//------------------------------//
// Practice Makes Perfect 
// Story: Solstice 
// by Scorpius 
//------------------------------//



Arthur,

Forthnall and Whitetail putting further pressure on today. Our position in some serious danger. Please ensure that any school squabbles remain confined to the Arcana in future. I can’t shield the little dirt-pusher from a position of weakness. You’re lucky I got the fine down to six thousand. I’ll pay four from the vault.

Please pass the attached missive on to the filly. And please do make sure she understands the importance of making us look good from all this. Forthnall pressing enough as it is, claims of not being able to raise a neophyte will lose us the vote.

My regards to Primrose,
Quercus






An Illusory blackboard covered the larger bookshelf and, in the air before it, four pieces of chalk seemed to hang, steady. It was a moment before Maria even noticed that they cast no shadows—a huff and a flash of hornglow soon fixed that. A second-year mistake.

In her mind’s eye she was watching and replaying the notes that Deputy Headmaster Whitetail had written that morning. She’d memorised the words—not what they’d said, for their content was deliberately nonsensical, but their shapes and their forms. They were art in motion, and Maria had memorised every curve.

She’d mastered the single chalk an hour ago—it wasn’t that different from the quill on paper Illusion, and she’d had all of History to practice that. Four chalks, though? It had been difficult enough to focus on a single line of text at a time.

Slowly, but surely, she tried. The shapes were all familiar—and she’d practiced each line individually, so she hadn’t needed to worry about where each line would start and end—but found her mind unconsciously drifting to one line or the other and, as her attention drifted, so too did the chalk. One line would fall behind the others, so she would try to trace it faster, only to find some other line falling behind or speeding up too much as well.

And casting so many Illusions was exhausting. She could feel the ache in her horn as different spells interfered, and after two hours of near-constant Illusionwork on an empty stomach, even her legs were beginning to feel weak.

With a sigh, she banished the Illusions, and pulled a glass of water across the room to her lips. A quick fli… two quick flicks of hornglow, and it was refreshingly chilled. She lapped it up, the icy cold on her lips slowly flowing to chill her tongue, her throat, her stomach.

And then, just as she began to bend to sit on her cushion, there was a sharp, loud knock at the door. Maria straightened herself up, placing her glass carefully on her bedside table before grasping the door with her hornglow.

“Maria.”

Professor Everfree’s—her father’s—greeting was sharp and formal, but Maria could see the hint of a smile tugging at his muzzle.

“Father,” she replied, inclining her head slightly. “Please, come in.”

“I spoke with the Headmistress.” Professor Everfree made his way over to a cushion by the fire, one that Maria had long since reserved for his visits—not that anyone else ever really visited her, except Tim—and looked right at her. “You realise how lightly you got off?”

“Yes, father,” Maria said, looking at the floor to avoid his eyes. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” he said. “You had little choice in the matter, and I suspect that we would have come off a great deal worse if you hadn’t. Apparently the Thaumata’s session today was… particularly damaging.”

Professor Everfree took a moment to compose himself, before flicking open a saddle-bag and floating a scroll across to Maria.

“Quercus attached this to his missive tonight. He says it’s for your eyes only.”

It took almost all of her will not to gasp—Consul Quercus was the Head of House Everfree, and though he had been involved in her placement as neophyte he had never communicated with her directly. One of the older serving-mares had said that he didn’t so much as look at her during her Presentation, which had caused quite some scandal.

Instead, she nodded, and tucked the scroll away neatly on the shelf of her bedside table. “I’ll make sure to look at it tonight.”

“Good.” Professor Everfree smiled. “Now all you have to do is lose gracefully and we should be in the clear. Rabastan said he’d be happy to go through that with you—the formalities and all that. Can you believe there are formalities to losing a Duel?”

He’d said it as a joke, of course—there was nothing in Equestria that was not done with formality—but it struck a nerve in Maria. His standing wasn’t remotely threatened by a breach of etiquette: he was a distinguished Professor from an old and powerful House, and he had cultivated an air of absent-mindedness. But Maria was the first neophyte of Everfree, and would always be under scrutiny. One hoof out of line, and Maria would lose what small amount of respect she had been able to cultivate among her fellow students.

Assuming, of course, that anyone would respect her after publicly accepting a Duel Oath.

Professor Everfree seemed to have noticed that he’d said the wrong thing. Awkwardly, he rose, and started towards the door.

“Be careful, Maria,” he said. “Your mother and I would hate to see you hurt.”

“I’ll be okay.” The lie ran smoothly from her tongue. Formal Duels weren’t exactly known for being safe, particularly when one’s opponent was more powerful and more practiced. “Thank you.”

“I’ll send a serving-mare down with some dinner,” the Professor said as he reached the door. “I imagine you didn’t get to eat all that much earlier.”

At that moment, Maria’s stomach growled loudly; she smiled sheepishly at the Professor, who chuckled and closed the door behind him with a creak and soft thud.

When the serving-mare arrived a half hour later, she found Maria standing once more in front of an Illusory blackboard, four pieces of chalk floating slowly across it, wavering and erratic. She placed the tray down on the end-table, knocking a small, curled roll of parchment to the floor, and backed out of the room as quietly as she had arrived, leaving Maria to her exercises and—if she ever noticed it—her dinner.







Neophyte,

Ignore what Arthur says. I need you to win. Don’t mess this up, and don’t make us look bad.

Consul Quercus