[M] And I Am Consequence

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

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Lars
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: nil igitur mors est ad nos
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Fri Feb 08, 2019 12:21 am

Dentis 27, 2718
Laboratory Beta · Night
The professor had never been to Dorhaven? The fact that anyone in Anaxas could've neglected to ever visit his hometown was simply absurd to the passive, who's eyebrows raised slightly in surprise with the news. It was true that his memories of his home had been dampened and pushed down over the years; he barely recalled the color of the walls though he could remember the squeaky step at the bottom of the main staircase. It had been his doing after all: as a child the passive had been uncaring, reckless; he had taken too many tumbles down the stairs in his rushed excitement.

"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."

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Muse
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Mon Feb 18, 2019 3:26 pm

27th of Dentis, 2718
Laboratory Beta | A Dark Hour
Harper admittedly didn't get out much, and while he'd heard that Dorhaven was a lovely place to visit almost because of its proximity to the mysterious Wraithwine Woods, travel was simply not high on the professor's list of things he could be doing.

The bespectacled galdor couldn't help but chuckle at Lars' incredulity when he admitted he was, indeed, not as exciting as he seemed among his peers, "You could say that among certain social circles, I'm not that boring, but I assure you, the population of monic theorists in the world is a small one. My current, somewhat accidental research on passivity has relegated me to the bottom of the social ladder, if I ever had a foot up on the rungs to begin with. I—I don't mind, really. I have no interest in being popular so much as respected. I want my findings to speak for themselves, but I appreciate knowing I have at least one fan."

He didn't look up to smile, but there was a chagrined, amused expression creased into his face, shaded as it was by a few days' worth of stubble because he wasn't teaching another class until next week. The strange sensation of embarrassment was one that Professor Moore was familiar enough with, and he glanced up at the half-finished compliment, grinning almost stupidly and speaking to what was left unsaid,

"I'm really not. Charismatic, that is, but kindness has it's charm, I suppose." Harper offered his riposte with quite a bit of tongue-and-cheek in his tone, aware that the subtleties of his otherwise dry sense of humor may have been lost on a creature whose life was not at all full of opportunities for jokes. He didn't take the compliment lightly, humbled in his own awkward way by the passive's trust, though it was perhaps driven by a desperate need for safety as opposed to the test of time.

"Kindness is relative, however." Harper hummed quietly while he poured tea into cups, setting two cups on the table among his paperwork along with a small sugar bowl. Pausing to add two little cubes of sugar to his own tea and stir it, he resisted the urge to scoff at the blond and his insistence that no one would notice his presence if he chose not to make it known.

He was, unfortunately, out of cream but wasn't quite sure it mattered, hazel hues catching the hint of Lars' expression, "Especially for a gated passive—oh."

Not without emotion so much as poor at proper expression, the dark-haired galdor was quick to shake his head at the apology, crumpling into a tired sitting position on the floor between the sofa and the book-laden, note-burdened table, folding his knees to his chest at the passive's feet,

"Empirically speaking, you're perfectly within your biological rights to cry—at least in my unproven scientific opinion. Coping with stress through tears is a cathartic experience you're deserving of, so don't hold back on my account—" Harper's words were obtuse but his tone of voice was clearly empathetic, especially as he dug a folded handkerchief from the pocket of his vest and offered it in the younger man's direction, other hand pressing it into the passive's grip if he didn't take it for himself, lingering with a comforting squeeze,

"Don't apologize. I mean it when I say that you're safe here—if I could extend such an offer to the entire Passive Ward, I would, though as of late, thanks to you especially, I've come to understand that not everyone is deserving of such a kindness and not everyone would appreciate it. That's unfortunate, of course, but you? It's fine to cry here."

Not that the professor knew any further comforts other than permission, withdrawing his momentary touch of comfort to wrap his arms around his knees and cast a sidelong glance at the stack of notes on his table, to watch steam curl from the cups of tea,

"Emotions are very important in my focus of study, and while I'm no more a psychologist than I am a physician, expressing your feelings is important, even when they're the kind that hurt. I can't speak to your feelings of betrayal and confusion, let alone your suffering for the evening, but I've been told all my life tea and company assuage a multitude of ills."
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