Laboratory Beta · Night
"You should visit one day. Dorhaven is a beautiful place--or, it was when I was there. We were--my family were some of the only galdori in town, so it wasn't quite so..." the servant trailed off, his eyes following the professor's movements as he finished up with his cleaning of the floor and slipped into the other room again. He seemed distracted then by the professor's absence in the room, leaving his sentence unfinished.
He really didn't like the idea of making the professor sleep on the floor or a chair, not after how kind and helpful he had been, but he wasn't in a position to tell a galdor what to do. Lars would happily take something besides the sofa, and wouldn't have had an issue if the professor had wanted to share--even if it had been an unfunny joke. He would keep his mouth shut, however, and let the older do what he pleased, but if he found him tossing and turning wherever he attempted to find rest, Lars was switching.
Lars didn't believe he had ever slept next to anyone in the first place. Next to someone else's bed, sure, that was mandatory when one was a servant in the university and it was a reality he had struggle with for a long time, not having privacy or space of his own, but never closer than that. Not even his mother had pulled him into her bed when nightmares had plagued his young mind; a frequent occurrence in the boy's childhood that his butler often had to deal with.
It was strange now, to think that he had once had a servant of his own. It didn't even feel like his life anymore, but someone else's reality slipped into his head; pushing out what surely must've been a childhood of servitude just like his adulthood had always been.
The professor's words dragged him from his thoughts; hazy memories of a woman's blurry face.
"Boring?" the blonde repeated, surprised, "I'm usually called that, but you--how? I'm afraid I don't understand the half of the things you've said about my kind and our... nexi? but I think you're far from boring, sir," he was well-aware that his own opinions held little weight and likely had no effect, but he had already realized how easily words sprung from his mouth around the kind professor, and it was nice to speak without fear of being judged. Not for his manners of speech or his opinions, anyway; he couldn't say what the man might think of him if he was anything but a servant.
The notion that the bespectacled galdor was unmarried was perhaps even stranger than the idea that he was, in any way, boring. In all honesty, Lars had thought all professors in Brunnhold were married or engaged--he must've gotten them connected in his head and assumed one didn't come without the other. In any case, it was a surprise to the Hessean even beyond that, for Professor Moore certainly wasn't unlikable or unattractive or anything he might've thought of himself. Not that a passive's thoughts on someone's relationship status meant much, when they weren't allowed to have anything of their own.
Still, this didn't stop the blonde from starting to throw out his own opinion on the matter of the professor's charisma, "I think you're perfectly charis--" again Lars left his words unfinished, reminding himself again that despite the professor's kindness, they still weren't equals and he didn't really have the right to say anything on the matter. As fairly as the galdor had treated him so far, Lars still wasn't completely convinced himself that he could ever think of himself as on a galdor's level again. He wasn't about to try.
"Yes, I think you're kinder than my fellow passives and most people I've met, professor; at least to me. I think your saving me definitely proved that," offered the younger, observing as Professor Moore reentered the room and went to fetch the kettle, "oh, sure. I can stay out of the way; no one will even know I'm here."
It was probably the truth. Lars was anything but attention-drawing. Thank the gods he wasn't some fancy galdori performer, his audiences wouldn't even notice him on stage.
Noticing the professor's eyes on him, Lars blinked, one of his hands absentmindedly moving to hold his injured, bound ribs. He had no clue what the sight of himself might reveal--golden hair starting to dry atop his head, blood thankfully cleansed from his skin, his expression curious but unsure in the strange situation; eyes red-rimmed and the man clearly more than ready to cry if the night had gotten any worse. It was all so strange; he hadn't cried in years but tonight his tears were so ready to spill. As he thought about it, one managed to escape the Hessean's will, falling down his cheek much to the man's disapproval.
Reaching up, Lars wiped the liquid from his face indignantly, "sorry. I don't cry, I shouldn't cry. Everything has just overwhelmed me so quickly--it's moony, I'm sorry, sir."