#scarsdale

Hirim scowls, and takes another limp forward. "Excellence.... it is not a Journeyman's piece."

Miriam's eyes flare, then dim.

(Observes, waiting for the surprise twist)

(An ironic smirk)

Earl holds perfectly still

Zara beams, and nods emphatically when Hirim declares the quality of the piece.

The Count lifts a grey eyebrow. "No? It seemed.... impressive."

"It is." Hirim scowls deeper. "It is a Masterpiece."

Despite Protocol, there is a murmur of surprise around the Court.

Now -both- the Count's eyebrows are up. "Master... from apprentice to Master? That is... quite a jump."

Hirim positively -glowers.- "You're telling me? Excellency. I know. It is what it is. She completed a Masterwork under duress and difficult, impoverished conditions. I'd lessen the work of every Master and Journeyman if I said otherwise. Hmmph."

The Count nods. "As you say, then, Master Hirim. Apprentice Miriam, step forward."

Zara gives Miriam's shoulder a squeeze, still beaming with pride.

Miriam looks staggered, lost, and maybe a little overwhelmed?

He smiles widely

Miriam hasn't moved.

Zara takes her arm, and gently guides/supports the nocker a step forward. Maybe momentum will help?

Hirim glares at her, then nods sternly at Zara as she helps.

Miriam staggers forward.

The Count pins Zara with a steel blue gaze and nods acknowledgement.

"Master." He says to Hirim. "Elevate your pupil."

Hirim turns to Miriam. "So. You did good. Patchwyrm is.... not drek. You're ready?"

"I... I don't know, Master."

A silent squeeze of Miriam's hand, mute support.

"Heh. That's normal. You think you know? You're wrong. You feel lost? Probably right, and ready. So fine, you're a Master of the Craft now. And you buy the first round, verschtay?"

"Yes, M..... Hirim?"

"Ok, good. Alright, your Excellency, we're done."

Miriam still looks like she missed the news.

The softest of whispers. "Come on, Ima. We can go back now."

Miriam looks at Zara.

"No... not yet."

She looks at the Count, and approaches him, gazing at him across the Balefire.

Zara shrinks a little, dark eyes nervously darting out at the audience.

She nods once, then extends her hands to the red and gold flames.

Earl's eye brows raise

Miriam exhales, her Glamour fading and joining with the Balefire, mixing and weaving in and out, binding, entwining....

August watches, a sense of pain in his rain-storm eyes.

Zara's eyes widen - and, curiosity piqued, she "feels" what she can of Miriam's glamour-working, trying to follow it.

He tenses, worry for a moment that this might not be purely artistic display

Just on the brink of mortal, the Balefire pushes the Glamour back, looping, meshing, and intermingling the Glamour with her. Less Glamour remains than what she offered. Her body carries more weight. Her fingers are gnarled, knotted. Her forehead lined, her eyes tired, myopic. The mundane world will be harder for her, now.

Alarmed

Grey lips work a silent 'no,' curiosity turned to alarm.

She lifts her head to the Count, her voile seething around her. The mid-80's look remains, but sparked and flashed with bits of Glamour for now. She nods to him.

"I see. Well. Welcome, Mistress Miriam."

"Thank you, Excellency." Her voice, gravelly.

(Watches, twisting a smile, shaking head)

(Rasping to Janet) "A quitter."

Miriam turns to Zara.

Zara, looking overwhelmed, extends out a slightly shaky hand.

Miriam takes it, firmly. Callouses, each one earned in pain. Every line, a history.