Brunnhold Student Cafeteria
Vortas 28, 2720 - The Lunch Hour
Vortas 28, 2720 - The Lunch Hour
Cerise's eyebrows went up, and stayed up, as Kuleda kept talking. And talking, and talking--Cerise was only half-listening to large portions of it, catching every few words. She gave the coughing young man a look out of the corner of her eye. It was still his fault this was happening to her, and he didn't seem to be in any immediate permanent danger. Cerise kept her hands to herself. Besides, there was the Hoxian, swooping in to do whatever apparently needed doing. Problem solved.
"Don't die," was her only comment to the younger student. Something about the smile on her face suggested that she didn't much care if he took her advice.
The response to her name from Kuleda was not, she had to admit, at all what she would have thought. There was too much chatter, both actual chatter from Kuleda and the noise of so many fields so close when she'd expected to sit alone, and it was making it hard for Cerise to get her bearings on the whole situation. Kuleda's eyes had widened, something visibly straining to connect in her mind, before she turned to Vks with the most inane expression of surprise. Not, Cerise thought with a frown, the surprise of one realizing that they had forgotten a former classmate.
Anything Cerise might have said about that was lost in another assault of words--this time about Sish, who had made herself briefly visible. "It is--" Cerise began, but gave up almost immediately. Something about the size of drakes, and Hesse, and then the red-haired girl's field turned almost cloyingly welcoming.
"Her name is Sish, Destroyer of Hours," Cerise began when Kuleda paused for breath, "And yes, I did." That Sish had been bred in Bastia and not Hesse seemed too dull a detail to bother with at this current juncture in time. It also only encouraged further conversation, which she didn't want either. What she wanted was for all of them to eat quietly and leave her--and Sish--alone so that Cerise could go back to her book.
Kuleda was friendly enough, even Cerise could admit that. Chattery, which was not her favorite quality in anyone, but she seemed genuinely friendly. The other one that seemed to only be here because she was, less so--she had not missed his touch to her arm. Circle preserve her, Hoxians had a reputation for being reserved--she deeply hoped that Vks was not an exception, and the pair of them proved to be the absolutely dreadful sort of people who felt the need to canoodle in public.
That friendliness did not stop Cerise from giving her a rather withering look as she adjusted her glasses and asked about her relation to Incumbent Vauquelin. Just how many Vauquelins did she really think were running about? Stranger still was the way Vks answered the question before she could, proclaiming the familial resemblance. It was there, true--Cerise had long since stopped attempting to deny it.
"How astute; yes, Incumbent Vauquelin is my father." A wave of renewed irritation went through her, the channels well-worn and familiar. As if she needed a reminder that the name and face both were inescapable threads that always came back to him in the end.
Her family tree was all terribly exciting, she was sure, but Cerise had no wish to discuss it. Or anything, and was about to say so when Vks spoke again. Cerise became all at once very, very still. She blinked once, and then again, slowly as if through a dream.
Her home. Over fall break.
Visiting her home, which she herself had not set foot in since her father's stroke. And these two, these complete strangers, had been there? With her father, who had not bothered to even so much as write a letter to her or her sister in all that time. How "unwell" was he? Well enough for work--and well enough for unorthodox company. Something cold and heavy settled in the bottom of her stomach and darkened the habitual sneer on her face until it was something more. Her field curled into a fist.
"Visiting," she repeated, her tone dangerously even. She looked first to welcoming, chattering Kuleda, and then to Vks who she got the distinct impression was not overly fond of her. Her father's wonderful influence or her reputation? Probably both. "And what, pray tell, were you doing in my house, with my father? A social call? Receiving guidance for a future career with the Vyrdag seems unlikely, looking like you do." The first sarcastic possibility was directed at Kuleda; the second firmly at Vks.
"And you," Cerise demanded, turning to look at Orthosophos, "I suppose you will tell me that you are--oh, I don't know, secretly engaged to be wed to my sister, hmm? And thus have also been in my house recently? After all, it seems everyone is welcome in the Vauquelin home who isn't a Vauquelin themselves."
Cerise was being somewhat unfair, and she knew it. It was just that she didn't care. The irritation at the unwelcome company and the needling about her face looking so much like her dear father's had bloomed into a cold fury. Sish, apparently dissatisfied with the current flow of food from Cerise to her waiting maw, chose this moment to clamber up her uniform and attempt to place herself on Cerise's shoulders so as to better make her displeasure known.
"Don't die," was her only comment to the younger student. Something about the smile on her face suggested that she didn't much care if he took her advice.
The response to her name from Kuleda was not, she had to admit, at all what she would have thought. There was too much chatter, both actual chatter from Kuleda and the noise of so many fields so close when she'd expected to sit alone, and it was making it hard for Cerise to get her bearings on the whole situation. Kuleda's eyes had widened, something visibly straining to connect in her mind, before she turned to Vks with the most inane expression of surprise. Not, Cerise thought with a frown, the surprise of one realizing that they had forgotten a former classmate.
Anything Cerise might have said about that was lost in another assault of words--this time about Sish, who had made herself briefly visible. "It is--" Cerise began, but gave up almost immediately. Something about the size of drakes, and Hesse, and then the red-haired girl's field turned almost cloyingly welcoming.
"Her name is Sish, Destroyer of Hours," Cerise began when Kuleda paused for breath, "And yes, I did." That Sish had been bred in Bastia and not Hesse seemed too dull a detail to bother with at this current juncture in time. It also only encouraged further conversation, which she didn't want either. What she wanted was for all of them to eat quietly and leave her--and Sish--alone so that Cerise could go back to her book.
Kuleda was friendly enough, even Cerise could admit that. Chattery, which was not her favorite quality in anyone, but she seemed genuinely friendly. The other one that seemed to only be here because she was, less so--she had not missed his touch to her arm. Circle preserve her, Hoxians had a reputation for being reserved--she deeply hoped that Vks was not an exception, and the pair of them proved to be the absolutely dreadful sort of people who felt the need to canoodle in public.
That friendliness did not stop Cerise from giving her a rather withering look as she adjusted her glasses and asked about her relation to Incumbent Vauquelin. Just how many Vauquelins did she really think were running about? Stranger still was the way Vks answered the question before she could, proclaiming the familial resemblance. It was there, true--Cerise had long since stopped attempting to deny it.
"How astute; yes, Incumbent Vauquelin is my father." A wave of renewed irritation went through her, the channels well-worn and familiar. As if she needed a reminder that the name and face both were inescapable threads that always came back to him in the end.
Her family tree was all terribly exciting, she was sure, but Cerise had no wish to discuss it. Or anything, and was about to say so when Vks spoke again. Cerise became all at once very, very still. She blinked once, and then again, slowly as if through a dream.
Her home. Over fall break.
Visiting her home, which she herself had not set foot in since her father's stroke. And these two, these complete strangers, had been there? With her father, who had not bothered to even so much as write a letter to her or her sister in all that time. How "unwell" was he? Well enough for work--and well enough for unorthodox company. Something cold and heavy settled in the bottom of her stomach and darkened the habitual sneer on her face until it was something more. Her field curled into a fist.
"Visiting," she repeated, her tone dangerously even. She looked first to welcoming, chattering Kuleda, and then to Vks who she got the distinct impression was not overly fond of her. Her father's wonderful influence or her reputation? Probably both. "And what, pray tell, were you doing in my house, with my father? A social call? Receiving guidance for a future career with the Vyrdag seems unlikely, looking like you do." The first sarcastic possibility was directed at Kuleda; the second firmly at Vks.
"And you," Cerise demanded, turning to look at Orthosophos, "I suppose you will tell me that you are--oh, I don't know, secretly engaged to be wed to my sister, hmm? And thus have also been in my house recently? After all, it seems everyone is welcome in the Vauquelin home who isn't a Vauquelin themselves."
Cerise was being somewhat unfair, and she knew it. It was just that she didn't care. The irritation at the unwelcome company and the needling about her face looking so much like her dear father's had bloomed into a cold fury. Sish, apparently dissatisfied with the current flow of food from Cerise to her waiting maw, chose this moment to clamber up her uniform and attempt to place herself on Cerise's shoulders so as to better make her displeasure known.
