The Institute, New York, Wednesday

[seveninchmotto]

It was a big day. Also slightly terrifying, even though Isabelle was sure this was really just a formality. Her mother just wanted to have seen something with her own eyes instead of just going by other people's word. She was the person who'd have to vouch for Flick, after all

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[flickofawrist]

The urge to pee his pants was strong but Flick held off. He was very, very aware of Maryse's eyes on him and he did his best to stand still and wipe the sweat off his brow and arms.

His ribs ached a bit and he was pretty sure he was going to have bruises on his back and neck that made him want to curse a blue streak tomorrow but he was all right for the moment.

He draped the towel over his shoulders and finally turned to look at both the younger and older Lightwood.

[uncircle]

Maryse just watched him for a long moment. Long enough to make even Isabelle want to fidget, although she didn't.

Then she asked, "And where did you learn to fight?"

There was no judgment in her tone, but no curiosity, either. It seemed to be a purely factual question.

[flickofawrist]

"My dad sent me to military school when I was a kid," Flick told her, keeping his voice even and keeping sarcasm locked away. "I used that to survive after I left home. Picked up a few things here and there from random people too."

It was a vague way to say he'd run away from home and learned to fight on the streets. If she picked that up, so be it.

[uncircle]

"You fought with these 'random people'?"

Yes, she was going to ask about that.