Matters of Perception
« on: January 20, 2021, 12:53:33 AM »
Sparring was one of the activities Vitian best found herself in. It had taken some work, in the beginning, to convince her growing crowd - what would later get sorted into the rings of court - to set her caste aside as much as her gender. It helped that there were still enough male bodies from her youth whose opinions of her had grown with her, seen her fledgling training attempts, and could no more treat her as some kind of lady than cut off one of their own wings. She was still separate to them, in an undefinable and unchangeable way, but she'd take that sense of disconnect if it meant they treated her as they always treated her. Like a rough sibling. Like a male.

As much as they were able, at least. The best known of her entourage were still handing her ass to her as often as not in practice, where it might not have been so frequent if she had been a boy.

Men were not so often required to manage their courts as Queens were, if all the whispering and gossip were to be believed. The Stewards had managed differently, whatever that meant. She'd already had to bare her teeth and toe her temper when her triangle got testy, which seemed to be happening more and more the longer she kept her position. Men were so fussy.

Vitian had no such issues. Fussing was for people with the time for it, or who's job made it necessary. Stewarding, Escorting, these positions didn't require the level of obnoxious that her age mates seemed to deem necessary.

Which was why, clean after her most recent spear practice, Vitian escorted herself to the offices of her healer, who had been assigned a position that required fussing and who wouldn't do it unduly. Probably.

It really was going to depend on how she took the quickly blossoming bruises and scuffed forearms from an ill-executed guard. But Healer fussing was different. Vitian couldn't look like her men were abusing her, because no one would believe she bullied them into training her. Which meant she couldn't go walking around with a swollen cheek and scabby arms. People would get ideas, and cause a ruckus, and then she'd be left with even more fussing.

"Healer Bastian?" she called, rapping on the entry as she did so. She'd be more than happy to find some hapless apprentice that would cower beneath her stare and keep their silence without her having to lay on any kind of threat. Apprentices were easy to push around. "Are you in?"