( He's been trying for the last hour to use his magic. What the fuck is the point of tutoring under like four different people if he can't even use what he's been learning when it actually matters? It's not that his magic is completely off, is the thing. It's not. He can make things, they're just the most supremely unhelpful variety of objects imaginable.
He spends ten minutes trying to manifest a sword and winds up holding a ping-pong ball. Fifteen minutes trying to create a box-cutter, only to wind up with a banana. Ten minutes trying to make a gun — not sure why he thought that one would work, except maybe that he hates guns and the universe might be ironic enough to grant him the wish he'd hate the most — only to end up with one of those water willy things. Five minutes trying to conjure up a glass of water, only to wind up with a paper cup full of coffee, which he considers to be the closest thing to a win he's likely to get.
There he sits with his odd array of objects in his lap, sipping coffee, when Claude speaks up.
Well, investigating's bound to be better than the absolutely nothing he's managing to do over here by himself. )
Sure.
( He sighs, rising to his feet and stuffing a handful of random shit in his pocket. The Ping-Pong ball rolls off of his lap and bounces across the stone floor in Claude's direction. He pretends like nothing happened. )
investigation
He spends ten minutes trying to manifest a sword and winds up holding a ping-pong ball. Fifteen minutes trying to create a box-cutter, only to wind up with a banana. Ten minutes trying to make a gun — not sure why he thought that one would work, except maybe that he hates guns and the universe might be ironic enough to grant him the wish he'd hate the most — only to end up with one of those water willy things. Five minutes trying to conjure up a glass of water, only to wind up with a paper cup full of coffee, which he considers to be the closest thing to a win he's likely to get.
There he sits with his odd array of objects in his lap, sipping coffee, when Claude speaks up.
Well, investigating's bound to be better than the absolutely nothing he's managing to do over here by himself. )
Sure.
( He sighs, rising to his feet and stuffing a handful of random shit in his pocket. The Ping-Pong ball rolls off of his lap and bounces across the stone floor in Claude's direction. He pretends like nothing happened. )