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Description
Sylvia’s wrath was among one of the most terrifying things Malistaire had ever seen, and he was not afraid of much. She was angry, about what he was unsure. It could have been any number of things, though thankfully it didn’t seem to be him.

He watched her silently from the stone benches surrounding the field as a barrage of gold flame shot across it. The blackened metal construct she’d been dueling for the past minute began to make a sickening whining sound. Another bolt of gold flame found its mark, turning white as it bored a hole through its chest.

Malistaire took this as his cue to approach her, it had taken him nearly an hour to calibrate that construct and she’d reduced it to a heap of twisted scrap in less than a minute. If she kept this up there wouldn’t be anything left.

Sylvia stood rigid with clenched fists, breathing heavily through her barely contained rage as he tentatively drew closer.

“Again.” She said flatly, without even looking at him. “Set up the next one.”

Malistaire crossed his arms, he detested the idea of being treated like a servant.

“No.” He answered bluntly, “You’re done for today.”

“I’m not finished until I say I’m finished!”

“Excuse me?!” Malistaire said, holding up the torso of the broken metal construct so she could see the hole she’d put in it.

He promptly dropped it, the torso struck the ground with a cold clang, “You are finished, and we are leaving.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not!” She seethed, tendrils of smoke escaping from her fists.

“I know when something is eating at you, Sylvia, and blowing things to smithereens is not a way of coping with it!” He exclaimed.

Sylvia glared at him, her green eyes alight with newfound fury. He knew she wanted to strike him; he could see the desire as plain as day. He braced himself but what happened next surprised him, she turned her back to him flustered.

A moment passed and Malistaire sighed, “Will you please come with me?”

“Make me.” Sylvia taunted, refusing to give in.

"So be it." He said a smile creeping over his face. A fiendish, wicked, white grin that went from ear to ear. A smile Sylvia had turned just long enough to see; Malistaire had an idea, a wonderfully horrible idea.

***

It was perhaps the strangest thing Cyrus had ever seen, and he had seen many strange things. But this was nearing the top of the list; a certain Sylvia Spitfire slung over his brother’s shoulder, like baggage on a drake’s back. What’s more was that his brother was smiling and laughing, a deep sound that threatened to shake the earth, in the way he did when he’d done something clever. On top of this Sylvia was scowling, Cyrus hadn’t even thought she could scowl let alone frown.

Though, he could have felt the sting of her gaze from miles away as she caught sight of him.

“Cyrus!” She called, “Please help!”

Cyrus carefully approached as his brother slowed his pace.

“Thank Gavarena you’re here! Your oaf of a brother has taken me hostage.”

Cyrus babbled, eventually finding the words “So it would seem.”

“You did this to yourself Spitfire.” Malistaire seemed purely amused.

“Just because I told you to, doesn’t mean you should do it. What if I’d told you to go jump off a bridge?!” Sylvia growled spitefully kneeing him in the ribs.

“Is my company that atrocious?”

“Ugh.” Sylvia rolled her eyes, “Would you kindly put me down.”

After a moment Malistaire finally obliged.

"Thank you." She said curtly as she straightened her clothes.

Malistaire gave quick nod then slowly stalked away.

Cyrus massaged his temples, only speaking once his brother was beyond earshot, “I must apologize Sylvia, my brother is infamous for his very literal sense of humor.”

Description
Sylvia’s wrath was among one of the most terrifying things Malistaire had ever seen, and he was not afraid of much. She was angry, about what he was unsure. It could have been any number of things, though thankfully it didn’t seem to be him.

He watched her silently from the stone benches surrounding the field as a barrage of gold flame shot across it. The blackened metal construct she’d been dueling for the past minute began to make a sickening whining sound. Another bolt of gold flame found its mark, turning white as it bored a hole through its chest.

Malistaire took this as his cue to approach her, it had taken him nearly an hour to calibrate that construct and she’d reduced it to a heap of twisted scrap in less than a minute. If she kept this up there wouldn’t be anything left.

Sylvia stood rigid with clenched fists, breathing heavily through her barely contained rage as he tentatively drew closer.

“Again.” She said flatly, without even looking at him. “Set up the next one.”

Malistaire crossed his arms, he detested the idea of being treated like a servant.

“No.” He answered bluntly, “You’re done for today.”

“I’m not finished until I say I’m finished!”

“Excuse me?!” Malistaire said, holding up the torso of the broken metal construct so she could see the hole she’d put in it.

He promptly dropped it, the torso struck the ground with a cold clang, “You are finished, and we are leaving.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not!” She seethed, tendrils of smoke escaping from her fists.

“I know when something is eating at you, Sylvia, and blowing things to smithereens is not a way of coping with it!” He exclaimed.

Sylvia glared at him, her green eyes alight with newfound fury. He knew she wanted to strike him; he could see the desire as plain as day. He braced himself but what happened next surprised him, she turned her back to him flustered.

A moment passed and Malistaire sighed, “Will you please come with me?”

“Make me.” Sylvia taunted, refusing to give in.

"So be it." He said a smile creeping over his face. A fiendish, wicked, white grin that went from ear to ear. A smile Sylvia had turned just long enough to see; Malistaire had an idea, a wonderfully horrible idea.

***

It was perhaps the strangest thing Cyrus had ever seen, and he had seen many strange things. But this was nearing the top of the list; a certain Sylvia Spitfire slung over his brother’s shoulder, like baggage on a drake’s back. What’s more was that his brother was smiling and laughing, a deep sound that threatened to shake the earth, in the way he did when he’d done something clever. On top of this Sylvia was scowling, Cyrus hadn’t even thought she could scowl let alone frown.

Though, he could have felt the sting of her gaze from miles away as she caught sight of him.

“Cyrus!” She called, “Please help!”

Cyrus carefully approached as his brother slowed his pace.

“Thank Gavarena you’re here! Your oaf of a brother has taken me hostage.”

Cyrus babbled, eventually finding the words “So it would seem.”

“You did this to yourself Spitfire.” Malistaire seemed purely amused.

“Just because I told you to, doesn’t mean you should do it. What if I’d told you to go jump off a bridge?!” Sylvia growled spitefully kneeing him in the ribs.

“Is my company that atrocious?”

“Ugh.” Sylvia rolled her eyes, “Would you kindly put me down.”

After a moment Malistaire finally obliged.

"Thank you." She said curtly as she straightened her clothes.

Malistaire gave quick nod then slowly stalked away.

Cyrus massaged his temples, only speaking once his brother was beyond earshot, “I must apologize Sylvia, my brother is infamous for his very literal sense of humor.”