Speak softly and carry a big stick

Iliril of the Chant

Why were they even still talking. Was this guy just not able to take a hint? They weren't even hints at this point so much as blatant suggestions to go away. Iliril simply said, "Y-yes," still not quite getting the idea that shorter answers were going to lead to even longer questions and thus force him to put up with his tag-a-long for a greater amount of time.

It was a huge mistake to do so, but Iliril had always thought that mages from the School of Staves were supposed to be more concise than those of the other schools. Well. Now he knew.

"I'm g-going b-back t-to m-my r-room," he announced, to nobody in particular. And then, because it seemed like he really had make this point specific or else, he added, "Y-you c-can't c-come."

And promptly started to walk away in a noticeably wrong direction.

It wasn't like Iliril knew his way around anyways.

Iliril of the Chant

Every moment that ticked by saw the loss of yet another shred of Iliril's rationality. The stress of exhaustion, culture shock, survivor's guilt, effectively being rendered powerless, and having to deal with an utter leech who was also from his world did not make a for a good combination. Granted, the last one wasn't really an issue so much as an otherwise manageable subject that came completely out of the blue to punch him in the kidneys when he was looking the other way. Which was. Which was. That was pretty much a description for a problem, actually.

When Enelen continued to follow him, Iliril almost was ready to start screaming in frustration but after thinking about it a bit more, it just made him feel sick so he decided to sulk instead. All of the buildings on the campus looked the same to him. Even the landscaping looked the same. Maybe it was the same. Who even knew. He simply kept making turns whenever it seemed right to, unconsciously trying to realign himself to a school that did not exist in this Earth. So every time he hit a dead end, it both confused and terrified him.

Eventually, it got to the point where he couldn't do it anymore. Enelen was still following along so purely out of petty, vicious spite, he found a tree and circled around it a few times. Just to see if the other boy would copy that. It was nonsensical and weird but it made him feel just a bit better.

He let out a sudden burst of nervous laughter. Congratulations, Iliril. You've graduated from writing chants to walking in full circles. It was just like being a toddler again. He must have been really out of his mind then if he was getting some kind of sick joy out of just walking around a damn plant.

But, being away from everybody and everything familiar, it really did feel like he had lost his legs in a certain sense. Just what was he supposed to do? What was Enelen even doing? Nobody had even made a real plan for what was supposed to happen after, did they just assume on some level that they would all fail? And that would be the end of it?

He stopped abruptly and turned to Enelen, trying not to meet his eyes. "All r-right," the mage said. "I d-don't k-know. Are y-you h-happ-py n-now?"

Iliril of the Chant

This guy was a bit single minded, wasn't he? Iliril thought in exasperation. He didn't think that Enelen understood that his reasons for prying were not important. It was the fact that he was prying at all. But that was not an argument he was willing to pursue at the moment because he had the distinctive feeling that it would be riddled with why's and so what about this?

Forgetting himself in a serious lapse of judgment, the mage asked, "D-do y-you d-do t-this w-with ev-ver-ryb-bod-dy or j-just t-the p-peop-ple f-from t-this w-world?" Because really, the last thing he wanted to do was open up the floor for more questions and explanations. So he immediately cut off whatever answer might have been coming with a grimace and a frantic wave of the hand.

"Ok-kay, ok-kay, j-just-" Maybe it would have been less work to simply tell him. But at the moment, Iliril was much more interested in the idea of food and his bed, not necessarily in that order. For a little while, his mind completely clouded over, the next half a minute or so just a blank spot in his memory.

"L-look, if y-you c-can f-find s-somet-thing f-for m-me t-to eat, I'll t-tell y-you," Iliril relented at last. "I'll b-be j-just h-here, I g-guess."

The base of the tree was looking like an appealing place to just rest so he sat down in the shade, taking the opportunity to take off his headgear and put it on the ground next to him. Why he had even brought it out with him was beyond him. Simple instinct and reflexes, probably.

If Enelen was going to beat it for a while, though, he had better come back soon because now that Iliril had sat down, he didn't particularly feel like getting back up. Or doing much of anything.

Iliril of the Chant

Oh. Right. Staves. Iliril had forgotten that some people could actually use magic for mundane tasks like fetching random items. He was pretty uncertain how he felt about that. On one hand, that was great and extremely useful. But on the other hand, as somebody from the School of Chants, he couldn't help but think how that was a waste of magic when somebody already had a perfectly good pair of legs to run around with. In other words, it was okay if other mages did it. But not him.

So since he couldn't decide whether he should be grateful to not starve, displeased with the waste, baffled with the fact that Enelen was being polite to a spell, or annoyed that Enelen had deprived him of time to actually think things through by being overly efficient- Iliril accepted the food with a mumbled thanks, sounding as down on himself as he really was. Depending on what point of view somebody took, he was either straight up accepting charity and imposing on somebody else's kindness or extorting bribes out of a guy who just wanted to know what he was doing. "T-this is f-fine, r-real-ly."

Salad was weird. That was Iliril's first sluggish thought as he tasted it. Since his school was in a strange location that could be accurately summed up as "mountain caves surrounded by desolate wasteland," greens were not something that he saw much of. Still, food was food and after the first few forkfuls, his stomach decided to helpfully remind him of the fact that he hadn't eaten in a while and hurry him along.

Soon enough, he was left with an empty container and frowning vaguely to himself as he wondered what was he supposed to do next. He did promise answers, though, and Iliril wasn't big enough of a jerk just to take somebody's lunch and run off. Especially since Enelen was being kind of foolishly trusting and helpful.

Iliril dug into his pocket to find the pin that he had hidden there, the one that marked him as a member of the School of Chants. Then, with a sigh, he threw it over to the other mage. "C-catch." That was really the easiest explanation for everything and even if he didn't have this frustrating stutter, Iliril wouldn't have known what else to say.

He just hoped that Enelen wouldn't suffocate him or anything.

Iliril of the Chant

At the silence, Iliril went through several reactions ranging from vaguely relived at the peace to not-so vaguely worried because Enelen had been quiet for quite a while and that was. "Strange," would probably be the correct word for it but then again, Iliril had only just met him today. Still, as the pause went on, Iliril started to think that maybe he had actually broken the other mage. It was an amusing idea at first but he had to wonder. Okay, maybe Enelen was kind of annoying but Iliril was also having a lousy day so he was pretty sure that had it been a good day, he really would have panicked over that.

He saw the exact moment when Enelen came to. To be fair, it was kind of hard not to when his entire face lit up like a bonfire. Instinctively, Iliril huddled back against the tree trunk before he could have too much of his personal space invaded and tried to not feel intimidated by how overjoyed Enelen was being.

"Y-yeah, I am," he said warily, hands clasped in front of his chest. It wasn't quite a defensive gesture but it could be at a moment's notice. "I'm f-from the S-school of C-chants in S-Sard. It's ov-ver in t-the east-tern d-des-serts. In K-Khalk-ked-don."

An almost bitter taste filled his mouth. "S-sorr-ry if y-you w-were exp-pect-ting s-someb-bod-dy else," Iliril said. "I'm j-just t-tak-king up s-space."