Lesson Two: Pointy Koxi! [Candidate Lesson!]

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Aburoqaph had a plan.

His wasn't up yet. The rainbow knew that, and he'd plotted it this way. He'd even done some special surveillance just to make absolutely positively sure that Ts'kal wasn't going to interrupt his plans. Like a brightly-coloured ninja, the simourv crept over to the corner, swishing the end of his tail silently through the air. Candidates were always bored when His taught, so he had decided to change it up! Surely they'd be happier if he taught! He was a good teacher! He knew lots of stuff! And he was sticking to the course curriculum! Yup! Koxi anatomy today!

Stretching out his nose, the rainbow quietly caught hold of the drawings Ts'kal had made for the first candidates' lessons. Backing up to his area of the eyling, Aburo unrolled them thoughtfully, and peered at the carefully rendered drawings critically. Oh, those were simply no fun at all! They were boring! That was probably why nobody liked lessons. They were always so... so... boring. And linear. These were far too linear! Aburoqaph would fix them! Make them better - much more better! They'd be beautiful! Wonderful! Amazing!

Stealing a piece of paper from the desk to one side of the room, Aburo grabbed a pencil in his giant beak and carefully scribbled out what a koxi really looked like. Incapable of rolling it up, he merely grabbed it and wriggled happily, prancing to the ledge of the eyling. Candidates~! Lesson time! Up! Upupup! You have lotsa cool stuff to learn today! he called, careful to hide the announcement from His. It was extra-early in the morning (yes, just to keep Ts'kal from waking up before him), and Aburo launched himself happily into the sunrise, feathers gleaming in the pink light. Yay! Lessons! And he got to teach them today! Oh, glory be! Trilling as soon as he was out of earshot of the cave, the rainbow spiraled down to land in front of the barracks, sans Ts'kal, with a happy chirrup. The candidates were assembling, and as soon as they were all there, the simourv happily presented his scribbled, unrecognizable xymokoxi. Koxi time! And indeed it was, for the simourv propped the crinkled paper against his claws, and drew in a deep breath, ready to launch into the spiel he had prepared just for today. Just for his special, ever-so-lucky candidates!

Koxi are bad, he began in his most authoritative voice (which sounded suspiciously like he was trying not to giggle). They're pointy. And they eat people. So I shall teach you how to kill them, more or less. Inhaling, Aburo warbled happily at his class, and bent his head to look at the picture he'd drawn. Pointing at a blob on top, he flicked his tail and trilled. That's its head. The only not-pointy spot on it is the eyeballs. Poke those! Clearly, he explained, the eyeballs were protected by pointy teeth, so the candidates should avoid those too. Being eaten wasn't a good idea because then you'd be koxi poop, and who wanted to be that? So really, your simourv should poke the eyes, especially if it was a little simourv and could fly fast! Like him! He could poke koxi in the eyes - oh, but make sure they're standing still, so you don't accidentally poke their teeth instead, because the scaly things don't like being poked in the teeth and they'll bite you for it. Therefore, the head wasn't the best target unless you had a great big simourv. Like Eceph! She was big! She could smush those koxi! But if you didn't have an Eceph or an Alianph or a Canph, you probably can't smush the koxi, so bite their tails instead! And scream at them! Koxi were bad so you should scream at them to make sure they knew it. Oh, but they screamed back, so you should be ready for that because they were loud and stupid-sounding.

Right around this point was the time Ts'kal arrived. Hearing his simourv's wayward and baffling explanations (particularly baffling when he saw the scribbled-upon disaster of a sheet of paper at his rainbow's feet), the candidatemaster sighed. Carrying his drawings, which he'd rescued from the floor, he darted around the crowd of candidates, and delivered an authoritative slap to Aburoqaph's leg. Contrary to the desired effect, he warbled. I'm teaching, Mine! They're learning lots!

This was doubtful, but Ts'kal decided not to argue right in front of the candidates. Instead he tactfully picked up the 'drawing,' and replaced it with his much more accurate one. "Ahem. I'm not sure what Aburoqaph has been teaching you this morning, but if someone will tell me I'll be most grateful. I'm sure it's had something to do with koxi anatomy, but I'm really not sure how much." Eyeing his simourv (who trilled at him) narrowly, the candidatemaster pointed at his own drawing. "How many of the weak points have you learned? The eyes? Elbows? Joints? Eyes are best, as I'm sure you know by now - Aburoqaph likes to eat them, did you know? - but those other points are important too. And, since I'm sure all of you will hate us both forever if I lecture you after what Aburo's put you all through, I have another idea." Holding up a stack of paper - perhaps twenty sheets - the candidatemaster lifted a brow, and also held up a handful of worn pencils. "Draw a koxi, everyone. It doesn't have to be good. Label the weak points and the strong points, and then discuss with each other what you think would be the most effective strategy for a simourv meaning to kill a koxi."

[Kat]

It was not entirely fair, but Jackson found Aburoqaph’s voice absolutely, insufferably intolerable. It was the cheer that bothered the man, not because Jackson hated happiness, but rather because the excess of cheer made him feel like he would never reach that level of happiness again. Aburoqaph’s voice created a starch contrast to Jackson’s own demeanor, his own stony anger, which paralyzed him into a stunned emotionless pain. The more Jackson contemplated the way he hated being awoken by this voice, this voice which only made him feel like he was worthless and sad, the more he felt his heart beat against his chest. The familiar rush of anger zapped through Jackson’s body, and he felt his muscles tense. His hands clenched under his sheets, and he began quickly to sip short breathes through his nose. The breaths made his nose feel dry and crisp, but he could not help but to take in the air. Jackson could not get up in this state. He could not go and interact with people in this state. He was much too upset to go out and attempt to treat people well, because he could not. He was so angry that he might say something inappropriate; he might act out. His fantasies, the one where he made the people around him as hurt as he, frightened him and exhilarated him at the same time. But mostly, they frightened him, because Jackson could tell that he lived on the verge of enacting them. No, he could not go out like this, because he was going to hurt someone if he went to the lesson now. He would not be able to punish the simourv for making him feel so terrible, so inadequate, and Jackson knew it was not fair to take out his fury on the other candidates. It was his own inner battle, and he refused to take it out on innocents. Jackson used to be a good-hearted person, and he wanted that cheer back, that playful lightness with which he used to view the world. It was gone.

Instead of leaving for the lesson, Jackson instead laid in bed. He slowed his breathing down, sipping the air into his nose, and slowly, he felt his body begin to relax. He buried himself in his sheets, and he pressed his knees up into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around his knees, so that he hugged his body in a compressed position. Slowly, Jackson started to calm down, and finally, he decided that he was feeling well enough to leave for the lesson. He was finally feeling numb again, and he knew that he was going to be able to keep himself calm and collected. By the time Jackson arrived at the lesson, Aburoqaph was drawing on the paper, and Jackson straggled to the back of the pack, where he slouched into a tense droop, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He could not bring himself to appear excited or attentive; Jackson did not have the energy or the power.

Jackson scowled at Ts’kal as the candidate master arrived. He was honestly, almost as tedious as his simourv, although he was not as perky. Jackson did not want to draw. Jackson refused to draw. Drawing was not a task that Jackson would perform. He could just not do it. He did not want to think about koxi. He did not want to think about what they looked like when he watched them smash his Isabel with their claws. He did not want to think about the way they had loomed over him and made him feel so helpless, so utterly worthless, and he could not make himself picture them, because all he could picture instead was his wife’s dead body. Jackson picked up one of the pencils and grabbed one of the sheets of paper, and he tried to place the pencil to the paper. The images which flashed through Jackson’s head at that minute, of the koxis he imagined, made him press against the paper with the pencil, channeling his anger, his pain, into the weight of his hand and his wrist. The pencil gave way under Jackson’s hand. The pencil shook, small fractures darting up the stick, before the pencil snapped in half, leaving the snub of it in Jackson’s hand. He threw the pieces of the pencil on the ground, his body heaving with anger which was beginning to build. He gasped an angry yell of exacerbation, and he hissed.
”I don’t want to draw this picture.”
Jackson stated, and even though he tried to keep his anger in check, so that it did not destroy him, Jackson’s anger crept into his tone, and it was gravely and snappy. He heard it, and so Jackson crossed his arms across his chest, and he began to squeeze his arms into his chest, so that he felt comforted and strong within his own grip. He could not let his guard down. He could not say anything any longer. He was there, and he refused to allow the blackness to wash over him, despite the powerful threat.

[zeis]

It was with reluctance that Serapais had listened to the head-splitting voice of Aburoqaph. She had been pleasantly surprised with the course of the last lesson, and had really thrown herself into the self defense training with respectable results. Still, she was wary of further instruction, and expected these unorthodox lessons to morph back into hated etiquette and other mundane topics. So she dressed and headed out to meet her instructors, fully expecting a disappointing topic awaiting her after the initial bait of the first lessons.

Now she stared at the scrawled drawing of a Xymokoxi with an expression of tempered surprise, that she quickly restrained into a look of cool interest. Now this, this was something she had never learned about before! Like any youth growing up in Spiderland, she had heard the terrifying anecdotes of Koxi attack, and had often heard her parents discussing the latest casualties in hushed tones. But unlike so many others, while her life had been touched by tragedy, hell practically slapped by it, it was not Koxi related tragedy. So she was able to look at the diagram of the beast with a little less hate, and a little more curiosity.

But it was hard to be impressed with the rainbow simourv's teaching style. She crossed her arms over her chest, and furrowed her brow in concentration, trying to make sense of the barrage of random words the bright colored creature mentally assaulted them with. The girl brightened visibly for once when Ts'kal arrived on the scene, relieved to hear his relatively sane voice. His short lecture was a more concise version of his bonded's wandering spiel, for which she was grateful. Not only that, but he had an assignment for them as well. She rather unashamedly cut in line, and favored any who challenged her with a haughty look of dismissal. She took the paper and pencil from the Candidatemaster with a fake smile, and strode away to find some personal space.

She avoided a dark skinned old candidate who looked like he was about to explode, and sat down to begin her work. She wasn't much of an artist, but she figured she could manage something that at least looked better than Aburoqaph's attempt. The girl bit her lip and drew a slightly wavery elongated oval, then managed a head, tail, and legs. Her attempt at perfection was still incredibly amateurish, but she labored over the actual drawing more than the labeling of weak points. It was only when she was satisfied with the image that she started circling various spots a giant armored lizard might be damaged.

~~~~~~~~~

Shaegir rose spry, ready, and willing for the new day at Aburoqaph's urging. She was feeling in a particularly good mood today, and thought perhaps the rainbow's mood was infectious. She had survived learning how to fight, and despite her initial reservations she privately had come to enjoy it. It may have been quite a rude and brutal practice, but it was satisfying to see something she did be so... effective! The slighter girl had ended up outperforming her twin sister, though she was of course, polite enough not to bring that up. So it was with high expectations, and a smile that she arrived on the scene, dressed finely and neatly in a trim green and brown dress.

She giggled at the drawing that Aburoqaph waved like a flag, and offered some polite playful applause at its unveiling. The girl had no idea that simourv could draw! Or that they could be so talented! She had only seen illustrations of Koxi in books, and sometimes scrawled graffiti style on walls in Itnala. But from all the depictions she had seen and read, it certainly looked very accurate. She listened to the lecture eagerly, and had to stifle more tittering laughter at their for once solo instructors antics. Where was Ts'kal, today? Not that she minded having Aburoqaph teach, but it was quite unusual of him to be late. Perhaps he was ill?

Shaegir was about to raise her hand to ask when the Candidatemaster arrived, and once again took control of the class. She listened just as raptly, though the idea of actually using the information made her slightly squeamish. Enjoying wrestling and sparring was one thing, but... tearing out a Xymokoxi's eyes? Having your simourv eat them? It all sounded very gory, but fighting Koxi had to be done. It was for the good of the people that the riders did battle. A very romantic and inspiring notion. So she took the paper with a sunny smile, and went about her work a short distance away.

She drew slowly, dreamily, humming a song quietly under her breath while she worked. The girl had a marked bit more talent than her sister, and as a result the finished product came out looking a great deal more like a Koxi. She marked the weak points she remembered with little stars, and was trying to recall some of the harder ones when the boy next to her snapped his pencil. She looked over at him curiously, and blinked as he threw his assignment to the floor. Shaegir frowned, and took a few steps forward, dipping down to pick up the fallen piece of paper. The fact the man was upset was clear, but as to why, she had no idea. Her dark blue eyes turned sympathetically on Jackson, and she offered gently. "Do you want me to draw it for you? You can tell me what parts to circle..."

[Fox]

No sooner had Aburoqaph’s overly-cheerful wake-up call resounded through Silas’s sleep-fogged mind, than the young man opened his mouth to yawn. And then he sneezed. Twice, in quick succession. That woke him up quite effectively. There was nothing quite like the feel of cat fur up one’s nose. With a faintly grumpy growl, Silas shoved at the warm orange-and-white ball that had practically taken up his whole pillow, before rolling to a sitting position. Another day, another lesson. Life didn’t stop in Eyrie just because he and a few other candidates had been left standing at the Sands. Silas’s only regret at present was for the fact that Mashiro had moved to the Winglets’ Barrack and would no longer be taking lessons with the candidates. It wasn’t that the former apothecary had been particularly attached to the albino boy; it was more that he was a familiar face in an unfamiliar place, and hey, he wasn’t all that bad to talk to either.

With a reluctant sigh, a hand rose to run itself through dark hair, combing it back into some semblance of order before Silas rose to dress. He took his time, unconcerned about possibly being late for the lesson. Quite frankly, if Ts’kal was going to insist on them being up this early, he was just asking for people to come in late. Eventually, Silas wandered into the early morning light, dressed to face the day and the disgusting happiness of the Candidatemaster’s simourv. He did wonder whether all rainbows were so chirpy. It didn’t seem possible. Silas spent a blank moment staring at a confusion of lines on paper, not listening to Aburoqaph at all. Then he realised that the simourv was not just chattering to one candidate in particular; he was attempting to teach.

Amusement welled up, and Silas couldn’t help the snort of laughter that left him as he tuned into the Raibow’s speech. Poke them? Well, alright, there was just the little problem of a mouthful of sharp teeth to get out of the way of first. The man didn’t fancy the idea of being- what was it?- ‘koxi poop’. By the time Ts’kal arrived, Silas was grinning from ear to ear, and stubbornly sitting on the urge to comment loudly on the simourv’s teachings. Instead, he settled for collecting his drawing materials (not that he would do them justice; Silas was perfectly aware that he couldn’t draw for peanuts) and returning to give the task his best shot. It was coincidence really, that when he meandered back to the group he stopped beside a couple of candidates that he had not yet met; a dark-skinned man and two girls alike enough to be twins. Silas was a sociable creature, even if he did rather liked the idea of people more than the people themselves, and he kept an ear pricked for conversations he could chime in on even as he drew a cheerfully lopsided animal-lizard-thing with googly, crossed eyes and a tongue sticking out of its mouth.

The sound of a pencil snapping had the effect of making the young man look up from embellishing his poor, comical rendition of a koxi. It was only then that he actually registered the flat anger on the dark man’s face, albeit with a faint startle of surprise. My, my, what had his drawers in a bunch? The girl on the man’s other side apparently had the same thought, as a moment later Silas heard a quiet voice offering to complete the man’s task for him. Leaning forward around Jackson, the young man grinned disarmingly at the girl (she was perhaps younger than Silas had thought her to be at first glance; pretty in a wispy, diminutive sort of way, but too young to be of much interest to Silas in any area beyond friendship. A pity, that.) and quirked a dark eyebrow. ”Now, lass, how’s that fair, I ask ye? Us poor lads over here didn’t get no help from yer lovely self.” So her question hadn’t been directed at him; your point being? Silas winked good-naturedly, Flirting being his default approach to any situation, before turning a rather more serious gaze to Jackson, though his eyebrow remained raised in a distinctly sardonic manner. ”So, ye don’t want ta draw the stinkin’ koxi. I’d advise ye ta try anyway; we’re here ta learn, after all.” With a bright grin, Silas brandished his pencil. ”Need a new one? I’m done.”

[zeis]

Serapais glanced up to watch Jackson's outburst with a raised eyebrow, pausing with her pencil midway to the paper. The other man was a deal older than her, but here he was tossing papers and breaking things like a child. The petulant way he stood, almost hugging himself reminded her quite a bit of her own rebellious youth. But she was older now, more mature, especially for a fourteen year old girl. She supposed she was lucky to be blessed with such common sense. The girl made a slightly muted sound in her throat that may have been a plea for silence, or quite possibly laughter and turned back to her work.

She rolled her eyes as she heard Shaegir offer him help. Really, there was simply no helping some people. Serapais supposed she couldn't blame her for trying, as that was simply who she was. It was still a harmless situation so far. However, if Jackson were to snap as easily as he had snapped that pencil, she would step in if any of that ire was directed at her sibling. The tip of her pencil tapped thoughtfully on the Koxi's oval shaped head, as she tried to think of ways a simourv and rider could go about attacking one.

She listened to Silas with half an ear, not entirely approving of the way he spoke to Shaegir, but not disapproving enough to act. Once she organized her thoughts, she turned to face them, and took control of the conversation. "Obviously, the best way for a simourv to kill a xymokoxi is to attack from the air. If they dive on it and attack it, then fly away, the xymokoxi are almost entirely helpless." She slid her pencil behind her ear as she spoke, and glanced to each of them.

~~~~~~~~

Shaegir looked hopefully up at Jackson, and offered a small smile. She didn't know what was making the other candidate so upset, but if there was a way for her to help, she was willing to do it. It was simply the right thing to do. His sleepy dark blue eyes turned curiously to Silas when he spoke, and the corners of her lips turned further upwards. A hand rose to her lips to stifle a giggle, not so much flattered as entertained. What a gentlemen! And what a curious way of speaking, so much like something out of a novel! She wondered if simourv also had accents, and resolved at once to speak with more of them. "I would have gladly drawn yours, too." She turned her attention back on Jackson, and spoke agreeably. "He's right. Ts'kal is teaching us what we need to know."

She turned slight to regard her sister as she offered her theory with light surprise. Oh yes, she had forgotten about that part of the assignment! She examined her drawing of a Koxi for a moment, and then turned her gaze thoughtfully upward. "Hmm... That makes sense. I don't think they can always stay flying though. What if they can't fly away, and end up on the ground?"

[Kat]

Jackson knew he was acting like a child. He knew that he had allowed his temper to control him, and that he had lost his delicate composure. He hated this oversight. He was making a bad impression on the other candidates, and although Jackson did not care what they thought of him, he felt the fear of his own building temper rising inside of him. He hated when his temper overcame him, because it made him feel so terribly out of control. It was as if he could not maintain his own power, his own beliefs inside of his body, and he feared the thoughts that coursed through his mind when he was angry, of violence and pain, as those thoughts were ones that he had never experienced before the death of his wife. When he was approached by the younger girl, however, Jackson felt a mixture of shame and fury shake him, since he was both humiliated that she had even considered making the approach, and also furious that she would make him feel that way. He chewed on his lip, and then he snorted, expelling the air as if he was a dangerous, horned animal ready to charge. But then, Jackson realized that he needed to control his anger, to control his power, before he hurt the girl, before he screamed at the girl and shook her until she could not longer think. He turned to her, and his anger flashed across his face in bright lights in his brown eyes, but then he stopped, pausing his mind and quelling his emotions. She was young and stupid, and he refused to harm her. He refused to harm anyone, even if he wanted to snarl at her and to hit her.

Jackson managed to stop his fury, to expel it away with his hissing breath, and his anger melted off of his face, replaced with a cold, emotionless deadness.
”No, I can draw it myself.”
Jackson replied, after a long, hesitant and thick pause, and his eyes turned into a glossy, glazed shallowness. His words were completely affectless, toneless and emotionless, despite the emotion that forced him into a submissive loss of control. He felt guilty about his outburst, shamed by his reaction, and he wanted to explain and to redeem himself in front of the other candidates. He knew he would never have that chance. Jackson did not like it when the other man approached the girl who addressed Jackson. There was something off-putting about Silvanus’s demeanor and tone which made Jackson prickle. Jackson sniffed, and then he shook his head and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, because he felt that he should find such a tone being addressed to a young girl so drastically inappropriate.

Then the man spoke, and Jackson turned towards the man, the scorn written across Jackson’s face. He tightened his lips, his body stretching a bit taller, as if he attempted to make himself larger and more intimidating. Then, Jackson relaxed, the fruitlessness of his attempt overwhelming him, as he decided to ignore the budding fury which threatened to rear its ugly head again. It was best not to allow himself to be overcome with anger towards the new man. Once Jackson managed to control himself in one sitting, he could usually keep himself under control in the same span of time. He did not allow himself to submit to the affront of the other man.
”I can do what I want.”
Jackson replied, slowly and coldly, before he grabbed, snatched, really, the pencil from Silas. Jackson had to draw the creature now, because if he did not, then he would feel as if he allowed Silvanus to win. Jackson began to draw, his figure rather unimpressive, a few lines connected to a pair of lazy wings and a circular head.
”But I’ll only need to know if I impress.”
Jackson mumbled, and even though he spoke rather slowly and calmly, Jackson’s words were quiet and defeated. He did not think he would bond. He knew Valenph had chosen him, but Jackson could not figure out why. He was not the kind of person who deserved to be connected to one of the incredible simourvs.