[Typh Shrine] The Shape of the Stratosphere (Alain, Pierce)

[div style="width:50%;opacity:0.5;font-size:0.85em;border-bottom:1px solid #ffffff;"]WEDNESDAY, 21 MARCH 2001, 5:15 PM[/div]

[div style="width:450px;font-family:Abel;font-size:14px;text-align:left;"]“How to Write a Poem

Catch the air
around the butterfly.”
― Katerina Stoykova Klemer, Въздухът около пеперудата[/div]

Aiolos smiled as he unwrapped the package that had been brought by owl to his office at the Elemental Council complex. It was perhaps not as normal to receive such a delivery among the Elementals, but it was perfectly normal among wizarding families, and although both his parents were Muggleborn, it was still the order of the day to use such things. The creme coloured paper whistled neatly into a nearby waste basket as he took it off of what turned out to be a book of poetry - a special edition of "The air around the butterfly" by Katerina Klemer, originally published side-by-side in Bulgarian and English, this copy also including a Greek translation. For which Aiolos was immensely grateful. English remained a somewhat elusive language for whatever reason, a far cry from the Council Gaelic he used every day, the French of his school days, and the Hellenic he had been raised speaking.

It was a gift from Mána, of course. Aiolos' mother knew of his love for the artistic word as much as for the descriptive tableau, and she must have searched far and wide for a three-language edition of this book, or else paid to have it done for him. A single tear leaked out of his eye at the thought. Ahh, mána and papá... though he didn't get to see his family very often at all, there was no love lost between them all.

Aiolos flipped open the book to a random page and read, though the poem made as little sense in Greek as it seemed to in English (and just forget about the Bulgarian):

[div style="width:450px;font-family:Abel;font-size:14px;text-align:left;"]"Often I Wish I Were
a potato.

Eyes opened
in all directions.

Unafraid
of the cold earth.

The difference
between life and death

for somebody.” [/div]

As confusing as it was, the poem was intriguing somehow. It absolutely drew in Aiolos' interest, and he hated that now that it had arrived, he had to put the book down already. Two of his juniors, Alain St. Clare and Pierce Lachapelle, were coming to see him today and inquire about further development of their Typh castings. As he glanced at the clock, he realised that they would be here any moment. And yet... he looked back at the book and flipped to an earlier page, the one with the short little poem that the title of the book was taken from.

"The air around the butterfly," he mused, chewing his lip thoughtfully. Then with a sigh, he drew on one of his favourite shirts - a mesh hooded knitted vest which allowed him to feel the air on his skin while being "covered up" and grabbed his Acolyte's robe, though he doubted he would actually put it on. Except at truly formal events Aiolos was a much more practical Acolyte than a follower of decorum. He stepped out of his private office into the public space of the Typh shrine, closing the door behind him, and began striding to an area set off in the back of the shrine specifically for such training. The poetic form of his gift from Mána was already changing his way of thinking and this lesson promised to be full of anapestic academia. [span style="display: none;"] @Alain St. Clare @Pierce Lachapelle [/span]

Despite the fact that it was woven into the fiber of his being and all that, elementalism kind of freaked Pierce out.

As a kid it was a really big deal, being chosen, being different. And naturally as he grew older and followed all the teachings he felt like he was really part of something, indoctrinated into all the council had to offer. For a while, he and the rest of the young typhs were practically the poster children at Inverness: smart and sharp-witted and charming. But by the time Pierce was old enough to leave Beauxbatons he too decided to leave everything — his friends, his family, his life’s path. The eccentricity and occasional recklessness of the element inside of him was a blessing and a curse all at once, and that was as true today as ever.

Being back at Inverness after all this time was harrowing. It didn’t feel real, it didn’t feel familiar. It felt daunting and intimidating and distant. And as was the case for all things Pierce didn’t want to do, he’d been avoiding it like the plague. The week of his impending catch-up lesson was filled with all the tasks he never, ever seemed to get around to. His apartment was impeccably cleaned, his laundry was fresh and folded, he’d even got around to alphabetizing his bookshelf. He was loath to be here to the point that he was surely running late.

Skittering around the corner he was in simple street clothes — jeans and a sweater and a denim jacket. He was panting, catching his breath, screeching to a halt before Aiolos. “Hey — I made it! And I am not late! Believe it, really, I swear I’m on time — early, even. You see I got here, and you know its been awhile,” he explained quickly, his words a mile a minute, “and I arrived on the wrong side, can you believe that? Silly me, meaning to be here, ending up over there, surrounded by all those Hors — dreadful lot, really,” he said in a playful whisper. He wasn’t sure the joke would land — Aiolos looked very serious. He was an acolyte, after all, so Pierce was never sure where they stood. The only thing Pierce was devoted to was excessive energy.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and shuffled in place. “So that’s why I’m a bit behind you know, nothing of my own doing, shouldn’t be subjected to any sort of reprimanding,” he said with an encouraging nod. “And was I supposed to bring anything? Like a book, or something?” he added, “because I’m really out of the loop after all these years and the only thing it said in the letter was the date so, again, if I’m missing something I really don’t think that should be counted against me,” he said with a nervous grin. This place made him jittery, extra-jumpy. He knew he was being ridiculous — all that was missing was a microphone before him and a brick wall behind. Is this thing on?

He really hoped Alain would arrive soon, he needed someone around that understood his zany, restless energy. Someone who could help keep him in check and smooth it over when his jokes fell flat. Someone who could calm him. It was then that a chime sounded the hour, light and melodic but causing Pierce to flinch all the same. He brightened, standing up straighter. “See, I’m really not late,” he offered, clearly realizing it for the first time. Oops. With his hand caught in the cookie jar, he shuffled back and forth, smiling nervously.

“That shirt is quite fetching on you, Aiolos, have you been working out?”

Alain St. Clare was in a determined mood.

It had been over a year since his return to Inverness and the handsome blonde felt he had progressed enough in his training to become a Zealot by the end of the year. In terms of spell casting he had mastered creating a hand that allowed him to grab everything in sight, generating a bubble of air for underwater breathing and conjuring a full blown hurricane. However, the twenty two year old had yet to master its counter Typh Tranquilia, which would allow him to calm said hurricane and other storms. It was for that reason Alain had made himself wait until one of the acolytes was available to meet before trying to master the Advocate level spell. While he considered himself to be a powerful elemental, the French man was not stupid enough to conjure storms he was not fully capable of controlling. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble with his superiors for accidentally destroying an out of the way village through wayward spell casting.

At present the Beauxbatons alumnus was stood outside of the ‘The Devil’s Den’ having just finished a shift at work. The shady wizarding alley was as grubby looking as ever, and hook nosed old hags who perfectly fit the muggle stereotype and men who could have easily been part troll were congregated throughout the street. It never ceased to amaze Alain how even in the brightest of days the alley maintained a dark feel to it. In the blondes hand was an empty bottle of juice. He had drunk it earlier that afternoon, and thanks to a colleague, it would now function as a portkey to Inverness. Normally he would have morphed and allowed himself to be carried there by the current, but there wasn’t enough time between the end of his shift and the half five start time Aiolos had arranged. So the less elegant form of magical travel would have to suffice.

As planned at precisely five fifteen pm the familiar feeling of the world sinking around him began to manifest. Moments later the elemental found himself landing on the crisp green of the land surrounding the shrines of Inverness. The blond must have made quite the sight. Alain wobbled on his feet for several moments as he waited for the sudden wave of dizziness to abate. He was clad in a pair of dark green robes, which had been fitted and trimmed in a rather fashionable styling. The extra money he was now earning was obvious in the high quality yet not overly ostentatious clothing he had recently bought. His dirty blond hair was flattened as opposed to its usual spikes and around his right wrist sat a plain watch, which was powered by magic as opposed to a battery.

After a quick exchange with the council members who happened to be roaming the grounds the French man started to walk in the direction of the Typh shrine. His movements were brisk and highlighted the sense of purpose he currently felt. It was not long until he stepped through the doorways of the shrine. The encompassing connection to his element with its feeling of openness and freedom helped to alleviate any tension he may have felt. 

As was characteristic of the overly formal Beauxbatons alumnus he arrived at the area they were to meet at precisely five thirty. Alain had arrived just in time to hear Pierce make an earnest declaration that he was not truly late for the meeting. He had just opened his mouth to make his arrival known when his former year mate decided to offer a flirtatious remark to the handsome acolyte. Yes Alain could admit that Aiolos was handsome, although he would not have flirted with the man. Not when there was information to be learnt.

“Now, now Pierce why don’t we save the flirting for after we have finished expanding our knowledge of our element” he chided in a teasing alone, which was emphasised by the warm smile on his face as he spoke.  It was then his attention turned to the oldest of the trio. The blondes’ expression suddenly grew much more serious and he spoke in the buoyant tongue of his homeland. “Good afternoon Acolyte Logothetis, and thank you for seeing us this afternoon”. The words were spoken without the slightest hint of irony. Although Alain was a rather proud man he was still capable of acknowledging it when someone held a position above his. Of course there is plenty of time for that to change one day the ambitious advocate thought with a smirk.

As Aiolos reached the approximate middle of the loosely delineated "training arena," a blond blur loped around the corner of a large decorative sculpture and stalled to a stop nearly on top of Aiolos' toes. Immediately it launched into a quick-paced explanation of how and why he wasn't late, and Aiolos was torn between amusement and exasperation. Pierce wasn't late, but this was perfectly in character with the young Advocate - absentminded, competitive (even against himself), talkative, and very abrupt. To be fair, he was also a remarkably observant and astute student and had a true love of learning, but none of that was evident beneath the hyperactive attitude the twenty-something was demonstrating now. The remark about the Hor zealots was a bit inappropriate, and might have stung someone else who was in a relationship with a Hor zealot like Aiolos was, but the Grecian understood that Pierce was just trying to cover up his anxiety about their meeting with a bad joke.

The clock chimed half past five in the evening before he could say anything in response, and Pierce began firing off at the mouth again before he could say anything new. By this point Aiolos could no longer keep a neutral, straight face, and he leaned his head back and sighed, though with a smile on his face. Even then he couldn't manage to say anything because, of all things, Pierce complimented his shirt, and his physique. The moment when Aiolos finally would have been able to get a word in edgewise... in came his other student, teasingly chastising Pierce for being inappropriate.

As unalike as the Marin wind from the Mistral. Although they had been classmates and yearmates - and housemates - at Beauxbatons, there was a marked difference between the bearings of Pierce Lachapelle and Alain St. Clare. Where Pierce was in wonder of the world and easily distracted, Alain had a singular focus and a bounty of confidence. Where Pierce was very relaxed and casual in his appearance, Alain was a bit elitist, very well to-do, groomed and high-class. He was an expert at controlling his features and not letting his emotions show.

But at the same time there was much that was the same about his two Typh Advocates. Both were eager students and both kept somewhat to themselves. Both were attractive in their own ways, and both were bisexual, but both were also less than half of Aiolos' age. Not that that necessarily had stopped him before, as long as the other party (or parties) were consenting adults. More to the point, they were not here for a rendezvous, a point which Aiolos had no difficulty in remembering since he really was first and foremost a teacher. They were here to learn.

Pierce had set the tone - and language - for most of the conversation, having defaulted to French in all of his fluster, and Alain had responded likewise. Since the two Advocates were both native Frenchmen, and Aiolos was very fluent in the language from his own time at Beauxbatons (three decades before them), Aiolos felt comfortable continuing in this vein rather than forcing them to use Council Gaelic. After all, he preferred his sessions with his "students" to be informal, more like mentoring than tutoring or teaching. "Good afternoon, both of you," he smiled broadly at both Advocates. "I always welcome time to share my knowledge with others, especially such enthusiastic - and appreciative - peers." He winked at Pierce at this comment, before composing his face once again. "I understand you would like to continue learning your Advocate castings. Are you both mentally and physically prepared for the exercise? Do you have any particular questions before we begin?"[span style="display:none;"] @Pierce Lachapelle @Alain St. Clare [/span]