Sanguine

Twenty minutes later
Meg felt the solidness under her fist, the solid bag under her curled fingers, again and again, imagining it to be the unknown vampire that had attacked her years ago. How could she have been so stupid?! Constant vigilance, is what Sir Vormir had taught her – and here she was being caught unawares. The girl had been attacked! How could Meg not have known about this?! She took out her rage and frustration on the bag, hitting it and hitting it, her swings becoming wilder and wilder as her hot anger pumped through her, pushing her harder and harder. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! she thought to herself, each punch ringing the word in her ears. Stupid, lazy, clumsy.. .people were being hurt, people could be DYING, and she was loafing about, worrying about tests and homework and whether or not her classmates LIKED her. She was going to be a Defender – eventually, anyway. She didn’t have time to worry about all this.
A Defender… yes, when she developed her faith enough to qualify. Her lack of divine power was worrying, and not just to her teachers but to her as well. Vormir always told her her faith was her weakness, and she agreed, though she’d never admit it. Why on earth should she put her trust in blind faith, in providence, in a god she could not see or feel, a god who had never directly spoken to her, a god who had abandoned her in her time of need? The gods do great things, yes, and all glory goes to them in the end, yes, but it was through the hands of Man that the work got done. Meg preferred to put her faith in the hands of mortal men (and women), inspired by the gods and led by the gods, but wielded in the hands of mortals such as herself. How else could she protect others? Why else should she work so hard to become strong? The gods themselves, she thought to herself in her private moments, were no better than rich lords; they sat back and let their servants do the real work and take the real risks while they received all the praise and glory and fruits of man’s labor. Pathetic. Certainly nothing to be exonerated, even if they must, in fact, be worshiped.
Unfaithful. She was unfaithful. That was the worst brand of the names she thought of herself as she punched the bag; in fact, Unfaithful was the one that caused her to miss entirely, her fist colliding with the strong wooden wall behind her. Cursing under her breath, she sat, sucking on her wounds a little to remove splinters. How could she be so stupid, so clumsy.. how could she… the hot tears sprang to her eyes against her bidding, and she bowed her head, rocking a little.
“Miss? Are you alright?”
She looked up, wiping away the blurry tears with her uninjured left hand, to reveal the face of a boy, leaning over her, a concerned look on his face. His hair was black and tousled, and he had a look about him that indicated that he had grown up in the country – a sort of laid-back atmosphere, a slight but gentle drawl to the words, a kind look in his eyes that showed pure concern without the scarcely-masked scorn or arrogance that many of the city-bred men showed towards her. It was almost like he was entirely unaware of who she was and what her reputation was – the good reputation for being Sir Vormir’s ward, and the bad one she’d gotten for being so aloof, so… different. She hesitated a moment, startled by the sheer goodness in his face – he was very similar to Vormir, but less intense, less concentrated, and also, scruffier, less organized and immaculate. Sir Vormir’s hair was always perfect – this boy’s hair was a mess, but it was a casual, scruffy mess, the kind that made him all the more endearing for it. His face was a kind one, however, so she gave him an honest answer.
“…not really. But I’ll live.”
The boy gave a chuckle, offering her a hand up – his hands were almost as calloused as hers, a sign he was used to hard work. That was good – he’d not go far in this line of work if he was afraid of manual labor. “Cornstalker. P’dhon Cornstalker.” It took her a moment to realize that he was giving her his name as she rose to her feet, accepting his aid before shaking his hand with her injured one.
“Megara Brown.” She gave him a smile, but his eyes rapidly dropped to the hand he held, turning it as though to kiss it.
“Well, miss Brown, you’ve done a number on your knuckles. Why don’t you let me walk you to the nurse’s station and get some salve put on that?” His voice contained just as much concern as his eyes, though she knew the injury to be far from serious – he must be a kind man, or else a flirtatious one, to be so concerned for the hand of an absolute stranger. She blushed faintly, embarrassed at her clumsiness, especially now that she knew he’d been watching. What sort of a vampire hunter would she make? She couldn’t even keep her punches on a punching bag – she had to go and hurt herself with a mild workout to let out steam!
“please, call me Meg…” She gave him a self-depreciating grin, a wisp of stray hair falling into her face. “I’d say my friends do, but I don’t really have any.”
“Shame.” The boy – Cornstalker – smiled again, and shifted his shoulders slightly. That was when she saw them: two feathered wings hung from his shoulders, quietly folded against his back, brown feathers rustling a little as he adjusts their position. Meg was startled – usually those winged students had angelic blood in them, but feathers of brown, like a hawk’s? What sort of being was he, anyway? It was rare that they got halfbreeds here of the non-angelic variety, not with Planar School for Halfbreeds so close by – but then, she heard they admitted demons and devils and all sorts of other evil creatures into their midsts, so any of them’d be better off in the loving embrace of Pelor at His own school. Still, the wings were unusual, appearing soft and fluffy – she almost reached out to touch them, then hesitated, looking away.
“It’s alright. They’re rather soft.” One wing extended from the boy’s shoulder towards her uninjured hand, and hesitantly, she stroked the feathers with the back of her fingers. She was surprised to find that the feathers were, in fact, rather soft; as the wing extended a little more, she took it gently in her hand, feeling the bone along the top, before gently shaking the wing. “How do you do?” she asked, smiling despite herself as he laughed, rolling his eyes a little.
“Yeah, yeah, old joke. Come on, let’s get you to the nurse’s office before you start pulling out even worse groaners.” He offered her his arm, and she took it, smiling despite herself. Maybe there was some brightness to this bleak day after all, she thought to herself, as they walked the corridor. She turned to look him over again, and this time the telltale shimmer caught her eye – though it wasn’t a shining sunburst that the man wore around his neck, but a moon instead. A holy symbol, or it wouldn’t shine in her vision, but… a moon?
Cornstalker caught her eye, raising an eyebrow. “I’m elven, or half at least.” he mentioned, fiddling with his ear. “It comes with the territory.”
“I’m sorry…” she mentioned, softly, thinking about the trials he must have gone through on behalf of that symbol and those ears. In a world like this, anything elven would be feared and despised.
“What for?” He shrugs. “Seems to me you’ve got more troubles than I do.” She blinked for a moment, and he continued. “Busted hand and all, I mean.” Something about his tone indicated, however, that that wasn’t what he meant at all, and with a flush of embarrassment she remembered her tears.
“It’s.. just been a long day.” she said, shaking her head a little and fixing her hair a bit.
“Must be some day, since it’s hardly even noon yet. Want to talk about it?”
“Well… I saw something this morning that disturbed me, that’s all.” She hesitates. “Mostly it’s my own incompetence that bothers me.”
He gave her a warm, reassuring smile. “I’m sure the wall would think you very competent indeed. A formidable opponent.”
Despite herself, Meg laughed again, pulling away from him as they reached the nurse’s station. “Thanks for the walk, and the conversation… I needed that.”
“Sure thing.” he said, with a smile. “It’s not every day I get to talk to a pretty girl like you.”
Pretty? He thought her pretty? She blushed hotly then, stammering like a girl of sixteen. “Ah, I, er, that is, um…”
Cornstalker chuckled at her reaction, but it wasn’t the mean laughter she’d been used to. “Too blatant, huh? Sorry, I’m out of practice. My last girlfriend was sort of… difficult to deal with.”
Not knowing what to say, Meg merely nodded. “Mm, I see, that must have been… difficult…” What on earth did you say to that? She’d never really spoken to a man, not like this, not as anything but a fellow student. “Er, I ought to go inside… get my hand looked at…”
Cornstalker nodded a little, his face getting a bit more serious. “Indeed. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” As he turned to go, Meg felt a little confused. Was she supposed to have said something else? What did one SAY when being flirted with?
And wait… they had class together?!