Work Text:
Dairon is striding down the sidewalk, a large to-go bag on their arm. They can see the painted blue of the Cobalt Soul Monastery in the distance, when a blunt force nearly knocks them over. They catch the bag, on the tips of their fingers, and look down, into the face of a young child, perhaps ten years old.
The child gasps for breath, and looks up at her fearfully. Before words can be exchanged, a man’s voice rings out. “Beauregard!”
The child- Beauregard, apparently- winces, before detaching herself from Dairon’s legs.
“Sorry,” she whispers, before scampering off. Dairon readjusts the bag, and continues on their way, putting Beauregard out of their mind.
It is seven years later, and Dairon is in one of the Monastery’s more secluded gyms. She turns, wiping sweat from her brow, and sees Zeenoth standing in the doorway, hand on the shoulder of a surly looking teenager.
“Expositor Dairon! Just who we were looking for! Beauregard, if you would leave us, please?”
The girl grumbles, and shoots Zeenoth an impressive glare, before walking over to one of the benches.
Zeenoth turns to her, and this is how she learns of the arrival of one Beauregard Lionett. She keeps one ear turned towards Zeenoth, and eyes Beauregard from the corner of her eye. Hands are bruised, she is scowling, but. There is… something, in her posture, her eyes, that reminds Dairon terribly of herself. She tunes back into Zeenoth and cuts him off.
“I will train her myself, Zeenoth. You are dismissed.”
He turns an interesting shade of violet-red, but does as she says. He really is rather irritating, regardless of good intentions.
He marches over to the girl, and Dairon watches the realization wash over her. An interesting variety of emotions- anger, apathy, interest, a flash of hope.
Dairon walks through the park, her usual route home, not expecting anything to be different. This is her first mistake. There is shouting, towards her left, and then the sound of punches being thrown. They intend to keep walking, until they hear a familiar shout- Beauregard. Dairon breaks into a run, and it doesn’t take long to understand the situation. Three boys- 18, 19 perhaps, surround her student, who is poised defensively in front of a young child. Beau fights admirably, but she is new, yet.
Dairon walks calmly up to the largest of the three, and delivers a swift kick to the back of his legs. The fight ends soon after that, although not soon enough for Beau to avoid a black eye and broken nose. Beau leans down to the child, and despite her rather gory state, they don’t flinch. She whispers something, and the child nods fiercely, before running off.
Dairon sighs, and then nods towards Beau. “Come with me,” she says, and starts walking. It takes a few seconds before Beau catches up.
“Where are we going? Am I in trouble?”
Dairon holds back a smile at the familiar question. “No, you are not in trouble. And we are going to my home.”
They walk the five minutes it takes to arrive in silence, after Beau’s initial shock. Dairon’s home is modest, and simple, but well lived in. She leads Beau to the kitchen table, and begins pulling out ice.
By the time Dairon judges Beau to be out of any immediate medical dangers, the sun has set. The Cobalt Soul is rather far, and curfew has long passed besides. Dairon thinks.
She gets up, walks to the pantry in the hall, emerges with hands full of bedding.
“You are welcome to sleep on the couch- I have no guest room.”
Beau gapes for a second, before she remembers herself. She accepts awkwardly, and when Dairon rises with the sun the next morning, she sees her student sprawled wildly, mostly on the floor. The image endears her, and she makes breakfast enough for two.