[Open] Accidents In The Banquet Hall

Lars loves kitchen duty. Hates the extra chances to make a fool of himself.

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Lars
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: nil igitur mors est ad nos
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Wed Nov 28, 2018 7:45 pm

Banquet Hall | Dentis 26th | Evening
The kitchens of Brunnhold were fast-paced and ever hot, and not a place most enjoyed spending their time. Though there was plenty of time between meals to make sure that everything was always prepared and ready to go, it still typically wound itself into a storm of chaos, almost always in emotional form. The gated passives at work hardly spoke a word to one another while prepping and preparing food, yet there was almost always tension in the air; always at least one total stop-clocker on duty that just had to ruin the mood for everyone.

Perhaps these were things only Lars picked up on, or maybe he was the only one that felt that way. After all, most of the other passives in servitude tended to feel more... solidarity with each other. He simply wanted them out of his way, and out of the clocking kitchen. He had work to do, and wasn't going to let his time be consumed with conversation with fellow passives; he would much rather focus on the food.

Food was always kind, food was always respectful. It only did what he allowed it to do. Sometimes he liked to dwell on the thought of having power over something, anything. It was an interesting thought, albeit a useless one.

After spending most of his day stacking and organizing books in the library, the evening promised kitchen duty; Lars' favorite. It was why he entered the main kitchen with a relatively pleasant expression, and got to work immediately. Formal dinner for the sixth years, and Lars liked to do his best on nights such as these. Nights when professors and other respectable galdori ate the food he (and his fellow servants, sure) created. Had to be on his best behavior.

Lars much preferred the baking of desserts, and so spent the majority of his shift before dinner working on them. A handful of cheesecakes; some with a sweet blistleberry sauce over top, the others with a sweet pumble puree swirled within in a marbled fashion. For those that opposed cheesecake, Lars worked on apple cinnamon pies with a golden, sugared crust, as well as little cups of sweet, thickened cream mixed with leftover blistleberry sauce.

Finding the selection of desserts adequate for the moment, he worked then on the main courses. Hingle slow-roasted with vegetables, fresh vegetables and fruit for those that disliked the delicate taste of hingle, and a myriad of other options Lars was too busy to notice. In any matter, he was halfway through cleaning up when the banquet hall began to fill, bringing students and professors alike.

Even before stepping out of the kitchen, Lars could feel the energy. All of their fields, though he felt them every day, were still strange and a source of confusion to the passive. Mainly, knowing that he didn't have one.

It was soon after that he was grabbing for trays, following the other gated passives as they exited the kitchen and started setting everything out on the tables for the galdori to begin their formal dinner.

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Nauleth Siordanti
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: Magus in the Making
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Fri Nov 30, 2018 3:45 pm

26th of Dentis, 2718
The BANQUET HALL | DINNER HOUR
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It was the evening of another sixth, and Nauleth was more than aware it was formal dinner with his peers and the sixth year students he called his own. He was late, standing in his classroom and adjusting the knot of his formal red tie for the upteenth time. His desk was overflowing with papers, but none of them belonged to the Physical Conversation students he fondly called his own. They were transfer papers, official documents between the Kingdom of Anaxas and the Kingdom of Gior, as well as the entirety of the second draft of his series of spells and experiments that summarized his post-graduate thesis in Physics and Physical Monic Theory.

He was a flustered mess of moving plans, marriage considerations, and mighty ideas for the final slide of the school year as graduation and Winter Break quickly approached. So clocking quickly.

For all of his talent and intelligence, Nauleth Siordanti couldn't tie a clocking tie to save his life. Grumbling and ignoring the mess he'd made of his formal attire for dinner, his freckled fingers smoothed over his pale, cream-colored coat and straightened the deep golden brocade of his vest before he turned and gathered the pile of papers from his desk. He was careful, aware that time was slipping away from him as he shoved his thesis into a folder and all of his various official paperwork that still required far too many signatures into another.

"Clock it all." Grumbled the reluctant professor when he left the room and rushed down the hall, remembering he was supposed to meet Athrym, having invited the Gioran Ambassador to his formal dinner to once again grace his eager students with her presence.

Perhaps to show off a little, too.

It wasn't every day he got to throw the word fiancé across a table at a bunch of giggling teenagers.

Bursting out the door of the Physical wing and all but leaping down the steps into the chilled air, he set off across the sidewalk in a cloud of his own breath, making his way toward the Botany quarter of the Living section of campus. It was a little hike, and he anticipated the petite blonde meeting him halfway somewhere ready to berate him for being late and straighten his tie with impatience.

Sure enough, he could only greet Athrym with an awkward smile and apologies, leaning eagerly for her hands to fix the mess he'd made of red fabric and his collar,

"I lost track of time. Editing. Again." Naul murmured lamely, "I think it's almost done, though. Too much clocking research and what I'm hoping will be seen as an original spell. You'll have to look at it all. I've stared at it too much already—" He rambled in his excitement, unashamedly placing a kiss to her cheek somewhere in the middle of his words before he led them both in the direction of the formal banquet hall,

"—Headmistress Servalis seemed excited to hear you'd be joining us. As much as she'd rather you be sitting with the Living Conversation staff and students, as you should be, she said she'd make an exception. Just this once." He laughed, chuffed with his negotiation skills. Or lack thereof, "But I'll apologize for the stares of my sixth form students in advance. They're going to harass us both, I'm sure of it."

The walk was a brisk one in the early chill of mid-Dentis. Winter was promised to be a harsh one this year, and had the young professor taken any stock in the rambling of the lower races and their weather predictions, maybe he'd care. Then again, compared to how the Gioran described her homeland, the young Siordanti was aware Anaxas was mild.

He held all the doors for her, ignored the side glances from other professors and faculty as he gladly escorted her into the formal banquet hall full of well-dressed galdori in their best attire and red ties. He was aware that his request to transfer away from Brunnhold had come as a surprise, that he'd slowly earned the respect of more than a few doubters over the past four years of his post-graduate studies and junior professorship and maybe one or two of his peers would be disappointed in him leaving for what was considered a lesser Kingdom and its lesser school.

But he was far too hungry for knowledge and power to give a kenser's erse what anyone thought. Not anymore.

It was customary to sit with a few of his students, and Nauleth had his favorites, which he steered them towards. A few of his former students, older now, also waited their company, watching him with greetings and smiles of curiosity as he pulled out Athrym's chair and offered her a seat,

"Good evening, Professor Siordanti."

"Good evening, Ambassador Bruthgrave."
Welcome to Brunnhold, stop-clocker, now go home.
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Athrym Bruthgrave
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Sun Dec 02, 2018 9:42 pm

26th Dentis, 2718
BANQUET HALL | EVENING
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Athrym waited patiently for the man she by now knew she should never ever expect to be on time, or even early for that matter. Gods forbid, if he ever was early, she might literally have a heart attack and die from shock. She stood, rocking on her deep gold colored heels, a bold red colored clutch grasped in her hands before her as they rested on the cream of her long white dress. The sleeves were capped short, and the dress a silk garment with a sheer lace overlay. It didn’t do much to protect her from the cooler Dentis weather, but the Gioran wasn’t phased. What Anaxas considered ‘cooler’, she considered ‘comfortable’. Pursing her dusky pink lips, the Ambassador glanced over her shoulder at the sound of scuffling shoes on the paved walkway, her platinum locks resting in soft waves down her back to brush at her waist. They needed to be cut, however the blonde was unwilling to let any of the Anaxi barbers tend to her hair, not when Gior waited just a season away. Just as she began to turn back, her summer gaze caught a familar red haired man rushing to meet her.

Her fiance, Professor Nauleth Siordanti.

The petite woman’s pout warmed into a smile of greeting, turning around to face the man with a welcoming hum in her field. Fiance. The word was quite enough to make her heart beat just a bit faster and her cheeks a little more pink under the pale palor of her Gioran skin. Without being asked, the blonde tucked her clutch under her arm and reached for the taller mans tie, adjusting it to her liking and smoothing it against his chest with a dimpled grin.

“Professor, when are you ever not loosing track of time? I’ve grown accustomed to it, so much so that if you were to be on time I would most likely be unable to cope with it. I certainly hope though, you break this tradition when its time for our wedding. I might be a patient woman Nauleth, but it’s poor form for the bride to be waiting for the groom at the alter.” She tilted her cheek to accept his kiss, humming softly and looking up at him with a slightly cocked eyebrow.

“Of course I’ll look over it, later. When this pompusness is done. ” Her hand slipped to take his arm with a comfortable chuckle as they began to make their way towards the hall. As the red haired Anaxi preened about his clever negotiating skills with the Headmistress, Athrym made a sound in the back of her throat.

“Well done! We’ll make a diplomat of you yet, Mister Siordanti. Better than this scholar business you dabble in.” She winked, a playful smile on her face and a squeeze of his arm, her nose wrinkling slightly at the mention of the sixth forms as her breath steamed slightly in the chill air.

“I thought the whole engagement situation would settle them down, but by all indications its just make it clocking worse. Clocking seedayardychildren in Gioran.” Nodding to the man as he held the door for her, Athrym stepped inside, very much noticing the side glances of the other faculty staff and very much meeting their looks with a level stern Gioran gaze. The pale galdor knew all too well that the young Professors transfer had come as a surprise to his peers and elders, but perhaps it was about clocking time they saw him for how talented he was. Regardless of the possibility that Lomenak had already discussed Nauleth’s visitation with her scheming father, the Ambassador held onto the idea that she had managed to impress the Da Huane with her fiance’s impressive use of Physical convesation in ways that her people hadn’t yet discovered. A mild wave of goosebumps crawled over her skin as she once again considered the implications of his e-lec-tric-ity in Gior, in Qrieth particularly.

They might access The Deep.

Taking up his arm again, Athrym followed the Professor to their assigned table, keeping her gaze on the Physical attendees and blatently disregarding the Living table. She could see Hulle watching her, could almost feel the pulse of his field from where she walked with her partner, and without a care in the world she beamed delightfully at the students that greeted them.

Aghala eate deueeWell met in Gioran, and kdeueethankyou in Gioran.” Sweeping her way into her seat, the foreigner smiled up at Nauleth before looking around the room. She noted the passives, moving around the room with their trays of food and such, and her dimples faded slightly. It was something she would never get used to, the servatute they were force into. Her eyes passed over one, older than her by a few years with a mop of golden hair. He directed those around him, with an air of authority for one with none. If he were to meet her gaze, she would over him a smile and a small nod of greeting.

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Lars
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: nil igitur mors est ad nos
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Mon Dec 03, 2018 10:04 am

Banquet Hall | Dentis 26, 2718 | Evening
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Lars was quick to attend to the requests of the students and professors as they seated themselves and asked for things not already brought to them; most of them had arrived a bit too quickly for the passives to properly set up with drinks. So after his trays of food were set down, he quickly retreated back into the kitchen, helping the other kitchen workers out by filling glasses and handing them off to those walking back out into the banquet hall. This was the part of kitchen duty he didn't like so much; serving, tending to the other needs of the university's students and staff, and eventually cleaning up after all of them.

Having spent the majority of his sixteen years at Brunnhold in the kitchens, many of the other passives on his shifts tended to turn to him for direction, something Lars had never minded. He enjoyed any form of control he could find, and fell into an imagined managerial position with ease among the other kitchen staff. After making sure that everything was running smoothly in the actual kitchen, Lars reentered the cafeteria, the area now full compared to the last time he'd been out. Tocks, he'd hoped he could slip in and out before too many of them arrived.

Noticing a few passives grouped together towards the middle of the hall, Lars moved towards them, breaking up the congestion quickly. They didn't need to give the galdori any extra reasons to punish them; whether it be spilling a drink on someone or simply standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Upon glancing about the area, his eyes caught on an unfamiliar figure: a blonde woman he was certain wasn't employed within the walls of Brunnhold. He had definitely never seen her before, he would've remembered her face. To his surprise, the woman sent a small smile in his direction, the action drawing obvious surprise from the gated passive. Eyebrows shot up, eyes darting away quickly at having been noticed. He couldn't recall a galdor ever offering anything more than a neutral look at best, certainly not a smile. The small gesture made him nervous though he knew it shouldn't, but he couldn't remember the last time someone smiled at him without malicious intent.

Speaking of, the mostly-faded as well as fresh bruises across his skin, covered in part by his uniform, were sore at the very thought of his roommate's toothy grin.

Now that his fellow passives had dispersed, Lars was quick to follow, retreating to the kitchen to grab a pitcher of water as well as a bottle of sparkling blistleberry juice. His next venture into the cafeteria was spent filling glasses; water for everyone and blistleberry for those that wanted it. Eventually the water ran low, and the pitcher was set down in favor of taking extra care carrying the bottle.

It was perhaps five minutes later that he came across the table holding those he recognized as involved with Physical conversation, including Professor Siordanti and the platinum blonde that had smiled his way a bit before. Maybe it was this fact, and the lingering confusion that someone above him would offer a friendly gesture, that made him extra nervous moving around the table. So nervous, in fact, that he tripped over his own feet, catching himself only by reaching out and gently grabbing Professor Siordanti's shoulder. This was bad enough for the passive, but his luck worsened, as he realized then that a bit of dark juice had splashed onto the galdor's shirt.

"Oh, tocks," muttered Lars, letting go of the professor and moving out of his space, "he is so, so sorry sir!"

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Nauleth Siordanti
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Wed Dec 12, 2018 10:04 am

26th of Dentis, 2718
The BANQUET HALL | DINNER HOUR
"Please don't, Athrym. I'm afraid I'd be a poor politician." Nauleth smirked, feigning helpless fear and raising his hands in self defense, "I'm only a people-person because I have to teach students."

He laughed while leading them through the banquet hall and settling them into their seats. Eager students smiled at him, and the tall redhead was not unaware that he had an unofficial fan club within his sixth year class. A few of the girls eyed Athrym warily, but it was more in knowing acceptance than anything else—Naul had rather awkwardly let the entire class know of his proposal and his plans to continue his research in Gior. There had been disappointment and surprise, several of his Physical conversation students eager to remain under his tutelage and a few of them even desiring to work with him in his pursuit of a physics-grounded exploration of what Physical magic was capable of.

A fee questions arose from his students, mostly about homework and other assignments, and while the junior professor should have dismissed them, he couldn't help but engage a few of them quickly and quietly, talking with his hands as usual. Did he notice the glance and the smile of the Ambassador at the passive servants? No, not at all.

Would he have commented if he did? Perhaps.

Her strange acceptance of the cursed creatures was uncomfortable at best, but in all fairness, Naul had never bothered to form his own opinions on the matter of his magic-less counterparts. His mind was full of equations and voltage, of alternating current and magnetism, not the moral dilemma so typically harped on by the people of his Kingdom here in Anaxas. Passives, born without magic, were so far out of his wheelhouse, that even if they were born of galdori, there were already so many of his peers who were inferior sorcerers, that the junior professor literally couldn't be ersed to give a damn about those who had no magic at all.

What a clocking waste.

Did they deserve to be servants? Did it matter?

There was a hand on his shoulder, Nauleth in the middle of explaining how electromagnetic waves were emitted by accelerated charged particles and how magic could be used to harness the radiant energy for all sorts of things. Two students were very eager to pick his brain about momentum and wavelength, but suddenly there was a hand gripping his shoulder and the chill of something cold and liquid seeping past his clothing and against his freckled skin.

The young galdori across the table from him all sneered and hissed, a few more on either side of them all giggling.

For a brief moment, thoughts interrupted, the tall redhead floundered in awkward frustration, aware of the vacuous space of existence behind him, the almost tangible emptiness of a passive's lack of a field. Standing, Naul was too slow to brush the hand from his shoulder, reaching for a napkin to dab uselessly at the dark juice that was already beginning to stain his pale, expensive dress suit,

"Good Lady, who is sorry? You? Because I'm certainly not. Should someone have let your clumsy erse out of the kitchens if you can't even serve without making a clocking mess? This is a dinner, not the laundry rooms." Embarrassed and flustered in front of his sixth form youths, his field was a crackling, heavy thing that tightened in his impotent shock. It was no use getting angry at the skulking creature who still held the pitcher of blistleberry juice that had done its damage.

It didn't have to matter, and the truth was that the junior professor was far more annoyed at being interrupted than any stain, but now that he was face to face with a cowering passive, the weight of everything on his mind—from his dissertation to his immigration paperwork, from his father's overbearing reappearance into his life to an engagement that hadn't even been his to savor, glory stolen—felt that much more unbearable and the awkward, quick-tempered galdor simply snapped, a flush of color on his cheeks washing away his freckles in his sudden anger,

"Are your fellow scraps so short-handed this evening that they're sending such infirm beasts out to serve as yourself? Ridiculous. Who is your patron? I want to make sure that these stains are your personal responsibility to clean."
Welcome to Brunnhold, stop-clocker, now go home.
Last edited by Nauleth Siordanti on Mon Dec 17, 2018 12:43 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Athrym Bruthgrave
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Fri Dec 14, 2018 5:28 am

26th Dentis, 2718
BANQUET HALL | EVENING
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Smiling a small private smile, the Gioran Ambassador tucked both laced hands together to rest her chin on the knuckles, watching with quiet amusement as Nauleth began to be slowly dragged into discussion about the physics of his monic conversation and its applications by his eager students. The woman felt no shame in blatantly claiming the Professor as hers in front of the younger sixth form girls. Realistically, she was only five years their senior, but she was still a diplomat and a role model. She had to hold in the woefully powerful desire to gloat at their wary faces.

As she watched her fiancé pretty much entirely forget her existence, the passives moved about serving drinks and nibbles. The sudden jerk of the one behind her, the one she had smiled at, didn’t quite register at first. Not until the vapid creatures around them made a fuss. Athrym blinked and sat straight, turning her eyes on Naul with a frown as the dark juice seeped into the bright cream of his jacket.

Yaldyet. That was going to stain.

The older passive apologised, and as the junior Professor stood so too did Athrym rise to her feet with the intent to assist him. The initial snap at the man ground at her, dug into her cultural upbringing. Yes, he had a right to be angry, but it was an accident. There was bound to be a change of clothing at home he could slip into.

“Nauleth—” She said softly, moving to place a hand on his shoulder with an awkward grimace at the passive, finding herself halting at the vibrant crackle of his field.

Really? Over a piece of clothing?

As the flustered professor laid into the blonde, the young foreigners brow drew and her lip pouted slightly in bristling defence of the man. The passive was bound to this life by the backwater beliefs of Anaxas, unable to help the lot he’d been lumped with in life. He should be treated with care, looked after, made a productive member of society. Instead, he was feared and used, treated in her view worse than the humans they let actually live in some of the cities of the country.

It all made no sense to the Gioran, as unnatural to her as the idea of passive inclusion was to the Anaxi.

“Professor Siordanti really, it was an accident. There’s no need for such cruel words.” Glancing at Lars, Athrym offered a small apologetic bow. She was tired of this. Tired of watching them be so ridiculed and trodden on. Tired of pretending that it was okay.

It clocking well wasn’t.

“I’m sure there’s some way we can fix this, yes? Perhaps you have someone who can fetch my companion a change of jacket? That might be helpful.” Her summer gaze swept across the younger galdori seated at the tables that had muttered and giggled, her own field bolstered with a flex.

“A shame that instead of offering to help, the youth of this fine University would rather add fuel to the situation. Not a very mature way of dealing with life, if you do indeed intend to do something with yours after you leave the comfort of Brunnhold.” The Ambassador’s voice was quiet, but it rang with a crisp cool tone and her eyes were hard as cut jade. Looking at Naul, the blonde tried another quick smile, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Come now Professor, no true harm done, right?” Her eyes flicked to the other faculty staff at the dinner, their attention in her mind, a cause of the red heads outburst. There was no consideration that for a second they might actually be giving those looks because of her.

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Lars
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Fri Dec 14, 2018 5:54 pm

Banquet Hall | Dentis 26, 2718 | Evening
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Lars, like many of his fellow passives, had a difficult time around galdori. Their snobbish attitudes and overall superiority complexes aside, there was something else that pushed him away, something that surrounded them and emanated from them and displayed their true opinions for everyone else to feel. The professor's field felt as if it was suffocating him, the passive taking another step back and trying to keep the nausea down in his stomach where it belonged. He might love the work he did in the kitchens, but serving was one of his least favorite things to do, and it was mainly because of their godsdamned fields.

The servant swallowed nervously, blinking quickly in an attempt to take in the situation properly and not freak out completely. Professor Siordanti spoke as if Lars was entirely incompetent--he didn't even know him. He made a mistake and he had apologized; the man's reaction was still surprising despite the older man having dealt with years and years of this same shit treatment.

He bit his tongue, listening to the redhead spew insults and question his presence in the banquet hall rather than confined to the kitchens. Lars was wondering the same thing himself right about now--why couldn't he have just stayed in there, and not have to come out and attempt to serve only to spill a staining liquid on the professor's expensive clothing? Gods, he was so tired of this place.

"H-his patron, ah," stuttered the older man, searching for a good response but finding none within his reach. He didn't want the man to talk to his patron, he didn't want his patron involved, he didn't want to scrub at his clothes until his fingers were raw and his skin was dry and cracking and peeling and his neck was so close and it would be so easy to just reach out just like with the patron and grab and snap and crack and --

A feminine voice interjected, dragging Lars' wide blue eyes from Professor Siordanti's neck to fall upon the platinum blonde. It was the woman who had smiled at him before, which had been surprising enough, but now she seemed to... defend him.

Defend him?

She even bowed in apology, leaving Lars to blink in disbelief at such an action. This was absolutely unheard of, what was she doing? Her words were quite clearly appreciated by the passive, whose expression calmed slightly as he listened to her thoughtful take on the situation. Did she understand that she could be risking her relationships with the other people at the table by saying these things, and even her reputation in the eyes of those at Brunnhold?

"Of course, Ma'am, he--he can send for a change of jacket, of course," said Lars, frantically glancing about for another servant that he could send to quickly do the task. He longed to do so himself, and get away from their angry fields and harsh words, but he had a feeling the professor would only be more frustrated if he ran off now.

Catching the eyes of a quickly-passing servant (poor thing didn't want to be noticed), Lars motioned for him to do so, and the other passive left the banquet hall immediately.

"Sir," Lars glanced back at the professor warily, "ah, what can he do to make it up to you?"

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Nauleth Siordanti
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Mon Dec 17, 2018 1:22 pm

26th of Dentis, 2718
The BANQUET HALL | DINNER HOUR
Truly, the spill was not a large one nor was the possibility of a stain even an issue for the galdor, and yet there was something so incendiary about the situation that Nauleth simply couldn't contain his ire. He'd been a quick-tempered boy once, years ago, and the price he'd paid then had been a high one he'd still never fully recovered from, but that didn't mean all of his hard work at internal reformation was at all complete nor perfect. No, incompetence gnawed at him, dug beneath his freckled skin, and reminded him of not only his own imperfections, but the assumptions he'd spent his entire life defending himself against since his near-fatal backlash at sixteen.

The weaknesses of others were only disgusting because his own were so obvious on the outside instead of able to be hidden inside like everyone else. His damaged nerves that caused the observable delay in his facial movements on the left side were a constant reminder of his own mistakes, of his own shortcomings.

The passive may as well have been holding a mirror instead of a pitcher.

The young Siordanti hissed his displeasure at the realization that Athrym was not at all on his side in the manner. No, the Gioran Ambassador was clocking defending the passive here in the Banquet Hall in front of his entire class, and, even worse, in front of that sympathizing Headmistress, Ophelia Servalis. Gods, was the entire school watching now as Naul had awkwardly stood, as the shorter, paler creature spoke up above the giggles of immature Anaxi upperclassman? Sea glass-colored eyes widened for a sharp inhale and then narrowed, sternly, at the woman he'd proposed to just two seasons before as she bowed at the godsbedamned scrap,

"There's no need to placate the man, either, Ambassador. He is, after all, a servant." His words were hard, the tone of them dragged over the electric crackle of his field that was almost tangible. He hid embarrassment behind a deadpan expression but could not hide the blush that threatened to take over his freckled face, "I don't clocking need a change of jacket. I can go without one for the meal since our server here had the minor stroke of luck to miss my tie entirely, thank the Good Lady—"

The tall redhead was already removing his coat, aware of the eyes of other faculty and staff on him, on the standing Miss Bruthgrave who he shouldn't have invited, and tossed it without a second thought over the back of his chair, "—that's enough, Ambassador. I will address my class' behavior tomorrow morning, bright and early, on the Lawn for class. What they intend to do with their immature lives after graduation is currently not your concern here in the Banquet Hall, Athrym." He quipped rudely, both to shut her up in utter horror of her addressing his students in a moral or even educational fashion given the level of respect she'd just shown a passive and in order to let his students know that his approval of their admittedly shameful behavior was severely lacking.

She was a guest. She was not faculty.

Oh, gods, he would never hear the end of this in the teacher's lounge for the rest of his clocking career.

All over a bit of bristleberry juice, yes. But. That was no longer the godsbedamned point. How dare she.

This was his place of authority, his one place in all of Brunnhold—in front of his students—and here she was nearly shaming him—him!—over an incompetent passive. The junior professor exhaled roughly, reaching for the petite blonde's chair and indicating that he would be offering her to sit again, grip on the back of her seat white-knuckled and barely contained. Of course he couldn't make her sit and he couldn't order her to do so, but it was clear by the expression on his face that he was rather concerned for how much attention they were garnering from the other dining students and faculty and that he was somewhat ready to at least tone it down.

A little.

Superficially, anyway.

But not really. Never would he have ever expected the attractive Gioran to not step in on his side of things. They'd fought and dueled and bickered, but they'd also laughed and touched and explored theoretical limitations both magically in public and physically in private. She'd stood up for him in front of Incumbent Hadrian Siordanti and yet here she was, bowing to a passive in apology! Her defense of the scrap was an insult but her very obvious attempt at shaming him hurt—deeply. This was his Kingdom and his culture, a culture she'd been sent to understand while also representing her own. This was his realm of influence and it was still her place as a guest to respect it. And this passive was nothing but a mistake, regardless of how large or small his mess had been!

Heat clawed up the back of his neck and a heavy, molten feeling that could only be described as betrayal thickly settled into his empty stomach—this was the woman his father had arranged for him to marry. This was also the woman he'd so cluelessly proposed to.

He loved her. Or so he thought.

And yet here she was, not at all supporting him.

What kind of twisted form of political game had Hadrian Siordanti played when he made his deal with Athrym's father? His insides churned and he couldn't help the pained expression of his twisted, internal thoughts that crossed his face, right side before the left, half of his frown far slower than the other. His father had done this to mock him, and after all this time, after all of their enjoyable studies and conversation, the truth was peeking through.

His students had grown very quiet when the Gioran Ambassador had snapped at them, every other teenager at the table staring with mouth agape first at her and then expectantly at Nauleth as if to see how the junior professor would handle such an affront to his very limited reach of authority. By a foreigner. By a woman. By his godsbedamned fiancé.

He said nothing to them, but gods how he wanted to!

Clock it all.

"Please, return to your seat before the Headmistress becomes concerned over our situation, Athrym. Thank you. Now—" Naul turned toward the passive, swallowing several more rude statements and attempting to tame the frayed edges of his oppressively irritated field in front every clocking galdor in the room. He let anger cover the dull ache in his chest and the worry that began to gnaw away at the lining of his internal organs from the smoldering fires of treachery that burned through his every thought from the inside outward,

"—no, I will concede just this once for your sake that there is very little harm done as I'm quite confident I can have my coat cleaned before my next red tie. Unfortunately, that is no longer the point in my opinion since you appear to be so nervous about fetching your patron, I will assume that you have a history of problems and want to spare yourself the discipline. Any other well-meaning passive in this room would have immediately done as I asked. So, while you can't make any of this up to me, you can still give me the name of your patron and I will take care of things myself after this dinner is over. Do I make myself clear?"

Eager to sit before the meal was actually served, the tall redhead had already drawn enough attention to himself and his table. He began to shift toward his chair, but he kept his eyes on Lars with a stern sort of expectation, waiting to sit again until he'd been answered with the respect he deserved.
Welcome to Brunnhold, stop-clocker, now go home.
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Athrym Bruthgrave
Posts: 120
Joined: Tue Apr 03, 2018 10:30 pm
Topics: 13
Race: Galdor
Location: Qrieth
: Welcome to Brunnhold. Now go home.
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Writer: Raksha
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Mon Dec 17, 2018 3:56 pm

26th Dentis, 2718
BANQUET HALL | EVENING
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Athrym looked at Naul as he snapped at her, as he spoke down to her, his field crackling and sea glass eyes narrowed. Her own summer gaze searched his face, so red with rage and embarrassment, shocked into silence for a moment by his rude commentary about her place in the conversation.

Her place? She wasn’t a human, she was a clocking galdori Ambassador for an entire Kingdom. More than anything the children before them could aspire to in her mind.

How dare he.

The shift in her features was like the freezing of a lake in the middle of winter. Her small smile disappeared, and her verdant eyes hardened with all the warmth of winter at midnight. Her field drew back from him, constricting away to remove the comfortable merge they had previously shared. Her temple throbbed with a dull ache, and even if she refused to acknowledge it, her chest ached even more. The Anaxi hadn’t just snapped at her, he’d insulted her culture. Her gender. Her intelligence and her position. He’d treated her no better than some human.

Is this what mother had warned her about? Was this the Anaxi pigheaded arrogance her father flaunted? Athrym had always thought it was his erseholeness alone, but as it appeared, the trait was an Anaxi thing.

Looking down at the hand gripping her chair so tightly with a casual sort of curve of her eyebrow, before sweeping the banquet hall, the Gioran found her voice.

“No.” The word was firm, but spoken with a quiet simmering rage. Jaw twitching and head pounding, the pale woman looked at Lars.

“In Gior, you would be treated with kindness and respect. A peer among your fellow galdori. You wouldn’t be a servant, you’d be a member of society needing support and care for your disability. You could choose to be a worker, a teacher, or if you were born pure like Aminark Giore herself, you could be a Child Priest of Imaan. I’m ashamed to see that in a country claiming so much advancement, in the most renowned school in Vita, you are still treated as nothing.” Glancing at Nauleth again, the blonde picked up her red purse from the table and bowed stiffly.

“Thank you for your hospitality Junior Professor Siordanti. I apologise that your students will grow to be just as culturally offensive and close minded as you.” Straightening, the Gioran Ambassador tossed her hair behind her, before striding from the table and directly towards that of the Headmistress.

“Headmistress Ophelia? Gior thanks you for your hospitality. May the Circle bless your path.” Bowing deeply, the young woman strode through the hall, chin high and field absolutely seething. If there were eyes on her, she didn’t care. There were many, many other things she wanted to say, could say, to her now fiancé but the younger woman chose a higher ground. She wouldn’t air her dirty laundry in front of the Brunnhold faculty and students.

And by Imaan she would not let the weakness of emotions taint the cool resolve on her face.

How could Nauleth be so offensive? So brashly rude? After so many seasons together, sharing highs and lows. After standing up to his father, together. After all his hard work on his experimental Physical magic, the man had managed in one angry outburst to show Athrym a side she could never bring to Gior with her. The Da Huanes would throw him out of the city faster than she could plead his case, and it would damage all future tourist prospects. The blonde had worked so hard to get him entry to Qrieth, and even more so permission to try and access the Deep. She’d put all her faith in him and everything they had shared.

She’d fallen in love.

Tears stung her eyes, and without breaking stride the blonde followed her feet to The Lawn, lifting her free hand and incanting the monite that would encourage growth. A thick gnarled vine burst from the grass, coiling around itself as harsh thorns grew from the stem. It twisted, knotting into an ugly, misshapen thing that settled onto the grass like some sort of afterlife born sculpture.

Feel better?

Gathering her field, she barked a single syllable, the Physical mona particles in her field rushing together and destroying the growth in one violent swipe. Fibrous shreds of thorny foliage showered the grass around it, leaving a frayed and frazzled pockmark in the sod.

No.

Anaxas has worn out its welcome on her, and for the first time in months, Athrym felt the sharp pang of homesickness. Clock the wedding, clock her father and the Incumbant. Clock Nauleth Siordanti.

Home. It was time to go home. Time to stop acting like a foolish child with these feelings. Would Aminark Giore let feelings dictate the way a man, a hueheze man, treated her? Would Aminark stand for the insult to their very way of life? By Imaan, no.

Was love any reason to stay? Their union was arranged by their parents, she’d not be able to escape that. The idea of doing so set another painful ache through her chest, and the Gioran barely stopped a hitching of breath, a start of a sob. Clenching her jaw against the sound, Athrym took a deep breath through her nose, blowing it out through her mouth. She’d had to put up with being spoken down to, being less than with her own peers. Unpure, ugly, short, not a Physical prodigy. What hadn’t killed her, had definitely made her stronger, still...

It absolutely stung to have Nauleth do it too.

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Lars
Posts: 447
Joined: Sun Nov 25, 2018 1:04 pm
Topics: 44
Race: Passive
: nil igitur mors est ad nos
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Mon Dec 17, 2018 8:32 pm

Banquet Hall | Dentis 26, 2718 | Evening
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Though the woman's kind gestures were a delightful change of tone from what he was used to, Lars found the professor's continued frustration almost comforting. It was a familiar feeling to be degraded, and he found himself calming ever so slightly as the younger man spoke out.

As the professor continued, however, Lars got the feeling that it wasn't just about him and the spill anymore. The two, although painfully aware of everyone's watching eyes, seemed as if they were far more bothered by each other's opposing words than any mistake the passive might've made. He could understand the professor's reminders that he was, indeed, just a servant, but something said that this was a much bigger issue for the two personally than it would be for Lars.

Of course, he wouldn't underestimate the professor's anger. He was fully expecting it to turn on him again at any moment.

His patron was brought up again, and the older man visibly became more uncomfortable; shrinking back slightly as his eyes glanced away. He didn't want him to talk to his patron--he didn't want him involved, no, he didn't want to speak with him. Professor Siordanti was somewhat right in his assumptions; Lars did in fact have a little bit of a record... but it was more that he couldn't stand his patron. Couldn't handle his patron.

"Uh, y-yes sir, his--his patron is named Ayden, sir," the passive finally gave, quieting himself afterwards and resigning himself to stand to the side. The woman had begun to speak again, and by the way things were sounding, Lars didn't want to be near the professor when the blonde was done.

Every word she spoke felt as if it was said in another language--so unfamiliar that it sent shivers down his spine.

Fellow galdori.

How absurd. He was certain that she was joking, simply dragging him along in some attempt to reconcile with the professor, but then she continued to explain Gior's attitude towards his kind and it was clear that she was... honest. She was telling the truth, he could see the cold fury in her summer-green gaze at her companion's opinions; at the fact that he disrespected her words simply because of her different point of view.

As soon as the blonde woman--Athrym Bruthgrave, he'd gathered from the conversation--left the banquet hall, Lars was left in stunned silence, eyes wide and expression afraid. He kept quiet, not wanting to gather Professor Siordanti's attention, hoping to the gods that he would follow after her and forget completely of his promise to speak with his patron.
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