Sexy Steampunk Babes

William smiled broadly as he watched his team whooping and hollering with delight as they made their way back to the dorms.

Though there was no missing the slight… gingerness of their movements.

Nor the smell, he thought with some amusement, thankful that he wasn’t downwind of the small collection of young women.

Anyone that believed a girls’ locker-room smelled any better than a mens’ after a hard workout had clearly not spent much time in one. To that end, he didn’t doubt that all of them were eager to hit the showers. Both to get clean – and to soothe the many aches and pains they’d amassed over the last half hour.

Victorious or not, any time spent on the Floats invariably resulted in strained muscles and large bruises.

Something the healers could easily fix if they were so inclined - but wouldn’t. Partially because doing so would be a waste of their time and talents, but mostly because doing so would only serve to undo any gains in physicality his team might have garnered over the last half-hour.

Those who overindulge in healing magic after a workout certainly wouldn’t suffer the backlash that resulted from pushing their body to the limits, but neither would they see the benefits. That was common knowledge.

Though why that was the case was as of yet unknown to the world at large.

Nor why exercising helps build said fitness, he thought. Just that it does.

Theories abound of course, but his readings indicated that as many of those dealt with magic as much as flesh and blood.

That’s the problem with so many things around here fucking with the laws physics on a whim, he thought. It makes it hard to know what those laws actually are.

With that in mind, the somewhat lopsided technological development of this world only continued to make more sense.

Still, ultimately his musings on the collective technological advancement of the world at large was less important than the young woman who was even now awkwardly walking up to him.

“I guess we’ll not be seeing each other tomorrow after all,” he said, enjoying the way the older girl flinched at his words.

“I guess we won’t,” the dark elf responded through gritted teeth, her blue New Haven uniform marred by a dark brown splotch across the shoulder where harpy venom had soaked in.

Dry and flaky now, the substance had long since lost its paralytic features after being exposed to air, it would nevertheless be a pain to wash out.

Something William couldn’t take too much pleasure in, given that he had a similar splotch around his right thigh – with an accompanying bruise to match.

With that said, he could at least take some solace in knowing that Royal black was significantly easier to clean than his opposite number’s New Haven blue.

“To that end, will I be seeing the dividends of our little bet now or shall I expect them to be delivered to my dorm room later tonight?” he asked.

The second-year’s scowl deepened. “The latter.”

“Excellent.” he grinned.

Certainly, he didn’t need more coin per se, but after being cut off from his family’s finances, any influx of wealth to the team’s communal coffers was still welcome.

Better yet, all that the girl had asked for in return was a ‘date’ if they won.

His smile stilled slightly.

Or at least, she’d phrased it as a ‘date’. Given her tone and the snickering sounds her teammates had been making when he approached their table, the implication had been that the date would have merely been a prelude to something more intimate later in the evening.

A risk, given who his fiancée was, but a minor one. They weren’t married yet and given the dearth of men compared to women in this world, a little adventure on the part of a man wasn’t unexpected while he was young.

It was even welcomed in a way, all the better to increase the number of mages in the next generation.

Still, he’d certainly not been the one to suggest the bet.

Nor the date.

Oh, he’d certainly offered one or two up to other second year teams early on in the year as an incentive to humour his requests for practice bouts on the floats, but those had been… different.

Training by any other name really, he thought.

He’d effectively offered himself up as a practice dummy for those young women to practice their courting skills with a member of the opposite sex in return for an opportunity for his team to practice their combat skills.

Oh, he had no doubt that those young women would hardly have been opposed if said practice date led to something more but none of them had been expecting it.

…Apparently the rumours that he’d effectively been cut off from his family’s wealth had changed that dynamic.

To the extent that some people felt they could suggest things they wouldn’t have dared to even think but a few weeks ago.

Opportunists by any other name.

Which was a large part of the reason he couldn’t resist the small vindictive thrill that ran through him as he watched the second-year storm away.

Because, unfortunately for the New Haven cadet whose team his had just trounced, he was no different from her in at least one regard.

He was an opportunist too.

And the opportunity for a fat payday had been one he couldn’t pass up. Not least of all because it had come from a slaver’s pockets.

“Cadet Saltmire?” he called after the other woman’s retreating back.

The girl paused mid-step, before slowly turning to look at him, eyes cautious. “Yes?”

“Same time next week?” he asked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

He could see her considering it, before her eyes flitted over to the viewing stands, where a few a few dozen bored-looking cadets were chatting amongst themselves in small groups.

The stands were far from full, but it was an unexpectedly large turnout for what was essentially just a practice match – especially on a weekend – but his team was slowly developing something of a celebrity status.

Entirely contained to the academy of course; the greater world was still buzzing about Al’Hundra’s death weeks after the fact, but in many ways the academy could be a small world unto itself.

And a first-year team capable of going up and against second-years – and lately winning more often than not – was not to be ignored.

Glancing across the crowds, Willim imagined that some would be here because they were simply curious, while others would be hoping to decipher their tactics so as to better improve their own teams. Others still would be… fans was too strong a word, but the fact that he was both a man and the head of a very successful team had caused more people to be interested in Team Seven than they might otherwise have been.

Novelty counted for a lot amongst the nobility, and men were pretty rare in the academy to begin with.

Which was only to be expected given that most of the time men attended, it was as a part of their betrothed’s retinue. Sure, there were men from plebeian backgrounds slated for House Royal, but they had an unfortunate tendency to be snapped-up by young women from other houses hoping to snag a husband and secure their family line.

To that end, ‘free agents’ like himself were pretty much unheard of. Indeed, William didn’t think there were any male team leaders in the Academy at all beside himself.

And I won’t be team leader either in a few weeks, he thought.

The end of the semester was looming fast. Which meant either a transfer to Tala’s team or – more likely – his withdrawal from the Academy entirely followed by a shotgun wedding.

With that in mind, he was actually a little disappointed when the New Haven girl shook her head.

Scum-sucking slaver or not, her team had been good. As evidenced by the fact that he’d been limping back to the showers.

“It’s not worth it,” she grunted before she continued walking away.

William smirked, well aware that the woman’s words could be construed in a number of ways.

His team might not be worth her time, never mind the fact that they’d beaten hers with only a single casualty. Or the risk of drawing his fiancee’s ire might not be worth it, which was bullshit because she’d clearly been happy to risk it the first time. To that end, perhaps the possibility of a date with him wasn’t worth the gold she’d lose if she lost again?

Personally, he thought she was thinking about the cost to her team’s reputation as he saw a number of people jeering at the New Haven cadets as they limped back to their dorms.

That was fine though, that just made it easier to pick his next partners for next week’s practice session.

He just had to pick them from amongst his previous foe’s largest and loudest detractors.

Smiling, he walked over to a particularly tall human woman in Summerfield white, a woman whose jeering shouts morphed into a wide grin as he started talking.

After all, all those previous teams had to be chumps if they were beaten by a first year team led by a male.

Her team would do much better.

And she’d bet money on it.

Though I should probably bet money in return this time, he thought. The team’s doing better, but we’re still only winning most of the time these days.

Against second-year teams.

Against their fellow first-years, it wasn’t even a fight.

Which wasn’t too surprising, given that in combination with his teammates just plain being abnormally talented, absurdly well-equipped, and the fact that his family hadn’t proliferated the Flashbang that far, his wheeling and dealing meant they had roughly double the practice time of their nominal peers.

Time they’d used.

Sure, there’d been a few exceptions, but while his fellow first-years were out on the town each weekend, his team was practicing.

Every evening and every morning too. Above and beyond what the Academy required of them.

It wasn’t sustainable, not even close, but it didn’t have to be.

They just needed to remain… sane until the end of the semester. Until that point, he’d push them to the very limit.

Will that be enough to beat Tala though? He thought even as he absently haggled with the Summerfield girl.

Not even close.

Not without some kind of tech advantage.

-------------

“You wanted to see me, ma’am?” William asked politely as he stepped into Instructor Griffith’s office.

The woman looked tired, even as she absently gestured him over to a seat opposite her desk.

“I do.” She reached under her desk and pulled out his Spell-Bolt before placing it onto the desk. “Mostly because of this.”

He nodded absently.

“Do you require further clarifications as to how it functions?” he asked politely. “Or proof that I was the sole developer?”

She shook her head. “No, your earlier explanation was more than adequate on that front. As far as the Crown is concerned, the Spell-Bolt currently belongs to you and you alone.”

William nodded, even as he absently noted that the latter item was likely only the case because it benefited the Crown for him to be the sole owner given his plans to sell the design to them.

Indeed, if he suddenly decided to develop cold-feet on the subject for some inane reason, he had little to no expectation that he’d be able to back out at this juncture. If he did, he had little doubt that some ‘Royal Engineers workshop’ would ‘miraculously’ invent something remarkably similar to the Spell-Bolt completely independently of his design.

Indeed, the only real question was whether the Royal Family considered the design valuable enough to ‘disappear’ him and risk angering both the Blackstones and the Ashfields in the name of maintaining a monopoly over the design.

His gut said no.

The Spell-Bolt was an interesting lateral innovation in spell combat with a single distinct range advantage over other spells, which was enough to make it valuable, but not so valuable that the Crown might risk kicking off a civil war early just to maintain a monopoly on it.

The fact that his request to debut it in an Academy practice match was being humoured was proof enough of that.

The operative word in that sentence was ‘humoured’ though. As this meeting was likely to prove.

“To that end,” Griffith continued. “The Crown is more than happy to remunerate you for the cost of buying the design. Quite generously at that, given the strife it has placed on your relationship with your household. Such loyalty shouldn’t go unrewarded after all.”

It was actually a little amusing to hear his Instructor repeating words that had clearly come from another’s lips. The phrasing just… wasn’t her.

Now, admittedly it was an incredibly small sample size to go off, but between Marline and Griffith, it made him wonder if dark elves had a cultural compulsion toward bluntness.

“Of course.” He smiled. “I am nothing if not a patriot and a loyalist.”

Griffith nodded quickly. “Yes, one supposes you are. Your outspoken support for some of our Queen’s more… controversial reforms is definitely worthy of praise.”

Again, the words couldn’t have been less ‘Griffith’ if she tried. With that in mind, it actually made him slightly curious as to why Griffith was still acting as his liaison with the crown?

Sure, at first it had made sense, but by this juncture he would have expected her to be replaced by… someone. It had been weeks since he’d unveiled the device to her, which was more than enough time for someone from the Royal Family to make a trip down to the Academy to speak to him in person.

Or just talk to him through orb.

Perhaps they’re trying to lower the value of my innovation in my mind by refusing to show too much interest?

A move that might have been effective against a normal Cadet, but he was far from normal. Not least of all because he didn’t really care what he ‘paid’ for selling the spell.

It was simply a means to an end after all. Hell, the only reason he wasn’t giving it away was because that would be more suspicious and likely time consuming than ‘selling it’.

The issue was that his end goal for the spell was likely going to be the sticking point of these negotiations.

Griffith licked her lips. “With that said, the Crown is still ultimately beholden to the Blicland Administration where changes to allowed weaponry are concerned. It can’t simply… force things through, not if doing so would endanger students. Which is what many of my fellow Instructors believe this weapon would do.”

William resisted the urge to laugh. The Crown had limits, but this wasn’t one of them. They just weren’t pushing very hard, or at all if he were to guess.

Because they didn’t want one of their new weapons unveiled in a children’s fight. They wanted to keep it hidden away as a nasty surprise in the event of hostilities breaking out with the North.

“Danger?” he asked innocently. “It’s basically just a bolt-bow, isn’t it?”

He could almost see the relief in Griffith’s eyes as they turned toward a topic she was more familiar with. “In function perhaps. In capability, I think we both know that your newest creation has more in common with a combat spell. Bolt-bows certainly can’t blow a hole clean through steel plate armour.”

She tapped her desk in thought. “You need spells for that. And unfortunately, it’s hard to simulate that kind of destructive power effectively in a safe manner.”

William resisted the urge to frown. He knew that was horseshit. Could the Floats simulate every combat spell under the sun? No, not even close.

But some could.

Fireballs and flame-streams leapt to mind. Just use water instead. Sure, a water orb wouldn’t have quite the same range as a real fireball, but it would be non-lethal and ‘splash’ in much the same way. Ipso Facto, one could assume that any cadet who was soaked to the bone had at some point been ‘lit on fire’.

A clod of loose dirt could likewise imitate an earth-spike or ice-shard quite effectively.

Indeed, the only really common combat spell he couldn’t see an easy way to simulate was the lightning bolt.

And because of that, no one got to use offensive spells on the Floats.

Because the Floats were ‘serious business’ where prestige was concerned – and certain houses had a… predilection toward certain elements. Their refined aether being particularly appealing to certain types of elemental fae.

The Ashfields weren’t one of them. The bloodline wasn’t old enough or… specialized enough. Nor were the Blackstones, despite their name. As a human house, they were just too ‘young’.

No, normally specialties came about through the selective breeding of very old family lines. Elvish lines. Like most of the current ducal houses of Lindholm. Be it fire, ice, water, earth, air or lightning, each house typically had a specialty.

So, the fact remained that certain houses could be said to have an advantage where certain types of magic were concerned.

Thus, in order to avoid claims of certain houses being given an advantage because only certain elements were allowed they banned them all.

It was stupidity of the highest order to William’s mind, which was perhaps why they didn’t go out of their way to advertise it.

Instead they just claimed the issue was a safety concern.

Which is why I suppose it’s fortunate that my new spell doesn’t have an elemental designation.

Air. Fire. Lightning. Even water. Any of them could be used as the ‘propellant’ for it.

“So they think it’s too dangerous?” he asked. “And the Crown can’t just… push it through anyway?”

Griffith nodded reluctantly. “The Crown has some sway, but all of the Great Houses contribute to the upkeep of the Academy. And without some kind of guarantee that your new weapon could be employed safely, they can’t convince the other instructors.”

He smiled. There was an alternative here. One that was blatantly obvious. Indeed, it was so obvious he didn’t doubt it had been left open to him.

‘Why not just let us use a bolt bow with tips with painted bolts? Have a strike on the armour count as an elimination? Give us each ten shots to account for two charges?’

Simple. Elegant. Safe. It even kept his newest innovation away from prying eyes. People would simply be informed that he was using a secret weapon that had the ability to penetrate armour. One that was being kept secret.

Unacceptable, he thought.

His victory could not be seen to come from a weapon that only might exist. If he did that the Blackstones could call the result into question. Claim they’d been forced to dance around a farcical rule.

Never mind that the Floats were made almost entirely of farcical rules.

No, when he won, he needed to do so in a truly convincing manner. One that left no doubt as to how legitimate it was.

Plus, using a bolt-bow would mean I’d lose out on the extra range provided by the spell-bolt, he thought.

That kind of thing could lose him the match.

“So as I understand it,” he said slowly. “The issue is that I need to make this new weapon safe. But it can’t be made safe. Because like a spell, it’s too dangerous in its base form for a simulated variant to be anything less than lethal.”

Griffith nodded slowly. “It’s as you say. A shot of any kind propelled by a spell… it’s too dangerous. A cloth head would just throw off the shot.”

William grinned as he reached into his pocket.

“I don’t know about that.” His instructor’s eyes widened as her eyes alighted on the object he’d just unveiled. “Tell me, ma’am; are you at all familiar with a substance called ‘rubber’?”

The woman cocked her head as she took in the bullet shaped object. “Rubber? Isn’t that used for Shard wheels? And insulating pipes?”

William smiled.

“Amongst other things.”

Such was the beauty of this world. So many paths untaken. So many applications overlooked, all because magic did it better.

Not always though, he thought. Not always.