26th of Dentis, 2718
The BANQUET HALL | DINNER HOUR
The BANQUET HALL | DINNER HOUR
"This isn't the Kingdom of Gior, and last time I checked the Symvouli is being led by Anaxas—" Nauleth whispered, hissing under his breath, eyes widening when the young Ambassador told him no without hesitance. She was angry and he felt the smoldering sting of her field in such close proximity, completely caught off guard by the sudden rage at what he could only see as a simple cultural misunderstanding. The passive was a servant and the young Siordanti was certainly not overstepping any bounds: he hadn't raised a hand to the other man, he hadn't really berated him too loudly, but he did want to know the name of his Patron simply so he could bring up the matter.
Correcting sloppy behavior was a favor to those who didn't know better, wasn't it?
Oh, gods, Athrym was going on and on about how the crimp would be treated in her Kingdom and the slow burn of utter horror clawed it's way up the junior professor's spine at the absolute ignorance that poured from beautiful lips he'd done more with than just kiss and cast spells. Gold-rimmed eyes widened and his fingers curled so tightly around the back of the chair that his well-manicured fingernails ached in protest, "That is enough—wait—what? Priesthood? For Alioe's sake—you can't just—hold on just a moment—close minded my clocking erse—"
Nauleth attempted to stop the avalanche, interjecting quiet syllables of objection whenever he could get a word in but failing miserably. There, in front of his students, the woman they all knew to be his fiancé and the Ambassador of Gior challenged his hard-earned authority and insulted him to his face. In front of a godsbedamned passive.
The professor felt the warmth of a furious blush heat his face, boil his neck, and creep its way with fire down his sternum. The flavor of embarrassment was bristleberry and the young Siordanti almost matched the color of the stain on his coat. His attention snapped to the Headmistress Servalis instead of daring to glance at his young charges, watching as the pale, petite creature dismissed herself in front of the Circle and every tenured professor who was at the meal. He felt their gazes shift in his direction and he met Ophelia's gaze like a beaten dog.
As if his peers didn't already question his right to teach, this would be some other hurdle to crawl over wearily.
His heart sank in the freckled cavity of his chest and while he heard Lars speaking, he already heard the teenagers behind him whispering, giggling. Their eyes were on him in judgment, like the Headmistress who tilted her head in the direction of the door as if to tell him to get the clock out of the banquet hall immediately.
Oh, gods, he would never live this down. Not ever.
Shifting his focus with visible difficulty toward Lars, Nauleth sighed, glazing over the passive's odd way of speaking because it was the least of his concerns, hardly able to focus on the servant's face. His anger was tangible in the sinking sensation that seemed to writhe in his field, but the tone of his voice revealed the edge of his hurt fury was not at all directed at the magicless beast who was to blame for such hurtful revelations, "Ayden? Well, expect to hear about this on the morrow—"
He turned more toward his table, finally, swallowing his terror, and placed both palms on the fine linen tablecloth, meeting the curious glances of the young faces who filled his classes, all impressionable and judgmental sixth forms eager to mock the young man who was no longer intimidating or infallible if a young woman had just put him into such a moment of pure shame,
"I'd like to leave you with this: what you watched was absolutely no way to have a productive discussion with someone you love. It is intellectually acceptable to disagree, but it is not at all socially acceptable to humiliate someone in public. Now, if you'd like to write down all of your questions on the unexpected dilemma we have just explored, I'll be happy to spend tomorrow's class in discussion. But only tomorrow—the rest you can research yourself. Behave. Headmistress Servalis and Professor Golightly will be watching you once I leave this room and you all know it."
That was all the breath for calm Nauleth had in his lungs and with a sharp inhale he turned and saw himself out of the formal dinner gathered in the banquet hall and as quickly out into the evening of the campus grounds as possible.
Correcting sloppy behavior was a favor to those who didn't know better, wasn't it?
Oh, gods, Athrym was going on and on about how the crimp would be treated in her Kingdom and the slow burn of utter horror clawed it's way up the junior professor's spine at the absolute ignorance that poured from beautiful lips he'd done more with than just kiss and cast spells. Gold-rimmed eyes widened and his fingers curled so tightly around the back of the chair that his well-manicured fingernails ached in protest, "That is enough—wait—what? Priesthood? For Alioe's sake—you can't just—hold on just a moment—close minded my clocking erse—"
Nauleth attempted to stop the avalanche, interjecting quiet syllables of objection whenever he could get a word in but failing miserably. There, in front of his students, the woman they all knew to be his fiancé and the Ambassador of Gior challenged his hard-earned authority and insulted him to his face. In front of a godsbedamned passive.
The professor felt the warmth of a furious blush heat his face, boil his neck, and creep its way with fire down his sternum. The flavor of embarrassment was bristleberry and the young Siordanti almost matched the color of the stain on his coat. His attention snapped to the Headmistress Servalis instead of daring to glance at his young charges, watching as the pale, petite creature dismissed herself in front of the Circle and every tenured professor who was at the meal. He felt their gazes shift in his direction and he met Ophelia's gaze like a beaten dog.
As if his peers didn't already question his right to teach, this would be some other hurdle to crawl over wearily.
His heart sank in the freckled cavity of his chest and while he heard Lars speaking, he already heard the teenagers behind him whispering, giggling. Their eyes were on him in judgment, like the Headmistress who tilted her head in the direction of the door as if to tell him to get the clock out of the banquet hall immediately.
Oh, gods, he would never live this down. Not ever.
Shifting his focus with visible difficulty toward Lars, Nauleth sighed, glazing over the passive's odd way of speaking because it was the least of his concerns, hardly able to focus on the servant's face. His anger was tangible in the sinking sensation that seemed to writhe in his field, but the tone of his voice revealed the edge of his hurt fury was not at all directed at the magicless beast who was to blame for such hurtful revelations, "Ayden? Well, expect to hear about this on the morrow—"
He turned more toward his table, finally, swallowing his terror, and placed both palms on the fine linen tablecloth, meeting the curious glances of the young faces who filled his classes, all impressionable and judgmental sixth forms eager to mock the young man who was no longer intimidating or infallible if a young woman had just put him into such a moment of pure shame,
"I'd like to leave you with this: what you watched was absolutely no way to have a productive discussion with someone you love. It is intellectually acceptable to disagree, but it is not at all socially acceptable to humiliate someone in public. Now, if you'd like to write down all of your questions on the unexpected dilemma we have just explored, I'll be happy to spend tomorrow's class in discussion. But only tomorrow—the rest you can research yourself. Behave. Headmistress Servalis and Professor Golightly will be watching you once I leave this room and you all know it."
That was all the breath for calm Nauleth had in his lungs and with a sharp inhale he turned and saw himself out of the formal dinner gathered in the banquet hall and as quickly out into the evening of the campus grounds as possible.
Welcome to Brunnhold, stop-clocker, now go home.
