[Closed] Where the Heart is (Tom)
Posted: Thu May 14, 2020 6:47 pm
Dentis 12, 2719 | Evening
Vauquelin House, Uptown
Vauquelin House, Uptown
.
Rosmilda hadn’t worked out what to do with herself. This was the first full day in her new… employment? Home? This wasn’t home to her and this… it wasn’t like a regular job; it wasn’t as if the passive truly had choice and could be properly employed. She wouldn’t be paid, she wouldn’t have the option to walk away if she wanted. She wasn’t an employee, she was an indentured passive, which sometimes sounded a bit like ‘forced labour’ if you said it right. She’d never suggest such a thing aloud obviously, she wasn’t stupid but it was just… well, it was just one of those things, wasn’t it? It was important to make the best of things but she hadn’t expected to have to readjust again so soon and when she had found a home with her mistress.
Drezda…
She could say her name now, even to herself, it wasn’t some secret that she had to keep locked away in her heart, unable to recite it to herself lest she inadvertently say it aloud to the galdor’s face. The girl would be all too happy to return to referring to her as ‘Mistress’ if she could go back to the home she’d known for close to two years. She’d give anything to be back with Jerome and his strange imbala ways, Luca with his flamboyance and melodramatics, and even Cora, the eldest and the only human in the household, who had seemed perpetually displeased with it.
She didn’t want to be here with its new dynamics. Drezda had dropped her off here the day before like she was a parcel instead of a person and it already felt as if it had been an eternity. She didn’t know what to make of the new environment but she had been doing her best to work out where she fit in it. She’d avoided the golly element in the place, which was easy to do with the woman of the house, even when she was here, but it was really him that she wanted to keep away from and she had succeeded thus far. Instead, she’d been trying to work towards assimilating, finding the place where she fit — where she could fit.
The young woman had had to interact with the other servants, their world being the closest to her own, but while it was too early to know for sure, Rosmilda already felt like there would always be a distance between them. They were human while she was from galdori stock and while her parents and quietly disposed of her when she’d found herself cut off from the reality of the mona, she was still other to humans; she was still the enemy.
The older maid was nice. Margaret was someone who might be her friend — or close to one — if she persevered. She was kind, kind enough to try to make her transition a little easier. Her coaxing attempts to get the secretary to speak about herself had hurt. An innocent thing, it shouldn’t have hurt but it did. Every question she asked made Rosmilda clam up more, using her hair as a means to obscure her face as she helped the older woman with her tasks. The passive had wound up tighter and tighter until she’d wanted to scream.
In contrast to Margaret’s kindness, the butler had a mean streak. Morris had prodded at her slyly every time they were in each other’s orbit, less sly about it when Margaret was nearby but he did it again and again. He might allow her to relax a little bit, try to get her to let her guard ease, but then he would be at it again, testing her, gauging her. She had a feeling that from henceforward, he would be less aggressive, possibly allowing her to go days at a time thinking that he’d finally grown bored before he’d snap at her again. She knew the type; her time with Drezda hadn’t been her first foray into the world.
Her path hadn’t crossed much with Douglas, the footman’s, yet but he seemed nice enough. Still human though, whether they were nice or cruel. She might lack access to the mona like they did, left to sense its motions but she could no more capture it than she could the wind. But she wasn’t the same as them, those small-minded humans with their strong bodies and their big thudding feet. They were beasts of burden really. She might be shackled to a life of servitude but she wasn’t some plodding ox! How could she be anything other than separate from them? She’d always been separate from Cora but at least the woman had shown more than a spark of intelligence and even then she hadn’t needed the housekeeper. Her own kind had been enough and over them all, her mistress to eclipse them all, unattainable even if Rosmilda had shared her bed and so utterly appealing.
Her mother had separated them, or rather Ksjta had been the final blow that had parted the tenuous connection that had remained between them after Rosmilda had so foolishly admitted that she loved Drezda. For all her hopes that she would be able to remain, she had known that it wouldn’t truly be possible after that stupidly childish declaration. She wasn’t some Brunnhold schoolgirl who could afford to giggle and act foolishly as she talked about infatuation and love. The girl had to live by her wits and she had failed. The diplomat hadn’t been the same towards her since but she also hadn’t been able to do anything with her. Rosmilda had understood. No matter how unwilling the redhead might be to provide information on her mistress, a galdor with the desire to get it out of her could do so. Until she could find someone she could trust the passive with, their parting could never have come and she had thought herself safe. Her mistress didn’t let people close and finding someone trustworthy was out of the question so she never had to fear.
She had been wrong.
Incumbent Anatole Vauquelin, her new master. A man — a man! — who had appeared from nowhere and had someone wormed her way into Drezda’s heart. It beggared belief and yet, it was all too true. Somehow, the man had succeeded where others hadn’t and she didn’t know how it occurred precisely. The man had seen the Hoxian at her worst, it was true but it had made her bring him closer, rather than pushing him away. They’d had that weird argument where the woman had gotten so uproariously drunk that she had been frightening, throwing up on herself in the politician’s presence and yet he had persisted.
They had been apart from each other for months, whatever bizarre relationship they’d had seemingly at an end and yet somehow… no. She had trusted him enough to place Rosmilda with him. Trusted him enough to assure the passive that she was safe with him, no matter what tales she might hear about him, particularly in regard to women. If her mistress- if Drezda said it was so then it must be so but that remark about him and women had added a chill to her blood.
The galdor worried her and that was still the case after all the months she’d had to gather little tidbits of information on him. The more she learned about the politician that Drezda called ‘Tom’ (if it was a nickname then it was an odd one but she hadn’t asked when it would reveal her eavesdropping), the earlier she grew of him.
Even so, Rosmilda had ended up in his office. He wasn’t there of course. Lady forbid that she should have entered so casually if she so much as suspected that he might decide to go there! The servants had worn on her nerves and there was curiosity on her part as well, a desire to see what she could discern. It had driven her to enter as the sun’s rays slanted in through the window, an intense gold as the last of the day’s warmth and light bled in before the long night swallowed it, the sun bowing to the power of the Lady’s dominion. It was cosy in there, glowing and it had the feel of a safe haven. The redhead could be in there because she was supposed to be his secretary, or so she’d been told, and as yet she didn’t know if it was mere pretence or reality.
Being in his office was a matter of reconnaissance though. Yes, it served as a sanctuary but it was her presence here on a fact-finding mission which had prompted her to open and close the door so stealthily, stealing into the room like a thief. Rosmilda hadn’t come to covet things that couldn’t be hers but what someone kept on their bookshelves could be so illuminating and the Mugrobi poetry had simply-
Okay, it hadn’t dropped into her hand and fallen open to an appropriate page of its own accord, she’d done it but she hadn’t planned it.
One page couldn’t hurt and there had been something lovely and familiar and grounding about it, even if it was remarkably different from what Ksjta Tzacks wrote. The words had felt like they were something of which she could take ownership and she had allowed one page to give way to another, eyes round and fascinated, lips slightly parted, moving occasionally as she sounded something out.
Rosmilda forgot that it was not in fact her home as she perched on the corner of his desk. Only when the door opened did the spell waver, shattering entirely when she saw the unfamiliar room and worse — far worse — the strange man. Too late, she felt him, straightening up with a wince and a slight buckle on one side as stiffness registered on that side. Her face reddened, the many freckles splattered across her it damn near lost beneath the scarlet as she shut the book, fumbling it.
“Sir! I’m so sorry, sir!” she exclaimed breathlessly, teeth sliding viciously across one side of her lip. “My apologies, sir, it won’t happen again, I-I-I forgot myself. My mistress allows- always allowed me to read whatever I-”
Her teeth clamped down on her lip hard so she’d stop speaking, sketching a deep bow, even as she clasped her hands demurely below her waist. Her head dropped, green eyes darting furtively up through the curtain of hair, even while she awaited… well, she didn’t know.
Rosmilda didn’t know what to expect and that frightened her dreadfully.
Drezda…
She could say her name now, even to herself, it wasn’t some secret that she had to keep locked away in her heart, unable to recite it to herself lest she inadvertently say it aloud to the galdor’s face. The girl would be all too happy to return to referring to her as ‘Mistress’ if she could go back to the home she’d known for close to two years. She’d give anything to be back with Jerome and his strange imbala ways, Luca with his flamboyance and melodramatics, and even Cora, the eldest and the only human in the household, who had seemed perpetually displeased with it.
She didn’t want to be here with its new dynamics. Drezda had dropped her off here the day before like she was a parcel instead of a person and it already felt as if it had been an eternity. She didn’t know what to make of the new environment but she had been doing her best to work out where she fit in it. She’d avoided the golly element in the place, which was easy to do with the woman of the house, even when she was here, but it was really him that she wanted to keep away from and she had succeeded thus far. Instead, she’d been trying to work towards assimilating, finding the place where she fit — where she could fit.
The young woman had had to interact with the other servants, their world being the closest to her own, but while it was too early to know for sure, Rosmilda already felt like there would always be a distance between them. They were human while she was from galdori stock and while her parents and quietly disposed of her when she’d found herself cut off from the reality of the mona, she was still other to humans; she was still the enemy.
The older maid was nice. Margaret was someone who might be her friend — or close to one — if she persevered. She was kind, kind enough to try to make her transition a little easier. Her coaxing attempts to get the secretary to speak about herself had hurt. An innocent thing, it shouldn’t have hurt but it did. Every question she asked made Rosmilda clam up more, using her hair as a means to obscure her face as she helped the older woman with her tasks. The passive had wound up tighter and tighter until she’d wanted to scream.
In contrast to Margaret’s kindness, the butler had a mean streak. Morris had prodded at her slyly every time they were in each other’s orbit, less sly about it when Margaret was nearby but he did it again and again. He might allow her to relax a little bit, try to get her to let her guard ease, but then he would be at it again, testing her, gauging her. She had a feeling that from henceforward, he would be less aggressive, possibly allowing her to go days at a time thinking that he’d finally grown bored before he’d snap at her again. She knew the type; her time with Drezda hadn’t been her first foray into the world.
Her path hadn’t crossed much with Douglas, the footman’s, yet but he seemed nice enough. Still human though, whether they were nice or cruel. She might lack access to the mona like they did, left to sense its motions but she could no more capture it than she could the wind. But she wasn’t the same as them, those small-minded humans with their strong bodies and their big thudding feet. They were beasts of burden really. She might be shackled to a life of servitude but she wasn’t some plodding ox! How could she be anything other than separate from them? She’d always been separate from Cora but at least the woman had shown more than a spark of intelligence and even then she hadn’t needed the housekeeper. Her own kind had been enough and over them all, her mistress to eclipse them all, unattainable even if Rosmilda had shared her bed and so utterly appealing.
Her mother had separated them, or rather Ksjta had been the final blow that had parted the tenuous connection that had remained between them after Rosmilda had so foolishly admitted that she loved Drezda. For all her hopes that she would be able to remain, she had known that it wouldn’t truly be possible after that stupidly childish declaration. She wasn’t some Brunnhold schoolgirl who could afford to giggle and act foolishly as she talked about infatuation and love. The girl had to live by her wits and she had failed. The diplomat hadn’t been the same towards her since but she also hadn’t been able to do anything with her. Rosmilda had understood. No matter how unwilling the redhead might be to provide information on her mistress, a galdor with the desire to get it out of her could do so. Until she could find someone she could trust the passive with, their parting could never have come and she had thought herself safe. Her mistress didn’t let people close and finding someone trustworthy was out of the question so she never had to fear.
She had been wrong.
Incumbent Anatole Vauquelin, her new master. A man — a man! — who had appeared from nowhere and had someone wormed her way into Drezda’s heart. It beggared belief and yet, it was all too true. Somehow, the man had succeeded where others hadn’t and she didn’t know how it occurred precisely. The man had seen the Hoxian at her worst, it was true but it had made her bring him closer, rather than pushing him away. They’d had that weird argument where the woman had gotten so uproariously drunk that she had been frightening, throwing up on herself in the politician’s presence and yet he had persisted.
They had been apart from each other for months, whatever bizarre relationship they’d had seemingly at an end and yet somehow… no. She had trusted him enough to place Rosmilda with him. Trusted him enough to assure the passive that she was safe with him, no matter what tales she might hear about him, particularly in regard to women. If her mistress- if Drezda said it was so then it must be so but that remark about him and women had added a chill to her blood.
The galdor worried her and that was still the case after all the months she’d had to gather little tidbits of information on him. The more she learned about the politician that Drezda called ‘Tom’ (if it was a nickname then it was an odd one but she hadn’t asked when it would reveal her eavesdropping), the earlier she grew of him.
Even so, Rosmilda had ended up in his office. He wasn’t there of course. Lady forbid that she should have entered so casually if she so much as suspected that he might decide to go there! The servants had worn on her nerves and there was curiosity on her part as well, a desire to see what she could discern. It had driven her to enter as the sun’s rays slanted in through the window, an intense gold as the last of the day’s warmth and light bled in before the long night swallowed it, the sun bowing to the power of the Lady’s dominion. It was cosy in there, glowing and it had the feel of a safe haven. The redhead could be in there because she was supposed to be his secretary, or so she’d been told, and as yet she didn’t know if it was mere pretence or reality.
Being in his office was a matter of reconnaissance though. Yes, it served as a sanctuary but it was her presence here on a fact-finding mission which had prompted her to open and close the door so stealthily, stealing into the room like a thief. Rosmilda hadn’t come to covet things that couldn’t be hers but what someone kept on their bookshelves could be so illuminating and the Mugrobi poetry had simply-
Okay, it hadn’t dropped into her hand and fallen open to an appropriate page of its own accord, she’d done it but she hadn’t planned it.
One page couldn’t hurt and there had been something lovely and familiar and grounding about it, even if it was remarkably different from what Ksjta Tzacks wrote. The words had felt like they were something of which she could take ownership and she had allowed one page to give way to another, eyes round and fascinated, lips slightly parted, moving occasionally as she sounded something out.
Rosmilda forgot that it was not in fact her home as she perched on the corner of his desk. Only when the door opened did the spell waver, shattering entirely when she saw the unfamiliar room and worse — far worse — the strange man. Too late, she felt him, straightening up with a wince and a slight buckle on one side as stiffness registered on that side. Her face reddened, the many freckles splattered across her it damn near lost beneath the scarlet as she shut the book, fumbling it.
“Sir! I’m so sorry, sir!” she exclaimed breathlessly, teeth sliding viciously across one side of her lip. “My apologies, sir, it won’t happen again, I-I-I forgot myself. My mistress allows- always allowed me to read whatever I-”
Her teeth clamped down on her lip hard so she’d stop speaking, sketching a deep bow, even as she clasped her hands demurely below her waist. Her head dropped, green eyes darting furtively up through the curtain of hair, even while she awaited… well, she didn’t know.
Rosmilda didn’t know what to expect and that frightened her dreadfully.