As Fire To The Sun

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

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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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Fri Mar 01, 2019 11:11 pm

Ophus 40, 2718
Dining Hall | Lunch Hour
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He wanted to be rid of this.

Lars was silent as he worked; ignoring the ongoing conversations around him that flooded the kitchens but dared not spill out into the cafeteria. His fellow passives were chattier than normal in the almost three week's time since Terrence and his unfortunate end - he preferred to fall back on the comfortable silence. He cared not to speak with them about how their treatment would change as a result of the diablerie, cared not to gossip and spread rumors about those involved - the hateful students and staff alike who had criticized Professor Moore and Doctor Aubellard's swift treatment of passive injuries - instead he kept his golden head down and focused on his work. It was the best thing for him to do, as otherwise he was surely to fly off the handle.

A soft sigh escaped his lips, cold hands kneading dough that was resistant to cooperate, and the passive eventually set it aside to move on to other, more likely-to-succeed tasks. Actually cooking rather than prepping, for one.

The day's lunch consisted of potatoes, grilled hingle, and a variety of vegetables - not the most fanciful nor the most flavorful, but it was a solid meal nonetheless. They were saving the good stuff for the first of the year, he imagined, but somehow the passive had managed to get tomorrow away from the kitchen. What he would be tasked with instead was beyond him at the moment, but he didn't dwell on his lacking knowledge, he just got to preparing the meal.

The kitchens smelled of thyme and it was easy for Lars to forget about the world and the rather unfortunate state of it, his hands and mind occupied with other things. His thoughts drifted about; first straying to his former roommate, Fionn, and wondering for only a moment what the young man was up to. These thoughts were shaken off as he started plating food, and his mind saw it fit to think about a kinder, less violent man instead - Professor Moore.

The Hessean bit the inside of his cheek, fingers tapping against the counter almost nervously. A few of his fellow servants came to the line beside him, starting to serve the students and faculty alike as they approached with their trays and their expectant, hostile gazes. Lars' faraway blue eyes flicked down to stare into the vegetables, eyeing the steam as it rose.

Professor Moore. Why did he let himself think about him still? It wasn't as if anything bad had happened between them, of course, nothing had happened at all really - but it did neither of them any good to let his thoughts linger. He was a professor. Any and all care and investment he might have in Lars' life was simply that - professional. It wasn't meant to be anything else. Of course.

So why was there such a strange and unforgiving nagging in his chest that pulled against that truth?

An elbow jabbed gently at his side, pulling him from his ruminations and dragging his gaze from the vegetables in favor of the passive at his side. For a moment his eyes deceived him; a ruffled and sleep-deprived professor staring back at him expectantly, before blinking revealed another former roommate's form instead.

"You good, Lars?" inquired Jamie, the brunette raising an eyebrow in question, "you can go back to prepping if you need to."

"Oh, no," the blonde offered with a slight shake of his head, "he's fine; sorry."

"No problem," his friend assured, "go out and make sure no one needs anything else, that'll wake you up."

The older man gave a nod of agreement, pushing away from the serving line and exiting the kitchens to survey the cafeteria. He passed by tables of students, looking over their tables and trays of food and keeping his ears open for any calls for assistance. Soon enough he was called to grab emptied trays, the Hessean grabbing them and carrying them at his side as he continued on.
Last edited by Lars on Tue Mar 05, 2019 11:21 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Vivian Rush
Posts: 39
Joined: Fri Dec 28, 2018 8:37 am
Topics: 7
Race: Galdor
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Writer: Mythic
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Sat Mar 02, 2019 12:36 am

40th of Ophus, 2718
Silence was bliss.

In the weeks that followed the terrible diablerie episode, Vivian felt the stress accumulating. There was the paperwork involved. Families needed to be notified and certainly, no one was assisting in the mountain of clerical nonsense that was thrust on Vivian's desk every day. I didn't take this position to be a secretary, she seethed with every cramp that ached her wrist. The Chair she worked for was aloof, his distance creating a consistent strain.

Miscommunication was rife with the relation, and troubles often surfaced only to be very quickly and severely quelled by the young galdor. Rage was ever so quick to compound within Vivian, and the additional stressors of a brother turned passive by physical trauma as well as her recent incidents (directly caused by the stress to begin with!) was her downfall.

And now... what? Vivian Rush was assigned a task that given the heated climate seemed impossible. On her desk sat a letter, an assignment that she looked over again and again, hoping each time that it'd be different.

Vivian,

It's come to my attention that you've been acting out against the passives under your care. Immediately following the completion of your report, you are to shelve your other duties and begin a new assignment immediately. Your task is as follows:

You are to befriend or otherwise captivate the attention of our passive staff. As of right now, there are confirmed whispers of your name that are unacceptable given the current state of things. You must actively strive to reverse this opinion, as well as measure the 'status quo' in the sphere of galdor-passive staff relations.

Do not fail me again.


Vivian read the note one final time, a gust of breath pushing at her fringe as her emerald gaze glossed over with disdain. She pulled at her connection to the mona, a deep breath forming into song shortly after. Her song carried the note into the air, and as she rose to her feet the paper began to stretch, tearing into quarters before falling into her waste receptacle as little more than snippets of leaf. The sorceress stretched her arms out, and a soft yawn escaped her lips before she neatly placed her papers into a pile. She felt the deep grumble form in her stomach, hours spent in utter silence at last demanding nourishment for her mistreated body. The galdor sang once more, her spell crafted as she lifted her purse from the neighbouring chair and willed it to slide along her shoulder. Satisfied with having gathered her things, the galdor ceased her song and made her way into the halls of Brunnhold.

The intimately familiar hallways led her towards the cafeteria, her deep emerald pools betraying very little of the anxiety that wore in her mind. She discarded the lingering thoughts of her brother, who was just adapting to a new life living with her. She discarded the thoughts of her employer and his devil-may-care attitude about pretty much anything relegated to her attention. Instead, the galdor carried herself with poise, and her heels clicked on the floor as she wove through the halls and into the cafeteria. Several faces turned towards the woman as she entered, and she allowed the haughtiness of her Anaxan heritage to bleed into all that she did. Her posture was straight, her legs weaving in short, calm strides. The dress she wore was long and black, the petals at the base of the silk garment brushing against the tile.

Normally, Vivian might simply snap her fingers, hailing a passive to her table to place an order. But her assignment (and the poor fool that answered her call) wouldn't deem that as correct treatment. Instead, she approached the line and offered a practised smile to the young man preparing what looked to be quite the hardy (and flavorless) dish. Vivian's stomach, however, groaned with the smell of food that seeped into her senses. While one of her breeding might turn their nose up at such offerings, she was quick to surrender to the need. She offered that practised smile, noting the subtle shiver that carried along the form of the server. A petite thing, Vivian looked her over more than once before a slight shrug affirmed her decision. She took her food, and the galdor left the service area in search of a table to sit at. Though the galdor saw a number of empty tables, recently cleaned and unused, she elected to take one that required handling.

Vivian watched as a young male (for passives could hardly ever be called men) began on another table, clearing it for use, and a soft cough melted from her lips. She raised a hand and offered her best smile towards the male as she called out,

"Could you do this one, too? I'd take another, but... this table's mine," she said, allowing easy laughter to spill forth in an effort to seem inviting. The young Vivian wore her hair in an updo, with striking silver clips clashing with the auburn hair, but matching the delicate silver chains that wrapped loosely around her throat.
User avatar
Lars
Posts: 447
Joined: Sun Nov 25, 2018 1:04 pm
Topics: 44
Race: Passive
: nil igitur mors est ad nos
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
Contact:

Tue Mar 05, 2019 11:37 am

Ophus 40, 2718
Dining Hall | Lunch Hour
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It was the quiet clearing of someone's throat that caught his attention, pulling his thoughts once again from other, needless things and causing the passive to turn his head towards the sound. Surely enough, a galdori woman stood with a raised hand, calling out for his attention to request her table be cleaned. She must've been only a few years younger than himself; she reminded him only slightly of his fellow passive Clover - the auburn hair, the face - but this woman was clean, proper, beautiful in her professionalism.

Not to mention stereotypically galdor, calling a servant over to clear the specific table she wanted rather than moving a few feet over to the clean one beside. Still, it wasn't his place to comment on the matter, and Lars offered a nod of acknowledgement before approaching, leaving the other dirty trays on an empty table so that he could focus on the new mess.

"Certainly, madame," offered the Hessean, blue eyes cast downward as he drew near, "he's sorry for the mess."

It wasn't any fault of his own, of course, but superiors generally liked that sort of thing, he'd learned - their underlings apologizing for the messes they'd made themselves, taking the blame for blameless things. Lars was quick in his movements, pulling the dirty trays from the table and stacking them to the side, grabbing a damp cloth that hung from his pocket in order to wipe down the smooth surface.

By the time he was finished, the table was as good as new, trays lifted from the corner and slipped between his arm and his side for an easier hold. Bowing his head in some gesture of respect beforehand, Lars opened his mouth to speak yet again, "is there anything else you need of him, miss?"

He hoped not. The passive wasn't looking for a repeat of that dreadful dinner in Dentis - who would've known that spilling a drop of juice on a junior professor would get him beaten within an inch of death? Still his recovering ribs ached beneath his skin, though the blonde had learned quickly to ignore the pain. His head was lifted, faraway blue gaze raising to the woman before him.
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