- *BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG*
"I'm ready!" he called, throwing open the door.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "With no pants on?"
"...I don't need 'em," he mumbled.
"Whatever. I don't care. You NEED to clear the colosseum for the Brigade rankings ASAP, and I mean YESTERDAY."
"I cleaned it last night!"
"It's filthy again! Just get out there!"
Pecore drooped his head in despair. "I'll be there in a min." No matter how good a job he did, it never lasted. He had even worked extra hard last night so he could maybe sleep in for once since no one was using the arena until much later that day. It was as though a malicious little gremlin followed him around, messing up everything he straightened as soon as he looked away.
He closed the door a crack and pulled on his pants, even though they were needless. He may as well have worn a helmet for cleaning duty, too, since it served just as much purpose. The only reason he took them off was it felt more comfortable sleeping without them on—clothes tended to make his fur all matted. The last thing he grabbed was his broom, as determined as he might otherwise be never to use it again.
Making a mad dash to the colosseum, Pecore focused on his base study. Most spells were simple codes and recipes, but he had such a difficult time remembering them that he became a very old Grade 1 before he realized it. No amount of concentration helped his case—his mind was like a sieve when it came to spells.
"What's the hurry?"
He came out of his trance to see Hydd lying under a tree, kicking back as though nothing in the world mattered. It upset Pecore, because what Hydd wouldn't do, he had to make up for it in spades. "I have to clean the colosseum – again," he complained, as useless as it was to talk to the layabout.
"How do you manage to get yourself into these messes?" He gave a sarcastic grin as he stretched out in contentment. "I don't have to work nearly so hard."
"Because you make ME do it," Pecore mumbled, but even if Hydd heard him, it made no difference in their chore distribution. Qaplan gave HIM the assignment, so he would be the one punished if the colosseum wasn't clean. It seemed astonishingly unfair, but she somehow never caught Hydd goofing off on the job.
He wished he had even a Grade 2 understanding of his base. The simplest spell would be enough to get some kind of revenge against Hydd—he wasn't sure how, but he would. Maybe he would spread dirt over all of Hydd's quarters, or coat the dishes he was supposed to wash, or—
Pecore nearly fell on his face when he got to the colosseum, in shock from what he saw. The entire place was caked with mud, from the playing field to the highest overhang. "How—?!"
After picking his jaw up off the ground, he thought for a bit. Squatting, he wiped a finger across the grime. It was surprisingly even in its distribution, which suggested a deliberate placement—he'd seen that myth busted to know what could have caused this wasn't a single explosion radiating outward.
Why, though? And who did it? Hydd wasn't a Base-IT to know even remotely how to do this. One of the attendees, maybe? He wished he'd been allowed to sit in even on one of their sessions to get a little insight as to how to utilize his base.
He leaned heavily on his broom, feeling a wave of gloom fall over him at the idea of cleaning this mess on his own. If only he could will the mud away...
...why not? The first step was to try, after all.
Thinking of his base, of the terra firma components comprising the dirt lining the walls, Pecore concentrated all his energy on the mess. His not getting in trouble for Hydd's slacking again depended on his being able to one day advance even a single grade, and THAT depended on gaining a connection with his element, to be able to speak the basic language of the very world around him.
...nothing.
Feeling his frustration reach a boiling point, Pecore flung his arms up in a wild gesture of exasperation. As he did, he felt a tremble – then a wave of dust hit him in the face. Astonished, he coughed as he waited for the dust to settle. What happened?
There was no one else in the colosseum that he could see. He checked the depth of the dirt again—slightly shallower than before, at least where he was standing.
He couldn't believe it. Progress, genuine progress! It was too much to bear, that after all this time he might have the potential to advance at last! What did he do differently this time? The gesture?
He threw his arms up again, then immediately braced himself for the impact—
...nothing?
In bemusement, he stared at the dirt squarely in front of him, focusing on that square alone. He gestured again, then again, then in different directions, making different motions. Whatever he had grasped for the briefest of moments was gone.
Pecore whimpered that his task was now more difficult because the dirt was even more spread out than before. Grumbling, he got to work sweeping.
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