something on my mind | {phelix/ronan}

Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jul 23, 2017 12:22:12 GMT -5

PHELIX HALE 

So far, the academy had been and continued to be a wicked mix of so good and so challenging. Every morning, there was a new burden awaiting him, in disguise of a freshly brewed coffee mug. It was only when the fluid hits your tongue, you taste its bitterness, and fastening a home in your mouth, making your innards rise to the throat. Long story short, even their daily brew was a challenge to gulp down. New tests, weaponry training, precision practice, arrowheads sinking into fake flesh, the tension in his shoulders when his hand curled around a sword handle and the astonishment and panic tugging at his heartstrings when the handle was a perfect fit to the trembling digits, like two long lost puzzle pieces connecting.

But, when the academic and training hours come to a halt, there was a sense of tranquility amongst its walls. It was his favorite time of the day—sprawled over the mess he calls a bed, listening to the sound of the tides in the air. No matter their constant motion, tides have always been predictable. They kiss the shore, recoil back into the depths, and repeat all over. It calmed the pounding in his chest to know that some things are always going to be predictable—the tides, sunrise, sunset. Too much unpredictability in his life; surprises lunging at him from all sides. He was beginning to grow a hatred against them.

There was when he began to throw himself into studies, the yellowed pages of textbooks, highlighting whichever information he thought was crucial. The entire act of studying was another challenge to him and his dilated pupils, hanging out of the dark bags beneath his eyes. But, it took less effort to battle dyslexia than other trainees. Less to no bruises, and best of all, he didn’t have to murmur an apology for every gash the steel of his blade made. It was a win-win situation; every day, the words dissembled and rearranged themselves occasionally, no matter how brief they lingered in a position that his eyes could precisely comprehend. It helped.

Law was a part of his favored topics. The ideal of distributing justice, the codes of violation, the borderline between violence and torture. He now knew the difference between a savage and a man mounted on his high horse better. A raging kleptomaniac and a petty thief.

Shoving down the bits of notes and cards into his bag, he debated whatever he should take his daily dose of caffeine or head straight to class. The swing vote for the decision was the thought of drowsing off in Panem history; Jude Donovan did give an unbelievably tedious lecture yesterday. The coffee didn’t carry much of surprises, it was still as strong as ever even through the layers of cream. Maybe, the faculty offered it as a form of stimulant for the students—maybe they knew how tiring life was within the academy’s uncanny compounds. And, the coffee did do its work, a momentary rush jolting his veins awake.

The distance from his room to class served a moment of recess for him, and he took every second of leisure it had to offer. Morning was slipping past now, the sun glacially ascending to its peak. The air was pregnant with the smell of salt and a sick aroma of strong coffee. He could hear, faintly, the clanks and clicks of steel from the weaponry class. Hallways were being cleared out, faces hurrying past and figurines disappearing into rooms, turns and corridors. While his eyes tried to make clear the light patterns on the ceilings, he deliberately took his time to get to class.

A lecture was in action when he entered, trying to be as discreet as he possibly could. Mr. Ronan, upfront and golden in the light like an authoritative figure. He was an authoritative figure, he realized. He reminded Phelix of a king, certain of his words and aware of the power he held. The silken hair, and the strong build were other reasons but Phelix knew they weren’t appropriate enough to mention out loud. He averted his gaze to a familiar face before the other could catch him staring and it landed on Reid’s, then on the back of Calypso Leto’s head.

( “Yesterday's assignment was a test to see which of you were actually ready to go out in the world and work as peacekeepers, and here is the truth,” )

And yesterday came back in bits and fragments. He didn’t remember the exact topic, only vaguely, but Mr. Ronan’s words had a gravity to it that Phelix was drawn to. ( “Most of you failed.” ) A wave of panic rose and, he hastily repressed it. A part of him was confident he aced it, but the other part that had the reins told him he was one of the most.

Tension bubbled and leaked off their bodies, anticipation starting a rush within. The clicks of the clock were audible, along with the frantic rhythms of the hearts.

(“Phelix,”) Breathed in. (“Stick around after class,”) Gasped out. Eyes turned, every gaze lunging with daggers at him. The perplexed expression, evident on his features, couldn’t be peeled away. Tongue choked and stumbled over a frantic string of words— “Really?” He spurted out, then winced at the implication of sarcasm his tone might had given off. “I mean – um, yeah. Yeah, sure, professor Ronan.”