The Academy: PSH, I AM GOD LADY, BOW TO ME

“mos nunquam operor quisquam huic universitas vacuus virtus. Is est maioribus species of mens tunc ut veneratio"

Palestine both overestimates and underestimates the powers of the Dark Side. Nicodemus had been a warrior, however long ago it may have been. I suppose your could have called him great, as so many did. He stands as proof that not all stood for mindless self-glory. They had called him valiant, proof that the Old Code had still existed. Though he would say for much of today that chivalry did not exist anymore. Those who fought thus far that he knew fought only for their own glory. But I digress.

He watches her come with little tangible upon his fiery face. Most misunderstood him from the moment of meeting, though he hoped that she would be one of the few who didn’t. Nicodemus was not rude nor was he foolish and arrogant as many immediately thought. I do dare say that he was a kind soul, wise beyond his ten years and humble to boot. Perhaps it was his lack of people skills that made them think him more than what he was, or even his somewhat marred appearance. He was scarred all over, though these he bore with great pride in his battle years (some he bore with shame, for some marked his sins prior). I do not think you could call him ugly, however. He beheld all that strength that he worked so hard for, such untamed fury in him and yet somehow he manages to hold a tranquility to his fiery nature. But the color of him stands out far more than anything else, an intense scarlet which defies both day and night.

But Nicodemus holds his judgments. They are a hard thing to gain from him, and once you have them even harder to erase. He sees not a feather in concrete as she says, but more an amoeba of form, molding constantly into no particular recognizable form. One day in his mind she would solidify into either beauty or beast, but for now he sees nothing. He refuses to see anything. He cares little for outward appearances, and he does not flinch at her, nor repulse. His face remains rather inscrutable. When she speaks, his ears perk, and Caoimhe‘s intelligent eyes find her and study her. The stallion at the moment holds no students (perhaps Wyvern, but that was up to him), and this is not for any fault of himself. Nicodemus does not answer her for a long while, and his eyes are distant, not on her, but on the horizon above her. Caoimhe is the one who studies her, stepping upon the withers of the stallion and bearing her eyes into the mare as though searching for something hidden, some ill intent to ravish her lover.

But after a long time, the Phoenix’s eyes drop to Nicodemus’ mane, and she does nothing save for turn her back to the mare slightly. His eyes, however, fall to Palestine, and he inhales.

“That all depends…” his voice is soft-spoken, though in tone deep and heavily accented. “On if you will listen.” he does not smile nor frown, his eyes steady upon her.

He waits for her answer patiently. Do not disappoint him, Palestine.

**LVL I NICODEMUS//CAOIMHE**

Picture Copyright to Blinck at Deviantart