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"C’mon, why won’t you just- AUGH!"
Rosaline shouted into the crisp night air, isolated amongst the winding bramble and imposing trees of the Black Shroud, struggling with the latest problem that had been so unceremoniously dropped into her lap.
"Curse you, Martyn, why did you have to be a mage, of all disciplines?!"
She was not a caster by any means; never having taken to the field of study despite her best efforts under E-Sumi-Yan’s care in her younger years here in the Twelveswood, and she was certainly not someone who could stay put for very long - it just didn’t come naturally to her at all. Now here she was, many moons later after crossing paths with the man whose misfortune had become her own, still struggling to get the hang of her new gig as a Blue Mage. Sure, learning the spells from all sorts of diverse creatures was straightforward enough, fun even, but mastering those spells? Diversifying her abilities enough to cast each and every wild and varied spell through her own power? That was a whole different issue completely.
Not that she was going to simply roll over and accept defeat - if anything, it merely meant she was twice as determined to prove to herself that she was capable of the job, even if it did also mean having to work twice as hard to keep up in the first place. Especially after their latest run-in with Whastrach, that smug bastard. Something about the way he carried himself left a sour taste in Rosaline’s mouth, particularly after interactions where he’d been bad-mouthing Martyn. There was no doubt Martyn was an absolute pain, and she still was pretty sore at him for getting her roped into the situation in the first place, but after learning more about his motivations, she could at least come to some level of understanding about why he’d done all he’s done. Even if she still wanted to wring his neck once in a while.
Which is why she was currently here, the forest providing the seclusion she needed to practice her skills on a training dummy out in the woods every night until she was exhausted. The spell in question that was causing her so much grief? Glower. Martyn had told her it was one of his personal favorites, which had the unintended effect of placing even more pressure on her to master it. Being granted permission to perform in the Masked Carnivale hinged on getting this last spell down. Plus, if she was able to perform, it meant less time Martyn would have to spend in the ring himself, and thereby less possibility of him getting injured again. Not that she was trying to take care of him or anything, mind you, but he didn’t exactly seem capable of taking care of himself properly.
Try as she might, however, she couldn’t seem to get this right - concentrating your aether into a highly focused lightning-aspected attack, dependent on precise movement from ones’ eyes to hit your target. Either she’d grow impatient and mess up her cast, or her eyes would dart away for a second, causing a strip of lightning to rip off in completely the wrong direction, amongst other minor issues. She’d been at this for days since obtaining the spell with no luck. She should be used to this by now; this cycle of struggling with a new skill, failing at it spectacularly, and finally overcoming it after busting her ass. It’s not as though any other discipline had come to her with any ease. When she first applied at the Archer’s Guild, she needed practice day and night, relentless in her training, pushing her limits until she was capable of going toe-to-toe with her peers - and ultimately succeeding in becoming one of the finest the God’s Quiver had ever seen.
But she feared that she was fated to lose to this one godsdamned spell.
"Rosaline! Good to see your face! What brings you ‘round today?" Martyn greeted her jovially from his bedside. As her Blue Mage training had progressed further, he seemed more and more pleased each time he saw her - maybe he was also hoping to have some of the weight lifted off his shoulders as her abilities improved. After having requested Martyn’s whereabouts from Gaheel Ja and Latool Ja, still on bedrest at the infirmary as per his chirugeon’s orders, she was gladdened to see him faring much better than he had the last time they met, despite remaining somewhat bandaged and beaten up. She could still recall how shocked she’d been when the Mamool Ja pair had broken the news to her about Martyn’s injury, figuring that whole “idiots never catch colds” superstition applied to Martyn in a way as well. It’d felt like someone had dumped something nasty and unpleasant into the pit of her stomach.
She hated that she was running to him with her tail between her legs, and hated even more that she had to bother him while he was still in recovery, but what other choice had she than to ask for help directly from the source, right?
"I’m… I’m having trouble with one of these new spells," she mumbled, facing away from Martyn as she admitted her incompetency, not wanting to see how he’d react.
"There now, no need to be so put out about it! What kind of mentor would I be if I didn’t help my student in her time of need? What’s got you all buggered?"
"...Glower," she replied gloomily, tail drooping as it swished slowly from side to side.
"Why that’s-"
"One of your favorites, yes, I know. Which is why this is even more embarrassing and frustrating for me! I have to-" she cut herself off, not wanting to show any signs of weakness in front of Martyn. The thought of appearing inept to him, of him thinking less of her, made her stomach churn, like hundreds of morphos fluttering about all at once. Calming herself, she pressed on, "I know you’re still injured, so I understand if there’s nothing you can do in your current condition but… would you be able to help me?"
Martyn stared at her for a good long moment, Rosaline searching to recognize the emotion behind his eyes, unable to figure out what he could possibly be thinking. After another beat, he cleared his throat, fixing his face back into an expression she was way more familiar with seeing on him - that of a boisterous and overly-confident midlander. "Of course! Wouldn’t dream of lettin’ you down! If you’re workin’ hard, then I’ve got to help you get the rest of the way there. One little lesson won’t set my recovery back. I’m sure the chirugeons won’t notice if I sneak out for a moment… again."
She wondered how he could be so wildly enthusiastic for someone who was just a chew toy naught but a few weeks ago.
"Alright, show me what you can do."
The pair were now situated in an isolated stretch of land out in Ul’dah with nothing but dirt, rocks, and an old training dummy for company as Rosaline showed Martyn the extent of her capabilities, or lack thereof, when it came to her mastery of Glower - once again falling short of hitting her intended target. Martyn stood there quietly, hand thoughtfully at his chin while he tilted his head this way and that, mulling over her execution.
"Obviously I’m doing something wrong, but I don’t even know what that 'wrong' is to make it right." Ears flattened against her head, she felt absolutely disgraceful as a Blue Mage right now.
"Maybe ain’t so obvious to the untrained eye, but not a problem for a master such as myself. Let’s address your posture, first off." He walked the few yalms over to where Rosaline stood, her body tense as he approached. Carefully, he placed one hand under her forearm, the other at the small of her back, straightening and adjusting her stance as needed. Surprised by his sudden "hands on" approach, she felt a slight heat rise to her face, the embarrassment of needing to be physically corrected leaving her feeling awkward and flustered.
"Try it again now," Martyn instructed, taking a step back to oversee her.
She did as requested, attempting once more to successfully perform Glower. And once more failed to do so, although it was one of the cleaner attempts she’d had since acquiring the spell.
"Hmmmm… no, you’re still carryin’ too much tension. You’ve got to relax, let the aether flow through you. Call to mind the beast, the magic, actualize that into your spell castin’." Martyn encouraged.
She paused, took a breath, began her cast and.. still missed her mark.
"Gods… dammit I cannot do this! There’s just too much to keep in mind!" She shouted as she tossed her cane down onto the ground, hands flying up to her head to pull at her hair in agitation, all the while stamping her feet, tail raised angrily in the air. She didn’t even care at this point if Martyn thought her a child throwing a temper tantrum, she had reached her wits end. Why was this tripping her up so much? Was she really to be outmatched by one spell? What was so different about this one to cause her so much anguish.
"Rosaline, you can do this! You’re my best apprentice after all," he called after her as she went to retrieve her cane from its rightful place in the dirt.
"Martyn I am your only apprentice, don’t be ridiculous," she replied curtly as she whipped her head around at him, growing increasingly more perturbed as this session went on.
"You’re approachin’ this all wrong. No need to put so much pressure on yourself. You’re still too wound up, even your face is all screwed up and strained. With a spell of this nature especially, you have to have clear intent. Let everythin’ else go from your mind and focus solely on putting all that power into your gaze."
As she poised herself to make another attempt, Martyn interrupts with yet another physical correction. With no concern for her personal space, he placed a hand at her chin, tilting her head upwards, and fixing the angle where her line of sight needed adjusting.
"Rosey, look at me. Take a deep breath, back straight, head forward, eyes focused." He directed, the intensity of his golden-eyed gaze possibly as intense as Glower itself, practically lighting her skin on fire. He then pointed ahead at her training dummy, and stated, "Draw a line in your mind’s eye between yourself and where you want your spell to land. Keep your eyes fixed on your target."
Even after he backed away to allow her room to try once more, her body still felt the heat of his touch upon her, blood thrumming in her ear, momentarily frozen in place. She shook her head, remembering what she was here to do. She called to mind Martyn’s words, focusing her now-sensitive nerves and heightened adrenaline into her attack, eyes locked on, and…
Bam! A direct blast from her levin-like gaze destroyed her target at last, nothing but a heap of splintered pieces left in the wake of her attack.
Martyn whistled loudly, impressed by Rosaline's aptitude and improvement. "Atta girl! Just like I told you! You practically evaporated that poor bastard of a trainin’ dummy where it stood! I’d say it’s time to let Royse know you’re well-prepared to begin workin’ in the Carnivale now."
Rosaline was too shocked at her own ability to respond properly, mouth hanging open foolishly as she nodded blankly at Martyn, following him back into the city walls, her body completely on auto-pilot.
If there were hundreds of morphos in her stomach before, there were surely thousands now. Worst of all was that she had no idea why they were there in the first place. Nor why they always seemed to only flutter around when Martyn was near.
And when did he start calling her "Rosey"...?