rare form
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@keiran kith
date : 13 january 2026
@keiran kith
date : 13 january 2026
Potions, while not Astra's favorite or best class, always promised intrigue. Professor Asmaralaya was a gem of an instructor, the class always had something going on whether that be an explosion the next table over or hours worth of practical hands on instruction in the art of potion-making.
And, unlike some of her classes, Astra was blessed with a good partner. While she could certainly work with someone like Mahlioz (who Astra desperately needed to catch up with) who had many, many things in common with the red-haired snakelet and could entertain long conversations about theories of magic or potions or their most favorite books in the times of waiting while a potion was brewing as Astra had once been wont to do, Keiran Kith in all his silence and almost chronic exhaustion was an excellent seatmate. Perhaps even more excellent now that Astra preferred silence over chatter.
Astra, as one may well know if one spends any amount of time with her, is far more at ease if she is in some sort of control. If there is a plan of action, a goal she can readily achieve, she likes to be the driving force behind it. We do not talk about just how much this trait was exacerbated by her first year and all the incidents therein or the recent events of her life, but needless to say this was a very strong part of her personality. And so, as a workmate, she often appointed herself leader by just being her bossy self. How charming. Kith, for all intents and purposes, seemed to take it well. Nary a complaint, or really never, not since they'd begun working together. He seemed happy to let her take the helm, and that was something she could appreciate in a person.
Work aside, he was also a pretty interesting fellow. Though both quiet (in their own respective senses) and neither particularly eager to initiate unnecessary conversation, the two snakes had in fact chatted during the aforementioned long waits, and had found they did in fact enjoy each others company. At least, as far as Astra knew or was concerned. Then of course there were out of class assignments they worked on together, and being in the same house led them to a richer understanding of each other that extended beyond the dungeon classroom and the cauldron they shared during classtime.
All that to say, even if Astra had never said it aloud, she considered Keiran a friend.
But today, it seemed like her usually perfect partner was attempting to prove her wrong. "Kith, can you crush the mistletoe?" she asked as she dropped the various necessary sprigs of herbs into her mortar. She began crushing the plant matter, and was for a few minutes before she realized Keiran hadn't touched his knife. She paused in her work and leaned over, chopped locks shifting over her shoulder as she did so. "Kith. Keiran. Hello? Earth to Keiran?" No dice. She raised her volume just a little, not yelling, but louder, waving her hand in his general field of view. "KEIRAN."
Was it something new, this zoning out? No, absolutely not. But he seemed really, really deep in his own head, and Astra couldn't help but wonder why.
mentioning : @mahlioz evethisawe
notes : brewing befuddlement draught (will have in trunk by end of thread)
godmod perms for this post granted by keiran kith
notes : brewing befuddlement draught (will have in trunk by end of thread)
godmod perms for this post granted by keiran kith
rare form
@Astra Norrick| ACTION: Keiran is dissociating and thinking about how he'd do similar activities on the kitchen table back home with his late grandmother. He's staring blankly and leaning over the table with the knife lamely in his hand, staring blankly; when Astra shouts, the shock has him drop the knife to the floor and shout back.Steel on wood. Smoke clinging to dust and the sonorous clang of metal is undercut by air trapped, bubbled, bursting into freedom - - Green and beige blur into grey and its a sudden familiarity.
“Kith, can you crush the mistletoe?”Familiar, but not the same. “Kith. Keiran."
The hair brushing just above Keiran’s brow irked him; this new length let in too much light. The wixen wanted nothing more than to pull back from it, shake off reality and return to solace behind a curtain of curls and frayed ends. He stood, his neck craning downward to look into nothing, nowhere - into the gleam of light emitted at the tip of the blade by his hands - into his eyes staring back at him - into his steel self shadowed by a closed fist around an oak handle, loosening, tilting.
“Boy, crush it, don't coddle it,” She would have said, she should have said - couldn’t say. Not anymore.
It was always a chit, a chop, a chat with her then. Now its chitting, choping, chatting - again over itself, insisting. It’s his name and her voice all over again, and it would only get louder. Keiran would stand there watching the wide base wind around the mortar with the roll of her wrist, feel the weight in her hands in his own growing heavier until the grain of the kitchen table imprinted itself into the skin down his palms.
“Hello?”
But he knew that when his wrist turned, it wouldn’t look the same; it would be the horizontal run of pine, not winding panes of walnut. Keiran would rather let his forearms sink back against the varnished edge of the table he leaned over, keeled over, knees knocking against the legs of the dammned thing with a thump. A bang, even, as he felt the wet whirr of ground greens hiss between his ears.
“Earth to Keiran?”
It would ring into into a hum. Quiet into nothing...- “KEIRAN!”
Finally blinking felt like breathing. Keiran winced, hard, and newfound oxygen ignited flame.
“FECK OFF, MURRAY!”
Steel on stone, now, as the knife clatters to the ground.