Arc 9 | Chapter 299: Chaotic, but not for the reasons I expected

Emilia was behaving like a perfectly respectable young lady, and Olivier didn’t like it.

No, he didn’t like it one bit.

Really, he would like to say it was because something wasn’t right—that something was happening that he wasn’t aware of and

that

was the only reason the girl was behaving. Clearly, his bratty little silverstrain hadn’t suddenly decided that today was the day she would behave. Indeed, while they were still on the ship he’d witnessed her telling two of his students off—both had deserved it, but it wasn’t her job and she’d been more than a little harsh with them—steal food from another—although, to be fair, they

may

have taken far more than their share of the buffet Olivier had ordered for them—and she had splattered some sort of coloured aether onto Olivier’s hand—colourful aether that he hadn’t figured out how to remove, even a concentrated burst of pure aether unable to disperse it.

A search through skill records had revealed the same thing as it had whenever she used prank skills on his bodyguards, as well as when he’d attempted to find details of the ironing skill Emilia had given him: nothing. If Halen Mhrina, increasingly known for his innovative skills, despite his age, weren’t monetizing practically everything—Olivier had been forced to learn more about the man and his company than he already knew through his cousin the week before, after one of his bodyguard’s had been turned purple by a prank skill—Olivier might have assumed Emilia had gotten said skills from her former classmate.

Apparently not. A Black Knot skill she’d gotten through her clone friends, then? The colourful aether might make sense—surely, the organization would need ways to mark people that couldn’t be easily removed? The ironing skill didn’t seem like something they would need; even if whoever created skills for the organization had designed

that

skill, it wasn’t like The Black Knot hadn’t publicly released plenty of skills and functions, each leaning into

oddly specific skills

and

why had The Black Knot designed this?

territory.

Yet more mysteries to add into the pile of questions he had about the woman, and while she had mentioned she liked coding… could she really be skilled enough to design things so oddly resist to dispersion? While she’d talked about those three clones wanting her to design something for them, he had honestly brushed it off because in what world would the Hyrat clones be using someone barely out of compulsory schooling to design anything important for them?

It was all an itch in his head, but one that had to wait. The more important question at the moment? Why was she behaving!? What had her friend—the daughter of the Seer’ik’tine leader, something Secretary General Miles Starrberg had unhelpfully left out of his confirmation that he would send someone to mind his daughter—offered Emilia in exchange for behaving?

Olivier didn’t like it, Emilia’s laughter as she joked about orgies, as well as her comment from the night before about bribes being an excellent way to make her behave echoing through his head as he trailed his students, themselves following after the museum guide that had been arranged for them.

As if Emilia potentially disappearing to go have sex weren’t bad enough, the fact that Olivier was jealous wasn’t making the situation any better. It wasn’t even that some hole of despair and jealousy had opened inside him at the prospect of the girl fucking some random man. It wasn’t like he had felt this way about the Hyrat boys she was clearly doing

something

with, nor was it something he even felt when she occasionally agreed to dates with his students; rather, it was the fact that

he

wasn’t the one making Emilia behave.

Frustrating. It had been a long time since his desire for control in the bedroom had accidentally expressed itself into the real world or onto someone he hadn’t already negotiated boundaries with. The fact that it was happening now, at both the most inopportune time and onto the most inappropriate person—although, he supposed an actual student would be infinitely worse—was so frustrating he didn’t even know what to do about it.

Trying to ignore the feeling hadn’t worked, despite weeks of forcing his thoughts of the girl as far from his mind as he could. In hindsight, the fact that he’d never managed to fully remove those thoughts should have been a clue that forgetting about her, learning how to

not

want her, wouldn’t go well.

He could try taking his feelings out on someone else, but the idea of trying to find someone on the ship to work his arousal off with made his stomach roll. Plus, his and Emilia’s adjoining rooms would make such a thing supremely awkward. His not-quite student witnessing him bring someone back to his room, potentially having some skill that would allow her to hear what they were doing…

Absolutely not. Not only was that inappropriate, he had to have some self-control! If he gave in and fucked someone else, not only would he feel like shit, but it would be a slippery slope into finding himself sharing someone’s bed every night because the girl was just so intoxicating.

Intoxicating enough that the idea of her overhearing him with someone else wasn’t nearly as abhorrent as it should have been.

Fucking stars. This was such a problem.

“Hey!” someone hissed, startling Olivier out of his devolving thoughts. It took a moment for him to realize it was Emilia who had spoken, her silver hair swaying with the shift of her hips as she marched over to a student who was—

Fuck.

“Movree,” Olivier said darkly, not quite stomping after Emilia to where she was confronting the young man—although he was still nearly twelve years older than Emilia, leaving him a few years older than he himself—who had attempted to touch a statue. “I believe we were all told not to touch anything.” It wasn’t like museums in Baalphoria were known for allowing anything to be touched. What in the world was this kid thinking?

“Eh~ Sure, but it’s just lynie trash.”

Several of the Free Coloniers in the area turned their way, mouths open in shock—most purists weren’t stupid enough to admit their prejudices in a Free Colony, nor even in polite Baalphorian company. Hopefully, they would remain shocked, rather than start any incident. Olivier really didn’t want to have to deal with the Z’franda, Seer’ik’tine’s law enforcement—the result of being such a hub for commerce and diplomacy, the government was slightly more understanding when it came to prejudices, but even their leniency only went for far when crimes, like breaking objects of cultural significance, were committed. Being deported only an hour into their trip wouldn’t—

Movree gasped as he was suddenly brought to his knees, his entire body seized up. From what Olivier could tell, his ill-behaved student wasn’t in pain; he just couldn’t control his body anymore.

“You realize we are in a Free Colony, yes? If you hate Free Coloniers so much, why did you come? You know those sorts of words will get you killed in many places, yes?” Emilia asked—sneered, really. It was the only sign she was even the one who had used a skill. At least this one Olivier knew must have come from The Black Knot; there were definitely laws forbidding the use of body locking skills by anyone other than law enforcement—laws, which weren’t applicable outside of Baalphoria.

“Here,” Lan’za said quietly, her jewellery jingling softly in the tension filled room as she stepped up beside Emilia, “we Seer will not kill you for such words, nor will we care if a visitor does. They will not even be removed from the city. You are causing problems. You are in the wrong. In the eyes of our laws, whether you are removed by transport or death, it makes no difference.”

The woman’s green eyes were dark against her deep brown skin, shimmering with a layer of sweat under the delicate lights of the museum. Here it was cool, the climate control keeping the fragile relics of the past safe. Outside, it was sweltering, the local woman’s own inability to fully tolerate the heat a source of amusement among the group as they had walked the city, his students slowly gaining the courage to speak with her.

Lan’za Yu had been polite and kind, with an air about her that lowered everyone’s guard in this strange, unknown place, her words soft and knowledgeable as she answered each of their questions about the city and her culture, even the ones that verged on being rude. Now, that woman was gone. What remained was the woman who had been able to pull Emilia under control with barely more than a few words, who Secretary General Miles Starrberg had assured him would not only be able to handle his child but any other incident they happened upon while in Seer'ik'tine. Olivier couldn’t argue with that, Movree some mixture of shocked and petrified as Lan’za took another step closer, the rest of his students watching her with trepidation, respect and awe mixed into the unwavering gazes of a few.

“One chance. It is more than most get. The next time you speak out again Free Coloniers, disrespect the traditions of our nations, you will find no leniency. Emmie’ne?”

“Hm?”

“Let our coren’taz know that this one has been given his chance?”

“Oh sure~” Emilia signed, muttering about how she had to do all the work as she pulled a device out of the ratty bag slung over her shoulder.

Olivier had never seen a Baalphorian using a xphern, the communication device utilized by much of the Free Colonies—not all, although he believed most diplomats and consulate employees used them for convenience. The purple xphern—Olivier had also never seen one be anything over than a neutral colour— was more screen than anything, although the back featured dozens of buttons that he knew could be mapped to various functions, and apparently used for what must be extremely unintuitive typing. Having never held one himself, Olivier only knew the basics of their use, but when Emilia’s fingers began pressing the buttons—often several at once—in lightening quick succession, he knew she must have years of experience using one.

This wasn’t just a device her father gave her while they were abroad. This was what she used to communicate with whatever

friends

—his Censor had come back with an oddly fractured definition for

coren’taz

, which seemed to imply friendship, but also secrets and obligation, among those who ran in young, diplomatic circles—she had made while travelling with him.

“I don’t know what other Free Colonies we’ll be visiting,” the silverstrain said idly, eyes still trained on her screen as her fingers stalled, and presumably the message went off to whatever terrifying children of diplomats and world leaders she and Lan’za counted as members of their coren’taz, “but I think it's safe to say that about 90% of the Free Colonies Baalphorians are welcome in these days know you have no chances left~”

A smile tugged at her lips before she looked back to Movree, her eyes scanning over him in what Olivier could only describe as a predatory look. This was the girl who had killed someone—the girl who was perfectly serious when she spoke of killing her friend’s parents if that turned out to be the only way to get him away from them.

This was the girl who counted enough Free Coloniers among her friends and allies that she had a device long spurned in Baalphoria in favour of Censors, all so she could stay in touch with them. Lan’za had spoken of other Free Coloniers potentially killing Movree for his words. Olivier wasn’t entirely convinced Emilia wouldn’t kill him, if she saw something she didn’t like in his expression—in the fear wafting off him.

Thankfully, whatever she saw, it was apparently sufficient to let him go. The strings of her skill cut off, leaving the young man to fall forward. Barely, he managed to catch himself, his breaths coming in such heaving pants that his throwing up was a serious risk.

“Anyone else going to cause problems? You know that sort of language puts all of us—and even just other Baalphorians—at risk, right? All it takes is one person overhearing something like that and knowing they won’t get in trouble for defending themselves, and boom! Why not take out a bunch of purists in one go?”

“But, we aren’t—”

“No, but if I wasn’t here, how many of you would have told him off for his words?”

Cracking silence met Emilia.

Well, at least his students knew themselves well enough to know they wouldn’t be able to speak up? It wasn’t good, but self-awareness was better than claims that they would tell their classmate off for being a purist.

“So, ya'll would die. Not telling someone off for their shit beliefs is just as bad as having them yourself. Actually…” Emilia tapped a finger to her chin, contemplating, before she concluded that actually, not speaking up might very well be worse than having terrible beliefs. “Maybe not in the case of purists—we all know they keep their hatred to themselves because they’re afraid of the consequences—but for other things, like how so many people talk about silverstrains as though we’re only good for sex? I think I respect the few of you who have said those things to me more than the ones who overheard them and didn’t bother to say anything for or against it. At least have the backbone to stand up for your beliefs, even if they’re terrible.”

Looping her arm back through Lan’za’s, the two women skipped off—or, Emilia tried to skip, and Lan’za just laughed and tugged her back until they were practically tripping over each other. A quick conversation with their guide, and the man was calling everyone’s attention back to him, his voice less kind and accepting than before Movree’s insults.

Everyone, save Movree, quickly rejoined the tour, a few sending wary glances back his way as he stood over his student. Realistically, Olivier should be wondering what to do with the man—deciding whether to have him picked up by someone who worked at the Baalphorian Embassy so he could be returned home before he could cause more problems. Olivier wasn’t thinking about that, though; rather, he was thinking about Emilia.

For weeks, he had been assuming that the blocks in her making friends in his class had been her strange situation, a lack of desire, or perhaps even his own attitude towards her leading his students to view her in a more negative light.

Yet, it was none of those things.

No, it was just that his students weren’t the sort of people who would stand up against their classmates calling Emilia—brilliant and bright, and yes, exceptionally horny, from what he could tell, but certainly not someone

only good for sex

—such cruel, unnecessary things.

“Professor de la Rue?”

Olivier glared down at his student, forcing himself to think of this aggravation, rather than his complicated opinion on all the rest of his students. “What?”

Flinching, Movree opened his mouth, closed it again, and—

And was he crying!?

Seriously. This was, somehow, the most chaotic start to a class trip he’d had in the two years he’d been teaching. While he’d already been expecting it to be more work than usual, the fact that it wasn’t Emilia’s fault—there was no way he would dare blame or chastise her for telling this purist piece of shit off—was surprising.

If this was how the trip was starting, Olivier couldn’t imagine what other sorts of trouble awaited them as they ventured further into the Free Colonies—further into lands where Baalphorians were under even more scrutiny than they were in Seer’ik’tine.