The Opulent Quarrel - Round One: Mademoiselle Primfel's

"The demon," hissed Völsung. Verdant's hand went for her erstwhile sword - not that it would've done much good against something of Gunzelurge's size - and Alex figured this'd be a prudent time to step in.

"Let me handle this."

She squared her shoulders and, with a pleasant ringing of boots on courtyard flagstones, walked over to Gunzelurge. The Pheral looked at her with undisguised curiosity, though it would've been quite easy to mistake it for a hulking leer. Most expressions'd be "hulking" at that size, Alex supposed.

"Good-morning I. Do. Believe-we-have-met."

Alright figured Alex, this is going to be fine. Juuuuuuust fine. She seems nice. Kind of slow, but honestly? Kind of terrifying if she weren't, with a build like hers.

"I-wish-to. Compliment. Your chassis. I-am-led-to-believe alloys like yours are rather." Gunzelurge thoughtfully tapped the grill of metal, cowcatcher-like, which approximated her face's lower half. "In-vogue."

Oh. "Uh, thanks?"

"If you were an. Actual. Pheral. You-would-not be. Out-of-place-in The Wright-claves-of-Machinations. Or-so-I-believe, it-has-been-a-while since I stopped by. Town."

"However."

"I know you are not a real Pheral. Because. Your alloy is. Not. Desirous-of-metal-in-conduct but. Still very nice." She flexed a bicep of her own to demonstrate, pointing at the exposed joint. Alex would've whistled in appreciation; the mechanical pistons or whatever in Gunzelurge's elbow did it for her. "If you are. Jointed, you conceal it. Like a Fragile."

"A what now?"

A pause two beats south of awkward. The ifrit was about to ask if the robot had like, crashed, or something, then: "My-apologies-it-is-a-Se'anvil-term-for-sophonts-not-Se'anvil-I-do-not-have-anything-against-them-collectively-but-understand-if-the-term-standalone-is-not-flattering-"

"-woah, hey, it's fine-"

"and-you-seem-nice-and-cognizant-of-local-norms-such-as-not-suplexing-each-other-as-greeting-in-high-traffic-areas. Anyway-I-am-Gunzelurge-and-it-is-lovely-to-meet-you-and-I-apologise-again-for-possible-offense-by-flexible-definitions-and-for-not-introducing-myself-sooner." The druid seemed to notice she was still flexing and lowered her arm, shifting her stance a little.

Alex, more than a little bemused, patted a clearly-embarrassed robot on the back of its hand. Christ, she's got fingers as thick as my forearms. With both hands, she shook Gunzelurge's hand in a movement that wasn't quite a handshake.

"It's fine," insisted the ifrit. "I'm Alex, it's great to meet you too and oh boy it's that horse again."

Gunzelurge spun around faster than Alex was really prepared for, but it was only Radicorn. Which meant, it was time for-

---

Horsemanship!

Radicorn's incandescent presence had been enough to stop anyone kicking up a fuss about the stuff their classmates were made of, and now thirty-or-so first years were lined up outside the stables in varying states of excitement, anxiety, and matter (stood between Gunzelurge and a fight-or-flight-ready Verdant was a human-shaped shimmer in the air, the posture of her school uniform the only indication her immediate company was making her uncomfortable).

The horse was nudging at girls' poor posture and affixing a deathglare on anyone who dared so much as whisper. It was something of a relief when it finally pawed the ground twice and Madam Ascot emerged, holding a hovering rope and leading thirty-odd horse-shaped entities out of the stable. If Gunzelurge was disappointed, she didn't show it. The "horses" fanned out, forming a matching row behind the instructor.

"Morning, ladies!"

Verdant's designated horse was a haughty stallion, finest among the for-realsies horses. He was a noble jet-black under natural light, and a drabber, respectful grey under Radicorn's. He looked at the disembodied tack beside him with disdain.

Völsung's was also an actual horse, a brown fell pony rather more nervous around these unsettling horseforms, of which Gunzelurge's was the largest and least horselike by dint of its extra load-bearing legs.

Alex, with a human on either side of her and two mares across obfuscating the gap between them by huddling from the not-horses, clearly didn't have a horse, because-

"Hrm. We're one short. Alright, which one of you lost their timetable and thought they could join their friend?"

There was a collective moment of hesitation before Gunzelurge raised her hand. Radicorn exchanged a withering glance with the strategically-armored abomination opposite. Madame Ascot groaned inwardly - the Constructs students were by and large well-behaved, but you'd occasionally get shit like this - and booted up her wrist display. "Name."

"Please-call-me-Gunzelurge-and-I-apologise-for-losing-my-timetable-but-De-gave-me-a-replacement."

"Gunzel... Gunzel- ah. Miss... Retrowirx." Gunzelurge still had her hand up, and was pretty clearly on-track to be disruptive if improperly handled. Alex resisted the urge to do a double-take, because nobody else was daring to move. "Miss Gunzelurge. While your honesty is admirable, you're supposed to be in this class right now and not the student I'm looking for." Gunzelurge still didn't lower her hand, so Madam Ascot actually sighed this time and gestured to the Pheral.

Clang. Wince. "Thank-you. Madam Ascot. Your-" the robot made an aggrieved gesture before finally spitting out "-Horse. You have. prepared-for-me. It is nice however. I-was-hoping-to. Manship my own horse today and. That he would-be in your stables as. De suggested. If he is-as-I-suspect, not. that-is-acceptable, given he needs. Ample space. To run. Also. I am able to summon him so. You would not need to. Worry."

"Did that demon just say it can summon?"

"*stern neigh*"

Ascot rolled her eyes and did a pretty solid job making it look like a gesture toward Radicorn. "Fine, but go give yourself enough space to be quiet. Do not interrupt this class further."

"Thank-you-Madam-Ascot," said Gunzelurge, and she headed out a respectful distance from the class, Radicorn in tow.

"Right," said Ascot, dismissing Gunzelurge's original 30-hand "horse" from existence with a wave of her hand and a wave of relief among the remaining steeds. "The rest of you, hurry up and mount your horses, and may Primfel have mercy on whichever one of you is not supposed to be here."

Everyone hurried to their respective horses pretty quick-smart after that, save for Völsung and Alex. The dragúnsídhe was staring at the robot doing warm-up stretches, Alex was watching Ascot, and Ascot was distracted by two queen bees trying to trade a meeker girl for her apparently-the-best horse.

Everyone noticed the vwoom and arctic gale as Gunzelurge opened a portal in the air, big as a six-lane road tunnel and uttering a magnificent roar. The Pheral clapped her hands with a righteous CLANG that set Völsung's teeth on edge, and bellowed in response.

Völsung's's initial thought was "how big a horse are we talking about here even," before realising she'd been struck dumb by a demon. This had to be a trick, there was no way-

Radicorn screamed, bursting into searing light-

"Unacceptable."

Ascot had leapt to Radicorn's side in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it flash of white wings, shaking with barely-contained fury. His radiance stripped and visibly grappling with Gunzelurge's portal, the horse lay sprawled, plain, and panting on the ground, very clearly pissed that that's where his reputation would average out for a decent while. Gunzelurge took the hint, and with another cacophonous bang of her fists, the portal closed again.

Nobody said anything for a tense moment, broken once Radicorn seemed to recover and haul himself to his feet. "Detention," Ascot finally managed. Composure was officially for chumps who didn't have Constructs crashing their first classes of the day. Gunzelurge nodded. "Now."

Gunzelurge figured it best not to argue. Ascot pointed the way of the main building, clearly not trusting Gunzelurge to avoid summoning another damnable "horse" en route. The rest of the class, she entrusted to Radicorn as she growled: "Practice... practice tacking your horses. Radicorn does not know the meaning of 'detention', only 'the Headmistress' Office.' Not a single demerit amongst you until I return."

Gunzelurge, having walked a dozen steps and almost returned to her pre-summoning location in line, waited patiently for the Madam to catch up. She waved shyly in Alex's direction as she was hustled away, a surprisingly conservative movement for something so large. "Move it, you."