[Memory] Dyeing for a Living

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The Six Kingdom's most prestigious university and the de facto cultural capital of Anaxas.

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Lenore Croqelle
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Wed Dec 26, 2018 5:41 pm

22nd of Ophus 2710, Mid-Morning
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Lenore pulled a creaky wicker trolley behind her, having just collected the last of the linens to be dyed before the new term began. Her uniform, though situated exactly along the seams, was rumpled at her elbows and shoved high on her arms. Like a mockery of lady’s gloves her arms were dyed a deep blue right up the edge of her rolled sleeves. Her hair, hinting at auburn strands only in direct sunlight, was held in a bun so strict she likely threatened it with violence that morning.

Pleasantly the halls were quiet and near empty in the middle of the winter break. Those who stayed behind were generally too busy to be meandering about the corridors. Of course, Lenore was promptly proven wrong. Originating from an open doorway, a pale honey hand gripped her forearm and pulled. For the briefest moment a thought flickered that she could easily hold her ground against the pull. The fancy passed and soon as it came, she released her trolley and let herself be tugged into the room.

It was a young vulpine-faced galdori holding up a ripped blouse. On a normal day Lenore would have had a bone needle and small spindle of thread for these moments but she’d left them in the laundry while they were dyeing. Gently, and with a neutral smile, she took the blouse and folded it over a blue arm, “It will be returned and whole first thing in the morning.” She dodged her eyes down and bobbed a quick curtsy.

“It had best not be blue, Scrap.” The young student’s voice crystalline and clear.

“Understood.” She replied with her usual calm smile, placing the blouse over the side of her cart. Petty insults hardly touched her any more, certainly not one so uninspired. However she could admit her step was offbeat after having let a child pull her like a pup on a leash.

The acrid stench preceded up the hallway from the laundries. So strong was the odor it cut through the usual cloying floral fragrances used to rectify the unsightly smells from linens. Today’s dye had come from the shell of some sort of sea creature and each of the dying vats looked to be full of scarlet ink. Lenore pushed her cart into line with the others along the wall.

The term break emboldened the other passives, they socialized a little louder than they would have otherwise dared. It did no harm that the man overseeing the laundry was near deaf or the stench warded off nearby galdori’s desire to intervene unless absolutely required.

Hefting an armful of sun-faded draperies from her trolley, with perhaps a more dramatic huff than was entirely necessary. She turned to add her mountainous bundle to the vats only to have a slender young man come between her and the tub. It was entirely too late before Lenore noticed the Passive and into the inky red pool he tumbled with the draperies. Even before they hit the water she was quick to follow, shoulder deep in and pulling off the fabrics so the boy didn’t suffocate.

The thrashing caused a foamy scum to form and droplets of dye to splash out around the two. Several around them began backing away to avoid the splattering dye hitting their uniforms. Finally her fingers grasped his collar and forced his head above the surface.

Last edited by Lenore Croqelle on Thu Dec 27, 2018 4:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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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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Wed Dec 26, 2018 7:18 pm

Ophus 22, 2710 | Mid-Morning
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If you'd asked him two years ago, Lars would've told you that he would never grow used to life as a servant, not truly. He had struggled internally for his first six years, the little pieces of pride left within him shattering further with each and every garment he washed and dried and dyed and fixed, every dish he washed in the kitchens and every floor he swept.

At the tender age of eighteen, he was perhaps a bit more mature.

He had never been one to act out or rebel, but even so, he had dealt with the thoughts. These days, he found it easier not to dwell on what he could do, and instead focus on what he would do. He would wake up early each morning and get to work, he would continue to wash and clean and fix garments far nicer than the dirty uniform he wore, he would remain a polite and dutiful servant and not make anything harder for himself when he could help it.

A recent haircut had made the days spent doing laundry easier; before the long, golden locks had clung to his forehead and his neck as he worked in the hot, steamy air of the laundry rooms. Now the shorter strands had a habit of smoothing back and leaving his blue gaze clear and unmasked, but even so, on days spent dyeing and repairing clothing rather than simply washing it, a haircut did little to ease his efforts.

If only he could find something to keep his ivory skin from staining--alas, he would've found it by now. So he dealt with his multicolored hands and elbows, sleeves rolled up onto his biceps in some weak effort to keep the fabric from stains, but of course they always ended up falling down his arms and into whatever he was working with.

Today wasn't too bad he supposed; his morning had been spent washing dishes and cleaning up after the passives in the kitchen, and he had always enjoyed his time there. He would enjoy it more if he could prepare meals rather than prepare clean plates, but it was something that didn't involve stains and dirty clothes, and that was something he could always appreciate.

Lars was on the floor, knees cold on the ground as he reached to pick up a bundle of dirty clothes. These would have to go into the other room--he stood, fabrics in his arms and blocking him from seeing forward, and so he relied on simple hope as he walked forward through the room.

For a few moments this plan worked out fine. There weren't too many other passives striding about at the moment; taking their breaks perhaps a bit too seriously and straying to the corners of the room, and so the path was relatively clear for the young servant and his bundle of clothing.

It only took a moment for his luck to change, stepping in the way of an older woman without even noticing his mistake, his slender form suddenly being pushed and legs thrown off balance.

The only sound that escaped him was a soft gasp, thankfully dropping the dirty clothes before he tumbled into the tub. There was a moment of shocked stillness before he tried to break the surface, finding a mass of clothing covering his head momentarily before someone pulled the bundle off of him. Fingers grabbed at his collar, pulling the boy's head from the red pool; he spit a mouthful of the dyed liquid from his lips and took a breath to clear his airways.

Now that his head was above the surface he found it easier to escape the tub, pulling himself upwards and out, drenched and dripping scarlet. A thin, bony hand came up to wipe at his face; wiping at his eyes and his nose.

"A-are you okay?" questioned the servant, coughing as he looked to the older woman, "he's sorry, he didn't mean to get in your way."

Once-ivory skin was stained red, golden hair dark and dripping from his head.
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Lenore Croqelle
Posts: 8
Joined: Mon Dec 24, 2018 12:19 pm
Topics: 4
Race: Passive
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Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Nym
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Mon Dec 31, 2018 3:11 pm

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Lenore offered her arm to help him out, whether he needed it or not. Her eyes met his briefly. She took a swift survey of him, as a laundress, his uniform was beyond help. Pursing her lips she returned her attention to his face, her own visage draining white. It was one thing to stain a uniform, or outgrow, or even tear. Lenore wasn’t overly familiar with the longevity of dyes but she could only imagine it would be a long while before the red faded. At the end of the day, they were never the servant's uniforms these garments were always Brunnhold’s uniforms.

As though drawn a tether, her gaze jerked over the young man’s shoulder. Their supervisor was old and near deaf, but by no means blind. Without looking away from elder passive, she whispered an answer, “No apology is called for.” Her voice was curt but not without kindness, she was not one of the servants known for being cordial.

The supervisor shuffled around the vat to look at the two sources of his obvious annoyance. As he walked through the other servants like a ripple they resumed work and the sounds of the laundry began to rise again but without chatter. The nearest Passives were noticeably silent, no doubt listening for some morsel of gossip to fill the rest of their monotone day.

This supervisor had always reminded Lenore of a reptile, not for any guile that he’d ever aimed at her, but because of his bald head. The appraisal was plan in his eyes and the frustration flowed into apprehension. Who knew how far the petty animosity of the galdori would spread? “Get him in one of the uniforms in storage.” He barked, his voice like late Yaris leaves.

The laundress nodded and turned back to the dyed servant. “Come with me, please.” She tried to hide her pity at his reddened skin. It was likely she’d get worse chores for the disruption and her carelessness but there'd be no physical reminder. Nothing for the galdori to single out against her. The dye would fade and perhaps he was lucky to not often cross paths with them. At least the youngest ones were gone, probably no one would invent a game to torment the young man. She didn’t watch to see if he followed. Of the few passives that were bold enough to blatantly ignore orders, Lenore had never known one to refer to themselves in such a passive way.

Lenore’s uniform had escaped much of the dye but for her sleeves and apron. The sleeves of her clothing could be remedied perhaps, but her apron looked like she’d been at a butcher’s block. Pinching through the fabric of her apron to her skirt, she slightly lifted the fabric. She hurried, certainly not scurried, to one of the adjoining rooms.

Drawing open cupboards and searching through shelves she pulled out new uniform pieces. Pausing for several long moments she pulled out several different trousers, shaking them free and then deciding against them. As swiftly as pulled them they were folded and back in place. A life spent washing and folding, though unlikely to come in handy in another practical application, made these tasks thoughtless. Finally settling on a pair of slightly worn pants. Every piece she’d pull out had been used, many mended previously.

From a small drawer she extracted several curved pins, a delicate bone needle and a spool of thread. She pushed the pins and needle through the apron at her waste where the dye hadn’t splattered and palmed the spool.

Nudging an empty wooden mopping bucket from the corner across the floor. “A place for the sopping uniform.” She muttered as if to herself. Holding out the newly selected uniform she waited beside the door, ready to duck out to preserve propriety. Only then did she even look to see if he had followed her at all.

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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 31, 2018 8:03 pm

Ophus 22, 2710 | Mid-Morning
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The young man met the woman's gaze steadily, despite the obvious note of nervousness that glinted in his eyes. He was nervous not only for his dear ivory skin, stained red in hue, but also for this woman's reaction as well as that of the overseer's. He was aware, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it hadn't been his fault completely, but still guilt nagged at his mind for having went behind the working woman so blindly, so carelessly.

Lars went silent as the overseer approached them, steely-blue gaze watching the man with caution, heartbeat fast in his chest. He never liked calling attention to himself, never liked it when he had to interact with superiors more than absolutely necessary, and so he kept quiet until the woman requested that he follow after her.

"Oh, of course," the boy replied quietly, taking care to follow quickly after her. He made sure not to trip or get in anyone else's way as he did, following close behind the older passive as she led him through the laundry room and into storage.

The blonde--or, the former blonde--watched from the door as the woman looked through the cabinets, weighing her options and gathering a few garments before folding them and setting them back in. Once she had settled on a suitable uniform, Lars took the clothing from her grasp, stepping away from the door so that she could step out.

He changed quickly enough; dropping the stained-red uniform into the bucket she had pointed out, and then replacing it with the clean. His skin was still red, but he was at least not drenched and dripping with dye any longer, and he was likely to scrub the rest of the stain from his skin later on.

Pushing a hand through his hair to move it from his forehead, he opened the door again, looking to the woman and offering a polite nod.

"Thank you," gave Lars, "he's sorry if you end up with any problems from this. It was his fault, really."

Shifting on his feet, the boy seemed at a loss momentarily, but then pulled himself together and bowed.

"Oh, his name is Lars," he said, straightening back up, "he didn't mean to be rude--might he ask your name? He doesn't think he's shared your shift before."
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