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Madeleine Gosselin
Posts: 134
Joined: Sun May 26, 2019 3:54 pm
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Mon Jul 01, 2019 6:34 pm

Afternoon, 39th Bethas 2719
Professor Keyes's Office, Brunnhold
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Madeleine was excited, scandalized, nervous, enthusiastic, afraid, eager and anxious. It wasn’t dancing, and it wasn’t nearly good as dancing, and it didn’t make up for all the things that happened between, but if she focused she could still remember standing backstage after the showcase, that feeling of utter happiness and joy that had followed her dances, especially the second dance. It had only been nine days ago, but it felt a little like –

Madeleine had been surprised when Professor Degas called her over – her! out of everyone! – and had introduced her to Professor Keyes. Madeleine had never met him before, had never even heard of him, but he was a real professor, and he wanted to talk to her? She had been too happy to even think of being nervous. He had explained that he wanted to draw her – draw her? Madeleine had never imagined such a thing. Professor Degas had said something encouraging and walked off and Madeleine, stuttering and smiling and blushing, had agreed. Professor Keyes had told her where to come and when, and walked off with a younger student wearing black.

In the intervening days, Madeleine had almost forgotten all about it. Luckily, she had made a note for herself with the day and time and place, so she didn’t forget entirely. The next morning she had woken up with some doubts about the suitability of posing for someone – of being drawn – but, she supposed, people had their portraits done all the time, and it wasn’t really so different, was it? People were always painting and drawing famous confisalto dancers. Maybe – maybe someday –

Even now, just thinking about it made her heart sweep up and lighten, pounding in her chest. She had gathered all of the things Professor Keyes had asked her to bring, her costumes from the showcase and her pointe shoes, and carried them with her just as she had to the showcase itself. It didn't seem right to wear her costume in the hall, and Madeleine would never have dreamt of ruining her pointe shoes like that, so she went in her Brunnhold uniform, only a little wrinkled, but with the small flats she wore for going to and from practice rather than her boots. It wasn’t so difficult to find Professor Keyes’s office, and Madeleine found she was ten whole minutes early. She stood in the hallway, clutching her bag tightly, and stared at the door, feeling a brief rush of insecurity. Should she knock? Was it too rude to be early? Professor Keyes, a real professor, must be terribly busy all the same; she shouldn’t disturb him before the time they had agreed on.

But – and it was a dreadful but – what if he came out or came down the hall and found her just… standing there, staring at the door? What if he changed his mind about wanting to draw her? Madeleine’s face paled at the thought. There must have been plenty of other dancers he could have chosen. There was a whole showcase of dancers, after all. Perhaps he didn’t even remember their meeting – perhaps he wouldn’t even be there –

Madeleine squared her shoulders. No, she decided. She would wait, and she would knock, and – he had come all the way backstage to find her, hadn’t he? And talked to Professor Degas and everything, and told Madeleine, specifically, that he wanted to draw her. A real professor! He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t mean it, if he was just going to forget about it and her.

For a moment, Madeleine let herself wonder what it would be like. Would he want her to dance? Sit? Stand? She had never posed for anything before. What if she wasn’t good at it…? But he had seen her already, he had seen her dance, and he had wanted to draw her. Surely she would be able to do – whatever it took. Madeleine wasn’t entirely sure what to picture. It did seem a little scandalous to stand in front of someone in just her confisalto uniform. It was all right on a stage, naturally. And Professor Degas had introduced her to Professor Keyes, so he must have approved, Madeleine hoped. But perhaps he didn’t realize it was meant to be in uniform? No – he had been there when Professor Degas explained, he must have known.

Madeleine’s heart was pounding in her chest and her throat. She stared at the door again, and checked her watch. Eight minutes to go.

He had asked her, Madeleine reminded herself. Not Evangeline, not Beatrix, not any of the dancers who were much better than she, who would go on to professional companies and all sorts of things that Madeleine barely let herself long for, even if just the thought of them made her heart pound in her chest. He had asked for her.

Madeleine closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She thought back to the showcase – to the second dance, especially. The first she had practiced over and over by herself and with Evangeline until the steps were second nature, slowly over a long time, building it up bit by bit and piece by piece. She had known that dance like her own heart. The second had been different; she had started it with only a few weeks to go before the showcase and worked on it frantically, feverishly, until her toes ached and her heels bled. She had bruises and lingering blisters from it still, from that frantic, frenetic pace, interrupted only by occasional concerns like learning calculus (Madeleine didn’t want to think about that just now) and practicing her spellwork.

It had been – wonderful.

Madeleine let herself sink into that second dance, standing still, a faint, dreamy smile on her face. If she focused on it in her mind, even now nine days later, she could dance the entire thing. Her body didn’t move more than slightly, subtle shifts of her weight, her arms and legs, as she ran the dance through in her mind, as focused and committed as if she were really doing it, envisioning every movement, every pass, every spin, every wonderful, brilliant moment.

Madeleine opened her eyes and checked her watch again. Two minutes. Surely that wasn’t too early? What if she waited, and looked down, and then she was already late? Wouldn’t that be even worse than being early? Madeleine looked up at the door, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, a faint trace of the joy of the dance still lingering in her face and field, and knocked.

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Fionn
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Thu Jul 04, 2019 11:55 am

Bethas 39, 2719 | Afternoon
Professor Keyes' Office
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The passive was rather nervous about the dancer coming to the professor's office. Part of him had a worry about potentially being stuck alone with a female student there in the event of Gus being called away for something. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd been called away and the last time he'd interacted with a female student alone, he had swung through all manner of emotions but had ended up bawling his eyes out at one point which was awkward and embarrassing. The whole interaction had been uncomfortable and he wasn't sure that he'd be okay with another girl even if Gus was there to act as a buffer. It didn't help that he had chosen her, singling her out from the many candidates on offer. Obviously she was a child - he couldn't forget the youth of her face - but he did know that she was delightfully pretty and artistically fascinating. The prospect of having her in the room and not saying something stupid simply because she was present seemed very slim.

Especially as he kept having to tell himself that his thoughts about her weren't actually bad. It made sense for him to think about her, for him to have remembered those stunning and fascinating moments. He was oddly smitten but not like that. However, given his past, he was having difficulty assuring himself that there was nothing carnal present while his morality made him recoil from the mere thought that he would be-

Fionn was incredibly worried that he'd end up staring at her at some point and that she would freak out. Freaking out in that situation would be very fair. On more than one occasion since the showcase and the arrangement of the sitting, he had worked himself into a near panic at the idea of her panic. It was honestly the most ridiculous sort of stress and Gus had caught him antsy and trembling more than once, his hair utterly dishevelled from the number of times he'd dragged his fingers through it. The man had given him many an odd look this week, occasionally asking him what was wrong but mostly he had left him be to deal with whatever the issue was alone.

It wasn't even a real issue, just his own imagination!

There were other reasons for him to dread Madeleine coming, aside from fears concerning his own potential behaviour though.

The night of the showcase had been magical, full of new sights and experiences. There had definitely been some off-notes in the evening but they hadn't bothered him too much at the time. Fionn had either done his best to ignore them or become utterly distracted in the face of the artistry of confisalto. However in subsequent days, he'd ended up revisiting many moments of the night and unfortunately, it was those sour notes that popped to the surface and he ended up dwelling on them. Going had reminded him just how much of an outsider he was and that no matter how he dressed and acted, no matter what experiences he shared with galdori, at the end of the day, this was his life. Back in his uniform, cleaning this and that, carrying objects around for Gus, running his errands and often being part of the furniture for those outside of the engraver's office.

He didn't want to have Madeleine near him because he didn't want to relieve that surreal evening and have those bitter moments come back with greater intensity. She was likely to look through him too although on the evening in question, she had seen him, actually seen him but then he'd been out of range, hadn't he? The dancer didn't know what he was and why would she have suspected? She'd probably have a moment of confusion and from there he expected shock, horror or revulsion, possibly more than one. After that, she'd probably turn her nose up at him and do her best to ignore him, the non-person. And Fionn was the reason why she was coming! Without him, she wouldn't be modelling for Keyes at all!

So before she even arrived, Fionn had gathered all manner of negative associations around Madeleine's impending visit. But he also had to admit to some excitement. He wanted to see the poses, to see her up close while she moved and to watch the galdor man work; he wanted to see the art of the living body captured in a different medium.

It was difficult to imagine what Professor Keyes was going to do though. Before Madeleine's arrival, the man spent a great deal of time pottering about his office, considering the space he had to work with. Fionn might as well have been a ghost, except when Gus needed the passive to move something, the boy flitting briefly into existence before the artist forgot him again. He murmured to himself, sifting through paper and card, picking up pieces of debarked wood and gazing at them critically, twisting this way and that. Wood blocks were picked up, the man considering the grain before putting them to one side with a grunt and a shake of his head. As far as the blond knew, his patron intended to draw the dancer, or at least take a series of preliminary sketches until he worked out exactly what medium he wanted to translate her form into. He had said something about doing a series of engravings but he had also seemed dissatisfied by it in this case. He thought that such a subject deserved more dimensions such as being whittled or carved in wood.

All in all, Gustav Keyes appeared to be rather indecisive. He'd produced different coloured cloths from a cabinet, getting Fionn to drape first one and then another in front of the window. It was something the middle Madden had seen him do before, a technique he'd seen the engraver employ previously. Apparently he found that using colours like red and blue and green filtered the light in interesting ways, allowing him to consider his subject from different perspectives. Evidently none of the effects suited whatever it was he had in his mind because Fionn was ordered to fold up the fabrics again and set them to one side, set the task of adjusting the blinds instead.

The desk had to be moved here then there, furniture placed around the room and then dragged out of the way again. A wooden chest, a chair, a low table, all became focal points before they were removed. Given how indecisive and fussy he was before the young redhead even got there, it didn't bode well for what it would be like when she arrived. He hoped that the galdor didn't intend to mess her around for the rest of the day, never quite settling on a pleasing arrangement and thus, not capturing the sketched images that he wanted.

The lithographer had worked with specs before, reproducing the images that others had captured in magical flashes of light and Fionn had asked him about them. He had waved his curiosity off, disapprovingly it had seemed to the young man and so he had had to ask Niamh about the camera spectra. It needed magic to operate - much to the boy's disappointment - and Gus didn't like to use magic much. Furthermore, when he'd tentatively suggested that he could capture images with it and create things from them later, the man had gotten quite worked up, complaining how much depth was lost in specs, how much they failed to catch and how it was far preferable to observe the subject yourself and painstakingly piece together sketches from multiple angles.

Needless to say, it hadn't gone down well but it was a shame; it would likely have saved Madeleine from what Fionn envisioned would be a fair bit of heartache. As it was, he hoped that the girl was willing to spend a few houses being treated like an object and slowly going moony.

When the knock came, the blond was the only one who registered it, Gustav too busy muttering as he rifled through bits of paper. With a sigh, he went to answer it, certain that it would be the anticipated model but also a little worried that it would be some student in a panic over a piece of equipment in the art room that had been put out of order; that had happened more than once lately and it was making the man quite irate. However, it wasn't someone looking to spirit away the professor but Madeleine.

She was different than when he'd last seen her, somehow smaller than he recalled which was interesting. She was still a few inches shorter than him, still petite in frame and yet... she had seemed larger the night of the showcase. It was her demeanour that had changed, he decided, her confidence having lent her an air of something grander, the teenager larger than life. Or perhaps the costumes bundled in her arms dwarfed her. Either way, she appeared significantly deflated now, a nervy buzz to her field that could have been excitement or anxiety or even a mix of them both. Her youthful face had a slight glow to it, an eager light in her gaze. For the first time, he could see her face in full detail, the way her hair was drawn back - perhaps a little severe in his opinion - gave her visage a very open appearance. Close enough to see her properly, he realised how clear her skin was, how she didn't even have freckles as he did in spite of her auburn locks.

It could only have been seconds that the blond teen stood there scrutinising her but he became acutely aware that he was staring at her rather dumbly, probably looking for all of Vita like an idiotic and rough-mannered child as his kind were often viewed. Oops. He cleared his throat awkwardly before sketching a stiff bow and moving out of the way to permit her entry, far too aware that a blush must be creeping into his cheeks judging by the sudden warmth.

"Good afternoon, Miss Gosselin."

He didn't even know her name - her given name - because in spite of his rather casual self-styling, Gustav had only referred to her by her family name. It was quite possible that he'd been told it but such information hadn't been disclosed to the passive. Once she was inside, he'd shut the door behind her, turning to look at the galdor man - no way was he going to look her way and potentially start staring again.

"Gus? Gus? Your model is here," he announced, a little louder than necessary in the small space, allowing the pitch of his voice to rise as he called the professor again, ensuring that he managed to get through.

The artist came back to reality with a sound like 'Grumph'.

"Oh! Miss Gosselin, you're here. Excellent. Excellent," the man exclaimed, taking a step towards them, grey brows pulling severely together as his whole body seemed to slump into a frown, gaze fixed on her uniform. "Oh that won't do. I can't- Oh you've got the costumes, good. You'll have to wear one, yes."

The galdor was talking to himself more than the girl or the passive, Fionn doing his utmost not to huff in exasperation. He was being very proper today, yes he was. He was determined. Even so, he couldn't expect the poor student to make sense of the older man's oddities right now. She had more than one costume with her and she'd either have to choose one herself or be instructed. It was quite possible that she would choose what Gustav viewed as the 'wrong' one and it was better to save time and embarrassment, even if the man seemed immune to considerations of either.

"Which costume, Gus?"

"Hm- what?"

"Which costume do you want her to change into, Gus?" he asked patiently, though there was some strain as he resisted gritting his teeth.

The eyes shifted to the passive servant as if seeing him for the first time then shifted to Madeleine and back again.

"Well... what was she wearing when you picked her out, lad?"

What was that thought he'd had about saving embarrassment?

Brown eyes found the ceiling, considering it with newfound interest as his face grew hotter. That was an interesting stain in the corner and there was a crack as well, in either the paint or the plaster, he wasn't sure which. Maybe it was water damage. Maybe if he thought about the mystery of the stain and how it might be necessary to have someone look at it then the young man could prevent his own death by mortification.

"Um... it was a white one," he told the ceiling in a small voice, eyes shutting briefly.

Circle end me, he groaned internally.

"Well that one then. You can get changed in there, dear and leave your things- well, they can go on the desk for now," Gus explained to Madeleine, gesturing towards the ajar door to his little private bathroom. His tone to her was kind and paternal, a little gruff, but as he turned to Fionn, it became a bark.

"Where did you put that wooden chest, lad? Didn't I ask you to put it over there?"

The blond had to bite back a retort that he had moved it to the indicated spot about half an hour ago but the item had been ultimately rejected.

"Doing it now, Gus. Sorry."

The poor girl had entered the lair of a madman. The line between genius and insanity could indeed be thin.
Last edited by Fionn on Mon Jul 08, 2019 12:59 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Madeleine Gosselin
Posts: 134
Joined: Sun May 26, 2019 3:54 pm
Topics: 9
Race: Galdor
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Thu Jul 04, 2019 2:07 pm

Afternoon, 39th Bethas 2719
Professor Keyes's Office, Brunnhold
After a few moments of nerve-wracking anxiety, a passive opened the door. It was always awful to see a passive when you weren’t expecting one, with that terrible lack where a field ought to be. Madeleine fought a little shudder of revulsion, knowing it to be rude. It was like - like seeing one of those maimed beggars on the streets of Vienda, with just a twisted stump where an arm or leg ought to be. She felt sorry for them, of course, but it was too hideous to look at. In some ways a passive was even worse because, of course, once someone had thought they might be a galdor.

This one seemed a little slow too - not at all uncommon - because he was just standing there, staring at her. Madeleine decided, generously, that maybe he was new, or Professor Keyes hadn’t told him she was coming. All the same he ought to know to get out of her way, shouldn’t he? She tilted her head to the side, a little, raising her eyebrows; she didn’t want to have to say anything to him. 

Luckily it seemed like that was enough because he stepped back, bowed properly, and greeted her. Madeleine stepped into the office past him, looking around wide-eyed and curious.

Madeleine wouldn’t have given the passive another look - he wasn’t much more interesting than the furniture, really - except for the next word that came out of his mouth. Gus. Madeleine’s gaze flicked to him, then back to Professor Keyes. Professor Augustus Keyes, Professor Degas had told her. So – then – did that mean…

It was so far outside of anything she had ever considered that it was a long few moments before Madeleine could decide that – yes – it did seem like the passive was calling Professor Keyes Gus. Gus, which was a – nickname? It was probably the strangest thing Madeleine had ever heard; something about it was almost viscerally uncomfortable, crawling around in her stomach. She stared at Professor Keyes, half-holding her breath when he looked up, expecting him to immediately chastise the passive for his utterly inappropriate overfamiliarity.

Instead, he looked straight at her, as if what had happened was completely normal, and an appropriate way for a passive – or, really, anyone who wasn’t a professor – to address a real professor of Brunnhold.

“Good afternoon, Professor Keyes,” Madeleine said, politely, clutching her costumes to her chest as if they were a shield that might protect her from inadequacies of courtesy reeking in the air. He frowned, and Madeleine jerked, a hot rush of anxiety filling her field. He had changed his mind – she was sure of it – those excellents of a moment ago were already forgotten – but it seemed like he just wanted her to change. Madeleine exhaled a little in relief, the anxious feeling softening in the air around her.

Madeleine jerked visibly when the passive spoke, having already nearly forgotten he was there. It was as shocking as if a chair had suddenly voiced an opinion. Not only that, but he sounded – Madeleine was sure she had to be imagining things because it hardly seemed possible – but the passive sounded, almost – annoyed? As if he were annoyed with Professor Keyes, who he kept calling Gus. Madeleine realized her mouth was hanging open slightly, and she shut it just in time for Professor Keyes to say what was, quite possibly, the strangest sentence Madeleine had ever heard in her entire life.

What was she wearing when you picked her out, lad?

Madeleine froze, utterly froze, as still and small as a deer. She repeated the words in her mind, once and then again, slowly, trying to plumb them for hidden meanings, reading them like she might a literature text, searching for some deeper other truth that could be somewhere inside, unseen at the surface but, nonetheless, exactly what her professor seemed to be looking for. Madeleine had never been very good at understanding literature, so it was with a desperate feeling that she groped for not having understood these words either, as if there might be something – anything – else that Professor Keyes could have meant.

The passive had – picked her out.

As if she’d had any doubt, the passive went on to mention her white dance costume.

Madeleine felt a slow, creeping horror, starting in her chest and seeping outwards through her field and onto her face, mingled with shock, discomfort, embarrassment – she felt as if the faint cherished hopes of the last week were being shattered to pieces in front of her eyes, as if those few words had been monite and Professor Keyes had cast a spell to destroy her. She didn’t – couldn’t – understand. The passive had picked her out? Why? How? At the recital? Had he attended the recital? Madeleine shuddered. How could he understand anything about confisalto, with no connection to the mona of his own? It struck her as a terrible, base perversion of the art form to even be witnessed by someone who – who –

It wasn’t his fault, Madeleine reminded herself. She ought to feel sorry for him, that he could never understand confisalto the way she or Professor Keyes could. The pity and sorrow fluttered into her field after the horror and panic, making a fractured kaleidoscope of emotion that seemed to writhe in the air around her. Madeleine took a deep breath, trembling, and pulled all of it back inside her, locking it down in her chest and letting it sit there in a thick, heavy mass beneath her ribs, with just a little creeping up into her throat to choke her.

“Yes – yes sir,” Madeleine’s voice emerged in a hoarse whisper. Hastily, she dropped her things on the desk and hurried into the bathroom. She didn’t – couldn’t – look at the passive again, nor even Professor Keyes.

In the bathroom, Madeleine set her white dance costume down and stared at it. She could go. She thought maybe she should. This wasn’t like any place she’d ever been and she didn’t feel comfortable; she didn’t feel safe. It was like an entirely new world, with different rules, where passives advised professors and called them by their nicknames, and Madeleine was terrified that it would somehow touch her, would stain her, and the next time Angelique looked at her – she would know. They would all know.

Madeleine rubbed her eyes on her hand and took a deep breath. She would, she decided, behave the right way, no matter what anyone else did. She would be sorry for the passive but not treat him like a galdor, and she would be polite to Professor Keyes, and she would pose for him because she had said she would, and then she would leave and when the door to the office closed, she would pretend this whole awful day had never happened. That was, Madeleine was sure, the best way to behave.

She stripped off her uniform and changed into the white costume – her tights went on first, then the leotard that became the bodice of it, and the huge white tutu last. Madeleine fluffed it, smoothed it out over her legs and down to her knees, fixed her tights, and realized that – flustered as she’d been – she’d left her pointe shoes outside. Madeleine whimpered, bundled up her uniform, put her feet back in her flats, and opened the door back out to the office, glancing at Professor Keyes.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” she said, tentatively. “I just need to put my – my slippers on,” she walked back out, set her uniform on the desk with the rest of it, and pulled the well-worn, beloved things out of her bag. After a moment of thought, Madeleine perched on the nearest chair she could find, and wriggled her feet back out of her flats.

Madeleine was small, even for a galdor, an inch or two below average height, and her feet were small as well. They weren’t soft, though; they were tough, strong little feet, with knobby bones and calluses visible all over. One heel was rubbed almost raw with overlapping blisters, and there were more on the toes of each foot, one a red painful looking thing, deflated now but half the size of her smallest toe. Three toe nails were bruised, two with small dark spots and one with a massive one that seemed to fill the entire nail.

Madeleine tucked bits of cotton between her toes with the careful ease of long practice, and slid her feet into the box-toed slippers. She crossed the laces over her feet and around the bottom of her calves, tying them easily, and wriggled her toes, adjusting them slightly.

Then, just as casually, Madeleine stood from the chair. The awkward hunched shoulders and pinched face of before were gone; with her dance costume and shoes on, Madeleine looked much more the dancer that had been at the showcase, as if like this she were comfortable in her own skin. If Professor Keyes wanted her to actually dance, Madeleine knew, she needed to check – properly check – that her shoes wouldn’t hurt her toes.

Her heels came together, a scant half-inch of space between them. Her knees flexed out, and with a smooth effortless motion she pushed herself up, so only the tips of her toes were resting on the ground, both legs making flawless lines from her hips down, feet arched in. She came down to the flats of her feet, then her knees flexed again and she tucked back up, onto her toes once more. As she came down, her feet moved together, one in front of the other, flat on the floor of the office once more. Just as effortlessly, Madeleine pushed herself up into pointe once more, the small straight lines of her feet tucked one behind the other. Down, and up again, one small foot lifted off the ground to bend in front of her, shin making a perfect parallel line to the ground, toe just at the same height as her other knee. Down, feet switching places in a seamless motion, and then the other leg up in the next bounce.

Madeleine came back down to the ground, and held there, still and patient, standing straight and tall and proud, the negative emotions washed out of her field and replaced with a soft, easy happiness.

“I’m ready, Professor,” Madeleine smiled at Professor Keyes, not exactly sure what was to come, but hoping she really was ready to face it.

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Fionn
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Mon Jul 08, 2019 5:28 pm

Bethas 39, 2719 | Afternoon
Professor Keyes' Office
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He could have punched the galdor. He could have grabbed him and bashed his head off the fucking desk, he was more than capable of it, younger, stronger, faster and he'd never expect it, never-

Sweet Lady, what are you thinking? he screamed at himself internally, chilled by his own thoughts, the surge of anger and violence within him. But he'd felt Madeleine's field begin to shift beside him and in that moment, Fionn loathed Gus, well and truly loathed him. It had been so careless, so unconcerned. That the passive could be thrown into the deep so easily, so thoughtlessly and he was so fucking oblivious.

What was wrong with galdori?

More importantly, what was wrong with him?

The rage was gone and in its place there was just empty space. The young man was left feeling hollow, emptied and yet it sucked at his insides, seeking more to eat as greedy as a black hole. It managed to drag pain out of him, sending it whirling in that great soul chasm but it wouldn't suck it down, wouldn't make it disappear to the same place that the rage had gone. It seemed to feed on what was flowing out of the dancer's field, the horror, the humiliation, the shock, the deep negativity that was just so there. The monic discontent and discomfort lapped over him, inescapable. He didn't need to be able to differentiate between the variety of emotions to know that they were bad and prompted by what Gus had said. By the realisation that it was Fionn who'd singled her out.

That a scrap had chosen her. That he'd had an opinion rather than remaining good and discarded like he was meant to have done.

A glance her way confirmed what he'd already known in his heart, known in that deep chasm that was his own despair and loneliness. And then it shifted to pity and he turned his head away, the bitter taste of bile crawling up his throat. He was glad to follow orders for once, glad to get away from that look.

It came as a relief to have her field out of his sense range, the young man wishing that he could scrub the sensation from him, desperate to escape that feeling. He wasn't disgusting. He wasn't pitiful. Why couldn't anyone just see him for himself? Why couldn't any of them bloody well look at him?

He wasn't broken, he wasn't! He was smart and he was artistic and- and- he had a nexus! He wasn't a nothing, he was special!

But the middle Madden couldn't make himself believe that. Something in him flicked off, some higher awareness going away. Outwardly, he functioned, while inwardly, things split. Part of him was able to respond normally, working on automatic and doing a good job of it while the rest took the time to roll around in the raw agony and misery that resided within him. The boy himself was blank, an automaton.

The chest was moved, the artist contemplating it closely, scrutinising it through narrowed eyes as if that would change his perspective massively. He had Fionn open it, came over to examine some of the art materials in it and then got him to shut it again. He had the passive shift its position and then sent him to place the blue filter cloth in front of the windows to alter the natural light source.

All in all, they spent a long time doing nothing, Gustav spending most of the time simply staring and squinting, humming and muttering to himself. It made it easier for the boy to sink deeper into himself, his movements working quite well on automatic until he caught his foot on the edge of the blue cloth as he went to get down from his perch on a chair and very nearly broke his neck. The adrenaline surged through him, the blond left gasping, heart ready to burst through his chest while Professor Keyes complained about his clumsiness; he'd pulled the cloth free of the window, leaving the fabric to puddle on the floor.

"S-s-sorry, si- Gus, sorry," he murmured, cringing, almost slipping up by being too formal in his fright. Shaking, he bent down and picked it up again, clambering back up onto the chair and tucking it carefully around the curtain rail. While he was readjusting it, taking care to have it properly fixed in position, he heard the door of the bathroom open. There was a sound between a tut and a huff from the golly professor at Madeleine's formality, not the first time it had left his mouth since the girl had entered. She was murmuring something about slippers as Fionn finally turned, keeping his gaze carefully on the ground so that he wouldn't fall. Wouldn't get distracted by the sight of the girl in her costume.

"See if she needs a hand with anything, lad," the man ordered distractedly, a quick glance revealing that he was gazing from the chest to Madeleine and that the girl herself-

She was purity and innocence, radiant and yet humble. Maidenly blush, too timid to meet anyone's eyes and the blue tint to the light against the white of the dress and the pallor of her skin made her glow. He would stare if he allowed himself, drinking her in now that he had a chance to view her pretty, airy costume up close. So he dropped his gaze as he approached, trying not to shrink away from her field, already anticipating more negative emotions. And he succeeded in encountering the sight of her feet.

Such a contrast to the flawless perfection of the rest of her, the lack of blemish that was typical of the rest of her complexion. Here was pain and torture and horror. Bruising and blistering and what was certain to be
agony with every step. She wasn't the perfection he'd imagined, the pampered galdor without a care in the world. But she suffered and it was self-induced. He was fascinated. He'd never seen this in one of the sorcerers before.

"Do you need any assistance, miss?" he questioned quietly, watching the rhythm of her movements, the efficiency of motion that placed cotton between tormented toes and then wriggled them into the delicate looking slippers. The lacing was... hypnotic, so much grace, so much art in it as much as in the dance.

"He doesn't like to be called Professor or sir. He prefers Gustav or Gus," he whispered, voice intentionally low, for her ears only. Soft advice. "I know it's weird and... it's not how things are usually done but he's... eccentric. I think it's because he's a real artist. I'm not used to it either..."

No, damnit, why had he said that? They weren't meant to have common ground, she'd probably recoil and he couldn't deal with the close hand contempt.

"I'm sorry about- I spotted you but he- He wouldn't have you here just on my say so, he had to-"

His apologies and reassurances were abruptly cut off as she stood, demeanour altering entirely and he had to stop himself from swooning. Innocence to experience in a moment.

"Marvellous," Gus boomed, rubbing his hands together. "Yes this is perfect! The light, the costume and the model... exceptional! Perhaps..." the man trailed off, considering the scene before him and his props within it. He moved himself to open the chest, gazing down into it and then flicking up to the auburn headed girl.

"Gus is fine, none of this Professor nonsense. Now if you come over here, perhaps... stand before the chest and maybe... you could bend as if examining the contents? At the waist, maybe a leg partially extended behind? Whatever seems natural maybe and then we can see..."

He stepped back, leaning a hand against his chin, contemplating.

"Something's missing. What's- Ah! Lad, grab those other dresses, the costumes. I think they should be spilling out as if she's been rifling through them. Something to balance the scene. Chaos to counter order."

Fionn didn't move. Brown eyes flicked to the costumes carefully placed on the desk and then they flitted between the two galdori. He doubted that the outfits were tawdry playthings to be tossed about carelessly. There was more fabric though...

He made a beeline for the materials that Gus kept rather than heading for the desk. He saw the confusion twist the man's features, slow to occur as he bundled the fabrics into his arms and moved to the chest, laying them down with care over the lip of the chest and onto the floor.

"What are you doing, lad?"

The blond was flushed, overly concerned with his work, giving it his full concentration rather than looking up.

"I don't think Miss Gosselin would like her costumes to get dirty if she um... wanted to let us use them that is."

Fingers brushed his hair back as blond strands drifted into his vision, carefully coaxing fabric into place, trying to visualise the possible disorder into which the costumes could be placed. The man remained silent.

Fionn stood, brushing down his clothing.

"The costumes are probably valuable, does... Miss Gosselin want them to be used?" he asked, his words suggesting that he was speaking to Gus although the look from beneath his lashes, head bowed, was directed at Madeleine.
Last edited by Fionn on Tue Jul 16, 2019 5:41 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Madeleine Gosselin
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Mon Jul 08, 2019 10:01 pm

Afternoon, 39th Bethas 2719
Professor Keyes's Office, Brunnhold
“No,” Madeleine answered the passive’s first question offhand, his offer of assistance dismissed as effortlessly as if it had never existed at all. She didn’t even look up at him, busy smoothing the cotton between her toes, not bothering with the sort of courteous refusal she would give a galdor.

Madeleine stiffened when the passive continued to speak to her, leaning in with a whisper. His first words could - might - have been said to be helpful, but the tone was unacceptable familiar. She focused her attention determinedly on her shoes, not sparing him even half a glance, ignoring him whole-heartedly, as if no one at all were speaking to her. Only the flickers of discomfort in her field gave her away, strengthening as he kept talking. He sounded like - as if - as if there was some equality between them, as if he could relate to her. Everything in Madeleine recoiled from the idea; her very skin crawled.

Good lady, he was still talking! As the passive’s apology Madeleine shot him a hot angry glance, grateful that her shoes were in place now, and stood, going back to giving every possible indication of ignoring him that she could muster. The dance steps helped, simple as they were, and by the time Madeleine was done the strange embarrassment of having been party to such inappropriate behavior had faded and flickered to nothing, and even her field was smooth once more.

Professor Keyes praised her - the model, oddly dehumanizing but still enough to send a warm flicker through Madeleine. It was almost enough to offset the sharp discomfort of being told to call him Gus. Madeleine refused to accept the knowledge that it was the same thing the passive had said, a faint blush flickering over her cheeks. It was terribly informal. Madeleine had never been good at this sort of thing, but she thought that discourtesy was worse than informality, and that meant she had to do as he asked, however uncomfortable it made her.

“Yes, Gus,” Madeleine agreed, although the shortened name stuck in her mouth. She made a little face, as if she’d eaten something sour. She made her way over to the chest, standing in front of it, trying to puzzle through the instructions. Bending over as if grabbing something, but with one leg extended. Madeleine tried at it, bending gently forward at the waist, front leg lifting off the ground, straight at first, then with a soft natural curve at her knee, toe pointed.

Madeleine brought her foot back down to the ground; she had been ignoring the passive still, but she looked up now to see him staring at her, again, with an armful of cloth, asking a question with her name in it, as if it was to Professor Keyes, but it was - asked as if to her.

Madeleine stared blankly at him, gaze shifting to Professor Keyes for a moment, imploringly. He didn’t seem willing to help her though, so Madeleine drew herself up to every inch of her just above five feet, chin straightening. “I don’t mind if you use the costumes, Pro-“ Madeleine faltered. “Gus,” she recovered. She didn’t look at the passive again.

The delicate things were hard to clean, of course, but that wasn’t something Madeleine had to worry about. It wasn’t her duty to clean the costumes, and if they needed replacing she could simply order new ones. The shoes - the shoes were precious to her, because the best ones were made in Bastia and it took simply ages to have them shipped to her, so Madeleine always paid careful attention to how worn they were, if they might need cleaning or replacing. Even her feet were easier to fix than the shoes. But the costumes were only clothing; they could be cleaned, or they couldn’t. It didn’t matter to Madeleine.

She felt a little coal of anger in her chest at the passive for forcing her to bother with this, faint color rising in her cheeks for a moment before fading away. Madeleine turned back to the chest and tried the pose again. She didn’t know what Professor Keyes wanted, but to Madeleine it felt more natural to bend her knee when she lifted her leg, so she tried that again, carefully, experimenting with what was comfortable. Her arms - Madeleine extended one hand towards the chest, fingers curled neatly together as if she were dancing, then brought it back and stood again, feet naturally coming together at the heels. She glanced back at Professor Keyes, waiting for further instruction, as if the passive wasn’t even there.

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Fionn
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Fri Jul 12, 2019 11:15 am

Bethas 39, 2719 | Afternoon
Professor Keyes' Office
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He was utterly unwanted. It was very obvious that Madeleine wanted nothing to do with him, his attempts to communicate a clear affront to her. And yet he kept trying all the same. It wasn't as if it was the first time that he'd been regarded contemptuously, expected to fade into the background and yet stubbornly attempting to stay in the foreground. He'd done that too often, trying to ingratiate himself, desperate to please and yet failing all the same. How he'd tried to please his father and nothing he'd ever done had worked. He'd always been unwanted, an object of disgust. Now everyone could see it, everyone could tell on sight what a disappointment he was; the uniform gave him away.

Fionn should be accustomed to this sort of thing but he wasn't. It was horrible to think that it was something to which a person could become accustomed, could learn to live with and almost ignore. The blond didn't wanted to get used to the idea of being snubbed by anyone and he wasn't too pleased to have his attempts at friendliness shot down quite so rapidly and easily. He felt like a fly that Madeleine had swatted away. It stung, possibly more than if he'd actually been struck and then it managed to get worse. The way she stiffened when he leaned close, field frosting over, rigid and unfriendly from the passive's perspective. He wasn't doing any harm, he was actually trying to help but she didn't care, she didn't want him.

Was he meant to just blend in and become part of the office's furnishings? Would that please her? Would she prefer it if he didn't exist? Probably. The student appeared to be doing her best to ignore his existence entirely and so the furious, hateful look she shot in his direction was shocking because it was so unexpected. It was foolish to apologise for such a thing in the first place, she should be thanking him but he'd wanted to reassure her, stop her from being ashamed at the notion that a passive had chosen her, something that she was sure to regard with disgust and horror as had been evident in her demeanour before she went to change. He couldn't do anything right though; what an idiot he was trying to placate a galdor when everything he did was sure to be an affront.

By the time she'd stood and carried out her little dance exercises though, it was clear that he wasn't even a consideration anymore, wiped clear from her mind as she turned her attention to Gus.

From the professor's own lips, the familiarity seemed easier for her to swallow, switching to the casual appellation hesitantly but doing it all the same without complaint. The older galdor certainly wasn't going to be glared at in the way that he had been. Part of him wanted to retreat into a corner whether he could pretend that he didn't exist and another part wanted to be in both of their faces because fuck them, he existed and he wasn't going anywhere!

The young man had tried to be considerate about the costumes. The artist wasn't capable of thinking about anything other than his own desires right now and he was little better the rest of the time. The fact that the things he wanted to toss about didn't actually belong to him hadn't even crossed his mind. However, there was something that hadn't occurred to Fionn at all; that the teenager honestly wouldn't care.

There was something very casual in the way she gave permission, irritation buzzing about her as she looked at the older youth. But of course, he hadn't thought about what she was, the money she likely came from and the frankly wanton disregard for her property; she could always get new stuff after all, couldn't she?

It became so obvious to him from her manner that he couldn't understand how he'd failed to anticipate it just a few moments before. It wasn't her concern. She didn't have to work to make them, maybe she'd spilled blood, sweat and tears over her dancing but she'd never had to suffer to make those pretty clothes she wore. Madeleine didn't have to work to clean the bloody things, so delicate, so difficult to clean without destroying them and if those who washed them failed to clean them or worse still, damaged them...

She'd never had to do anything with the threat of a beating hanging over her head.

Moving to gather the garments from Keyes' desk, he let his fingers trail over the material, curious but reverent. He'd done stints in the laundries, he could imagine the heartache of dealing with such fabrics. Gollies didn't have to think about the value of such things, how much money they wasted by carelessly tossing things aside when they were no longer fashionable enough, new enough, interesting enough. Once upon a time, he hadn't understood it either but then he'd had everything taken away from him.

Teeth gritted, quietly furious, he returned to the chest, a rigidity to his shoulders as he laid the pretty clothing on top of the barrier he'd so carefully arranged between them and the dirt of the floor. He teased the fabric this way and that, putting it into artful disarray under the professor's instructions while the man hummed and hawed and moved to examine the arrangement from different angles. Finally, he nodded to himself, shooing his assistant out of the way as he moved his easel into position. The drawing board was already propped up against it, textured paper carefully clipped into position so it wouldn't give into the tug of gravity.

Gus plucked up a skinny piece of charcoal, inserted it in its paintbrush holder and began to lightly scratch out the image he saw, the medium giving a squeaking screech that made the passive wince from his place at the man's desk, leaning back against its edge. Fionn didn't like charcoal - the sound, the feel, the readiness with which it wanted to slip and slide all over the page so that it smudged everywhere - but he understood its advantages. Subtly, he tried to lean to the side so he could get a view of what his patron was doing, imagining the roughness of shape, the stark contrast between light and shadow that he was sure to be blocking out.

A minute or two of feverish work and then the man grunted his dissatisfaction, moving to wrench the page free in his impatience. Fionn had to rush over to free it, removing it with a flourish so that he could get it to the safety of the desk before replacing it with a fresh sheet, which the galdor man got grubby immediately as his charcoal smudged hands rubbed a smoky effect over the fresh surface. Madeleine was barked out to shift position, instructions oddly vague as he seemed to want her to move but didn't seem to know precisely how he wanted her positioned. While he snapped out his unhelpful instructions, the blond moved quickly to apply a layer of resin across the back of the paper, careful not to rub away the particles that the man had applied to the surface. Some of the lines were quite heavy - the source of that squeaky screech that he so disliked - but he still had a sense of what the man was seeing from his position, the shape, the sense of movement in the lines.

The boy marked one corner of the canvas with a small number one, taking the time to make the digit legibly in his shaky and immature hand; even if the man was unhappy with it, it was good for him to have a sense of the order that he'd done his sketches in when he reviewed them later.

There was a different scratching now, the whisper of pencil lead as it glided across the textured surface, capturing the same scene, the same angles but differently, his focus different, his style different. He could easily work on several sketches like that, each offering something more, some new layer of insight. In fact, he seemed quite interested in the airy material of the girl's tutu, taking another crack at it with charcoal, a feather used to fan out the particles into a pattern that resembled the airiness of the layers of tulle.

More paper, more fixing when necessary, handing materials off to Gus, the man working like someone possessed, daring to step in and actually guide the girl's limbs into new positions, a light touch here and there or sometimes just keeping his hands lingering above her skin, moving with her as he gave her indications of where to go.

After perhaps an hour of a rather frenetic pace, the passive was left doing his utmost to keep certain sketches from touching each other or from ending up underfoot as they overflowed from the desk. Gus banged the pastel down on the lip of the easel.

"Tea, lad!" he barked. His assistant moved to take the latest page, engaging in a juggling act with the floppy sheets.

"Just a second," the passive breathed, face a mask of concentration as he sorted materials.

"And some sandwiches! I'd like sandwiches. Would you like some sandwiches, Miss Gosselin?"

The blond huffed a breath upwards, trying to blow strands of hair away from his forehead as he tried to do too many things at once, already dreading what he foresee would be a bewildered comment from the galdor about why he hadn't gone for the refreshments yet. Actually, more exasperatingly, he would probably ask why he hadn't returned with them yet.

I'm cleaning up after you, you moony ersehole, he thought sulkily, disentangling himself from the various drawings. Gus had wandered off to look at his pieces of wood again, also picking up pieces of metal, perhaps considering some etching. What the passive or his model were doing were of little concern to him right now. He wasn't likely to think how long he'd had the girl standing, even getting her to stand on point; he probably hadn't even registered the state of her feet.

Before he left, he set a chair near the chest for her, hesitating for a moment before bringing the little footstool that Gus favoured; his circulation was beginning to go a bit funny in his legs. Fionn didn't expect to get any thanks for that, even if she did manoeuvre herself so that she could rest her legs on it and free her feet from pressure for awhile. With that done, he fled with whatever demands had been made of him, heading in the direction of the kitchens at a fast walk, trying not to look as if he was in too much of a hurry and keeping his head down.

He typically got on all right with Gus; today was not one of those days.
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Madeleine Gosselin
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Fri Jul 12, 2019 11:04 pm

Afternoon, 39th Bethas 2719
Professor Keyes's Office, Brunnhold
It seemed to take ages for the passive to put her clothing on the chest. First, he was really slow carrying it over, and he was sort of – stroking it. Madeleine was trying her best not to look at him, but she couldn’t quite help noticing, nor could she explain why it made her so uncomfortable. Then, as soon as he’d set it down, Professor Keyes wanted him to move it again, and again, and again.

Madeleine watched, polite and quiet, hands folded in front of her, just – waiting. With the passive standing so close she couldn’t really do any other dance moves or stretches or anything, really. She just had to stand there, like another prop, and there was an uncomfortable moment in which Madeleine wondered if that was, really, all that she was here today – if Professor Keyes saw her and the costumes very differently at all.

It was different, Madeleine assured herself. Professor Keyes was drawing her or – sculpting her, or something – just like people make artwork from famous confisalto dances. He wouldn’t have asked for her unless he saw something in her, in her dancing, that he had liked; of that, Madeleine was sure, and she was more than capable of willfully ignoring the niggling voice at the back of her mind that reminded her that the passive was the one who had chosen her; Professor Keyes had just gone along with it.

Finally, Madeleine was meant to move again. She bent lightly at the waist, as instructed, lifting her front leg and curling the knee back, toes pointed towards the back of the room, one arm stretching gently forward towards the chest. It was an easy enough position to hold, at least for a few minutes, but it was hard not to look at Professor Keyes, and he wanted her to look at the chest instead.

His voice was sharp when he barked at her to move, to fix what she was doing. Madeleine straightened the lines of her body, a delicate adjustment, but that wasn’t right – nor was straightening her arm, nor straightening her arm with her hand curled, nor back to the original position, nor a slightly deeper bend at the waist. Finally, Madeleine tried adjusting the angle of the back leg, and Gus was pleased with that, at least enough to keep drawing.

The session was an odd mixture of fun, exhaustion and brief spurts of terror; every barked command to move made Madeleine want to jump, a little, and it was only the need to stay balanced on one foot that kept her from flinching. The hardest was when he asked her to go en pointe, leaving the small ballerina balancing on the tips of the toes of one foot for long minutes, her extended leg a perfectly straight line, finding the barest edge of balance where she could hold the posture. She couldn’t look at him from that position; Madeleine had to fix her gaze on a firm point on the wall and hold, unused to such extreme balancing without another person to support her.

The first time he physically touched her, Madeleine flinched and utterly lost her position, nearly falling as she came out of pointe very ungracefully. She managed to land a bit hard but without hurting anything, and cringed back slightly from the professor, suddenly, briefly, blindingly aware of how inappropriate this all seemed. After that, Professor Keyes mostly just guided her from afar, his hands hovering over her, and Madeleine relaxed again, settling into a new position.

Finally – finally! – Professor Keyes was done, or at least ready for a break. Madeleine’s legs were both ready to shake, and it was an enormous relief to just stand on the flats of her (aching) feet. Madeleine thought, ruefully, that standing in dancing positions was much harder than actually dancing; when you danced, it was so much fun that you didn’t really notice the pain. Standing was much worse.

“Yes, thank you sir,” Madeleine said, looking up at Professor Keyes. She was, she realized, actually quite hungry; it had been a long week, and Madeleine hadn’t done a very good job of attending meals. It was just easier, more pleasant, to study at night, and it wasn’t unusual for the little golly to skip dinner in favor of an interesting book – as she’d done the night before. Particularly with the showcase over and the frenetic pace of rehearsals done for a little while, Madeleine didn’t really feel she needed three whole meals, not every day.

But just now – she really was quite hungry.

The passive – finally! – seemed to have taken on a normal role, and Madeleine almost felt something like gratitude when he set a chair down for her near the chest. Madeleine peeked at Professor Keyes, as if half-expecting him to argue, then sank into the chair with a little sigh, gingerly lifting her feet onto the stool. Over the course of the hour, Professor Keyes had at least asked her to turn from one side to the other, so both feet were throbbing, rather than only one having been abused.

Madeleine peeked at the professor, but he seemed distracted, thinking, and so, aware that it was scandalous but also aware that her feet really hurt, Madeleine unlaced one shoe, brought her foot up onto the other leg, and rubbed the spot where her toes met her foot with her fingers, massaging the cramps out. It helped, enormously, and she felt much better even when she switched feet, tackling the other one next. At least her feet didn’t smell, not like some of the older boys in the advanced class; if they took their shoes off in front of you, it was utterly dreadful sometimes!

Madeleine set her small bare feet on the stool when she was done, glanced at Professor Keyes to check that he was still occupied, and left the shoes off for a few moments of blissful relief. Her feet were much redder than they'd been before she'd started posing, with a new raw-looking spot on one toe and on the side of the other foot. It was good to have them up; otherwise, they would probably swell a little, and it would be even harder to get her pointe shoes back on. She would put them on before she ate sandwiches, Madeleine promised herself. In the mean time, she settled into her chair and busied herself reviewing the latest material from Physical conversation in her head, thinking through her lessons in class this week and making plans for what books she would look for in the library that night.

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Fionn
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Tue Jul 16, 2019 5:37 pm

Bethas 39, 2719 | Afternoon
Professor Keyes' Office
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Among passives, there was an idea that being an assistant to a galdor was an easy gig. Yes, you had to work for mainly one galdor but plenty thought that it couldn't be as grueling as a long shift in the kitchens, as stressful as serving for so many impatient and demanding galdori students and faculty, or as backbreaking as a long shift in the laundries. One galdor couldn't possibly give you as much work to do and of course you didn't have a patron or a matron breathing down your neck, watching your every move. If you were attached to a galdor, there was a sense of privilege, maybe a little more freedom to those lucky few who were so trusted. It was also common for there to be some envy for what was perceived as an easier life. Fionn had been that way once. He'd detested the galdori, sure, but it had still seemed like a lesser evil than the other options available.

Strangely enough, the blond no longer viewed it as an easier option. It was still difficult, as difficult as other jobs that he'd done although the challenges it posed were different. In some ways, it was a lot worse and he imagined that it would be worse if he was working with a galdor who always treated him as nothing. Perhaps given that Gustav swung back and forth between treating him like he was inferior but also like he was a person with thoughts and feelings made the situation far worse. He could stomach being a thing or a person but oscillating between the two positions was frustrating and upsetting. It was like every time he thought he was finally getting through, finally impressing upon the man that they were somewhat on the same level, the artist came along and smacked him down again.

Today he was dehumanised, not in the same way as the 'model' who the man seemed to have realised had some qualities of a living, breathing person. No, right now he was the dog playing fetch. Sandwiches and tea, and if he was a good boy, maybe he'd be told so and maybe even get a treat. The only thing about this little errand was that he thought he could manage to scoff down some food himself; he was hungry too as it happened, not that anyone was likely to ask him if he wanted some sandwiches.

The blond moved as rapidly as he dared, keeping close to the walls in areas that he was likely to encounter galdori, heading for the small kitchen facilities in the building. He could certainly go to the main kitchens but that'd take awhile and it would be incredibly inconvenient for the galdori if they had to wait for servants to go running across campus to get what they wanted; a pot of tea was liable to be cold by the time it got to them. There was also the fact that some galdori actually liked to fix things for themselves sometimes, something of which Fionn was quite suspicious. It didn't seem right in his mind that they'd make their own tea or sandwiches or fry something for themselves; it always made him uneasy to find them in such places, certain that there was something that he was missing. He did relaxing a bit when he reached the kitchen though, quickening his pace because it was sure to be clear that he had business there. If in doubt, bustle; that frequently worked.

There were two other passives in there and a galdor was just leaving when Fionn entered, bowing his head in respectful acknowledgement while sliding out of the woman's way; she carefully avoided noticing him. It was funny how they did that, saw you but made an effort to act as if they hadn't. It triggered early memories of his childhood, how they'd sometimes encountered beggars while they were shopping in Vienda. Galdori haggard in appearance with porven fields and hopeful expressions.

Fionn could remember slowing, head turning towards the unfortunate and his mother had actually grabbed his arm, fingers digging into the top of his shoulder although her own gaze seemed to remain fixed ahead of her.


"Don't look at him."

"But Mother, he's-"

"You don't see him, Fionn, understand?"

"But he's right there!"

"Act as if he isn't!"

In hindsight, he wondered if his mother had managed to practice such behaviour during her time in Brunnhold. All the galdori seemed to be very good at not noticing passives until it was convenient, except the younger ones of course; the first forms tended to react to their presence until they knew better, either openly staring or jumping as if they expected them to bite them at any moment.

Bloody galdori. Ignoring him, treating him like an object or a child or a bloody simpleton. The last two were actually the better ways that he was treated. You didn't normally send a child or a simpleton to go off and make your bloody tea and sandwiches though!

He moved quickly, setting water to boil and measuring out tea leaves into a strainer in the pot before washing his hands. He dug bread out of the bread bin and set about slicing it, taking his time so that it would be cut evenly, not too thick and not too thin. He positioned the knife, considering the point he was going to cut, checking it from different angles and then started sawing away, slowing or even pausing to ensure that he was still cutting reasonably straight and hadn't veered off at a funny angle. He paired off the slices, taking the weirdly cut ones for himself, folding them in half and cramming them into his mouth to destroy the evidence.

It was only when he'd gotten the bread suitably moistened with butter, gliding the knife over the surface to skim off the excess, that the passive realised that Gus hadn't told him what kind of sandwiches he'd like. He thought a moment and then shrugged. Cheeses, ham and other cool meats were taken out of storage, each cut with the same care as he'd divided up the loaf and divvying up the fillings. Fionn only stopped briefly to wipe his hands so he could sort out the tea, wetting the leaves and setting the pot on a tray along with cups, saucers, some spoons and a little jar with some honey. He also added a small jug of milk in case that was something that might be wanted. Sandwiches were cut in half diagonally, arranged quickly but appealingly on a large platter and plonked on the tray. And with that, he was ready to race back with his burden.

Heading back was an easier task in some ways, the fact that he had business self-evident so he didn't have to worry about keeping a low profile and skulking about the corridors. Carrying the tray did make things more difficult though obviously, surprisingly weighty and leaving his arms trembling a little after he'd trudged his way upstairs and gotten back to Keyes' office. It was how rigid he had to keep his posture, balance kept in constant check so that he could feel the shakiness in his limbs and a dull ache in his back. It was the final straw after everything he'd been doing this morning and it was clear that all this time on his feet, lifting and pushing and pulling, and climbing up on things having taken their toll.

He turned so that his left side was to the door, pressing one side of the tray to the door frame. He lifted his right leg, bending it at the knee so that he could rest the tray on his thigh. Balancing on one leg, he used his right hand to keep the tray balanced and freed up his left hand so that he could turn the handle. Once the door was popped open, he returned both hands to the tray and used the side of his body to push the portal open, a twist at the hip and a careful reversal shutting it behind him with a click.

He took in the scene before him.

The young man hadn't been gone too long in the scheme of things, fifteen or twenty minutes at the most although he thought that he'd made good time. All the same, it didn't seem that much had changed. Gus seemed to have finally stopped looking at crafting materials - though he'd continued to mutter to himself the entire time - and had turned his attention to the various sketches instead. When the blond entered, he appeared to be holding one up for Madeleine to inspect in the midst of explaining her poise and the beauty of the lines. It was one of the charcoal ones with the feather worked over it; there was a small, carefully drawn '10' in the corner.

"Ah the tea and sandwiches! Perfect! Set them down on the desk here now, lad," the professor boomed jovially, indicating a cleared spot. The passive let out a soft sigh of relief, glad that a space had been cleared given that he'd neglected to do it before he left. He set down his tray and busied himself with the tea making, ensuring that it was brewed properly, lifting out the strainer briefly so he could stir the contents. Pouring out a little to test the colour, he filled out Gustav's teacup and made it to his preference, a process he hardly had to think about now because it was familiar.

"Tea, Miss Gosselin? How do you take it?" he questioned politely, every inch the perfect servant now. There was no point trying to talk to her beyond what was necessary; it was clear that he wasn't going to meet with her approval or her acceptance. So he'd be what he was meant to be, just for today because it was easier and he was too tired and miserable to bother doing much else. He'd make her tea as she wished and deliver it to her before bringing over the platter of sandwiches to offer them to the dancer. Pursed lips, brown gaze a bit distant until he heard Gus from behind him and almost dropped the platter in her lap.

"Fionn, lad... you haven't eaten anything, have you? There's loads of food there, why don't you take some?"

It was so unexpected, something paternal and suitably caring in his tone but most shocking of all was the use of his name. Obviously the artist knew it but he used it so infrequently that it was a surprise to hear it. He cleared his throat awkwardly, face flushing.

"Um... no thank you. I... I ate," the boy admitted almost guiltily, carrying the sandwiches back to the desk. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Hm... I'm trying to decide what material I want her to bring her to life in. I think I could turn some of these sketches into lithographs, maybe etchings as well..." the man had begun talking to him but he already seemed to be drifting off, talking more to himself once more. This was clearly something he'd been dwelling on for awhile. He was likely to wander off to his materials again to make moony eyes at them.

He moved off to pick up some pieces of roughly hewn wood which he carried over to the desk. The galdor gestured vaguely, talking about the grain and the organic lines that could be drawn out of it. While he did so, Fionn went to lean against the wall by the door, hands held together behind his back. The young man was doing his best to keep his expression neutral, something that he'd never been good at doing. He had to concentrate on looking blank so of course, he definitely wasn't impassive; he looked puzzled instead.

And then he felt it, head tilting and turning so that he was almost gazing at the wall then the door. The blond hummed, sensing a field, a third one from out in the hall. It was familiar like Gustav's, an aura that was known to him, a unique feeling that was unmistakable. There was also a nervous hum in it, something upset in the monic aura, distress. He didn't need to hear the soft knock or have the door open to reveal the face when Gus called out that she could enter.

The field was so clearly his sister's that he could identify it from the other side of the wall.

"Hello, Niamh." The greeting was soft, lips barely moving.

There was a smile in his direction, the sense of feeling shifting to something calmer, whatever was upsetting her shoved down as she turned her attention to Gus.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Professor Keyes," the redhead apologised demurely, gaze finding Maddie in the corner of her eye, seeing her properly as she turned her head. There was a quick inhalation, a brief rigidity and her field seemed to bristle for a moment before she licked her lips and carried on as if nothing was amiss. "I know that you're very busy but would I... be able to talk to my brother for a moment?"

"This for Moore?"

The final form nodded. "Yes, if you wouldn't mind, he'd like to see Fionn after he finishes up here today. This evening, obviously. I don't mean to- to take him away early." Her hazel gaze flickered to her brother, an apology there, her mouth twisting in something of a wince.

"Oh. Fine. Fine. Well, be quick now! I'll need him back."

She bowed her head in acknowledgement and went to step outside again, Fionn following, hand on her forearm before they were even over the threshold, likely to be seen by the lower form girl before the door was swung to behind them, ajar so that their voices could still be heard.

"What's wrong? Before you came in, your field-" his voice full of concern, the frown audible.

"Not now, Fionn. It's not- Just leave it, okay? I don't... I don't need this." she murmured back, tired, defeated.

There was a beat of silence before he asked, "Right... What do you want then?" and their voices dropped to urgent whispers. Within the office, Gus was back to examining his wood block, calloused fingers moving over the surface with a soft rubbing sound as the roughness of his hands met the roughness of the timber.
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Madeleine Gosselin
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Wed Jul 17, 2019 9:38 pm

Afternoon, 39th Bethas 2719
Professor Keyes's Office, Brunnhold
Madeleine was pretty happy to sit. All the standing hurt, but the feeling of dancing was humming happily somewhere inside her like a song. The costume was nice too, it made her feel - almost, maybe - pretty.

But she wasn’t thinking much about that.

Instead, Madeleine was letting her mind drift back through the dances of the showcase. Some of the poses Professor Keyes has wanted from her today were hard to balance in - they were poses made possible in confisalto only by the counterweight of another body. Madeleine understood the physics of it well enough although she didn’t think Professor Keyes would have enjoyed it if she’d tried to explain. She hadn’t tried, even though she could have told him all about why it wasn’t possible.

Wasn’t possible without the weight of another dancer to balance hers, anyway.

Or - and here was where, Madeleine knew, she was going down a path she wasn’t supposed to go down, she knew it but she couldn’t stop thinking about it - or, what if the mona could do it? What if, bent as far as she could go, she cast a simple little gravity spell and went a little further? It wouldn’t take much - lighten one part or make another heavier and her balance would be restored. She could see it in her mind like a diagram. She would need the spell - a simple one. Madeleine didn’t know how to write it herself, didn’t want to risk it, but the library was there and if no one had ever done this before, maybe - maybe - someone must have done something similar enough, some spell she could use for this. If she had to read every single grimoire in Brunnhold, Madeleine thought, grim and determined.

And then, just as abruptly, the thought scared her. Madeleine’s shoulders rose a little, up towards her ears. She couldn’t - she knew it was dangerous to cast these sorts of spells. It was even more dangerous to cast them on a person and most dangerous to cast them on one’s own self. If everyone agreed on that - if everyone knew that - who was she to go against it?

But it was like a little voice in her head, whispering. What did a partner do, in a dance, that the mona couldn’t? Balanced? Lifted? Spun? Simple spells, all of those. Gravity and acceleration. Madeleine felt dizzy, as if she was spinning around and around in the chair even though she was sitting still. Why couldn’t she do it? Just because no one had done it before, did that really make it impossible? Maybe no one had ever wanted it like she did. Maybe -

Professor Keyes came over, and Madeleine looked up at him, wide-eyed. He wanted to show her some of the sketches, and she nodded in happy agreement, brightening up a little. They were - lovely. Madeleine didn’t think that they looked much like her, but she likes them very much. She liked the girl in them too, the graceful way she held herself, and she hoped that she really did look like that when she danced. She really hoped.

The door opened, and Professor Keyes turned his attention to the sandwiches. Madeleine, smiling brightly, her whole face lit up, felt her stomach grumble, and she looked over longingly at the sandwiches, then down at her small bare feet, aching and red.

Shoes before sandwiches, Madeleine thought. She adjusted the cotton back into place and eased her feet back into the pointe shoes, beginning to do up the laces once more. “Yes, with milk and sugar,” she answered the question without looking up, all her focus on the laces she was wrapping around her feet and ankles.

The passive brought the tray over and Madeleine took a sandwich - ham and cheese, she thought. It wasn’t her favorite but she was hungry, and they looked good enough. Professor Keyes spoke to the passive, calling him by name and he jerked and nearly dropped the tray on her and Madeleine stifled a little shriek, pulling back with her sandwich against the chair.

The passive walked off without even apologizing. Madeleine pointedly didn’t look at his back, taking a bite of her sandwich. She felt better about all of it once she’d eaten a little. She was genuinely worried about Professor Keyes’s relationship with his passive - he didn’t seem to be able to control him at all! Wasn’t that the point? They needed work, of course, something to do, and control, to keep them from being dangerous. She eyed the passive a little warily, wondering if she was in danger just being around him.

There was a knock at the door and Madeleine looked up, taking another bite of her sandwich. She froze mid-chew, staring wide-eyed at the galdor at the door and her - brother? They left together.

Madeleine lowered her sandwich, suddenly not hungry anymore. She wished she could spit out the bites she had already taken; they churned heavy in her stomach and she thought maybe she would be sick. Panic and distress fluttered softly in her chest, orange-shifting her field, and Madeleine took a big deep breath.

She had forgotten about it, she told herself. She didn’t think about it. She never thought about the nasty awful things that Niamh had said, the vicious anger that the other girl had spat towards her, that feeling of terror, of not knowing what Niamh might be capable of. She never thought about it and she certainly wasn’t thinking about it now. Madeleine squeezed her eyes shut, taking big deep breaths, trying to be as small and quiet as she could.

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Fionn
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Sun Jul 28, 2019 5:39 pm

Bethas 39, 2719 | Afternoon
Professor Keyes' Office
.
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The siblings talked quietly about Professor Moore and why he wished to meet Fionn. Niamh was... off, speaking about her employer with an odd detachment, something distant in her gaze. She was in love with the man, desperately so and thus, there was usually an enthusiasm behind her words, something excitable simmering beneath the surface. This time, she was almost dead and it was something that disconcerted her brother. It worked to temper his own emotions, the giddiness that had arisen within him at the prospect of meeting with Harper to discuss passive theories and the servant possibly aiding in his research. How could he be truly excited when it was apparent that there was something off with the eldest Madden? What was more, to add to her strange mood where her love was concerned, she was quite brief, delivering her message in as few words as possible and then seeming ready to be off.

Had Harper done something? Was that why she was so unlike herself where everything with him was concerned? She didn't want to talk about it now so perhaps he could steer things away from him a bit.

"I don't know when I'll finish up here. Gus is... quite caught up in things. I might have to remind him that the rest of us need food and drink and sleep and can't survive on art alone," he joked, attempting a smile that was too tense and forced at the corners to be genuine. There was the barest twitch in his sister's mouth but there was a wobble in the woman's field, a shimmer in her gaze that made her look to be on the edge of tears.

"I didn't realise who she was. When you talked about her," the redhead commented, voice cracking a little. Fionn blinked rapidly, bewildered but also finding a flush entering his cheeks. He hadn't talked about Madeleine that much. He'd talked about the showcase and gushed about a fair bit of it but he'd only... well, he might have talked about today's modelling session more than once in the preceding week when his sister checked on him in her fleeting visits. Admittedly, it had been several.

"You didn't realise- Do you know her?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, inflection and volume going up at the end, forgetting in his surprise that his words might well carry through the door's opening.

The eldest Madden's head angled towards the floor but he saw her nod. "She was the one in the Infirmary who I um..." she mumbled, trailing off.

"She's the one you went moony at?" Fionn blurted, fingers flying to his mouth when he realised how loud he'd spoken. Within the office, Gus turned, blinking owlishly at the door. "Sweet Lady, no wonder you looked at her like- Oh well, can't be helped now and it's not like I can apologise for you. She hates me. I don't know what I expected but she hates me!" he choked out, hands curling into fists in a mix of anger and frustration.

Hazel eyes came up to his face, gaze alive with sympathy before she reached out to touch his arm, that wobble in her field again that he wasn't entirely sure had to do with the present conversation.

"I'll let you get back to your work but... try not to take it too hard. It's not... personal," his sister assured him, fingers trailing off his skin before turning away, glancing over her shoulder as she went to leave. "Behave," she cautioned, a real but wan smile on her features. Fionn rolled his eyes but his mouth was a mirror of her own.


***

While the siblings conversed outside, most of their conversation was hushed with only snatches coming through the ajar door. 'Beta' and 'research' and 'passives' could be heard while they discussed the purpose of Niamh's visit but then the nature of the conversation changed and the volume increased, their words coming in and out of hearing. Most of it didn't touch Keyes in his reverie but Fionn's exclamation jolted him to his senses, forcing him to remember where he was and that he wasn't alone. He hadn't been this concerned when his servant had gone to fetch refreshments but now he felt awkward with the sound of the youthful voices outside and a note of distress within them.

"Too soon for a top up?" he asked, gulping down his own tea and moving closer to peer into her own cup while he waggled his own in the air. It gave him a chance to sense the upset in her field and while he turned his back on her, refilling his own teacup, he decided to ask her about it, wise enough not to look at her while he did so.

"Does he distress you? The lad? I know that passives are... upsetting. It's not their fault of course and he's not- He wasn't around galdori for many a year, doesn't really know how to act around us but he... means well. I think. And he's good to have, stops me getting too caught up in my work," the artist explained, making a show of choosing another sandwich, hand moving back and forth over the platter, still not turning around. "I didn't really want him, didn't want a scrap at all but... we have a duty to them and he... hasn't been looked after the way he's supposed to have been. You have to feel sorry for him really, poor little lad. But if he upsets you, he doesn't have to be here."

At last the professor turned his attention to Madeleine, his smile knowing but paternal. "We could manage alone if we have to and I can send him off to pick up some work somewhere. But he is handy to have, isn't he?"

While the galdor man awaited an answer, Fionn remained frozen outside the door, having slunk back to stand to one side of the door frame. Once Niamh was gone, he'd taken a moment to compose himself, to try to school his expression before he entered. However, while he was doing so, he realised that Gus was talking and he quickly realised that he was the subject. It was rare that he got to overhear something quite so candid about himself. Sure, people had talked about him before, often in his earshot, quite often while he was standing there because what did it matter? He didn't have feelings, he was just part of the decor, hardly existing. But the professor didn't tend to do that and he was also fairly sure that the man watched his words around the boy. It was no doubt because of guilt that he censored himself.

Right now, he knew that Fionn was in earshot but he obviously didn't expect him to overhear any of it. The blond boy listened with a mixture of shock, ire and hurt. He was talking about him like he was a thing rather than a person, something to be easily discarded. Sweet Lady, how was he meant to go in and behave after hearing that? How was he meant to go in while they were in the middle of talking about him? He didn't think that Madeleine would have any issue talking about him while he was in the room and if she did... it was doubtful that he'd be able to hold it together.

The passive couldn't just linger outside though, not indefinitely and not for much longer. They'd be sure to realise that there was no sound from outside and that he was no longer talking to his sister. He'd await Madeleine's response and then exclaim an "I'll see you later" - loud enough to be heard within - to the sibling who was no longer there before he entered.

Fionn didn't like this situation at all though.
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