[PM to Join] The Rose and the Liaison

[Penelope Clarke]

20th of Vortas, 2719

Penelope could be seen placing the final touches on an order, placing the garnishes just so on a plate. Today she was supposed to be serving, but she wanted the order to be presentable, even if it wasn’t for herself to enjoy. Every meal was a gift, allowing her to keep cultivating her passions and allowing her to grow despite her servitude. A ladle teasingly dipped between a mound of mashed potatoes, a steak perfectly seared was placed next to a bed of vegetables. Finally, a slice of cake, a decadent cheesecake with a berry glaze was bordered by mint. This meal was supposed to be special, for one of the liasons, and Penelope never wanted to say that she didn’t try her best when they were around. An important person for the school. An opportunity to shine.

Although, she had certainly heard rumors about this person. Vivian Rush. A woman notorious in rumors just as she was fair in looks. Penelope had heard rumors of surrounding the liasion, how she was cruel, which explained exactly why all the other passives steered clear of delivering the dish. A frown graced her lips as she looked at the display, noticing that it was missing a drink. Did the galdor already get her drink? Deciding, it was best to not worry about such things until she served the order, she added a sprig of herbs to the vegetables for luck before moving on to the next task. "I hope she likes it. No one else wanted to make this dish. However, someone had to make it. Might as well be me."

Placing each dish on the tray, Penelope closed her eyes as the sous chef barked instructions to the other passives. Yes, she could do this. Even if no one else was willing, she knew that she could. Every dish was a piece of art, one that she was very proud of. From the perfectly seared steak, to the natural texture of mashed potatoes, and even the freshly roasted fall vegetables. The dessert, a slice of cheesecake, something she had been practicing for quite some time, had turned out to be a success. If food couldn't soothe the wrath of a galdor, nothing could. And Penelope was confident that this dish could.

Green eyes opened, their depths hopeful as she glanced upon the silver platter, inspecting each dish with approval. Finally, she went through the swinging door, escaping one noisy room to another, the cafeteria where the galdori awaited their meals. Putting on an easy smile, one that would hide her unease that still lingered despite her fifteen years of servitude, the blonde finally approached the table, balancing the tray just so to assemble each waiting dish on the cloth-covered spread. "Your order, my lady." Each dish was adjusted just so, first the entree and sides, then finally the dessert. “One perfectly seared steak, a side of vegetables and potatoes fresh from the garden, and our freshly prepared cheesecake."

Bowing her head as she moved back, she gave the red-head a small smile. "Are you in any need of anything else?"

[Vivian Rush]

Vivian Rush was quite pleased to be surprised. She'd allowed the kitchen staff to craft her order as they so choose, her efforts in attempting to make herself more palatable to the passive population. After all, Vivian Rush did not intend to cease her... extracurricular activities. The binding of passives to her will, the injuries inflicted upon her mind and the pursuit of magical indulgence that both of those required were a pastime she enjoyed far too much to simply... let go. What the woman needed, instead of stopping or god forbid, repenting her ways was to make it easier to persuade the passives to fall under her spell more effectively. And so, it was her prerogative to make them like her. To appreciate her. To drop their guard around her.

Even Vivian, a galdor who aside from her dark impulses and sexual indulgences with the bodies and minds of the passives did little to associate with them, knew of the rumours. She was well aware that the first passive she'd sent to the infirmary had caused a chain reaction, both among the more liberal (and therefore, more stupid) galdor staff and the passives themselves. Though it'd been nearly two years since that incident, since she'd stepped down from her position as assistant to a Chair and instead was thrust into the role of an Internal Affairs Liaison, there were still those whispers. After all, the passives of Brunnhold were not like the students or the staff. Their entire lives were concentrated within the compound that was the university and their gossip was surely far denser because of it.

Your order, my lady,

The words carried before Vivian stepped off from her reverie. She'd been engrossed in her thoughts of the past, and when at last pulled into the present, she raised her head and arched her eyebrows, her monic field flexed as irritation whirled about her. The sensation was palpable, surely pushing itself against the passive woman until she let her breath fill her lungs and her features raised to meet the gaze of the woman that interrupted her. Rather than lash out, Vivian offered a kind smile, her perfectly straightened and white teeth shown in kind to the passive. She looked in either direction, and noticed no beverage had been given with her meal.

"Anything else? But, of course. Surely, dear..." How it ached Vivian to give such an affectionate moniker to a passive wretch, "I'm not expected to eat without something to wash it down, hmm? While all of this looks lovely, I'd much appreciate a chilled glass of unsweetened tea to accompany it. Please," she completed. If the passive turned away to set about delivering her what she requested, she'd take the opportunity to salivate over what was offered to her. Truly, the passives had outdone themselves in an effort to please the "bitch" that sat so close to the kitchens. Vivian knew her reputation and did absolutely nothing to contest it. No, she'd "suffer" it silently until slowly, the opinion started to turn around.

Even if every word was true.

[Penelope Clarke]

The blonde passive had to admit that Miss Rush looked rather pleasant, and had she not heard the stories, she simply wouldn’t believe that the galdor was malevolent. However, as she felt the mona tease against her form, demonstrating power that she would never get to wield herself, she shivered. So much power in those veins. What would it be like to constantly have that pressure wanting to leave? Given, passives never had that, instead of performing wonderful feats of magic, they were imprisoned to slavery due to being a one-trick pony. A potential time bomb, a subclass that never would reach the potential. Indeed, Penelope knew all of this. Yet, every time she felt magic against her form, she longed for just a taste, even as her good behavior kept her out of harm’s way of a galdor’s ire.

Eyelids grew shuttered as she noticed the absence of a drink, recalling that she wasn’t the one that initially took the liaison's order. In fact, the other passive who had looked as if she had seen a ghost. Which brought the fears of everyone in the kitchen to life. That bitch, they called her. However, Penelope would never stoop to names. Instead, she prepared the meal and added a cooled slice of cheesecake she had made the day prior. Everything was in order. Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t. As if begging the Gods that never answered, the blonde hoped that the fiery-haired woman wouldn’t find a fault in the dish.

Even as she saw the kindly smile, one despite its sweetness put her on edge the moment the woman spoke. She noticed! A soft sound escaped her lips, one that was followed by an apologetic whisper. “Of course, my lady. Forgive me. We are rather short on staff today.” A lie, but that was better than revealing the truth. That no one wanted to serve this woman. “I’ll get your drink in just a moment. Would you like a complimentary side of spiced apples as well? The chef recommends them as a perfect accompaniment to your order.” Another lie, but Penelope felt responsible. This meal had to be perfect, every customer deserved to be treated well and not slighted, even if they were cruel.

Trying to keep her smile easy and relaxed, a difficult feat as she realized that she had already messed up, she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the cheerful babble of the galdori to relax her. At least everyone else’s meals seemed to be going well, and an unsweetened tea was easy enough to distribute. One chilled in a glass cup, not watered down by ice. A side of lemon and mint. Yes, she could do that. Finally, as if she came to a conclusion, she nodded to the woman. “I’ll bring them just in case. It’s the least I can do for missing an item on your order.” Giving the woman another bow, she made her journey to the kitchens once more, already imagining some of her fellow passives awaiting gossip.

[Vivian Rush]

It was a great boon to Vivian Rush that her delicate features and wide, amber eyes did very little to show the malevolence that lived deep within her soul. Such malevolence was not meant for the galdori (even if some were the recipients of it through circumstance). Instead, Vivian pushed her malevolence and assigned it only to the lesser races. Humans and wicks were not allowed on campus, and it would bode well for her to enact violence upon them in the Stacks where she lived. It was infinitely preferable for her to unleash her impulses on the passives of Brunnhold, those souls who unless there was concrete proof, no one would believe the reports of her abuse of. At least, it'd been that way in the past. Though Vivian's probation had long since passed, there was still the idea in the minds of some of the staff -- the notion that Vivian was dangerous.

And maybe I am, she mused, but there was no lamentation in the galdor's thoughts as she mused on the fact of it. Perhaps, it was a dangerous quality, to lash out and satiate unhealthy negative habits by drowning them on the lesser races of the world. Perhaps she'd been educated incorrectly, and it was a hazard to the safety of the students she was sworn to protect and mediate for, that she did as she pleased with the sub-species wretches that existed in Brunnhold purely to serve them. Vivian scoffed at the progressive mindset that continued to make her life more difficult, even as the passive turned away from her with assurances that spiced apples were to accompany the return of the passive. As the unnamed wretch walked away, Vivian couldn't help but notice the shape of her. In the uniform the passives were given, there was much left to the imagination. The girl spoke to Vivian, and the galdor nodded curtly,

"I'm quite pleased that the chef is of the mind to provide recommendations to my order I'll be pleased to take their advice along with my tea. Thank you," she offered in her best attempts to be civil.

They were given garbs appropriate to their stations and this girl in the kitchen wore a fitted apron along with clothes that did much to disguise her lithe form from Vivian's scrutiny. Of course, it wasn't the prerogative of the kitchen staff to supply Vivian with her undue fantasies, to rouse her attention or entice her, but nevertheless the innocence on the girl's face paired with her polite tones and the due deference to not merely a galdor, but a Liaison like Vivian was a well-appreciated asset. Vivian was the sort of galdor that wished for everything in its place. Whenever she left town to visit her father or merely for a well-deserved weekend in the Stacks where she lived, she was always livid when the inevitable mixing up of the things in her room transpired. Always, she made a fuss and always she wondered if the wretches did it specifically to turn her up in a frenzy.

Of course the uneducated filth would do such a thing in their efforts... Some of the older ones probably do it with the intention of reporting me should my punishment of their incompetence rise too high, she wondered. Always, Vivian was paranoid of the passives, and it was why she had the inclination to bend those who caught her eye to her will with magic so that they did not report her abuse or her neglect of their safety. Vivian had not commented on the lie told by the passive, but it was quite clear to her that it was one. There were a number of the filth languishing in their kitchen, and the woman was keen on building a 'Reading' spell. Her field extended outward from her corporeal shell, the monic presence dispersing as far as it would go. The galdori students might wonder what was going on, far more attuned to the movement of the mona than the servants in the kitchen.

Each galdori head that turned brought a chuckle from Vivian's lips before she began to sing the Monite in hushed tunes. They were soft murmurs that parted from her lips as she shifted her field and encouraged the spell-craft to move through the open hatch that had the wretched look out into the cafeteria. Vivian, once she completed her 'Reading' spell, felt the vestiges of emotion, and she held the spell in upkeep in order to silence herself. She allowed herself to slowly (for her focus was divided) pick up a bite of mashed potato and eat, taking small nibbles in her effort to soothe her rumbling stomach. Vivian had been busy this day with administrative tasks, and though it was well past midday, it was her first meal. All work and no play made Vivian hungry lass, and she sought to satisfy both her craving and her propensity for the education of passives for her own amusement.

She could feel their fear, their apprehension. Even the wretches in the kitchen could feel the mona as it whirled about them, the extension of Vivian's field and the workings of her spell-craft. But, without knowledge of the mona and how to entreat it, they could do nothing to hide themselves from her scrutiny. Fear and trepidation mingled with adjacent joy, boredom, disdain, and the swath of feelings that came with the plentiful staff within the kitchen. However, she could also feel the subject of her attention, the girl who'd served her as she moved about and began to satisfy her desire for something to drink.

[Penelope Clarke]

Penelope sailed through the swinging doors of the kitchens, her mind in thought of the encounter. The liaison didn’t seem as cruel as everyone said she was. Hungry, yes, tired perhaps, but cruelty? Penelope was uncertain. That didn’t mean the galdor didn’t have the potential for cruelty, however, that simply meant that she wasn’t in public. And she was a beauty, Penelope noticed but dismissed. Of course, galdori tended to be attractive, they didn’t have to muck about in servitude. They got to perform feats of magic that she would never get to perform. Wear things that passives would never get to wear. For once Penelope wished she could have been in a much more splendid color than blue. Or perhaps that blue was as liberating as the daylit sky.

As she heard the questions from the other gated passives, she muttered words of reassurance. Trying not to tell them that they had made her task harder to appease Vivian. As fingers approached the ladle that rested within stewing apple, she took a ladleful of the aromatic fruit and placed it within a glass bowl, humming to herself. It was the very least she could do. If other passives questioned her motives, she silenced them with a bright smile, as if trying to reassure her fellow peers that all was well.

Which was simple enough to believe until the moment mona entered the kitchen. Freezing as she put the final touches on the spiced apples, a soft gasp escaped her throat. Magic was always an entity that never was her own. Yet, she wanted it, craved it. In fact, despite all the harm it brought to passives, she liked feeling it gracing her skin, touching her mind. Though, she knew that she could never control it. She would never be able to do any of her own on purpose, even if she wanted to. So, even as her fellow brethren tensed and panicked, Penelope instead continued on her tasks, pretending all was well. It wasn't that the passives or Penelope feared the mona, rather it was the person that was most likely welding it. Vivian Rush had quite an infamous history, and who knew what was up her sleeves?

Next was the preparation of the unsweetened tea. That was easy enough to prepare. A chilled glass was taken from an icebox and amber fluid was poured within. Mint and lemon, two necessary accompaniments were placed on the edges of the glass and Penelope’s eyes closed as the monic spell seemed to slink across her skin, a force that she could respect yet also show fear to as well. What if the force decided to attack her? What if it tried to destroy the kitchen?

Yet, despite her fears, it seemed to linger, grazing her flesh and scratching at her scalp. She never knew what kind of spell it was, for she had never been trained in the occult arts, but for once she wished she could understand what it wanted out of them. Was it dangerous? Honestly, it didn't seem to be. However, as it snaked around her head, teasing her throat, the passive decided, perhaps it would be better that she never knew. Perhaps this was a punishment for neglecting the galdor’s drink.

Taking a shaky breath, feeling the monic energy around her, she gazed at her fellow passives as if she was being sent to the gallows. “I think forgetting her drink, annoyed her. I’ll try to see if she’ll stop. Surely, if she is given something she wants, she’ll leave everyone else alone right?” It was obvious to Penelope who exactly was doing this, causing a disturbance in the kitchens with monic energy. So, she tried to soothe the woman’s ire by offering her food and drink, and whatever else she wanted. Just so she wouldn’t torment the kitchen staff again.

Closing her eyes, she felt the monic swirl around her, mockingly forming a noose around her throat before skating across her skin again. Whatever the liaison wanted, she knew she had to oblige, even if she felt much happier in the kitchens, it was simply her duty to serve the galdor. There wasn’t life out there for her, her family had seen to that. So, as she placed both drink and side on another silver tray, she braved a smile, and exited the kitchens, approaching the enchantress with a practiced one.

Be brave, all they want you to do is what they want anyway. What else do you have to lose? Bright green eyes averted the gaze of the fiery-haired woman as she delicately placed both drink and bowl on the table. “And here’s your unsweetened tea and spiced apples, Miss Rush.” Bowing her head once more as she placed the platter against her side, she looked at the woman. “Is there anything else you would like, my lady?” Trying to say what she wanted to say was difficult, but she managed it. “Is there any way to divert your attention away from the kitchens, my lady?"