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Slowly, it dawned on Horace, Rep had knocked down Micah and planted a boot on his chest hard enough to bruise. "What a colossal a*****e," he spat out. "If he still fought me, I'd go rearrange his face." It was not fine, but Horace didn't say anything to that. He merely watched as Micah rubbed his chest again.

"Since it was like that, what happened? Was it Harrison?" As time had gone by, Horace found he didn't like Harrison as much as his first impression of him, but he still brought some practicality to Rep. Some. Harrison had been there during his fight, too - did her show up to all trainee-beat-em-ups?

"Yeah, some people get the huge a** weapon. Jordan - he's a sun division dude - has a huge warhammer-thing. And I heard there was a chick who had a twelve-foot sword." Micah looked a little less from the cat dragged in and a little more worried. Horace was watching closely, but still missed the hand tremors. (Which was for the best, really, for now.)

"Rep doesn't deserve such a huge weapon," he muttered. Misuse. Jannisari stirred in the back of his mind, then quieted. He could feel her swallow the words she might have said. He rolled his eyes at Micah's recounting. "Yeah, Harrison showed up, a subtle reminder to 'cool it' no doubt. Hmm, not that he knew the fight would be over, but that he knew the fight would end when he was there, pretty much." He'd have to have been blind not to have learned that by now.

"Seriously, you ok?" He reached out to pick off a dirty piece of dead grass on Micah's shoulder.

"Magic," Horace said dryly. "The weapons aren't heavy to them, I think. It's weird. And also not a problem I will ever have." He somehow doubted Micah's whip would grow to coil out like some over-ripe python. But that was just a guess.

He listened to Micah gravely and poked Nova - the bracelet form of her, at least. "You better, Nova." He was still grumpy about it all, and he hadn't even been directly involved. Horace rubbed a hand over his hand and then put it on Micah's back in what he hoped was a comradely fashion. He wasn't great at this short of thing. Grimacing at the state of Micah's clothes, he huffed.

"You should probably take a long hot shower in a bit, when you feel like it. Get the cold out of your bones." He hesitated, but then continued, figuring that maybe it would lighten things. "Unless, of course, you'd rather get warm the old fashioned way."

"Both can happen at the same time, is all I'm saying." He braced himself for a possible whack. "I can wash your back." Micah's reaction, while still not what he would term 'normal', held the ghost of outrage. It meant Micah was feeling a bit better (maybe) and did worlds for Horace's worry. For a brief moment, he considered the repercussions if Micah ever took him up on his 'offers', and dismissed that as fancy immediately. Never, and that was fine by him.

"Magic is everywhere, young grasshopper." He raked a critical eye over Micah like he hadn't just done that... multiple times. "Look, if anything doesn't heal up by tomorrow or next, go to the infirmary, ok?" He shivered slightly, the dorms had gotten colder with the snow, and Horace still refused to wear sleeves on principle.

He chuckled. Horace had known, of course, that the suggestion wouldn't fly. One of the perks when he was ranking up would be a private bathroom. He could stomach windows for a private bathroom. He grimaced, remembering that he still needed to get his blackout curtain back."Well, when I rank up enough to get a swanky room, you can always use my shower." This time, he didn't add a leer into his voice. Despite the previous line of joking, it was an honest offer although, once again, not one Horace ever be expected to be taken up on.

"It sucks having to walk around so much to get a nice shower," he grumbled. "-though communal is fine." It was 'fine' in much the same manner that everyone on this island was fine. "Better safe than sorry - though being stuck in the infirmary sucks. I was there for a good couple of weeks last year. Pretty boring." Mostly too much time to think. He shook his head.

When Micah commented on his shirt, he frowned. Then, quickly, he stripped out of his sleeveless tank top and crossed his arms. "That good enough?" he quipped, raising one eyebrow. He shivered a little more. Horace wondered if the quartermaster actually had a fluffy blanket he could pilfer. Suddenly, he gasped.

"Wait, is my naked manflesh wreaking havoc upon your sensibilities?"

"Because you hold a secret tendre for me." Horace snorted and pulled his shirt back on. It really was too cold to go without. It wasn't 'nips could cut glass' cold, but it was close. "Yeah, yeah, have fun being clean. And no more weird spars, okay?" He made a shooing motion with his hands.

Horace sighed. He knew he should've gone and sat outside Micah's door like some stupid watchdog, but at least he wasn't dead or permanently damaged. Harrison was like some sort of leash. Better than nothing.