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[Aurelie Steerpike]

Yaris 12, 2719 - Late Morning | Brunnhold Kitchen

Yaris was hot, always; at every possible hour, the great kitchens of Brunnhold were a hive of heat and activity. Breakfast service was over now, but there was by no means time to rest. There were dishes in the scullery, and lunch to begin. Preparations were underway too for dinner, blue-uniformed cooks and undercooks and maids scuttling back and forth.

Perfect chaos, Aurelie thought with no little satisfaction. She had been there since dawn, and would likely be there until sunset. All of her was already weary by this hour, her shoulders aching and her feet too. She had pinned her hair back from her face, to keep it from sticking to her sweat-soaked cheek while she labored over a large pot of the sauce that was to be served, once chilled, with dinner.

Tired was good. Sore and aching was good. If she was tired, she wasn't thinking. And if she ached, she couldn't worry. Aurelie couldn't keep herself from it at all times of the day—she had plenty of time over dinner, or when she was at the baths listening to the other women talk, or lying in her bed trying to sleep. More than enough time to pull apart the other day, and all that had come after.

Which was, mostly, nothing. She hadn't expected otherwise, but it wrenched something in her all the same.

Work, though. There was work. Idle hands led to idle thoughts, after all. Switching from sauce to several trays of rising bread rolls, Aurelie was occupied enough to not feel sad or anxious at all. In fact, she felt slightly cheerful. Nothing was behind, no young scullery maid or prep cook had gotten in trouble or shown up too ill to be put to work. If the kitchen was a great humming machine, today it was well-oiled and moving exactly as it should.

For a while, anyway. As Aurelie put the last tray into the oven, she found that the flow of energy had diverted somewhat. A ripple, like a rock thrown in a pond perhaps. Nothing had ground to a halt—nothing so dramatic. But the tone had shifted. Aurelie looked around, puzzled. It was like everyone was diverting their attention from something. Or, she thought, someone.

She followed the line of curious glances, wiping her hands off on her apron. She had a little bit of leeway now. Slack in her schedule, while the sauce set and the rolls began to bake. Plenty of time to investigate what all the fuss was about. As she approached the door, her eyes widened just a little.

The young man—at least, Aurelie thought he was so from his manner of dress; his face was delicate enough she wasn't sure—standing in the doorway would have been out of place enough from a distance. Small and slimly built, he was clearly of galdori stock. Even his clothes seemed to announce it. Not elaborate, but well-made and flattering. Certainly nothing like the drab blue that all of them were wearing.

That, then, was the most surprising thing of all. As Aurelie got closer—too close, her curiosity getting the better of her—she had expected a field. But there was nothing, nothing at all. Clearly, he was like the rest of them, but not... one of them. And equally as clearly not Mugrobi either, although Aurelie supposed he could be. All things were possible. Even, evidently, a non-gated passive standing in the kitchen of Brunnhold University for reasons yet unknown to her.

Everyone else hung back, pretending to be at their work. Aurelie should have done so, too. But something at the back of her neck prickled. Her curiosity overcame her. She stepped forward, just a little, and looked up, also just a little.

"Are you, er, looking for someone... sir...?" Her small, heart-shaped face was creased in a puzzled frown.

[Yazad]

Yaris 12, 2719 - Late Morning | Brunnhold Kitchen

“Ah…”

The soft noise, barely above a whisper, sounded deceptively louder than it is when he was alone in an empty hallway. A hallway that he had no idea how he had stumbled upon, to make matters even more amusing. The young man might have started to get concerned about the repeating of his surroundings -a clear indication that he was going in circles- if he was not used to his own abysmal sense of navigation. Yazad knew that he had a problem; a severe one, when it comes to anything pertaining to directions, but he already made peace with his own shortcomings. No one save for the divine is perfect, least of all a Passive like himself. Frankly, though, he did not much like the hallways.

They were unfamiliar, and he thrived the most in familiarity.

He had let his eyes wander for one moment, Yazad insisted in his internal monologue of self-reprimand. He had been walking a short distance behind Sophronios who happened to meet a rather talkative colleague on their trek to the campus’ exit, a duo of volumes bound in rich green leather cradled in his arms when he heard a bout of muffled laughter spilling from a corridor stretching to his right. A group of merry students enjoying their days of youth, no doubt. And why would they not? They were galdori, and galdori were entitled to every bit of convenience life can possibly offer. A younger version of him would have felt a stab of heartache at the thought that he was denied the abundance of opportunities that his peers are getting. But not him right now, not the Yazad of the present.

When the Passive lightly shook his head to dispel the unnecessary thoughts of what could have been, he had noticed that Sophronios and his colleague were nowhere to be found. And if he knew anything about his ‘master’, it would be that the galdor would not even notice his absence until much, much later.

Following his assured yet aimless gait was a low sound; his only companion in the unknown bowels of the Brunnhold campus. Heels of well-maintained black shoes clicked against the hard floor, gently yet still audibly. Pale green eyes scanned the empty expanse, then turned to look at the sides. The scene did indeed look familiar, yet he could not for the life of him recall how exactly he ended up here, or where he had taken a wrong turn because he had surely done that. Another steady and long inhale of breath, another hallway he randomly entered into.

Gradually, the ever-present scent of his own perfumed hair was momentarily overpowered by something else. Something hardly as floral, but still as potent. Cooking. Someone, somewhere along this hallway, was cooking. Now driven more by curiosity than by the need for assistance, Yazad moved closer to the door frame from which the tantalizing and entirely familiar smell of fresh bread and rich broth had wafted into the hallway that he was treading. Soon enough, he realized that he had been mistaken about someone cooking in the room. As it turned out, it was much more than just one person.

For a brief moment, the Passive servant stood there, eyes taking in the hive of culinary activity in contained awe. This was by far the largest number of servants he had seen gathering in one place, though that was barely saying anything as his only other references were the Logarchon manor kitchen that he was not allowed in, and the small yet cozy one in Sophronios’ new dwelling where Yazad gets to practice his skill of keeping a very dependant scientist well-fed. His sudden appearance seemed to have caused a collective lull in activity, followed by averting gazes and oppressed silence. Was he being deliberately ignored, or are these people so busy that they could barely spare him that one initial look?

Slightly confused but hardly shaken, the raven-haired youth lifted a gloved hand to smooth down his already immaculate dress shirt, as his first instinct when unwittingly stumbling upon a group of unknown people was to make sure that he looks presentable enough. The smile he wore appeared to be a part of his very facial structure, it sat on his lips with easy comfort that was more or less an extension of his general state of mind. Even with everything that was going on around him, nary a single muscle in his visage or body was visibly strained. Much to his fortune, he did not have to do more than stand there and look sorely out of place within the sea of blue in his black and grey livery.

Yazad knew what that blue stood for, but whatever he felt about that knowledge was hardly reflected on his face.

“Greetings, good madam.” The polite greeting was uttered in a silvery voice laced with earnest. Coupled with his words was a gracefully executed bow, his waist bending as much as the items he carried allowed. Had his arms not been occupied by books, he would have included the addition of his right hand over the left side of his chest as well. “Indeed I am. Or rather, I am looking for the way out of campus, to be exact. Might I trouble you with pointing me in the right direction?” And even as he said that the man sneered at himself inwardly, knowing full well that his ability to process such directions will evaporate faster than water in a heated kettle. But still, all he can possibly do is try.

"Good bread." The man added smilingly, almost offhandedly, after taking another inhale of the kitchen's air. It looked as if he had been talking to himself than to anyone else.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Yaris 12, 2719 - Late Morning | Brunnhold Kitchen

The young man who had so stumbled into her kitchen certainly didn't belong, but he kept a smile on his face anyway. That was almost as puzzling as the rest of it; Aurelie couldn't think of a single reason for it. She supposed, biting back a frown, it was easier if he didn't belong. He was a grey-and-black shadow in a sea of faded blue, sharp relief against the wall.

A shadow that had called her "good madam". Aurelie blinked, and the blinked again, taken aback. She had never been called such a thing once in her entire life; she hardly felt the moniker fit. He certainly bowed prettily enough, which took her by surprise as well. Aurelie felt ungainly, standing there. A hand went into her pocket, but she smiled. Strained a little around the edges, but still.

His arms were full of—of books. She looked down at them, cradled in his arms, and then to his face. Surely they weren't for himself. In someone else's service, Aurelie guessed. Although... No, it didn't really matter. She was curious, but refused to speculate—too much, at least.

"Oh! Oh, er, of... of course." She frowned, thinking on it. She knew her way around well, of course. She had, after all, lived here half her life. But she struggled to give directions, not ever quite able to sort out which paths were fastest only for... for her kind. She wrapped the thread in her pocket around one finger while she thought. She had rather hoped that someone else might have overheard and intervened, but no such luck.

"Hmm? Oh! Er." She'd only caught the end of that offhand comment from the stranger, and it made her look up from her frowning contemplation of directions. Her face flushed; he could have meant a lot of things, but she didn't think anyone else baking any at the moment. She debated a moment if the compliment was directed at her, or the kitchen in general. Her hands had done the work, but it wasn't hers, not really. Although as she thought on it, she couldn't quite decide why she felt so.

She decided to risk it, smiling hesitatingly. "Ah, t-thank you. Uhm. I hope it will be." Perhaps it would be easiest if she just showed him the way, after all. There as many ways to get off campus as stars in the sky, but if she showed him—he could get at least a little closer. Besides, she was absolutely rotten with spoken directions.

"I could show you...? Er. Show you the way, I mean. If you'd like. Mister...?" Aurelie looked up, head tilted and red brows knit together.

[Yazad]

Yaris 12, 2719 - Late Morning | Brunnhold Kitchen

The hesitant and strained smile. The crease between her brows. The awkward response to his request for directions--Yazad’s ever observant eyes could easily pick up the young woman’s discomfort. He, meanwhile, remained as relaxed as he held his unwavering smile. It was very likely that kitchen workers barely got to see anyone except each other when on the job, and only Hurte knows if their lives are any different outside of their times of duties.

It never felt an issue to him that he did not know the first thing about how other Passives -those of Brunnhold, particularly- lived their lives. His lifestyle up until now afforded him little contact with people in general, but that comfortable norm had been shattered after the move to Anaxas. These days, the raven-haired man was forced to start a new and entirely different norm. Yazad was not good at that, and he knew it. He was not good with change; it uprooted what he had already established and compelled him to accept just how little he knew about the world outside of his minuscule existence. The faces of Passives around the kitchen -those who were not quick enough to turn their heads away when his eyes fell on them- carried a variety of expressions, but none of them was that of content. Perhaps that was context enough for a man who was not willing to openly ask about the extent of another’s misfortune.

“Much obliged, good lady.” The man inclined his head slightly, then lifted it to meet the other’s eyes. “I must apologize for the inconvenience. Brunnhold is entirely too new to me, and I have sadly not been blessed with a good sense of direction.” Or a functioning one, really--but that was kept to himself. Though he was no prouder of his shortcomings than the next person, his admittance came with light-hearted levity instead of embarrassment.

In response to the hesitant acceptance of his compliment, Yazad had issued an airy chuckle. “The aroma speaks for itself, good madam. Discerning what smells just right and what does not--now that is something that I had been blessed with.” Perhaps receiving praise for one’s cooking from a stranger was bare of any meaning to a person, but the man still hoped that she would take his words for the sincere expression of encouragement that they were.

“Your kind offer is greatly appreciated if it does not interfere with your duties.” Yazad replied with a small nod of appreciation. If he gets to arrive at the exit faster, and the girl is allowed a short respite from her tasks on his behalf, then it is a good enough arrangement as far as he is concerned. “Yazad. No ‘mister’ needed.” He spoke his name with a little shake of his head. Before saying anything else, Yazad rotated to stand sideways, signaling that he was prepared to follow whenever the other would lead. “And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Yaris 12, 2719 - Late Morning | A Brunnhold Kitchen

First "madam" and now "lady". Aurelie was assuredly neither of those things, and it felt strange to be called either. The expression on her face couldn't seem to decide between a laugh or a frown, and it flickered back and forth between both rapidly.

"Not new enough to me, I'm afraid. Oh! Er, well." Aurelie barely managed to keep her hands at her sides and not clap her hand over her mouth. The comment had just slipped out; she was vaguely horrified. It was that strange non-space, between what they both were and what he was not. The words had come too easily, without a field to remind her to keep them crammed in behind her teeth. The light dusting of color under her freckles intensified. Bells and chimes.

She could at least smile at the light comment on his sense of direction, especially as it contrasted with his sense of smell. Aurelie ducked her head in a shy sort of gesture, not sure what else to say to that. When she could think to be proud, she was proud of this—what her hands were capable of. The list was limited, but it wasn't empty. A little of the glow of it came over her, no matter how much she tried to push it down.

"Oh no, it's no trouble, er. Wait just one moment, if you could? I'll just let Matron know." Aurelie inclined her head again to excuse herself, and then wove through the bustle of the kitchen in an efficient line to where the Matron stood. The woman was stiff-backed and serious, with the faintly harried air of someone in charge of too many small moving parts. Aurelie explained what she offered to do, earning herself a heavy stare. In the end, the woman relented, with a strong instruction to return as soon as she had shown their rather unusual visitor out and not a moment later.

Aurelie scuttled back over, once again picking her way with a deft kind of familiarity through the press of bodies, avoiding younger servants underfoot and the careless gestures of others with seemingly no thought. When she got back over to where the man stood, she smiled again. There was less hesitation in it now, just the polite, friendly smile she had for everyone.

"This way then, er. Yazad." Awfully familiar, to address him so, but he'd asked her to and she had no other name to call him. He had a very polished way of speaking, and an accent Aurelie couldn't quite place—Bastian, she thought. Not that she was any great scholar in much of anything that existed outside of these walls, but she'd heard it often enough. "Oh I'm—Aurelie Steerpike. But, ah, just Aurelie is... is quite all right."

The pleasure, Aurelie was tempted to say, will wear off soon enough. Her tongue had already been loose enough earlier, though. She didn't need to add to it now. She wasn't quite sure why she felt so tempted to say these things today. She gestured with one hand to follow her, and began at a moderately brisk pace down the hall. Her footsteps were quiet still, years of avoiding notice in each and every one.

[Yazad]

Yaris 12, 2719 - Late Morning | Brunnhold Kitchen

By ‘not new enough’, Yazad had assumed the lady meant that she had spent more time in Brunnhold than she was pleased with. The university, much like everything else in Anaxas, was still very unfamiliar territory to him. Impressive as the structure was in scale and architect, he himself would hate to be working in it. The much humbler house where sunlight spilled through the kitchen’s window and the vase of flowers that he refreshed regularly sat atop the fire mantle was, in his eyes, the only place to be. But, people like her, and in extension, like him--they were not given the luxury of choosing much. He had simply been fortunate. This woman, and every other worker toiling about in the kitchen, were less so, out of no fault of their own. His own ‘luck’ was something that he is reluctant to call that--to him, it was divine providence that he is daily thankful for.

“I shall wait, do take your time.” The man spoke his answer out of politeness more than anything. The young woman was already moving away to reach the one she had dubbed ‘Matron’. Yazad’s eyes wandered just like his mind did, taking in the focused faces, the many steaming pots, and then the Matron. He stood ready, prepared to walk over and explain his responsibility for the request if it looked like the girl was in any sort of trouble. Thankfully, neither voices nor hands were raised.

When the girl was making her way back towards him, Yazad could not help but muse over how she looked like a fish that was effortlessly braving the sea of blue. It takes a considerable amount of skill for one to work efficiently among so many, with noises and strong scents assaulting them endlessly. He -a lone worker who values peace and quiet while working- could not even begin to fathom how she and the other kitchen Passives could do that. The thoughts died down as his mind refocused on the other Passive and her amiable smile.

“After you, madam.” Yazad nodded, determined to keep the width of a few paces between him and the other, mostly for her own comfort. Lowly as the more privileged members of this society view them to be, the Passive held himself to the highest of standards, where the rules of propriety shall not be breached under any circumstance. Not that he himself considered walking in the company of a lady to be improper, but for all he knows, someone else out there might.

“Aurelie, is it? I shall commit this to memory. A foreign name to me, I must admit, does it mean anything?” Yazad adjusted the books in his arms, his gait lightsome and poised. He was often inquisitive about even the smallest of things, not out of nosiness but out of an insatiable desire to know and to learn. And while walking through stretching hallways that all looked the same to him, he had little else to do but indulge in the company of this curious girl of blue.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Yaris 12, 2720 - Late Morning | Hallways, Brunnhold Campus

Yazad kept a polite few paces between them, and Aurelie was grateful. The likelihood of anyone seeing anything amiss in her leading someone—an obvious guest, just on sight—through the campus was slim. To forbid the entire female passive population of Brunnhold from ever even speaking in this capacity to a man was a ridiculous proposition at best, and she didn't truly think anyone would think much on the sight. Still, the observation of propriety here was something of a comfort.

Not, she thought to herself with a grimace that almost made it to her face, that her behavior outside of this moment was anything close to proper. All the more reason to... to compensate elsewhere, she supposed. Aurelie put the entire issue firmly out of her mind, where it belonged. Silly thoughts best saved for when she had time for them. Or, ideally, not at all. Yazad was, if a strange sight, perfectly polite anyway. Strangely so, to Aurelie, who was hardly used to this kind of politeness.

"Mean anything?" Aurelie looked at Yazad in surprise. Her eyes had been fixed on the path ahead of them, eyes slightly downcast. Nobody had ever asked her the question before. Honestly, she had rather expected to walk the entire way in silence. Which was probably silly of her—why would that be the case? And more importantly, since when was she so unwilling to make even polite conversation? She tucked her hair behind her ear and thought.

"It must," she said at last, "but I'm afraid, ah, I don't know what. I don't know that I've ever thought about it." She smiled over at Yazad a little apologetically. Most names meant things, she thought. Even hers meant something. What, she'd never before thought to wonder. That was the sort of question one could ask their parents. Generally speaking.

Had her parents known it themselves? "Aurelie" wasn't a family name, not to her knowledge. Her thoughts wandered, trying to picture her parents as they must have been before she was born. Had they thought on it, or had it been a whim? No—she would not have described either of them as whimsical people. So they must have thought on it. The picture ached, of her parents younger than she could ever remember them, thinking on what to call her before she was ever born. Having hopes for her, plans. And all of them ruined by what she was. More silly thoughts, just because of a simple question. She scolded herself and tried to put that aside, too.

Aurelie kept up that brisk, quiet step; they turned a corner, just managing not to veer off down a side corridor she normally took. Guests, as far as she knew, weren't exactly forbidden from that hallway—but they weren't encouraged to be there either. No sense in taking Yazad on a route he likely shouldn't take on his own, should he ever need to.

"Does, ah, does yours... mean... anything? Your name I mean. Er." The question tripped out of her hesitantly. Was she supposed to ask back? She supposed so; generally speaking, people liked being asked about themselves. Or she thought so. This, she thought grimly, is why she stayed in the kitchen as much as possible. Less need for anyone to be burdened with speaking to her about things outside of work.

[Yazad]

Hallways, Brunnhold Campus

Yaris 12, 2720 - Late Morning

W ith an expert of the grand labyrinth that was Brunnhold guiding him, it should not take him that long to be at the exit. Or at least, Yazad hoped so. Not that he is guaranteed to find that Sophronios would be there upon arrival. The galdor scientist generally functioned on his own pace, with very little attention spared to anything outside of his interests. At the very least, Yazad would be comfortable in the knowledge that he did not make the master wait for him for long if it turned out that Sophronions had beaten him to the exit. And if not, well, then Yazad would be spared the guilt of making him wait.

His companion seemed to have been plucked out of some personal thoughts by his question, earning him a fleeting look of surprise. Was his inquiry that unusual? Or perhaps she simply was not used to having exchanges with complete strangers. Understandable to some degree, if the Passives of Brunnhold were kept in the confines of campus all of the time. His own living situation was similar in a way, but for entirely different reasons. Although, fortunately for him, his movement in and out of the house was hardly that restricted by his pseudo-master.

"Ah. I see. That is quite alright, good madam. I was merely curious. Words are magical in their own right, and names are no different." Yazad smiled and met the girl’s eyes, noticing for the first time the vibrant verdant hue of them. Even her hair was brighter than any that he had ever seen before--like strings woven out of carnelian, almost. The dull blue she wore -or was made to wear- only served to make the colors of her person to shine even more.

“Ah, my name? It does have a meaning that I happen to know, indeed. Supposedly, it means ‘Celestial Being’. One cannot accuse mother dear of any lack of imagination. She often made it a point to tell me that she chose my name so my father would not name me Callisthenes.” There was another light chuckle -soft and full of fondness- as the raven-haired man spoke his answer. Apparently, his birth had caused a minor feud of the teasing nature between his mother and father, in which each parent wanted a name inspired by their own culture for the anticipated firstborn. The fact that he ended up being named Yazad could only mean that his father had relented in the end, and thank Hurte for that.

He does remember the woman that was his mother quite clearly. Her long ebony hair, her earthy skin, the glimmer of her green eyes, and the abundance of gold she wore. How she always smelled of flowers, how her words sounded like songs to his ears. She had been his entire world once upon a time. But now, she was just a pleasant memory of an increasingly distant past.“I do appreciate her choice greatly. Callisthenes is quite the mouthful.” Yazad added, mentally running the name by his tongue and then shaking his head. No, that did not sound like him at all. He just could no longer see himself as anything but Yazad, the Passive.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Yaris 12, 2720 - Late Morning | Hallways, Brunnhold Campus

Yazad was very strange, Aurelie decided. Not in a way she could put her finger on. It was more than his manner of speaking or the oddness of seeing a passive not dressed in University blue. Something else, a summary of all the little pieces of the whole. Not a bad strangeness, but he was certainly that.

"I'll take your word for it," Aurelie said with a smile, warmer than the one before. No, not a bad strangeness at all. It was sort of charming in the unreality of it. That impression was only strengthened as he went on. That was quite the grand name—Aurelie was certain that no matter what her name did mean, it was nothing like that. He laughed, telling her about it; the sound was soft and fond. Aurelie blinked up at him and wondered how far the strangeness went.

Far enough, she was tempted to ask, that they had kept you? That would have been so incredibly rude the idea was more of an intrusive thought than an impulse. Hardly the sort of thing one brought up when meandering through Brunnhold's grand hallways after getting lost enough to end up in Aurelie's kitchen. She wasn't so far gone as that in her lack of conversational graces. Besides, she hardly wanted to ruin the rather sweet picture of his parents arguing over what to name him.

"Callisthenes would have been—quite the name indeed." Aurelie offered the opinion hesitantly, even though all she was doing was agreeing with him. She tried to picture him with the name, and it didn't quite seem to fit. Not that she knew him at all, but something about it just sat oddly. Callie, she supposed, as a diminutive. That was a bit easier to picture. "Yazad is much more suitable. Er, well, I think so."

She dropped her eyes then, unsure if that was the sort of thing one said. They passed a classroom, the door open to optimistically try and encourage a cross breeze in the Yaris heat. Second or third years, Aurelie thought—lower form for certain. Bright chatter spilled out into the hallway as they walked by, and faded behind them as they continued on.

"M-my father, I think, wanted to name me Marguerite. After a great-aunt, I believe. He, ah—well, it got to be my middle name, at least." Quiet seemed, now, more uncomfortable than it would have before. Oh, she did hope that was an all right sort of continuation. It seemed harmless enough, as far as idle chatter went. She just made conversation so rarely now. She had very little else to talk about, so she did hope this was acceptable.

[Yazad]

Hallways, Brunnhold Campus

Yaris 12, 2720 - Late Morning

”Ah,” Yazad’s face looked ahead, attempting to commit the path to memory. If Sophronios was going to make a habit out of making him come to campus, then it would do him good to try and remember his way in and out. Aurelie had kindly offered her assistance this time, but there is no guarantee that he will always end up at the kitchen when he gets lost. And really, he should not rely on someone else more than he already did. "Your trust is greatly valued. I do attempt my hardest to not disappoint." The man’s words, earnest as they were, still carried a hint of playfulness to them. Decorous as he might be, the man was not above enjoying badinage when the chance presents itself.

"We are of the same mind, then. I do quite adore my name." A nod of agreement was given. His name was not the only thing he liked about himself, too. This name, along with his face, were the last remnants of his older days. Gifts that he was given from his parents -mostly his mother- to remain with him for the rest of his life.

Cheery conversation, audible but not quite clear enough for him to make out the individual words, filled Yazad’s ears as they passed by a classroom. Carefree and busy among themselves, the students seemed to be none the wiser about the presence of the two Passives in the hallway. But what, Yazad wondered idly, do the students of Brunnhold think of the Passives that serve them and keep their school lives convenient? Is Aurelie -and others like her- being treated well? It was a curious question, but not one that he was willing to ask just yet.

“After a great aunt, you say? She must have been quite the character.” Yazad commented with an easy smile. He seemed to flow with any topic as naturally as water would fluidly go down a river line. “Aurelie Marguerite Steerpike.” he mouthed the name slowly, his eyes glancing upwards in thought. It was a name that neither sounded plain nor pretentious. There was something cozy about it; a down-to-earth flavor that could very well be the effect of the girl herself. He could not quite explain it himself, but it almost felt--sisterly.

Aurelie was, for the brief amount of time he had known her for, seemingly a sweet if a hesitant young woman. Clearly, she was hardworking enough to be assigned kitchen duty, as well. Unlike the first few moments of their meeting, she was now talking more, smiling a bit, and he could only hope that she is not doing it out of feeling obliged to indulge him.

“Are you happy, Aurelie?” The man asked casually, his fingers tapping lightly against the hardcover of a rather thick book.