have to figure out how the whole mess of it works before you can even think about putting it through a funnel."

She tucked her feet under her knees a little more securely and then reached for one of the candles. Just to toy with it, to stare at it a bit.

It was tempting to sigh but she understood where he was coming from with this lesson. "It's funny," she said, "that people are but aren't scared of powers like these."

Her powers were destructive and yet she still had friends. Allison was grateful for that.

She told herself that, after the lesson, she would be grateful for this afternoon as well.

"Now I really hope I'm not dreadful," she said, with a sidelong glance at him. "Wouldn't want us to be out here all night."

"Well, if we are, I packed mosquito spray, too."

Nice, flammable mosquito spray.

"So, before we really get started, do you have any sort of practical experience, yet? With your pyro, your geo, whatever else you might have in that bag of tricks of yours?"

"Last year..." Had been a year she didn't really care to think about and this year had it's own problems already. "I've learned the basics of control." Her lips quirked slightly. "Enough to keep from burning the place down, or shaking it up too badly."

Though it helped, really, that Allison was relatively mild-mannered anyway.

"Mostly they taught me meditation and how to maximize my ability to scry." She shrugged a little. "I'm not so hot at it, since it's just a secondary ability. Snowflake Obsidian, you know?"

Careful, Allison. He'd start calling you Snowflake, at this rate.

"Yeah, I know how that goes," Dover agreed, nodding a little as he flicked another little tongue of flame at the end of one finger, and passed it idly from hand to hand. "That's... a start, at least. You probably got into the importance of visualization, being aware that there's something beyond you and pulling it in, that kind of thing, right?"

As far as stone related nicknames went, Snowflake wasn't nearly as bad as it could be. Jasper was in her grade, after all.

"Yeah," she said, watching as he played with his fire. "Yeah. We covered that."

The flame flickered from orange to blue-white, twisting around at his fingertips until it had taken on the shape of a young woman, no taller than a couple of inches, smiling and noiselessly laughing as she leapt from one finger to the next.

Dover just grinned.

"Won't do you any good, here."

Helpful, Dover.

Helpful enough that she tossed the candle at him.

"Thanks," Allison said. "Any tips for me on what will help or am I just supposed to guess?"

And try, try again?

He reached up and caught the candle, his little flame woman flickering out of existence as he did so. He was still smirking as he turned the candle over in his hands.

"They tell you it's like a well, right? And they tell you to reach into it and tap it and let it flow, but that's not really quite right." He tilted his head, looking for the right words to use, here. "It's more like... It's a part of yourself. Like another arm, or like your breath, or your voice. And what you want to do with that voice is scream. Scream and scream at the top of your lungs until you can't feel your throat any more. But what you need to do is learn how to whisper."

Allison swallowed. "Whisper," she said, looking at the candle he'd set in the dirt.

She shivered, though she wasn't cold.

"Hard thing to do," she said, "when it's easier to shout."

The magic liked shouting. Blistering through her skin. Absently she toyed with her stone then settled her hands in front of her.

"All right. I'll give it a try."

"Whisper," he agreed. "And I'll be here to help, if you start screaming."

He had the water at his back and a firmer grasp on the flames than she would for quite some time.

And a lot of candles. Like, a lot.

She nodded shallowly and fixed her eyes on the candle. It was just an exercise, Allison reminded herself. There was nothing there to be hurt. If she messed up, it was just a candle, and Dover wasn't going to let anyone get hurt.

She trusted him that much. The school would not have made him a tutor otherwise.

Allison regulated her breathing, not caring if this took a long time because it was better to take a long time and try to get it right than hurry through it and, besides, the last thing she wanted to do was wake her magic up in a hurry.

It was weird, but her magic always felt cold to her. Like her fingertips were freezing, or like there was a brisk breeze chilling her nose. Allison flexed her fingers, not really seeing the candle anymore, though she knew where it was, and coaxed her magic forward.

Carefully, carefully... and then there was no being careful because it blazed past her, like a molten sun, as it spun through her fingertips.

The candle didn't have a chance.

It didn't. But that's why Dover had packed so many. And there was a brisk splash of water rising up from the stream, dousing the flame before it could do more damage than one little candle and a scorched swathe of sand.

"Better than my first try," he offered, softly, as he held a hand out in case it looked as though she was going to need help reigning that scream in. "It doesn't look like it right now, I know, but you're pretty damn good for a beginner, Cuttie."

She felt like she was running a marathon, trying to keep the scream from continuing. It didn't like just the little burst that had been let out. It wanted more.

Allison closed her eyes, blocking out everything, and told her power no.

She didn't want to hurt anyone. It wouldn't hurt anyone.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Fight it down and ignore the smoke and wisps of sand turned glassy, that were escaping.

Breathe in, breathe out. And a hand on her shoulder, quietly snaking forward with fire of its own, to wrap around that scream and reel it in.

She was on the right track. She was. Maybe later, he'd walk her down along the bed of the stream, to the stretch of ground that he'd used to practise with. Blackened glass the entire way along.

"You're screaming," he murmured. "Close your mouth. In your mind, close your mouth."

It wasn't quite a literal mouth that he was referring to, no. But he figured that the anatomy of their powers was similar enough that she'd know what he meant. It wouldn't be easy, but he was there to help, if nothing else.

Like drawing in another breath, her control wavered and a patch of sand, twice as wide as her hand across went up in flames, and sweat beaded her forehead as she listened to him with the tiniest smidgen of her attention and struggled with the fire with the rest.

Close the mouth.

But how, when it wanted to feed? When it was still hungry?

The worst part was, she knew the answer to those questions. It was the same answer she was telling it, had been telling it all along: say no.

Degree by degree, her 'no' began winning, though from the patches of blackened, glassed sand left in her unseeing wake, it didn't look like winning.

But it was, on the inside, as she crammed her power back and made it stay there.

In and away, where it belonged until she wanted to pull it out again. And Dover almost felt guilty, knowing that he planned on making her do this at least a few more times this evening.

He reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of water, holding it out to her while at the same time pulling up another small wave from the stream, to cool down the molten sand.

"You did good, Cuttie," he offered.

She'd pulled it back.

She shuddered as she reached for the bottle. "I feel like a truck hit me," she said raspily, working the lid off and taking a gulp. It felt like she hadn't drank anything in weeks, though that was nonsense. "And you call that good?"

Privately, so did she, if only because no one and nothing was hurt.

Except some sand and her blossoming headache.

"I'd call that good," he confirmed shrugging. "I remember one time I got myself started and couldn't pull back until I'd passed out in the flames. I think you've got one up on me there, really."

Wasn't that terribly reassuring?

"You're still sittin' up."

She shivered and swallowed more water quick enough that it made her cough. "If I pass out," Allison said, "then my power will hurt someone. I'd rather--"

She fell silent abruptly, deeming it better not to finish that sentence.

I'd rather die.

"Maybe it's good luck," she said, instead, staring at her hands. "Having a tutor."

He looked down at her hands. So small, so new to this. It made Dover's heart twist a little in his chest remembering when it might have been him cutting himself off before he could finish that sentence aloud.

"You're going to have to trust me," he ventured. "Trust that I won't let you get so out-of-hand that anybody gets hurt. I can handle a little fire. I've got a few years of it under my belt, after all. And if I think even for a moment that you won't be able to tamp it down, I'll step in and push with you. But you'll need to trust me, Allison. Do you suppose you can do that for me?"

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