[Memory] I'll Cry If I Want To (Lars)

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Fionn
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Sat Dec 29, 2018 5:17 pm

Roalis 25th, 2710
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The boy couldn't seem to stop himself from crying. He had plenty of reason to cry, really he did so it wasn't unreasonable because none of it was fair. Things weren't supposed to have gone this way, he wasn't supposed to have come to Brunnhold in servitude. Fionn had been desperate to get to Brunnhold, desperate to join a world where he might not be looked through or looked down on and instead of that, he'd somehow fallen far further than he could have imagined.

The last few days had been unpleasant ones, the passive - that's what he was now, or had always been he guessed but it was definite now - had been dragged from his home in his Vienda while his parents screamed at each other and had found himself landed in Brunnhold. They'd tattooed his flesh, his upper arm left feeling as if it had been set ablaze. It itched, it hurt and he burned. He had begun to truly bawl his eyes out when they reached the tattooing stage.

Before he reached Brunnhold, the child had been oddly numb, unable to process what had happened, both in terms of the negative initiation test and the argument that his parents had had. It hadn't felt like a mistake exactly, just... incomprehensible. There had been tears certainly but they'd been more covert, finding the numbness washing away before he slept each night, emotion welling up to leave him falling into an exhausted slumber on drenched fabric. Since he'd gotten to Brunnhold, the tears had really begun in earnest and he couldn't stop them.

His new patron couldn't make them stop either. He'd been assigned a room, had it pointed out to him by a man who was apparently in charge of a whole wing of dormitories before the man took him aside and tried to explain things to him. Leon had tried to explain it all to him about work arrangements, sleeping arrangements, meal arrangements and everything else that would make up his new life for the rest of his life. Fionn had always been prone to wallowing in his own misery even before this was thrust upon him but it was like he'd been practising for when things would really go downhill.

So he cried. Leon tried to calm him down, first trying firm words because it wasn't as if kindness was going to go far here. The kid would have to learn sooner or later that this was hard. When that didn't work, the patron settled for clouting the blond boy about the head, which just made him cry more because then he actually had something to cry about. Thoroughly exasperated, Leon had tried kind words in the hope of getting through in some shape or form but Fionn continued to cry, great ugly sobs that left his face scarlet and blotchy, coughing and spluttering while his nose ran like a tap. Disgusted, the patron took the boy by the arm - his newly tattooed arm, which had somehow redoubled his tears - and forcibly dragged him to the laundries.

The area wasn't anywhere near as busy as it would be during proper term time but there were still plenty of people around the campus, students and staff still conducting activities over the Summer Break, but it also included the ever-present passives of course. There was still work to be done but nowhere near as much as usual and most of the work was manual enough, lacking little skill or intelligence and that meant that it was the perfect place to chuck the weeping boy so he could learn the meaning of hard graft without him causing too much trouble.

Fionn found himself thrust into the care of a wooden-faced woman well into her thirties who was apparently overseeing things here. Leon dropped him off with a mutter of "he's your problem now" and he'd found himself staring up into the face of this very stern woman while fresh tears threatened. She took one look at him before producing a handkerchief from somewhere and rubbing it roughly across his face in a very no-nonsense manner that shocked the tears to a stop.

"Now, that's enough of that carry on. You're far too old for the like of that. Don't be a spoiled brat. Things are going to be this way from now on and there's no point in crying about it. Don't be such a girl!" she snapped out before marching him towards steaming tubs and an older blond although he was still quite young, not yet out of his teens. Fionn stared up at him with wide eyes, thinking at first that he was a young woman with his longer hair and a certain softness to his features but it was a boy.

"You! Watch this one and make sure that he learns how to work here. I don't want him moping about the place, it isn't what he's here for. If he doesn't pull his weight, I'm holding you responsible," she told him before turning on her heel and marching off, presumably to throw her weight around somewhere else.

Fionn stared up at the older boy, brown eyes huge, watery and very red-rimmed. A grubby looking handkerchief was clutched in his fingers, the one the laundress overseer had used on him and thrust into his grasp. He blew his nose, sniffing snottily as he gazed up at the other.

"Hello," he managed in a small voice, a hand moving to rub at the place where he was tattooed, the strange fabric of his new uniform making it itch. The rub made it hurt anew again and the tears came. The pain, the strangeness of it all, the unfairness of it making the tears flow again and he buried his scarlet face into the wet cloth.
Last edited by Fionn on Mon Jan 21, 2019 10:18 am, edited 2 times in total.

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Lars
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Sat Dec 29, 2018 6:45 pm

Roalis 25, 2710
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Some days he wondered if he would ever do anything with his gated life besides doing laundry. He held little hope for finding enjoyment in any work he might find in Brunnhold, but he could at least dream of getting out of the laundry rooms and perhaps into places better suited to himself. Places like the library, or the kitchens, or... anywhere else.

He tired of the steam-filled rooms and hot waters; the tattered garments he was meant to repair and dye and clean. He tired of pricking his long fingers with needles and bleeding through whatever make-shift bandages he managed to find, he tired of staining his hands and his arms, he tired of slipping in the condensation that gathered on the floor and finding himself flat on his bruised back.

Still, he had no choice. Laundry was far from fulfilling, but it was relatively safe, as compared to some of the other things he could be doing.

Lars' day had been fine enough, although horribly boring as usual. The hot waters had cleansed most of the ink from his hands, still faintly-colored blue from an earlier shift, and there were splotches of blue and red stains on his uniform as he worked. It thankfully didn't take much thought to work--he didn't have the mental capacity at the moment to put all of his energy into scrubbing and cleaning. This left the opportunity for his thoughts to cover over things, perhaps dwell on a hobby or personal interest... but the boy's head was about as blank as his expression.

The only thing that pulled the young man from his state of mental nonexistence was an older woman's voice, closer to him in proximity than he would've liked and far more commanding than any of his peers. Turning his head, a steely-blue gaze fell upon the older woman, vacant in expression despite the curious situation he now found himself in. A glance downward to examine the young boy the overseer had brought to him, and Lars couldn't help the silent sigh that escaped his lips.

He had been assigned to help newcomers before, yes, but it was never any fun and it certainly never got easier. The older didn't offer any acknowledgement to the overseer, seeming to ignore her presence entirely in favor of watching the boy.

It was always like looking into a mirror. Lars had cried when he first came to Brunnhold as well--there were very few passives that didn't, but even so, their tears were never treated kindly. Even when all of them understood and had been through the same exact situation, they didn't care; didn't lend a helping hand. Lars was guilty of not offering help in many times that he perhaps should have, but... such was the way of a gated passive.

"Hey," the older began quietly, leaning down and resting on his knees so that the child wouldn't have to stare upwards, "try not to touch that too much," he offered, motioning towards the boy's arm and presumably the tattoo underneath, "it'll only make it worse. Here, look at his: he picked at it every day and now it still hurts because of it."

Lars pushed up his sleeve, the material thankfully larger than what was needed to fit his slender form and sliding up to his shoulder easily. It revealed a heavily damaged, although still recognizable, tattoo that mirrored the child's. It was clear that the man had scratched and picked at the skin for years; pieces of the symbol missing and ever-irritated and red. Glancing back to the boy, he pushed his sleeve back down, observing him in silence for a few moments.

"It's very hard, he knows, but they'll ignore you if you get to work. He'll show you."

The passive looked back towards the tub, filled with steaming hot water and soaking garments. He reached in, pulling a blouse from the water and ringing the water from the fabric. Offering it to the child, Lars watched him carefully, unsure of how to handle the tears and emotion but determined not to get himself in trouble by not helping the boy.

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Fionn
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Sun Dec 30, 2018 8:25 pm

Roalis 25, 2710
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The other boy wasn’t being unkind as the others had been, crouching down so that the boy didn’t have to look up, and in many ways that made it worse. It had been awhile since anyone had been kind to him and Niamh hardly counted-

Niamh. Gods, his Niamh but not his Niamh anymore because it wasn’t allowed. She wasn’t his sister anymore, just as he wasn’t her brother. He was nobody’s brother. He was nobody’s son.

Could he be blamed for the tears that flowed from him? Could he be blamed for feeling the whole, horrible unfairness of it all? Nobody wanted him anymore, he’d been told, he wasn’t a real galdor. No galdor wanted a broken child, a scrap. That’s what he was, something that had come off something greater, something to be thrown out. But they’d never wanted him anyway, his family, certainly not his father, who might not even be his father after all. It was all too much. Too much for his young mind to process even if it had gotten far older than his ten years warranted.

Although he cried, tears sliding down his face as he hiccuped and sniffed, Fionn did his best to be quiet and to listen because this boy, the older one actually seemed to be willing to talk to him with something other than brisk authority. It was difficult to stop the flow entirely but the boy managed to evolve to being a mere snuffling mess rather than the wailing and utterly wet and dripping creature he’d been before. Now he was a faucet dripping rather than a fully gushing tap.

Brows pulled together, the newly gated passive looking around for the ‘he’ that was being referred to, especially as the older servant hadn’t pointed in any particular direction. It wasn’t until Lars rolled up his sleeve and continued to explain about the tattoo that he realised that the blond before him was the ‘he’.

”It itches and it hurts! he whined, rubbing at it all the same, face screwed up in an expression of confusion, sullenness and total misery. It was more like someone had taken the hanky in his hand and squished it into childish features.

”And you talk funny. Like... weird funny, not funny funny. Am I gonna be a weirdo too? Don’t wanna.”

The blond leaned against the tub, feeling the heat of the water within as he started to swing his foot from side to side, banging dully against the tub. There was no particular purpose behind the action, the boy not seeming to realise what he was doing as the tears continued to flow, greater sullenness sinking in.

He wanted to go home. No, he didn’t. Home was bad. Not as bad as this but bad. He wanted to go somewhere else not bad, a Brunnhold where he wasn’t going to get shouted at and boxed around the ears and told that he was a failure. He wanted to do magic. He was supposed to be able to do magic.

It wasn’t fair. What his father had said hadn’t been fair either when they took him out. What was a ‘bastard’? He knew it was bad but what did it have to do with him? How was he “some other man’s bastard”? Was it to do with the other stuff he’d said? About him not being like Niamh and Oísin? Was it because he was a passive? Did bastard mean passive?

No, he didn’t think so. Not unless his father had known before the initiation test. He’d used those phrases before, arguing with Mamma while Fionn listened, small ears drawn to the sound of his own name because even if he was being shouted about, at least he properly existed in those moments.

When Lars held out the blouse to him, Fionn stared at it, damp and snotty handkerchief still in hand as he reached out to pinch the hot, wet material. He dropped it at once together with the hanky, partially because he hadn’t anticipated some of the weight in it from what little water still remained in it.

”That’s hot! What’re you giving it to me for?” he asked, trying to step out from under the fabric which had puddled on his shoes, kicking to propel the wet and heavy fabric off his new shoes. ”I don’t want your smelly wet stuff. It’s real hot in here and I don’t like it. I don’t wanna be here. I wanna go home!

The last word was a sob, choked and pitiful. With his hanky gone, the boy moved to wipe his face and nose with his green sleeve instead.
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Lars
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Sun Dec 30, 2018 9:37 pm

Roalis 25, 2718
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The boy's reactions were far from unexpected. Lars hadn't wanted any of this either, and though he had perhaps not reacted as much as this kid was, he had still felt the weight crushing down upon him. The way that everything and everyone suddenly looked down upon him, as if he was some kind of trash. He had been so powerful before, so wealthy and doted on, so loved. Brunnhold had been a harsh shock, and he couldn't blame the child for reacting the way he did.

However, it was no less difficult, for all his understanding. It somehow still stung each time someone commented on his speech, though it was oftentimes only from the newcomers these days. Most had learned of his oddities and avoided him, by now.

The teenager let out a deep breath, glancing downwards for a moment to where the child absentmindedly kicked his foot back and forth. His strain wasn't clear on his face, but inside, the boy worried--if this kid didn't listen to him, he wasn't going to be the only one getting in trouble. Lars would be paying for it.

"Yes, he does," responded the blonde, "it's no disease. His speech wont rub off on you."

It was the only thing he said of the matter, watching instead as the boy accepted and then promptly dropped the wet blouse he had been given. Lars swallowed the irritated words that came to his tongue, biting his lip and reaching down to pick the garment off of the boy's shoes.

He dropped it back into the hot tub, glancing back to the child with a slightly more exasperated expression, "he knows you'd like to go home. Now, if you don't at least pretend to do some work, they will make sure you have something more to cry about, kid."

It came out perhaps a bit more cold than he had intended, the boy's weak temper flaring up however dying out just as soon. Lars took a breath, regaining his composition, and reached out to gently set a hand on the boy's undamaged shoulder.

"Hey, if you promise not to tell anyone, he'll do it all for you. Just watch and at least pretend, so they don't punish us. He can show you how. Methinks you'll find that he's a good friend to have, in here. Does that sound okay?"
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Fionn
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Mon Dec 31, 2018 3:47 pm

Roalis 25, 2710
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There was a brief, distrustful squint from the boy as Lars claimed that his weirdness wouldn't rub off onto him. Fionn wondered if he was just weird or if this was the way passives were. Maybe he was already weird and he just hadn't noticed. He was already broken so why not weird as well? Gods, he didn't want to be here. He didn't want to go home either though.

Why had he said that he wanted to go home?

"No, I don't wanna go home. I hate it there, I hate it here, I just- I don't want-" the boy spluttered, unable to find the words for his emotions and desires. It was all too much. He was smart and he'd been something of a bookworm over the last year or two but he still didn't have the vocabulary for this. The experience.

"The man said something about that. Giving me something to cry about. Then he hit me in the head," Fionn explained, going back to his kicking of the tub now that his feet had been freed of the tangling cloth of the blouse.

"Dunno what I'm meant to do. Take that stuff and get the water out? It's too hot, I don't like it," he muttered, brows creased, small mouth puckered into a pout. Fionn didn't want anyone else to hit him but he couldn't do what they wanted either, not if it involved reaching into that hot water and wringing out the scalding cloth. He was too sensitive for that and although he hadn't tried it yet, he wouldn't have the strength to carry out what needed to be done. He wasn't strong enough, he couldn't do it.

The child reached up, hands resting on the edge of the tub as he peered into it, coughing as the steam filled his lungs. He stretched out a hand tentatively, finger tipping the surface before he jerked it back with a hiss of pain.

Too hot. He shook his head in vehement refusal.

"Pretend?" the blond questioned uncertainly, turning his head to search for those who might be watching them. The grumpy woman? Would she hit him too if he didn't do what they wanted? Was everybody going to hit him if he didn't do what he was told? Fionn certainly hadn't been immune to the odd clip about the ear or smack across the rump when he was at home, any old servant more than able to discipline him however they saw fit because it wasn't like his parents were going to care; they had never gotten into trouble.

Punishment wasn't an alien concept but friendship...

"My sister was my friend, I think. Do sisters count? Probably not, girls don't count. I've never had a friend. Do I have to do something... to have a friend?" he asked, brown eyes big and shining, the sleeve employed as a hanky once more. The green of his uniform was made darker wherever he rubbed his face the sleeves streaked with it. It was too hot in here for the jacket anyway so he took it off, tying it clumsily about his middle. The shirt sleeves posed a new challenge, shaky fingers trying to undo the buttons so he could get some air.

Too hot.

And he couldn't open the darn buttons!

He swung his arm wildly, foot stamping in frustration. He smacked his forearm hard against the metal of the tub and let out a sob of pain, cradling it as pain fired up and down the nerves. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair!

He couldn't even open his own darn shirt! How could he do work?
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Lars
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Mon Dec 31, 2018 7:24 pm

Roalis 25, 2710
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By the gods, could the child not sit still and listen? Lars breathed out a sigh as the boy continued to kick at the tub with his foot, eyes lingering on the action for a few moments as he listened to him speak of not wanting to be here nor there.

He could understand. He didn't want to be here, either, but he had no other choice--and now neither did this boy. He would do his best to stay calm and remain kind and understanding, but Lars couldn't help but find himself stressed with the job of showing this kid the ropes.

"No, you're meant to put dirty clothes in the water and wash them, and then wring the water out once they're clean," the blonde attempted to explain, however the child's mention of his sister and friends made him halt his explanations for a moment. The older boy turned his head to look the boy in the eyes, tilting his head ever-so-slightly, expression distant yet almost... sad. Sympathetic.

"Girls can count," he offered softly, "no, you don't have to do anything to have a friend. Friends do things for each other because they want to."

Lars was thrown off a bit when the boy swung his arm out, hitting his limb against the tub in a failed effort to move his sleeve. Hesitantly, the older boy reached out for the cradled arm, gently undoing the buttons on his sleeve and then doing the same for his other.

"He wants to help you, if you'll let him," he gave, moving to roll the boy's sleeves up his arms, "but you have to focus. He wont make you do anything without showing you how to do it, first."

He rested back on his heels, looking back to the boy's face and offering a hesitant smile, "so, you've got two friends. Me and your sister. Does that sound good?"
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Fionn
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Mon Dec 31, 2018 8:23 pm

Roalis 25, 2710
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Washing clothes was a truly alien concept to the boy. His family might have ostracised him but he'd still lived a life of relative privilege. Namely, you had dirty clothes, you threw them on the floor - or in the appropriate dirty clothes place if you were feeling kind - and then they reappeared nice and fresh in the wardrobe or your drawers. Fionn knew that it was servants that did it, he didn't think it was something that happened by magic but it was something that was at a remove and was meant to stay that way.

And now here he was thrown headfirst into the strange world that he'd always been so close to and yet not properly touched. He didn't want to wash clothes in the too hot water. He didn't know how to wash clothes. Why were they doing this to him? Wasn't it bad enough that he was a passive?

He eyed the steaming water uncertainly, not understanding how he was supposed to put his hands in there and keep them there but he could see others with their arms scarlet up to the elbow working away, puffing out rosy cheeks. His face was blotchy from all his tears but he probably didn't look too out of place here.

Still, there was more than one wobble in his lip after he thumped his arm, the pain offering an obvious sign of distress but there was also some mental distress there too as Lars worked to roll his sleeves up for him. Apparently, the older boy was being his friend by helping him out but the thing that was distressing was the idea that he had two friends.

"I- That sounds good but... b-but I only have o-o-one friend now. Niamh can't be my friend anymore 'cos I'm a sc-sc-scrap! And a-a-a bastard!" he blubbered out, lip wobbling so madly that he could hardly get the words out. While the tears could be heard in his voice, they didn't seem to be as forthcoming anymore; possibly he'd cried himself dry. It was funny really that he'd finally reached his limit at the moment that he discovered that there was someone who had cared about him and who he'd cared about, someone that he'd lost.

Niamh would be in Brunnhold with him but not in the way that they'd both imagined and talked about. While she'd be here and they could probably meet, Fionn hadn't forgotten the things that people had attempted to drum into his head these past few days since his failed initiation.

He was unwanted.

He was unloved.

He was dead to his family; he wasn't their son or brother.

His sister wouldn't want him anymore and even if she did, they probably wouldn't let them see each other. It was a horrible thought, the boy's eyes glazing over a bit as he descended into his own private misery in his head. The blond child couldn't return the other's kindly smile and he wasn't in the humour to try. He just stood there, arms swinging slightly at his sides, gaze tilted down towards his feet.

"You aren't here to chit-chat! Get a handle on him before he lands us all in trouble," a man commented as he passed them by lugging a laden-down basket. He shot Fionn a dirty look, which the boy saw because his voice had very nearly made the child jump out of his skin. The tremble had moved to the rest of his body now, the small form vibrating as he shrank back against the tub.

"Why is everyone so angry at me? Aren't- aren't we the same?" the child questioned, gesturing between himself and the man who had just passed. "Why won't they leave me alone?" Fionn asked miserably, turning his body towards the tub now, gazing miserably into the steaming waters.

Once again, he stretched out a hand, tipping a finger off the surface before flinching back. Maybe it was like when you went swimming and you adjusted when you put yourself into the water fully. Hadn't he had really hot baths before too? You just... waited. So he stuck his hand in up past the wrist, making faces at the temperature but making himself keep his hand there. The water didn't become any less hot but he did seem to be able to tolerate it a bit more after it had been submerged for some moments.

After a minute, he added the other hand into the mix, wiggling his fingers a bit so that the waters rippled, droplets flying through the air when he flicked a finger up through the surface.

"Okay so this isn't the worst. It's still hot though," he informed Lars, as if that fact wasn't obvious. "It's like... a bath for clothes, right? We're giving them a bath? Do we have to wash... all the bits? Even the bits that people don't see? Like you have to wash behind your ears?" Fionn asked, the innocence in his gaze showing that he wasn't trying to be funny.
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Lars
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Mon Dec 31, 2018 8:50 pm

Roalis 25, 2710
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The older passive could do little more than lean back and listen to the boy's stammered words. He hadn't meant to further upset him, and perhaps if he was a bit more empathetic, he would've felt guilty for bringing up the boy's sister again--it clearly was a sore spot for the child. The eighteen-year-old simply didn't have it in him to devote all of his sympathies to anyone.

Lars cleared his throat almost uncomfortably, unsure of how to handle the boy's explanation that he couldn't be friends with his sister anymore. The term scrap always pricked at his ears like nails on a chalkboard, but the child likely didn't know any better. None of them did, before they were the scrap. All of them had grown up expecting to be students here, not servants, and had never needed to know about what was or wasn't offensive to their underlings.

When a man walked past, shooting a comment their way, the older boy's expression shifted.

"Fuck off," he snapped, blue eyes glaring after the man, "I'm handling it."

Although he had seemed to shift easily into speaking of himself properly, his demeanor changed just as soon, shoulders relaxing and expression softening as he turned his gaze back to the boy in front of him.

"Hey," he started, leaning forward a bit to actually pull the child into a short-lived, although genuine hug,"they're all just looking after themselves. Ignore them; he does."

Letting go of the boy, Lars let him test the waters for himself, shifting now to just sit on the ground beside him. His legs were pulled underneath him, and he rested his arms on the edge of the tub as the child tried to adjust to the temperatures. He couldn't help another smile at his innocent comparisons; his connections between washing galdori clothes and giving oneself a bath.

"Yes, you're exactly right," agreed the older, putting his own hands into the hot water and grabbing the same blouse that the boy had dropped on the ground.

"It's just giving the clothes a bath. We use soap and water and scrub at everything until it's clean. Sometimes it takes a bit more effort to clean--like when you stain your skin with blistleberries."

Pulling the blouse to the surface, he offered it again to the boy, whilst grabbing another shirt with his free hand for himself, "you can try giving this shirt a bath. He'll show you how on his own."

The older passive grabbed the soap resting on the edge, showing it to the child before beginning to scrub at the shirt. He did this for only a few moments, stopping to look back at the child and hand over the soap.

"Now you try."
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Fionn
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Tue Jan 01, 2019 6:18 pm

Roalis 25, 2710
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The boy had shrunk from the man who had given out about him but he truly flinched as Lars swore, the expletive and the bark to his words more of a surprise than anything else. He didn't have issue with the tone, not given that someone was standing up for him but Fionn couldn't help noticing the stark difference between the kindness that the older guy had displayed and this. As suddenly as the flare of anger had appeared, it was gone again. The child blinked, wondering if someone had made a totally different person who happened to look exactly like Lars appear for a blink only to disappear them again just as quickly. Something told him that he never wanted to see that anger hurled in his direction. The child was just happy that he was getting the kind side again and not... the other one.

"I... I can try ignoring them?" he replied, the question heavy in his voice as he sought approval from the older boy. Was this what it was like to have an older brother? Is this what Oísin had expected from him? Big brothers were meant to look out for you, sisters... well, girls were obviously quite different. Girls did feelings rather than fists; they weren't meant to fight in anyone's corner. Although, he knew that girls were meant to be soft and sort of useless but well... Niamh hadn't been useless and if she'd been soft, well, it was only her being kind. She could be quite blunt when she wanted to be, she had a temper like he did, could deliver some very stinging words sometimes. She wasn't quite what he'd been led to think about girls, about what they were meant to be.

Fionn shouldn't have started thinking about Niamh again, he could feel the misery settling back down on his narrow shoulders. He swished his hands in the hot water, taking the offered blouse tentatively.

"Oof that's heavy!" he cried, shocked by how heavy the light garment had become. He lifted it, marvelling at the downwards drag of it until he got it entirely above the surface and spotted the water running out of it in rivulets. So the water was what made it so heavy? He let it drop back in, keeping a grip on it as most of the material puddled on the bottom of the tub. Fionn stood there, watching Lars closely from beneath scrunched brows as the older boy took to scrubbing his own garment. He watched closely until he was handed the soap. It had a roughness to it, certainly not like people soap, as if there was something grainy in it, something meant to scrape. It made suds okay, the grainy bits seeming to break up when it was mixed with the water.

The boy tried to work the soap against the fabric, feeling it slip and grate against his skin before he lost his grip on it entirely and sent it slipping into the water.

"Oops, I lost the soap," he muttered, using one hand to hold the water-laden blouse, he used the other to reach down as far as he could. Fingers scrabbled at the bottom of the tub, arm submerged way past the elbow, almost soaked up to the shoulder. He patted around, searching for the soap and leaning over the edge in a precarious and uncomfortable position while he did so.

"Where'd the little bugger go?" he asked, stretching to one side but not shifting his position on the edge of the tub. Unbalanced that way, he automatically stretched on the tips of toes and found that that didn't help matters. He had to let go of the blouse so he could save himself from falling face first into the tub. He successfully retrieved the soap, panting and puffing, pushing hair back off his sticky forehead using the inside of one wrist.

"I don't think I'm very good at this," he muttered. In spite of his words, he fished the blouse back out and tried again, slower this time and with a look of intense concentration on his face. He scrubbed at it diligently, doing his best but probably not doing as good of a job as Lars.

"This is hard."
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Lars
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Joined: Sun Nov 25, 2018 1:04 pm
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Race: Passive
: nil igitur mors est ad nos
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Tue Jan 01, 2019 6:46 pm

Roalis 25, 2710
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The older boy watched curiously as the younger discovered the weight of the wet blouse. He wondered for a moment if he had been so innocent and curious himself when he had first come to Brunnhold--he couldn't recall any memories of being helped and shown what to do. He hadn't cried as much as this boy, as far as he could remember, but he had struggled to learn the ins and outs of his new life.

The blonde nodded, "yes, when clothes are wet, they're a lot heavier," he offered absentmindedly, eyes following the soap as the child lost his handle on it.

At first he reached out, going to help the boy in retrieving the soap from the bottom of the hot tub, but leaned back instead. The boy was quite determined and it likely wouldn't be the last time he lost his grip on the slippery substance; he might as well do it himself. Not to mention, Lars knew that other servants continued to watch them, and as much as he wanted to assist, he didn't want the others hounding them.

Once the boy had regained the soap and began to scrub at the blouse, he shook his head, "no, you're doing fine. It's only your first day, right? He wasn't an expert on his first day either."

Lars looked back to his own garment, the boy having already scrubbed it clean just before the child arrived, and pulled it up and out of the water to wring it out.

"You'll learn. He promises."

The rest of his shift was spent doing more of the same--showing the child the various tasks one had to complete whilst on laundry duty, while taking care not to throw too much on the boy all at once. Perhaps fortunately for the child, Lars had always been a devoted and thorough worker, and it was easy enough for the older to explain and demonstrate when he had spent the last eight years doing practically the same thing every day.

By the end of the afternoon, the passives in the laundry rooms had mostly changed shifts, and though he might've spent an hour or two extra working, Lars didn't want to overwork the poor boy. It was his first day dealing with it all, and even if he didn't want to be there at all, he'd likely be happier to retreat to his dorm and collect his thoughts.

Folding his last pair of trousers, Lars set them into the cabinet, afterwards shutting the little door and turning to look at the younger passive.

"He thinks we've worked long enough," said the blonde, "let's get you back to your dorm. Do you remember if they told you who you're rooming with? He can walk you there," he offered, beginning to make the walk across the room towards the exit. They weren't too far from the dorms, not his own at least, and it was no trouble to walk the child to his. He didn't want him getting lost and winding up in trouble.
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