Fallowfell; Second Semester Chapter – 38

The Exchange

 

 
I type out the invoices for Hannes, invoices that he, as the student-council’s treasurer will have to approve or deny. In doing so I skim some of them over.

 

 
I frown at some of the requests. 1C, one of the classes in my year wants money to purchase a larger number of water-rifles. What could they possible want to do with water-rifles in the middle of winter?

 

 
Another request jumps up at me; 2A, one of the sophomore classes wants to book a trip to Berlin. Yeah, good luck with that one. They have already been to Oslo.

 

 
I look at the clock and get out of my chair. The “office” of the student-council consists of a study for the president, with an antechamber for the secretary and a second study for the vice-president. Unluckily, the treasurer has a room on another level in Ochre, meaning that when I do deliver the invoices, I will have to walk across the entirety of the building.

 

 
I knock on Hannah- I mean, I knock on President Duchamp’s door. She’s a bit of stickler for the rules, one being that we refer to her as the President when we put our time in. We usually abbreviate it to Prez, but not when she can hear.
“What?” She calls from inside her study. “You have got a meeting with President Dahaki in ten minutes.” She opens the door, glaring at me. “I hate Dahaki.” I shrug; President Danjesh Dahaki, the President of the sophomore’s student-council is…. pompous? arrogant? A blowhard?

 

 
He’s the kind of person that will dissect the storyline of a movie while at a cinema. He’s the kind of person that will spend forty minutes on his hair in preparation for a lesson that will last an hour. He’s the kind of person you don’t want to sit in a meeting in with, simply put.

 

 
I say none of these things, recognizing them for the obvious points that they are, and usher her on her way with a simple, “better get it done then”, before I resume my check of the invoices. Hah! You couldn’t pay me to be a President. Not even my weight in solid gold would do it.

 

 

 
An hour later, having done everything in my power to avoid delivering the invoices to Hannes, even cleaning the old turn of the century desk that I sit behind,I stand up.I should–vertigo— blood flows down my nose.

 

 
/Rune?! Are you alright?/ I lie on the sandstone floor of Ochre, blinking. Can I get a raincheck on that one?/ Rune?!/ I stand up, touching my nose with one hand. The damage, whatever it was, has healed. In turn, a buzz, a faint itch starts to make its presence known. The more I think of that itch, the unbearable it gets.

 

 
Ants running over my skin, a thousand stings of bees, dry serpentine tongues, argh, it’s too much.

 

 

 
I grip my head. Verde, I can’t think!/Hmm, move it./Where?!/ Health-bay, you fool./ I curse myself for not thinking of it any sooner and run for Merith. The closer I get to the health-bay, the less buzz I experience. I wrench open the door to the health-bay and stop. Sara Eksjö, Merith and Perenelle are all staring at me, as if expecting a monster.

 

 

 
“What did you do to me?!” I direct the question to Perenelle, who ignores me, taking the pulse of a scared Sara Eksjö. Sara, who watches me with a certain kind of horror. I take one step closer, and she screams. “Alien! Monster!” I feel oddly hurt by that. I mean, she’s conscious and alive in part because of me.

 

 

 
“Rune, you could you please go to the Hangar, and then back?” Perenelle phrases it as a question, but I know an order when I hear one. I prepare a counter-argument, but Verde breaks in./Do as she says. She would not ask you, were it not for some proper reason./ I sigh, and do as she say.

 

 
On my way to the Hangar, the buzzing increases, first a little then reaching a crescendo as the Hangar comes within sight. I make my way back to the health-bay, trying not to run, but the closer I get, the less buzz there is. And who is in there? /Sara Eksjö./ My blood, Perenelle needed my blood to get her better, but now it has done something to the two of us.

 

 
I re-enter the health-bay. Sara is sleeping, with Merith and Perenelle fuzzing over her./Carefully look at Perenelle’s left pocket./ I slid my eyes in that direction. A syringe pokes its head out. So letting Perenelle within lounging distance is a bad idea.

 

 
I cross my arms over my chest and wish I had two eyes. It’s kind hard to look threatening with a single eye. “Well?” I ask. Perenelle and Merith exchange covert glances. Hate those. “The reason why the Flight have kept away from human affairs, have you wondered about it?” Perenelle asks.

 

 
I have actually wondered about that. Verde won’t let me search through Greyscale’s memories and asking the question have always seemed fairly implausible. I shrug.

 

 
“Dragonblood or wyrmblood as Greyscale would say, have great healing properties. It can augment the healing process of any non-supernatural, and stories have it, make a mortal ageless given sufficient quantities”, Perenelle summarizes.

 

 
I swallow slowly, not liking what she is saying. If humans are ants, and the members of the Flight snakes…. well ants can kill snakes with large enough numbers. And the stories. Dragons are held to be symbols of longevity and health in more cultures than I can count.

 

 
“My blood healed her… but that reaction?” Now Perenelle shrugs. “I didn’t expect it. What was your reaction to her presence and vice versa?” “An itch”, I respond,” one which diminishes in her presence and increase in strength the further I am away. Her reaction?”

 

 
Merith and Perenelle exchange a second glance.

 

 
“She could pinpoint your location. And… she could hear your thoughts, Rune.”

 

 
Fuck.

 

 
/This is not good./

Fallowfell; Second Semester Chapter - 37
Fallowfell; Second Semester Chapter - 39
About

Good morning. Or perhaps it is good evening, depending upon your location perpendicular to Greenwhich. My name is Sebastian. I like to write, run, and occassionally grab a beer. Not at the same time though.

Posted in Fallowfell
One comment on “Fallowfell; Second Semester Chapter – 38
  1. DeNarr says:

    [The more I think of that itch, the unbearable it gets.]

    “the more unbearable”

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