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[Aurelie Steerpike]

Loshis 33, Early Evening | Kitchens

Of all places in Brunnhold, it was the kitchens that Aurelie loved the best.

It wasn't that they were a kind place to be, or comfortable--indeed, in the heat of summer any of the kitchens could be as swelteringly miserable as any other place she was assigned to work. Nor were they relaxed, or quiet. Perhaps this is what she liked about them best. The kitchens were a constant hum of activity, starting from early in the morning and stretching late into the evening. There were dishes to wash, floors to sweep, food to prepare and to serve. Passives of all ages could be found in them--indeed, there was something to be done by anyone who could do it. No simple manor kitchen was this; an army was needed to keep up with demands from students and faculty alike. Aurelie herself had spent untold hours peeling potatoes with the other, more senior scullery maids until her fingers had been stiff and she would have liked never to see another root of any kind ever again in all her life. Even then, she had found something pleasing in the work. It called to her mind an easier time at her nurse's knee. Her nurse, having been long a friend to the cook in the Steerpike's employ, would sometimes allow a young Aurelie to help with some small task, as long as her parents were not about and it posed no real difficulty to her small hands. Her patience and aptitude had proven to work in her favor; over time, the other cooks and kitchen-maids had taken notice and she had been moved from scullery to kitchens. Truly, here was "a place for everything, and everything in its place"; it brought her great pleasure that one of those places was hers.

Tonight she had been pulled in to assist with the preparations for the Formal Supper for the third-year students. She had been there for several hours already, and would be there another few yet before the students themselves took their seats to dine under watchful faculty eyes. The preparations for the Formal Suppers were always the most tense. The sheer logistics of preparing a meal for so many students and faculty at once meant that as well-oiled a machine as the kitchens were in general terms, in here everything had to run like clockwork. They were already behind, with the unpleasant discovery of some spoilage that had gone unnoticed by whatever wretch had been assigned to the larder for the day, forcing them to change the menu. As if this wasn't trouble enough, someone had cut open their hand, and were taken off to bandage it up before it got into the food by an exasperated overseer.

"Well isn't this just clocking wonderful," she muttered to herself, before biting her lip and casting a furtive glance around to see if anyone had heard her. In the din of the kitchen, however, it went unnoticed. The timing of everything had been ever-so-slightly off, and it was driving her to distraction. Even the asparagus pudding hadn't gone quite right, and she had been so pleased to be making it.

"Aurelie!" The voice of the cook in charge of the appetizers cut through the clamor like a knife.

"Yes!" Aurelie snapped to attention.

The cook, a frazzled-looking woman in her late fifties with a cloud of dark hair barely contained by a scarf and eyes that could spear an errant scullery maid from twenty yards, gestured Aurelie towards a room set aside for butchering and other such tasks, the open doorway of which was easily visible from where they both stood in the main kitchen. "Short-handed, need to finish cleaning them hens. Bruno shoulda done it, but Patron Russo got 'im." The cook's speech was clipped and efficient, pitched to carry over the sound of the kitchen. Aurelie grimaced inwardly. It wasn't that cleaning birds was difficult, she just didn't enjoy the whole process from start to finish. Still, it needed getting done, and her hands were as good as any.

"And don't let that one give you any trouble." The chef added this warning as an afterthought, gesturing to the passive who was, at present, already engaged in the process. Aurelie frowned, puzzled, until she realized with a start that she knew who it was: Fionn. All at once the other week came rushing back to her. How was this even possible? This was surely some cosmic joke, the Circle laughing at her for having the hubris to think she'd not see him again. They'd avoided each other more or less their entire lives here, and now she was to see him twice in one month? Rude is what that was. Aurelie gnawed on an already-chapped lip, trying to read the mood on the blonde passive's face. Eventually she gave the effort up as a lost cause, and, wishing not to waste much more time than she already had, went to join him and the pile of birds.

"Hello again." Was that suitably neutral? Oh, she did so hope it was.

[Fionn]

Loshis 33, 2719 | Early Evening
Kitchens

.

It wasn't often that Fionn appreciated not having work to do for Keyes. On days when the professor's work schedule was particularly demanding, the passive usually found him falling back into the rhythm of ordinary passive life and that meant being thrown into whatever work some overseer decided that he should do. The fact that he had preferences didn't matter to anyone. The fact that if he was allowed to do work that he was happy to do then he would do it without a grumble either hadn't come to anyone's notice or else nobody cared; he was inclined to think that it was the latter. Still, he'd managed to eke out a house doing bits and bobs about the man's office. After that, he'd trotted off with the spare shirts that Gus kept in the office in case he wanted to change into a fresh one over the course of the day without having to go all the way home. It might have been a largely pointless laundry trip if he hadn't also picked up some items belonging to Harper Moore that he swung by Laboratory Beta to collect. The monic theorist spent far more time living in that lab than away from it and so there were always items that needed to be cleaned and something of an arrangement had been put together between himself and his sibling to help ensure its tidiness.

What a lucky man Moore was to have a pair of Maddens to look after him although Fionn did it more because it was easy enough work and usually helped him avoid anything more taxing as well as a way to remain in the good books of the professor and Niamh. Niamh, on the other hand, just seemed happy to coddle the man and well... that was her business; her brother wasn't going to try to change her behaviour.

Still, there were plenty of hours in the day - too many it seemed sometimes - and he could only spend so many of them avoiding 'real' work. Sometimes he didn't succeed in his avoidance because the teenager was conscripted while he was in the midst of doing something else and sometimes he couldn't wriggle his way out of it; it depended on the Matron or Patron and he didn't have a hope if it was a galdor. However, there were plenty of areas where a passive showing up looking for work would be accepted without question and when he had the chance, Fionn tended to present himself at the Kitchens.

The youth had whiled away most of the afternoon in the laundries before making his escape, red-faced and sweaty, which probably helped him in his 'busy' guise until he got back to Keyes' office to freshen up in his little bathroom. The passive was quite neat and fresh by the time he inserted himself into the utter pandemonium that was Formal Supper preparations.

The place usually had an ordered sort of chaos to it but today, it was a bit more on the chaotic side. The schedule had been thrown out of kilter and someone had done some very shoddy maintenance in the larder - thank the Lady he wasn't that unfortunate fucker. It wasn't like he was going to upset anything further - he was usually very well behaved in the Kitchens aside from the odd theft - but some of the overseers didn't trust him on principle. Some of them had known him when he was a proper little snot after Ayden went off to work for that golly, whereas others had known him when he had become real trouble. The idea that he might be a reformed character, or at least on the road to redemption, was something that some people would never believe; they thought it was golly chroveshit and sure, they could be easily fooled sometimes.

So he was banished to the butchery room, placed somewhere that wouldn't allow him to be a 'bad influence'. Oh he wasn't told that, not in any so many words but he knew by the look and the tone. Better that he be stuck by himself plucking and gutting some hens rather than possibly chatting to some young impressionable scraps. As if he'd ever done more than flirt with some lads! Gods, he wasn't a reprobate but he still found an eye thrown through the door every now in then.

In truth, the teenager thought that he was being checked up on again when he felt a nexus come closer, remaining stationary as if he was being watched. He tried to pretend that he didn't notice - they didn't know that he could feel them all, didn't even know that they had nexi - but his eyes flicked up all the same.

Aurelie Steerpike! Well, fuck him sideways!

He swallowed, cartilage bobbing in his throat as he dropped the chicken he'd been plucking into the bucket beside him and picked up a fresh hen. Better to pluck them and then worry about gutting and cleaning rather than switching back and forth between tasks. The young man had a rhythm going and even though Aurelie was hovering nearby - Don't think about the last time you saw her, don't even think it or you'll go red as a fucking blistleberry - he persisted in keeping it, doing his best not to think about why she was watching him. He tugged out the bird's tail feathers before moving onto the wings, feeling the quills pop loose of the flesh. And then he damn near dislocated the fowl's wing as he fumbled the bird as she greeted him.

Well, this was a great start, wasn't it?

"Hello," he mumbled, checking where the wing met the body. Thankfully the hen hadn't fared poorly before he managed to catch the bloody thing. The blond barely stopped himself from running a hand through his hair, which would have left a trail of downy feathers in it. A nervous habit. Chances were that there was a feather or two in there anyway - he always managed to get them in there somehow - but he didn't need to drag a load of them through his hair while she looked on.

The teenager got back to his work, trying to regain the rhythm that he'd lost. "I uh... you startled me," he admitted with a chuckle. It wasn't a lie exactly. He'd known that she was there but he hadn't expected her to come in. Apparently, the chickens were needed more urgently than he could manage alone.

"You here to help with this? Surprised that you're allowed near me," he added with more of a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he pinched and pulled feathers free of the body, brows pulled together in concentration. He wasn't sure how he felt about having company. He wasn't adverse to having someone to exchange words with while he was in the Kitchens and it was one of the places where Fionn was often at his happiest and most personable. The fact that the company was Aurelie... well, he hadn't forgotten how their last encounter had gone; he'd gone over that memory far too often.

"I uh... I wasn't expecting to see you again. Well, thought I'd see you around but..." the teenager shrugged. He hadn't expected them to interact again was what he meant. "I didn't make the best impression."

[Aurelie Steerpike]

She hadn't meant to startle him so--perhaps she should have approached more... noisily? No, that was silly. It wasn't as if anyone could hear much over the clang of pots and the constant cries of "hot, behind you, on your left!" that rang out every few minutes as passives shuffled between their stations.

Although... it was a little funny, she had to admit. She wasn't used to someone reacting this way to her presence. In fact, she wasn't used to much reaction to her at all. She had half a mind to tease--but no, there were birds to undress.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you." A trace of laughter hung in her voice. She felt distinctly less tense than she had when last they met, even outside of their conversation. Perhaps because she was in her element, so to speak--something that normally was pulled taught inside her was loosened. Seeing Aurelie here in the kitchens was something of an odd sight, she had been told. Though not particularly cold or stiff, generally speaking, in most places, there was an ease to her movements and a truer warmth to her face here more than anywhere else. A former roommate had once informed Aurelie that if ever she needed a favor from her, she would wait until they were assigned together there as often as possible.

"Perhaps they think me immune to your wicked influence." The joke was tossed off lightly, the red-haired young woman taking a seat as neatly as she could manage while also avoiding direct eye contact. Fionn had actually made better progress than she had expected when she was asked to assist, and a neat job of it too. A small hum of approval escaped her. She did so appreciate efficiency in these sorts of things.

Aurelie looked up, a rueful smile on her face. "I wasn't expecting to see you either, if you must know." Aurelie shrugged lightly. There wasn't much use dwelling on it--their paths had indeed crossed again, and that was that. "I can gut while you clean, if you'd like." That would be most personally pleasing to her, as well--she didn't mind gutting nearly as much as she hated plucking the feathers out. It was a point of embarassment to her that she tore the skin far more often than she would admit when plucking dry as they had to for such quantity.

[Fionn]

Loshis 33, 2719 | Early Evening
Kitchens

.

There was a noticeable difference to her. It wasn’t just her voice and her way of speaking but her manner as well, as he found out when he chanced a glance up. Maybe it helped that he wasn’t catching her at the end of the day, dog-tired as she poked at a lacklustre meal but honestly, it wasn’t that many hours earlier than their previous encounter. No, she seemed to be in a better humour, truly good-humoured unlike the false joviality she had donned in the canteen those weeks ago. He supposed that his own mood was rather similar actually. Oh he might be irritated by this apparent need to come and stare at him as if he was going to do something especially foul with the hens (ha, he’d love to explain that he was to busy with fowl but he didn’t think any overseer would appreciate the joke), but he was in good spirits after all. The young man had long liked the Kitchens, the loud activity having an ironically calming effect on him. It might be hectic in here but that made it freer. It wasn’t like in the Laundries where you were almost afraid to whisper, tense each moment as you expected an overseer’s voice to crack over you, loud as a whip. There was so much to supervise that you didn’t feel as if your every move was watched, your every gesture and facial expression filed away for a dressing down now or in the future. Fionn could unwind in here and the rhythm of the work itself had a relaxing effect, and while they were often given repetitive tasks as in other areas, there was often something more satisfying about it than agitating cloth with a washing dolly, for example.

Whether himself and Aurelie had that in common, he didn’t know but it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who found something good here. The laughter in her voice and the serene happiness that glowed in her face was so much better than the tight, clipped words that often came out of pinched, tense faces in here. The youth was also glad because it enabled him to relax around her, especially after how their last encounter had gone.

He snorted softly at her joking apology but remained largely focused on his work. He couldn’t allow himself to slip up here, had to ensure that he held the bird just so and tugged the feathers free thusly; it reduced the chance of ripping the skin, which would be quite unfortunate, especially on the breast. His work was also delicate, pulling with enough force so that the quill would pop free of the skin easily but not so hard that it wrenched out. Couldn’t be too light either or you risked ripping the feather out but leaving the quill in; he’d dealt with such incompetence before and it was tedious and slow to have to tweeze the fragments free. Certain standards had to be upheld.

The blond did look up at the wicked influence comment, grinning lopsidedly as he laughed low in his throat, one corner of his mouth remaining curved upwards. ”Thank the Circle! Can’t have you getting corrupted by my wickedness,” he retorted dryly, mischief in his youthful face as she took a seat. It was a bit quieter in the ladder or at least easier to hear things in it and with her relatively close at hand, he could hear quite a bit. Even so, when he heard something like an approving hum, his brown gaze darted furtively up, disbelieving.

No, she must have just hummed, just a sound, probably with no real inflection to it at all; he’d imagined the approval, he must have.

His sleeves were starting to slip down the crooks of his elbows but he couldn’t see to them until he finished this bird, baring its breast with careful proficiency. Once it was done, he set the bird down and dusted his hands together to clear them of feathers, nodding and smiling gratefully at her offer.

”That’d be a real help. I was starting to think I’d have to start hitting them myself just so I’d have room to keep plucking,” he explained, gesturing to the small wooden trough almost overflowing with naked hens. He unfurled his sleeves, shaking the fabric before he rolled them anew, folding the material back until it was firmly secured above his elbow. In doing so he bared the skin, the inside of each forearm turned upwards where the other servant could easily inspect it. It was largely unblemished aside from a few minute scars that looked more like scratches and the rather more noticeable, light pink burn scars on the inside of each elbow. They were roughly circular and lightly depressed as if someone had stubbed cigarettes out on his skin; that was exactly what they were from.

The blond picked up a new bird from the floor, the pile mercifully smaller than it had been when he started but still too damn high. At least he didn’t have to face the prospect of gutting all the fowl by himself.

”I’m honestly not that bad, not these days and I’ve always been good in the Kitchens,” he confided, pausing as he realised that wasn’t entirely true. He made quick work of the tail feathers.

”Okay so I haven’t always been on my best behaviour but it’s been years. I’m not disruptive and a nuisance anymore. Well… an occasional nuisance, it depends who you talk to but no, it’s not catching. But they know one thing and they think they know everything,” the middle Madden commented with a laugh at the expense of their minders.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Aurelie didn't let her eyes linger on Fionn's scars. They all had them, after all--some more visible than others. From carelessness or malice... well, the difference was negligible with their life, wasn't it? She had her own fair share; if others wanted to think that every burn and mark on her was from her work in the kitchens, well. Why would she dissuade them? It had long ceased to matter to her, outside of those dark nights when she let herself think about what could have been.

No, that was a private pain, and she would not intrude. Aurelie told herself it was for the sake of others' privacy, and the Lady knew they had precious little of that, but really it was for her own. To ask questions of others was to invite the same to herself, and this was a level of intimacy she wouldn't allow. With anyone. So she didn't ask.

Instead, she briskly rolled up her own sleeves another few rolls, and arranged her skirts so they would stay well away from any stray gobbet of gore. She had discovered early on that blood of any kind was a clocking trial to clean from the faded blue of their uniforms, and didn't fancy spending Alioe only knew how long looking like an axe murderer. Again. Were she still a young lady of breeding, having her skirts hitched to her knees so that her apron hung far over the hem would be scandal; but Aurelie Steerpike was a young lady of breeding no longer, and practicality ruled the day. A butcher's knife and two buckets were near the trough of already-defeathered hens. These she moved nearer to her reach, as well as a low table to rest each carcass on. A practiced hand removed head from neck, before she moved on to cleaning out the viscera; what parts were useful for stock were put in one bucket, and the rest in another.

As for Fionn's proclaimed reformation, well. That didn't sound like what she'd heard--and she'd heard plenty in the last couple of weeks, every gossip in her shifts crawling out of the woodwork to deliver important information to her. And it she wasn't sure about what she'd seen, considering their first meeting hadn't gone very well. Still. It seemed sincere enough, so at least Fionn thought it was true. That counted for something.

"I'm not so sure about that--after all, they've already put me back here, haven't they?" The joke surprised Aurelie even as she said it. She tried to be friendly, but jokes weren't her forte. Are you trying to be funny now, Aurelie?

The momentary lapse in her attention as she chided herself was just enough for the knife to slip in her hand as she was cutting the gland from the back of one of the hens. The cut wasn't deep enough for true injury and seemed mercifully clean from the amount of pain, but as she had her hands covered in hen innards she couldn't be sure.

"Sweet Merciful--oh clocking-- there isn't time for this!"

[Fionn]

Loshis 33, 2719 | Early Evening
Kitchens

.

No, he wasn't resisting the urge to stare at her hoisted skirts. He would never stare at something like that. Everyone had legs, he'd seen plenty of legs, covered or bare and so they weren't that strange. Girls also had legs, of course they did, but they did appear... softer, and just well... they didn't seem to be the same, not exactly. Not that he'd ever stared when he had the chance, no. Fionn was observant though so he noticed things sometimes. Like everything that lay beneath the hem of Aurelie's apron. It was incidental, he definitely wasn't shooting furtive glances and he certainly wouldn't do so when he had to reach for another hen and would be afforded a slightly different angle.

The forbidden wasn't alluring or anything. The teenager had never been interesting in things that he wasn't meant to have, not at all.

Maybe he went a little pink, somewhat guilty, especially as she seemed rather unconcerned herself. Not to mention it was kind of ridiculous, getting an odd thrill from staring at stocking-clad legs. He had actual clocking work to do rather than ogling some girl. Although he supposed that it was a reminder that he did indeed have an attraction that ran both ways. The youth needed to focus on the hen instead, tugging out wing feathers before moving onto the softer, downy feathers that coated the rest of its body. Work was safe and he'd soon get used to her having her skirt hauled up to her knees as she worked. She was simply being practical and he should do the same and use his fucking brain. The sooner he got these plucked, the sooner he could get to work on gutting and the sooner he'd be able to get out of here and get away from her.

Although she wasn't bad company, not this time anyway.

Her joke made him blurt out a surprised laugh, finding himself oddly pleased that she could approach the matter with a similar sort of humour to him. Not everyone could regard these things so lightly, talk of corruption liable to make people freak out or grow snappy; talk of wickedness and badness catching certainly wasn't a joking matter for plenty of people. There was a ready response on his lips and for once, he actually paused before he threw it out, taking a moment to consider whether or not he should push it.

Well, what the hell!

"You are here, yes. It might already be too late if I'm as bad as all that but I'll do my best to maintain your innocence," he commented lightly, biting his lip so that he wouldn't smile, trying to appear quite serious but found that the corners quirked up anyway, betraying him. It quickly died as she hissed near curses, a mixture of pain and frustration colouring her voice. The youth looked up, not seeing the cut but guessing at what she'd done. The chicken was hastily abandoned, mostly plucked, on top of its defeathered fellows and he rose swiftly to his feet, dusting plumage from his hands.

"You'd best get that under the tap, get it clean and well... I don't know if it's bleeding but if it is, cold water should help stem the flow if it isn't too deep. If it is, well... Here, I'll run it for you," he explained briskly, his voice measured but sufficient hurry in it that it demanded action. The passive reached the sink and set cold water running, splattering against the bottom of the metal basin. Fionn planned to let it run a little, give the flow a chance to reach its chillest. Already he was fumbling in his pocket for the clean handkerchief he kept there, crumpled material flicked out and flipped onto his shoulder to hang there as he had often done with tea towels.

"Let me see and don't bother arguing, it'll be faster if you let me clean your hand and check it out. I'm well used to dealing with cuts. I can clean it, see how bad it is and get it wrapped. If it's bad, you'll still need it wrapped temporarily, even if you have to go and get it stitched or whatever. Trust me," the teenager told her, making a beckoning gesture, encouraging her to comply.

The youth didn't have his sister's medical training or her magic but he'd been in enough scrapes and experienced enough injuries of this sort or similar to know what to do with them. What knowledge he had had been gleaned from painful experience. If she was lucky, she hadn't cut too deeply but he knew that some places bled more than others, certain areas of flesh extremely dramatic. He knew the base of the thumb was a good spot for that sort of ridiculous deluge so it could look bad but actually be minor.

"Doing it before one of our dear minders appears to scream at us both would be good - me for trying to be helpful and you because you cut yourself. Freak out over nothing," Fionn added with a roll of his eyes, the last a grumble aimed at the Matrons and Patrons. Touching her hand really wasn't that scandalous. Everyone had clocking hands.

... yet he'd found himself fascinated by the redhead's legs.

If she was willing to cooperate then he'd take her injured hand gently in both of his to guide it under the tap, using his thumbs to gently rub matter out of the way although quite conscious of his callouses, which while softer than they had been could still chafe if rubbed over sensitive skin. If she wouldn't take his help then he'd hover, refusing to move because at the very least, he was going to bind her hand; he had two hands to carry out the task so she couldn't argue with that one.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Time Stamp | Location

That she had made him laugh pleased her. Aurelie wasn't what she considered a funny person, rarely laughing much herself. She supposed that the lifestyle lent itself to creating a rather dour lot, but sometimes she wondered how much she believed that just to justify her own standoffishness. So it was in this sort of rush of having made someone laugh for the first time in what felt like years (someone she would never admit was pleasant company today) that she cut her thumb, and heard herself agreeing to be steered towards the sink.

She wanted to protest, she should protest. This was hardly the first time she'd sliced open her thumb, and it wouldn't be the last. If anything, it was a miracle she didn't take the whole thing off with the way she had been carrying on. But it was true that she couldn't see the actual injury well herself, and she probably shouldn't be digging around in it herself when it would be faster to have him check. But she still really, really should have said no. The door was open, and she had no illusions about how it would look.

She didn't.

Instead she let Fionn take her hand and bring it under the running water, cold enough to make her hiss in surprise when it hit the open cut. The water was a stark contrast to the warmth of Fionn's hand, something she was suddenly very aware of. Along with every callous and scar on her hands, of how she had bitten her nails to the quick. Of how small they seemed, suddenly. I think his hands might be softer than mine.

"I'm fine, really," she protested, much too late and with far too little force. Why was he so clocking tall? She had forgotten, immediately, when they were both sitting down that he fair towered above her. Aurelie's face stopped somewhere in the realm of his shoulder, so to hold her hand under the water he had to lean over her, if just a little. This was possibly, she realized with some sort of distant alarm, the closest she had been to any man under 60 in her entire adult life. And this one had said she was pretty. Aurelie resolutely did not turn her head, eyes remaining fixed on her hand under the flow of the water. She willed her heartrate to settle, but it didn't listen.

This is very helpful, Aurelie, don't be such a moony little twit. It is completely normal for someone to touch your hands. You are not a child.

Of course, staring at her hand meant she was staring at his also, and gave her plenty of room to think about the surprising gentleness with which he removed what was hen viscera from the wound. Aurelie was touched--she was unaccustomed to being treated this way. It made her feel a little lightheaded. Or maybe the wound was very serious, after all.

This was going horribly awry, very quickly. She had to do something, say something, or she would combust. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat. "I, ah, that is--how does it look?" If her voice sounded a little odd, it was just because she was so distressed at being behind schedule. That was all.

[Fionn]

Loshis 33, 2719 | Early Evening
Kitchens

.

He’d told her not to protest but Fionn hadn’t expected her to actually be so willing. There wasn’t a peep out to her as she came to him willing as a hingle about to be slaughtered. He was surprised at the trust she seemed to place in him, so unthinking, so innocent. He was surprised that she didn’t rankle at the possible impropriety of it, how it would seem if anyone looked in. Sweet Lady, had been that persuasive, that demanding? Maybe he’d channelled some of Niamh’s medical authority after all. He’d seen how she changed when she was in that zone, too focused on providing care to be anxious and it was damn near impossible to protest. You didn’t even want to offer a smidgeon of resistance. Fionn hadn’t thought he’d managed to sound anywhere near how his sister did but he could be shockingly persuasive sometimes. It didn’t mean that he wasn’t a bit bemused.

It was a wildly surreal moment, finding her so close, so very near the edge of trouble and thoughts of Maddie flitted into his head. The galdor had been so worried about hugging him in a room where no one could see them, no one could have an inkling of what they’d done. That had been so innocent, such an overreaction and yet she hadn’t been this willing in spite of the fact that she could receive no sanctions, no grief over the matter. And yet here was Aura in dangerous territory and almost happy to be there. She was smaller than the student had been though, child-like and yet not childish even if he did find himself towering over her, leaning down a little, looking slouched as he gently took Aurelie’s hand in his own and moved it under the tap.

The teenager shouldn’t have had that wild pulse that he could feel so strongly in his neck that he was half-expecting her to notice it as the artery tried to punch its way out of his throat. He swallowed too much, unaccountably nervous, giddy as he carefully cleaned the mess away, finding the split skin near her thumb. It was the danger of it, the fact that he could get in trouble at any moment, the rush of adrenaline. That’s all it was. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to look at her face, to risk potentially catching her eye. It was just because Fionn was busy, focused.

Her assurance came after he’d begun and he hummed doubtfully, saying nothing although he wet his lips, everything dry including his throat.

Focus, Fionn! he warned himself, trying to steel himself, to pay attention to the task at hand.

The youth moved the skin, a thumb placed on either side of the cut, gently pressing in from either side to see if blood came out before pulling gently apart for the same reason. A line of red did under aggravation but it didn’t look too bad, not too deep. It reminded him of a bad papercut more than anything. Slipping a hand under hers, basically cradling it in his palm, he used the other to turn off the flow of water, staring at the break in the skin to see if it would start bleeding. A crack of red appeared.

”It doesn’t look too bad but I’m just going to press this - it’ll sting a bit,” he cautioned before he used his free hand to press down over the cut, palm pressed firmly against it while the other hand pushed upwards a little. The seal felt tight, a good pressure applied as his hands smothered her own. It was just too discourage blood flow before he wrapped it, that was all.

The teenager hadn’t realised how much his own hands had softened until now, feeling the slight grate of more calloused skin against his own.

”It might bleed a little, especially when you use it and it’ll properly ache tomorrow but you’ll live,” the youth joked softly, a faint smile on his lips as he glanced up, the lighter flecks in his eyes almost obscured as the pupils had dilated, his gaze seeming darker than normal.

Fionn regretted looking up, reminded of how small she was, the angle making her face appear haloed by her ginger hair, features looking softer as the tapered chin wasn’t as readily visible. His cleared his throat, gaze dropping again as he lifted his hand away.

Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t even think. You don’t have to like every pretty thing you see! Fucking ridiculous. She’s still a girl. She’s still irritating!

But funny, he reminded himself, reaching up to pick up the handkerchief again.

”Keep your hand there for a tick,” the teenager ordered, removing his hand from beneath hers so he could fold the fabric diagonally. He took one end, placed it at the base of her thumb before wrapping it around, over the top and looping it around her wrist. It was a tight fit, only so much material to work with but he got it knotted.

”There we are, good as new! Well… close enough. Don’t go trying to cut it off again, Aurelie. It won’t get you out of work,” he told her, mock stern as he shook the moisture from his hands. He straightened, jamming them in his pockets to dry them loosely before he stepped past her to drop back onto his stool. He rolled his shoulders to work some of the tension out of them and then picked up his abandoned chicken.

This is fine, maybe you’re a little red but it’s fine. It’s hard work dealing with… things.

He wanted to roll his eyes at himself but managed to resist, hoping that his expression was impassive but doubting it. He couldn’t keep things off his face. The servant was mildly frustrated, exasperated, at himself rather than her but she wasn’t to know that.

Yeah. Hard.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Aurelie experimentally flexed her hand, trying to divert her attention to her wound and away from... whatever foolishness that had been. The pain was soothing in that way; not enough to stop her from her work, but as she clenched and unclenched her hand she could run her mind over the contours of where it hurt and how much. This, she understood--it was clean, sharp, tidy. She had been careless, and it had hurt her. This was important for her to remember. Nobody had come in or seen them, but they could have.

You are an absolute fool, Aurelie. With the adrenaline of the injury fading, foolishness was creeping in to replace it. Why had she let him do this? She was an idiot. A glance at Fionn's face and her stomach dropped. He was annoyed--she didn't know what by, but it had to have been something she had done. Or not done? Oh, and they had just started getting along. Standing next to the sink with his handkerchief wrapped around her hand, Aurelie Steerpike was forced to admit that she had liked getting along, and wanted to keep doing so. Fionn was aggravating, and talking to him was probably not in her best interest, but it was nice to talk to someone who hadn't decided what to think of her already. Who laughed when she made what passed for a joke.

Well, it was probably for the best that she seemed to have stopped that now. Aurelie crossed the room to resume her seat and work, feeling unsettled in a way she couldn't put her finger on. A hand came up to her mouth as she surveyed the scene, absent-mindedly chewing on the edge of a nail before she realized what she was doing and quickly put it back down.

"Won't it? There goes that plan, I suppose. I'll just have to keep all my thumbs." The joke was flat even to her own ears. With her unwrapped hand, she once again picked up her butcher knife. Maybe she could work out whatever this was on some defenseless birds. Yes, that seemed the thing.

Belatedly, she realized there was a new wrinkle to her injury. Aurelie frowned at her hand, then waved it slightly in Fionn's direction.

"I'm not sure you'll want this back after today..." She had intended to take it off as soon as possible, and ask someone else to return it to him. Any one of them had so precious little by way of possessions, even a handkerchief seemed important. "I, oh. I'm afraid it's a bit ruined now."

[Fionn]

Loshis 33, 2719 | Early Evening
Kitchens

.

He needed to focus on the blooming hens and just keep his eyes on the task at hand - plucking and gutting. He couldn't look at Aura. If he looked at the young woman then he'd notice all the little things, all those attractive qualities that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from finding now that he'd stood so close and seen her as he had.

The boy had a preoccupation with pretty things, often able to view things as aesthetically pleasing, admire them and yet keep them at a distance. However, he could become quite enamoured with his pretty things, obsessively so as he let his gaze trail over them again and again, finding them more and more attractive with every look. Some pretty things he ended up coveting and maybe it wasn't that surprising in a place like this, When you had everything taken away, when you weren't allowed to keep things then you wanted anything you could get. It was probably why he stole. He'd been denied some things at home and so he had stolen, seeking to fill a hole, to get attention, all of it. In Brunnhold, he had begun to steal more. Things that shone, things that were small, things that he could have. Fionn liked things that he wasn't meant to have and they were all the more tempting when he couldn't have them. The boy had learned to take and when it wasn't allowed or out of reach... clock the Circle, it became quite tempting indeed.

In the case of people, perhaps it was worse. They were far more complicated of course but it was the exterior that you discovered first and for him, he was so good at keeping people at a distance that often that was all he got to know. The teenager coveted people in the same way he coveted objects if he really liked the look of them but they were more fragile, more liable to break and so he had to be more cautious; it didn't mean that he didn't break things out of frustration though. Coveting people led to far more trouble than coveting objects though. Ayden had been a lot of trouble for him but that relationship had been extremely complicated. Lars had certainly had a bad time because of him. They were ones that he properly regretted hurting though because feelings had been involved as well as lust. However, until now he'd only coveted men. If he coveted a woman...

The middle Madden couldn't afford to find Aurelie too interesting. She couldn't afford for him to find her too interesting either. If he didn't look too closely then things should be fine. The youth could hope.

It was why he was exasperated with himself but he could also feel that tug of intrigue. And while he knew better than to engage with her further, he still had his curiosity and he still had time to pass, didn't he? There were things that she could tell him, information that he might find interesting and which didn't pertain to her personally. He could keep his mind on the task at hand, do a good job (muscle memory was a wonderful thing) and still manage to satisfy his curiosity somewhat. Asking some questions wouldn't do any harm, especially as they weren't about her, and maybe if he stopped looking, he'd kill any potential infatuation before he took too much of a shine to gazing at the redhead.

"No, I'm afraid not. You're going to have to keep all two of your thumbs," he quipped, a smirk finding its way onto his face despite the flatness of her joke and his own. They were both awkward then, both trying to deal with a situation that they didn't know how to handle. Fionn had to wonder what feelings had been stirred in her. She must have felt something, even if it was negative towards him although surely it couldn't be entirely bad, he had helped her after all.

The youth had something he wanted to ask but he wasn't sure if there was a good way to approach it, not without sounding as if he was trying to come onto her in an extremely misguided fashion. He'd just added the naked hen to the pile for her to work from, words lined up uncertainly on his lips when she commented on the handkerchief and damn him, he glanced up!

"Huh? Oh, it doesn't matter. I can just get another one, it's not a big deal. I have a stockpile of them. Honestly, I keep collecting them from Gus - Professor Keyes - and he just keeps replacing them. Probably habit to be honest. He'd quite distracted when he's working so he probably just thinks that he's misplaced them," he commented, his grin growing truly wicked as he sniggered. "I've been stealing them basically. Handkerchiefs."

It was a simple thing to him, an amusing admittance but it wouldn't surprise him if she recoiled in horror, scandalised. In fact, he found himself watching for her response rather than focusing entirely on his new bird. He had his opening for what he'd wanted to ask though. "Speaking of stealing and the like, you know how I'm meant to be a wicked influence? I assume you've heard things - I get a sense of the rumours sometimes - but I'm wondering, just what have you heard about me? What wickedness am I in danger of spreading to others like a bad flu?" Fionn asked, amused despite himself as he went back to tugging feathers.

The boy was sure that some quite ridiculous things were said - he knew how rumours worked - but he was also curious to hear just how close to the truth some of these scraps came.