Oren regarded the unlocked gate with fond exasperation — as fond as he ever got, anyway. Exasperation with the barest hint of fondness. A drop of fondness in a lake of exasperation.

Gods, was he tired.

They'd only been home in Wisteria a few days in the wake of their extermination job, all of them scrambling to get their things together and repacked before they set off in the morning for the capitol. Sera had cautioned all the tourney participants to get as much rest as they could now, because no one knew exactly how grueling the tourney would turn out to be. He'd only enter the games should one of their members have to drop out, but he should've been asleep regardless. Sia really should've been asleep. But she wasn't, and so neither was Oren.

This was why he didn't have other friends.

The wrought-iron gate (shaped into curling vines and delicate leaves, on brand for the guild) led to a clearing behind the guild that Varya had cultivated with training in mind. The enclosed area wasn't overly large, but spacious enough a few pairs of Roses could spar together at the same time. Multiple people had keys, with all of them sourced through Sera and traded off whenever someone had need of the space. Oren guessed Sia had either gotten hers from Sera directly or borrowed it from Hawthorne. That is, if she didn't have a permanent key already; Oren couldn't really be sure one way or the other.

Slipping past the gate, Oren didn't have to look too hard to locate the wayward cleric. Her magic was impossible to ignore, and she was the only person out this late in the training field, a pale pink ghost among Varya's moonlit blossoms.

"Passing out on the train ride tomorrow is a guarantee you're going to wake up with something unsightly drawn on your face," he said in lieu of a greeting, settling with his back against one of the wooden posts they used for target practice.

The squeal Sia let out was shrill, and Oren scrunched one eye closed in a wince as she spun towards him, hands clapped over her mouth as though that would prevent him from acknowledging the startled noise that had escaped her. He relaxed his expression as their eyes met; he could make fun of her for getting so lost in her head she hadn't noticed his approach another time, when he wasn't running on fumes.

"Is that a forewarning or a promise?" she joked through her fingers, before clearing her throat and dropping her hands. "Should I be rethinking my choice of travel partner?"

"More like a reminder that Cross exists and will take advantage of a moment of weakness," he said, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he took in the clearing. There was evidence of Sia's magic in every corner, which meant she'd been at this awhile. Longer than he'd anticipated, honestly. She was going to be such a pain tonight, he knew it just by the way she was standing now, feet planted just so, body coiled tight with tension and magic alike.

"And no, you shouldn't, unless you want to give Cross total access to your vulnerable... everything," he said, with a vague hand gesture at her person. He wasn't good at quips on less than eight hours of sleep, alright?

"Ah, Cross, how could I forget. You it is. Don't forget your advice when I sleep on your shoulder."

The night air was cool, and the breeze that ruffled Oren's hair brought with it the scent of green, growing things that permeated the entirety of the guild (sometimes the whole town, if he got dramatic about it). Sia, though, was coated in a fine film of sweat, her face red with exertion. Not a great look for her, if he was honest.

"Point is," Oren said, lifting a brow at the scrutinizing look Sia had turned on him, " if you don't want this great tragedy to befall you, you should, you know. Sleep. Now. Preferably before dawn."

She tilted her head back, and judging by the widening of her eyes she hadn't noticed just how high the moon had crept while she was out here training. Sighing, she raked her hair away from her face and looked back down at the clearing.

"I won't be out here too much longer," Sia promised after a moment's hesitation. "I just wanted to get some more practice in, is all." She paused, glancing at Oren. "Like you, I presume?"

Oren scoffed and pushed away from the post. "Not really my thing. But it's your thing, and your thing also includes you training so much you pass out. Like I said. Do you know how annoying that is? I'll have to talk to people, Sia. People like Cross. Or Nova. Or Kier."

That last one wasn't likely. Kier was in Waverly mode these days, but he wasn't any more pleasant to be around, in Oren's opinion. He talked less like this, but he also didn't exclusively talk to Waverly the way he was with Rhett sometimes, so there was a chance, however slim, that Oren would have to socialize with him if his usual conversation partner was asleep in her seat.

Blowing out a breath, Oren propped his hands on his hips and met Sia's gaze. "It's not my thing, but if it means you get your ass into bed sooner, I'll help out." He lifted one hand, fingers spread — a gossamer veil of magic flickered around the digits. "So who's it gonna be? My last copy was Rhett — don't ask — so it's either him, or I copy you and you can see how you stack up against yourself."

How that would help her, he couldn't tell you. But it wouldn't be the first time she'd asked to spar against a copy of herself, so he thought he'd offer anyway.

Sia tilted her head, studying Oren for a moment as she considered his offer. "Rhett," she settled on after a moment. "I don't think fighting myself would help me in this situation."

Well, they agreed there, at least.

Decision made, Sia put her back to him as she strode across the grounds to put several paces between them. It was a sight Oren had grown used to in the years they'd been at the guild together. Oren made for a versatile sparring partner, according to Sia, and given they'd joined the guild around the same time, it had only made sense for them to pair up. Oren didn't like training — he considered it a waste of time for himself, for the most part, as he wasn't a fighter and probably never would be. But Sia had dragged him out enough times that they'd gotten familiar with one another's fighting styles.

"...thanks."

He almost didn't hear the quiet word, but it carried in the soft silence of the clearing. Stifling a grin, Oren took a moment to sort himself out before he responded.

He called his magic, and it was barely a flicker of a thought before he'd transformed, his frame shortening but filling out a little in a way Oren didn't let himself dwell on. Rhett's bangs fell into his eyes, and he swiped them aside as he looked himself over. He didn't like copying Rhett, not only because he didn't need Kier thinking he was making a move on the guy, but also because Rhett's blindness didn't transfer with his magic.

It didn't sit right with Oren that he got Rhett's body and his magic, but he also got to see. Oren's fae blood meant he always had his eyes, no matter who he copied, a marker of his heritage whether he liked it or not. Rhett wouldn't have taken offense, he knew that, but usually it was altogether easier just to skip it entirely. But needs must, and all that.

Whatever jacket Rhett had been wearing was a little too restrictive, so Oren shucked it and tossed it over the post he'd abandoned, then settled himself into a loose stance he'd seen Rhett take on jobs before. It didn't feel quite as natural as his movements with Hawthorne's body (it was his go-to copy when he could manage it), but he usually got a handle on things pretty quickly, so he didn't worry about it.

"Don't mention it," he said, more to hear himself speak with Rhett's voice than anything else. Another thing to get used to. "Really, don't. If Sky hears I helped with your dumb training regime she'll start forcing me to go with her when she trains, and I'll literally die.

Sia snorted and brought a hand up to hide her curling ups. "You make a good point. If you die, who would train with me?" she teased agreeably. "No worries, I'll keep your kind side to myself."

Oren wasn't as sensitive to magic as other members of their guild, but he felt the subtle change in pressure as Sia released some of hers. Rhett's own magic helped — it brought with it a newfound awareness of the way the air moved around him and everything in the clearing. Sia's magic butted up against Rhett's, giving Oren a slight warning that Sia was preparing to move.

For Rhett, his senses were so fine-tuned that he could maneuver himself through the world with feedback from air currents alone. Oren wasn't as well-versed with his air magic, but he knew Sia, and he knew how she fought. As practical as she was, she liked her flashy openings.

With that in mind, the moment Sia shifted her weight, Oren gathered the air with a sweep of his hands and propelled himself backwards. Sia unleashed her magic in the same moment, and the overwhelming pressure of it brushed his outstretched hands, knocking them down, which of course fucked with Oren's trajectory and sent him off balance. He hit the ground feet first, still, but the force of his movements had him stumbling onto his ass, palms tearing through the grass.

Cursing, Oren threw out a hand, ignoring the faint throb of pain in his wrist, and drew the winds into a spiral around Sia, throwing up a heady mix of dirt, grass, and flower petals, hoping to give himself a moment to get to his feet before she struck again.

He saw Sia disappear in the whirlwind, and it gave Oren the seconds he needed to stand and get his bearings. Once he was upright, though, another surge of magic flooded the air, and a thick fog settled over the clearing. Oren blinked, caught off guard. So much for being able to make use of his vision. Rhett would have been much better off adapting to this than Oren.

The fog disrupted the general awareness he had of the training field, which meant it had to go. Oren sliced his hand through the air, a burst of wind following the movement and dispelling the fog — just in time for Sia, taking advantage of his limited visibility, to leap from seemingly nowhere and land a kick to Oren's shoulder.

The impact knocked a grunt out of him, but Rhett was a little studier than Oren was, and where Oren would have hit the ground a second time, Rhett's body absorbed enough of the kick that Oren was only sent reeling a few feet to the side. Twisting on his heel, he sent another burst of wind into Sia's face with one hand, drawing the other back and collecting the winds around it with the precious few seconds he had. Surging forward, Oren punched out at Sia, letting the winds burst at high speed the moment before they made contact with her torso.

Sia grunted as the impact stole her breath, sending her skittering back. Oren didn't have a moment of respite, though, as Sia caught her footing and sprung right back at him. Her arm went back, so Oren braced for a punch, instinctively throwing up both arms to counter. He knew an instant before she made contact he'd miscalculated — the hair lining the back of his arms and neck stood on end, the air tinged with the smell of ozone, and the electricity Sia had channeled along her arm jarred Oren's senses enough that he didn't notice her outstretched leg until it swept into his ankles, knocking him off his feet. He bit out a curse as he went down, but he had enough presence of mind to bring both arms down from their crossed position, sending out twin slices of wind aimed at Sia's torso.

He hit the ground again, the impact driving the air from his chest, but he saw Sia spin herself away from his attack, using her own winds to propel herself a safe distance away from him. Rolling into an upright position, Oren pressed a hand to his sternum, trying to catch his breath. Sia, of course, didn't give him the luxury, already moving to strike at the earth with a bolt of — lightning. Fucking hell. Oren called the winds again, wanting to insulate himself from the electricity, but the booming crack of thunder that followed the lightning strike felt like someone had clapped their hands over his ears with vicious intent.

He dropped to his knees, hands curled over the back of his head as he gasped into his knees, bent over nearly double. Fuck. Sia could do that? And fucking goddamn, Rhett had sensitive fucking ears.

Disoriented, Oren forced himself to drop one hand and curl his fingers inwards, channeling all the wind that he could into a tight, swirling ball around himself. Rhett's magic pulsed, a reaction to his own near-stifling adrenaline, and the winds responded, rushing to him that much faster. The surge of air into his lungs woke up his senses a little, but his ears were still ringing and he couldn't figure out exactly how far the magic was reaching.

It took a moment, but the ringing finally died down, and Oren dropped both hands with a heavy exhale. The winds dissipated almost instantly, and Oren had a moment to wonder why the feedback was so vibrant and overwhelming, and why Sia had just let him take the breather, before he lifted his head and caught sight of Sia.

On the ground. Not moving. Her hands circled loosely around her throat.

Rhett's form fell away as Oren's heart dropped into his stomach, before catapulting back up into the hollow of his throat. Fuck, fuck, fuck, what had he done?

Scrambling to his feet, Oren stumbled across the field, his heart beating out a staccato rhythm he heard as blood rushing in his ears, blocking out the sleepy nighttime sounds of Wisteria.

Don't be dead, don't be dead, don't be dead—