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I think this chapter of the Majgen series is also suitable as a standalone teaser, for those who have not yet read any ‘Majgen’. Until now, I have kept the non-erotic Majgen-story to the Non-Erotic category, to not dilute the hotness of Sci-Fi you are acting like an immature child.”
‘That does it,’ Syvaron Delk decided, and punched Majgen in the stomach, just below her ribs.
After making her short speech Majgen had little air left in her to be pushed out, and now she found herself momentarily unable to breathe in fresh air. The young woman sank to her knees with a severe pain spreading through her abdomen, which still refused to perform an inhale.
Standing next to her, Syvaron Delk breathed heavily. His fists clenched tight as he fought the desire to beat her further. Majgen was the personal student of an Ottearon. Even though that Ottearon was a friend of his, he had no right to beat the personal student of a higher ranked mentarion — without permission.
The hall was completely quiet, every mentarion present had turned their attention to the Syvaron and the tenth ranked student. Those who had not seen the violent blow themselves had been made aware of the scene by emotions of surprise emanating from those who had.
Ottearon Weissme hurried to his friend and the young woman.
‘Is she emanating?’ Weissme wondered with a tint of fear. It was not like his friend to lose control of himself even for a second.
“My apologies, Ottearon Weissme,” Syvaron Delk said, as soon as his long time friend arrived, “I should not have hit your student without your permission.” Delk forced his fists to unclench, and likewise willed the rest of his body out of its rigid aggressive stance.
“The fact that the student was will-fully and deliberately insolent does not excuse my actions, Ottearon. I beg your forgiveness, and will, of course, willingly submit to whichever punishment you should find suitable for my offence, Ottearon Weissme.” Syvaron Delk stared into thin air – above Student Majgen’s crouched body – while addressing his older friend.
In the silence after Syvaron Delk’s apology, Majgen re-found her ability to inhale and did so with a loud hissing gasp. It was as audible as a scream in the quiet hall. That, and the hissing and gasping noises from her continued breathing, left none in doubt that the student had received a hard blow to the stomach.
If Syvaron Delk had not been his friend then Weissme could have sent the Syvaron on his way, with words of returning to the matter at another time. However, Syvaron Delk was his friend. If Ottearon Weissme should settle this matter in private, then rumours of inappropriate lenience trabzon escort — towards a personal acquaintance — would begin to spread.
Ottearon stood still next to his friend for a moment, looking at Majgen while she struggled for air. Then he turned to Syvaron Rico Delk – his friend through many years.
“Face me, Syvaron,” Weissme ordered.
Delk obeyed.
“Fold your hands behind your back, Syvaron Delk.” A feeling of regret churned within Ottearon Weissme as he watched his friend obey his second command.
‘Whatever Majgen Rahan did to cause this, she will pay dearly,’ Weissme thought, this promise gave Weissme the strength he needed to punch his friend in the stomach. The younger man fell to the floor in a breathless hump. Ottearon Weissme knew how to put force behind a blow, in his younger days he had taken every single course available to mentarions, including the classes in corporal punishment.
“This settles the matter between us, Syvaron Delk,” Ottearon Weissme informed his breathless friend, and every other mentarion in the hall. Still speaking to everyone present he formally addressed Delk again.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I have certain matters to discuss with my student, Syvaron Delk.”
Weissme went to Majgen and pulled her to her feet – by her left upper arm. She hardly had enough air to stand. Yet, she managed to stumble out of the hall with her mentor partially pulling, and partially supporting, her left arm.
While Ottearon Weissme pulled her through the halls of the mentarion conference centre, Majgen bravely fought a strong urge to vomit. She still hadn’t regained her breath, the pain in her stomach was causing a strong nausea. On top of that, walking, while being dazed from lack of air, induced motion sickness.
Weissme was headed for a taxi gate. At an elevator, Majgen finally got a few moments to catch her breath and get her nausea under control.
‘What’s wrong with me,’ Majgen thought to herself,’I should know better, Ido know better.’ In the past, she had inadvertently insulted mentarions on many occasions. But, until a few moments ago, she had never been intentionally rude towards a graduated mentarion.
Ottearon Weissme still hung on to his student’s arm.
‘She forced me to chastise a friend in public.’ Weissme’s anger towards Student Majgen burned inside him, he was planning to contain it till they were in the privacy of his apartment.
‘I don’t know what she did, but Rico would never have lost control without a very good reason. Whatever that reason was, she is going to pay dearly.’ Ottearon Weissme felt unusually calm within his rage. Determined. tunceli escort Right then, Weissme felt more clarified and at peace with himself than he had for a very long time. However, he was too furious to notice and wonder why.
Majgen noticed.
‘He has semiconsciously longed for something like this ever since I became his personal student,’ she thought,’I’ve known that for a long time.’ Fear was coursing through her, and sadness mingled with the fear.’I’d wish I hadn’t been right. I’d wish Ottearon Weissme was more like the person he wants to be, and less a victim of semiconscious urges.’
The elevator arrived, Weissme pulled her in with his hard grip on her arm, ignoring her attempts to obediently move where he wanted her to.
Majgen focused on gathering courage as the elevator took them to a taxi gate.
The elevator doors opened Weissme pulled her out with him, into Taxi Gate 11. There he let go off her to activate his communicator.
“Taxi gate 11. Now,” was the only instructions Weissme offered his Chauffeur.
Ottearon Weissme walked through the taxi gate hallway, and his student followed. None of them spoke as they waited for the hired Chauffeur — who arrived after a few minutes.
The Ottearon and Majgen left the taxi gate and entered the first class private transportation wagon. Once seated Weissme activated the intercom.
“Home,” he said, trusting the Chauffeur to interpret that as Weissme’s nearest apartment. Turning the intercom off he looked at Majgen. She returned his gaze. Her mind shield was still raised, but that didn’t hide her fear, Weissme easily sensed it through her emanations.
‘Of course she is afraid, she knows what is coming,’ he thought to himself.
“What did you do?” Weissme was sure she would understand he was referring to her interaction with Syvaron Delk.
“I insulted him, Ottearon Weissme.”
“How?”
“I told him, he was acting like an immature child.” Majgen felt a fresh surge of anger pulse in Weissme. Through his emanations she followed his interpretation of her words.’He is assuming my insult was spoken in front of an audience of Syvaron Delk’s peers.’
“I made sure that no one, other than Syvaron Delk, heard my comment, Ottearon,” Majgen knew her words would agitate Ottearon Weissme further, rather than appease him.
‘The fact that I can follow his line of thought through his mind shield bothers him immensely,’ Majgen thought,’Emotionally that weighs heavier than the fact the insult was not witnessed.’
“For months you have been waiting for an excuse to beat me to a bloody pulp. Now I have handed you that excuse, Antwoine,” she uşak escort said, she almost managed to keep the fear out of her voice. Majgen had never addressed her teacher by his first name. To speak to him without adhering to mentarion etiquette — to call him Antwoine — had required a genuine effort of will on her behalf.
“Yes. You truly have,” Weissme said, observing his student closely while speaking, “And Iwill beat you. Severely.”
‘She is as afraid of pain as she has been all along. Why is she bringing this upon herself?’ he wondered.
‘I am not too sure myself, Ottearon,’ Majgen thought to herself, her growing fear reduced her ability to analyse his emanations, but she was not yet completely unable to follow his line of thought.
“I will do that later,” Weissme said, Majgen caught his semiconscious regret at delaying the beating, it was unmistakable in his emanations, he only intended to wait till they were safely in the confine of his apartment.
“Right now,” Weissme continued, “I want an explanation for your behaviour. Have you got any excuses to offer for your insolent behaviour?”
Unlike Majgen, the Ottearon had no trouble expressing himself without adhering to the mentarion rules for proper form of address.
“I have no excuses, Ottearon Weissme.”
“Any explanations then?” Weissme scrutinised his students body-language, in spite of her fear he had a feeling that she would take this opportunity to get herself into even deeper trouble.
Majgen opened her mouth to reply, but she closed it again without making a sound. She was loosing track of Weissme’s line of thought. Her fear had grown to a level strong enough to obstruct her special sensitivity, reducing her knowledge of what went on inside his head to the level of what any mentarion could read from emanations.
‘I don’t need to sense it to know it though,’ she thought,’but somehow it is worse to assume, even though the knowing is horrible; when what is coming is pain.’
“I do not know why I chose to speak my mind today, Ottearon Weissme. I do not know why I find myself unable to grovel for mercy either. I cannot offer an explanation, Ottearon.” Majgen was telling the truth, she didn’t understand why she was suddenly acting rebellious.
“In that case: Shut up student,” Ottearon Weissme said, and leaned back in his seat, preparing to ignore her presence for the remainder of the ride.
They sat in quiet. Majgen got her fear under control, and regained her special perceptive abilities.
‘The Ottearon isn’t evil, he just isn’t perfect. He can’t stand living without privacy. He hates having me as a personal student. And I hate being his personal student. I can’t stand his constant guilt for everything he has done to me, I can’t stand feeling sorry for him for hurtingme. Nobody is perfect. I am not perfect either, but I should try to convince him to transfer me back to Femaron Baglian.’
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