Re: [St Grumbles] Lady in Red (Muse)
Posted: Sun Feb 13, 2022 4:22 pm
Loshis 3, 2719 | Evening
St Grumble’s Red Tie, Brunnhold
St Grumble’s Red Tie, Brunnhold
.
The man always managed to be shocked by a compliment. If she hadn’t been so gods darned embarrassed then she might have giggled at his wonder. He was wildly unaware of the effect that he had on her, but that wasn’t wholly unexpected. After all, why should he be aware of her regard for him, and how could he be given the dedication to his work? The professor could scarcely keep track of a cup of tea, what lay within his sight no guarantee that it would persist in his thoughts. She knew what he was like, understood the workings of his mind, even if she had no notion what lay in his heart. She was his assistant and while she might be able to grab his attention from time to time, especially here when his work didn’t preoccupy him.
Still, the way he had spoken to the Darcy scion had gone beyond what their professional relationship dictated. The blush that now adorned his cheeks and a thousand little things—looks, gestures, words—that had passed between them in the last number of months made her hope that she was of more importance to him than her professional position.
“You are quite- If people weren’t so set against your f-f-field of study-” she began haltingly, wetting her lower lip as she considered how to avoid humiliating herself further. However, she was saved from deepening her embarrassment for the nonce by the opening blessing of the evening’s proceedings.
The student bowed her head, clasping her hands piously before her, offering her own silent prayers for the occasion. The familiar ritual was comforting, calming and she sighed softly, her posture relaxing. Her flush diminished somewhat, but she was still keenly aware of Harper’s proximity and words that remained to be said between them. Even so, she was caught off guard when he chose to speak to her as the Headmistress began her speech. It seemed an inopportune time, his whispering sure to garner attention, even if the other occupants of the table couldn’t hear their contents.
The redhead didn’t know what to make of his words. The compliment, of course, was a compliment, but the comment about not forgetting…
Had she said something of worth in her awkward prattle? Something in which he found an interest? Had her comment about him being fascinating and impressive to her been so very striking to him?
She wet her lip, biting it a moment later to try to stymie a smile. Ersehat indeed.
“There’s never a reason to excuse yourself for stating facts, Professor Moore,” she retorted with every ounce of propriety, unable to contain a smile any longer as she added, “Though I’d personally be inclined to use a stronger term for the sake of accuracy.”
It was exceedingly pleasant to know that she wasn’t the only one who could see Caleb Darcy for what he was, especially by someone who couldn’t possibly hold the same bias against his character as she did.
Niamh couldn’t keep the smile from her face now, offering it freely to the passives who served them, possibly making them uneasy as she strove to catch their eyes while they did their best to avoid her bright hazel gaze.
Her appetite hadn’t returned, the food arraying itself before them only receiving the most cursory glance as she found absolutely no desire to engage in a meal right now. The youth had had to participate in many social dinners where she’d had to perform in every way, including eating. She could go through the motions, could manage to make a sizeable looking dent in her meal, and keep up a stream of silly conversation without alerting anyone that she would rather be elsewhere or otherwise occupied.
Despite the potential dangers of making a fool of herself, the Living Conversationalist found that she’d much rather stay entirely absorbed in Harper’s company, especially as for once, he wasn’t mentally far away. For his sake though, if not for hers, she couldn’t sit here and speak solely with him.
Gaining another drink, a hand drifted to the bun atop her head, patting it self-consciously before straightening and taking up her cutlery.
“I’ll certainly endeavour to keep saying things, but for now, they probably shouldn’t be in your direction. At least for awhile,” Niamh explained to her companion, before favouring one of the literature professors with a polite smile.
“It’s Professor Merrythought, isn’t it? I’ve never taken any of your classes, but if I’m not mistaken, I have read one of your books on the topic of literature…”
Fionn had most definitely been the reader of the family, the one most likely to be found sequestered away in the family library with his sketchpad, or working his way diligently through some thick tome with a dictionary open beside it. It had never mattered to him if he read a work of fiction or some treatise on a topic that interested him. She had never achieved the sort of reading feats that her brother could have had he never been gated, but she had learned from his example somewhat. He had always been able to pull the strangest pieces of knowledge from that precocious little brain of his and it had come from picking his way through the various volumes in the Madden family library.
By comparison, her own reading had been a case of picking and choosing, skimming through a section here or a chapter there, more likely to keep reading if the topic interested her. It had given her an uneven spread of knowledge over a variety of subjects and it was something she’d kept up in Brunnhold as well. Unlike her childhood home, it had been easier to access novels since coming here—reputable or otherwise. As such, she was able to dredge up recollections on some of the man’s literary thoughts—thankfully she had the right man!—drawing him into a slightly spirited discussion on the topic of “acceptable” literature.
It was inevitable that someone would ask about her own background, assuming that she must have more than a passing interest in the subject.
“I’m definitely more of a student of the Living arts rather than the literary ones, but I read when I have the time—what little I have of it,” she explained with a laugh. “Aside from picking up shifts in the Infirmary, I assist Professor Moore here in Laboratory Beta—and Professor Devlin.”
The rhythm of conversation stuttered and almost stopped, the fact apparently shocking some of the table’s occupants. Her face was already warm from alcohol and the fervour of conversation, but she felt it redden further now.