The Laundries
Early Morning on the 79th of Roalis, 2719
The Hoxian, while outwardly unemotional and aloof, was a sensitive enough creature to the body language and tones of voice used by others to see that his choices were causing various levels of distress in the two young passive women he'd already disturbed. His choices were too far out of their comfort zones, limited as that comfort already was for gated servants, and Ezre had been raised to be courteous to the needs of all people, not just when burying their dead. He sighed, just stubborn enough to at least take the effort to finish washing the linens he'd already taken, aware that he'd apologized too many times already to those who would have otherwise been deemed not worth the sentiment by the majority of his Anaxi (and Hoxian) peers,
"I do not believe it is your station to tell me what I should and should not do." The dark-haired boy smirked then, an expression of more humor than authority warming his otherwise delicate, tattooed face, "But I do not wish to put you at risk of unnecessary discipline should your peers report you have willingly allowed a galdor to do passive work."
Ezre was so very soft-spoken even with the lilt of sarcasm lacing his consonant-heavy Hoxian accent, harder sounds throaty and softer sounds airy like the wispy nature of his Clairvoyant-laden field.
He was aware of Anaxi standards of propriety, though for the most part he chose to simply step lightly around them, the lighter undershirt thin enough fabric to give far more of a glimpse of the intricately inked lines that decorated his entire self made more obvious once he was elbow-deep in hot water and sweaty from the humid room. This Kingdom was just too warm and he'd been home just long enough that he was forced to ignore a wave of dizziness.
Setting the sheets he'd cleaned in direct rebellion to the pair of young women's ardent request aside for wringing out, he turned his attention to his own clothing, which did not contain a single uniform. He was not looking forward to donning it again in Yaris after nearly an entire season spent avoiding it's confining green heavily-gendered ugliness,
"Is conversation allowed while working or should I keep quiet?" The Hexxos Guide had curiosities and little opportunity to satiate them, quite aware that he most likely wouldn't find himself in amicable passive company again even if he came to do his laundry often enough. Most of the time, no one spoke to him, and yet perhaps it was because these two were so very close to his age and he'd quite interrupted their lives that he found himself in any position to talk at all.
Not entirely waiting for an answer either way, Ezre thought to edge nto his usual interests without much subtlety because using words superfluously at all was not a Hoxian strong point outside of opera and poetry,
"Neither of you have ever been to the East Garden, have you? Are there places on Brunnhold's campus that you have been told to stay away from for unusual reasons?" There was something about the inflection of his question that implied he wasn't asking because such a location was off-limits for legal reasons so much as for strange ones. It was an odd question—sudden and direct—but it wasn't as though the dark-haired boy had behaved normally yet anyway.
"I do not believe it is your station to tell me what I should and should not do." The dark-haired boy smirked then, an expression of more humor than authority warming his otherwise delicate, tattooed face, "But I do not wish to put you at risk of unnecessary discipline should your peers report you have willingly allowed a galdor to do passive work."
Ezre was so very soft-spoken even with the lilt of sarcasm lacing his consonant-heavy Hoxian accent, harder sounds throaty and softer sounds airy like the wispy nature of his Clairvoyant-laden field.
He was aware of Anaxi standards of propriety, though for the most part he chose to simply step lightly around them, the lighter undershirt thin enough fabric to give far more of a glimpse of the intricately inked lines that decorated his entire self made more obvious once he was elbow-deep in hot water and sweaty from the humid room. This Kingdom was just too warm and he'd been home just long enough that he was forced to ignore a wave of dizziness.
Setting the sheets he'd cleaned in direct rebellion to the pair of young women's ardent request aside for wringing out, he turned his attention to his own clothing, which did not contain a single uniform. He was not looking forward to donning it again in Yaris after nearly an entire season spent avoiding it's confining green heavily-gendered ugliness,
"Is conversation allowed while working or should I keep quiet?" The Hexxos Guide had curiosities and little opportunity to satiate them, quite aware that he most likely wouldn't find himself in amicable passive company again even if he came to do his laundry often enough. Most of the time, no one spoke to him, and yet perhaps it was because these two were so very close to his age and he'd quite interrupted their lives that he found himself in any position to talk at all.
Not entirely waiting for an answer either way, Ezre thought to edge nto his usual interests without much subtlety because using words superfluously at all was not a Hoxian strong point outside of opera and poetry,
"Neither of you have ever been to the East Garden, have you? Are there places on Brunnhold's campus that you have been told to stay away from for unusual reasons?" There was something about the inflection of his question that implied he wasn't asking because such a location was off-limits for legal reasons so much as for strange ones. It was an odd question—sudden and direct—but it wasn't as though the dark-haired boy had behaved normally yet anyway.
