Nevile stood listening to Motto explain what he saw on the list. He was about to interrupt when Motto said Nevile was at the top of the list, but then the door opened. Standing at attention he waited for the head master to beckon them in. He waited half a second for Motto to go first, having performed the delicate dance that was entering the headmaster's office in pair before. The headmaster's disinterest in them was odd, as he usually greeted them with either disappointment or amusement. Occasionally he'd have a bit of both mixed with disbelief, but never disinterest. Responding to Motto's unasked question, Nevile gave him a shrug to say "No idea."
Nevile snapped his attention as the headmaster turned around, adressing the boys.
"So, lets get down to it, shall we?" The smile on his face was a complete turn around from his boredom from earlier, must have been putting up airs for those outside.
"You've done well boys. At ease." Nevile was expecting some leniency from the headmaster, but this was downright weird. In all their trips to his office, he had never spoken to them like this. It almost reminded him of when his father found out Nevile had been accepted to the academy. The headmaster's hands clapped onto his shoulders, also mirroring his father's actions.
"It's been a long time since one of our own has proven worthy, let alone two." Nevile just stared back at the headmaster in confused question as the door closed behind them.
"You didn't make the Graize Rangers." The headmaster said, and Nevile's thoughts began to spiral downward. But Motto had seen them on the list, had they been kicked out because of his misbehavior? But then why was the headmaster so happy, and what was that about a long time, a couple douzen students got into the rangers every year. Motto was asking similar questions, but out loud, and the headmaster's response rocked Nevile out of his inner turmoil.
"Yes yes, your names are on the list. It's standard procedure for BlackGuard recruits." Nevile's eyes zoomed in on the headmaster's, his mind shocked like a flash bomb. Then reality came rushing back in.
"WE GONNA BE EYE'S!" Nevile yelled, a hint of his mother's accent pushing into his voice. The BlackGuard, more commonly known as The Emperor's Eyes, were the empires most effective group of agents, answering to the Emperor alone. And that was only in postscript, they operated on their own accord, with no agenda but the advancement of the Emperor's power. Their agents were myths, said to be comparable to entire battalions of soldiers in combat, and untouchable spies in the field. It was like being told you were going to be the Emperor's guest of honor at the next imperial feast, which on occasion an Eye would be.
"B-but, how?! The Eyes are the, the freking Eyes! When, how, what?" Nevile just kept asking, mind spinning in circles.
"Easy there boys," the headmaster said, with barely controlled mirth in his eyes, "you're only recruits just now. You're going to be taking new classes along with you're regular studies from now on. A special trainer from the BlackGuard will be contacting you within the week to give you full details. For now, all you need to do is go to you're dorms, and celebrate among yourselves."
The headmaster then leaned forward, a knowing smile on his face. "However, I suggest you stop by the academy bar first, as I asked Hollend to prepare a special gift for you two, free of charge." He gave them a wink, then his smile hardened slightly, giving his next words a deadly edge.
"And remember, this information doesn't leave this room. As far as the rest of the Empire knows, you are Rangers, and nothing more." The door then slid open behind them, and the headmaster's smile dissipated into a stern scowl as he sat himself into his chair.
"Next time you break corridor protocol, you're punishment will be far more sever. Now get, I have papers that need work." He then raised the small stack of papers from his desk up, and with a light flick of his hand turned his chair to face away. As Nevile walked out, he fancied he heard the headmaster give a soft laugh, but continued out as if had just received a sever berating.
"Holy, fockin', shet." Nevile said, cup of fine alcohol in his hand, bottle half emptied on the table in front of him. They had gone back to their shared appartment, the bottle of drink collected from Hollend in tow. "Thes is rell, ain' et?" Nevile didn't like getting drunk in public, he had trouble stopping his accent from coming out when he was. But right now, he couldn't care less.