Laboratory Beta
Well, Niamh had plenty of ideas about what she wanted to but but it was highly unlikely that they'd allow her to further her education, especially as they already disapproved of her being so studious.
First of all, what was the point? Her mother's education hadn't amounted to much given the sort of role she'd been inserted into in life so what was the point of filling the girl's head with ideas that would only make her an unhappy wife. Secondly, who wanted a girl who was so concerned with such things? Intelligence wasn't an attractive quality in a broodmare.
It didn't matter what Niamh wanted and she wouldn't really have much choice in the end, agree or be disowned. The young woman was somewhat resigned to the latter occurring, which was why she'd been saving money, it was the reason why she'd taken the job that she had and stuck with it. Well... one of the reasons she'd stayed.
Which brought her to the other thing she was worrying about. The girl had received a letter from her father the previous evening basically demanding her presence in the coming days and the redhead had been upset - was still upset - about it, which was why she'd made the decision that she had. It had been silly and impulsive, the need for a distraction obviously driving her to the height of stupidity. When she'd gotten up this morning, Niamh had been full of a manic optimism, clearly overcompensating and it had prompted her to pop to the kitchens to have words with the passives. She'd made a very polite request - much to their discomfort - for them to make a cake, including a little icing if it wasn't too much trouble. For today was Harper Moore's birthday and the student had decided that she ought to help him celebrate it.
Of course, the bravado that had existed in the early afternoon was gone by the end of the same period but by then it was far too late. The eldest Madden couldn't go back on her earlier whim, not when the passives would already have put the work in and how ungrateful would she seem if he asked it of them or worse demanded and then changed her mind? It just wasn't on because it wasn't fair. That didn't mean that she didn't put things off a little bit, worried about going to see the man who she felt certain would probably be working away, forgetting everything around him including his own birthday.
However, she couldn't put off going to see him indefinitely and she didn't actually want to do so. Niamh quite wanted to see Harper, which was part of the problem. It was why it made her consider her appearance carefully before she went to collect the requested baked goods. The young woman wanted to make some effort to at least be noticeably pretty - even if it was likely to go unnoticed - and she was anxious about appearing too obvious.
Professors and students shouldn't have relationships of a romantic or sexual nature, the power dynamic definitely skewed towards the older professor in society's eyes. The older professor who should certainly know better. That didn't mean that there weren't those students who went out of their way to seduce their teachers. The last thing that Niamh wanted to be accused of that.
So she considered and she agonised over her limited choice of wardrobe, the young woman not really requiring much outside of her uniform and so she either had casual clothes, often quite comfortable and a bit frumpy (even she knew that) that weren't really meant for wearing out and about and clothes for going out in the Stacks. Not that Niamh went out too often and even then she was quite understated. So she had to settle for a mix of things. She decided that something simple would work. She had a lovely taupe skirt that was very plain but quite versatile. It was calf-length, cinched lightly at the waist before falling down almost straight, the barest folds in it that couldn't really be called pleats. It had always been fine to her until she looked at herself in the mirror while wearing a white blouse and suddenly realised that it was terrible. Had she worn this? Gods, no wonder other girls despaired of her.
Taupe skirt was definitely out. She might have to burn it in fact. Had she ever worn it in Harper's presence before? Circle preserve her, she bloody well hoped not!
Did avoiding making an obvious effort mean that she had to look like... that? She certainly hoped not. Although... she did have a nice skirt, didn't she? It was ankle-length (that was modest enough right?) but it was fitted at the hips (she just about had those), which might show off something of the minimal assets she possessed, and it gradually widened to the hem. And it was quite pretty with its soft green floral print that she'd been told worked well with her hair and her eyes, and it had subtle white flounces at the hem topped with a band of lace. Maybe it was a bit much to wear in the ordinary run of things but it wasn't too far off her normal uniformed state so was it really so bad?
And there was a form-fitting white blouse to go with it, the sleeves slightly ballooned but tight at the cuffs, ruffles at the neck, that gathered frill continuing down the front on either side of the buttons. It wasn't like it was over the top ruffling, she could get away with it, right? Right?
Gosh, scandal was going to occur, it really was but she opted for cosmetics as well. She'd never been good with those. She worked to darken her lashes, the attempt something that had to be repeated more than once before she could say that she was somewhat happy with the result. It was subtle, not too much as it ought to be. That was the correct way but she kept going, ignoring the derisive voice within her, the names that she called herself, the self-disgust. She managed to line the top of her eyelids, getting a dark line that was thin enough before she added soft brown to the lids themselves.
You're such a whore. Mother would be proud, the voice in her head snide as she tried to push it away, to bury it deep but it didn't go away as she added a subtle pink to her lips and fled in the direction of the kitchens before she could stop herself and change her mind.
Father would be sick if he saw you, smack you for slutting for some passive-loving professor.
Circle, no, I'm good, I'm not Mother, I'm not, I'm not doing anything wrong, she thought back at it, feet moving faster, shoes clattering loudly on the floor as if that would drown it all out, smother the memories that rose.
.
It was impossible to scrub the recollection from her mind of his hand rough, twisted in her hair as he yanked it back, the girl child sobbing while he rubbed her face raw, words filling her young ears that weren't directed at her but were about her.
Child whore. Tart.
Words thrown at her mother, abuse, so much abuse and then Fionn had come in as a result of Niamh's bawling, entirely unbidden and he'd demanded that she be left alone. Father's anger had somehow increased, the Incumbent roaring as he backhanded the boy across the face and sent him flying, the edge of his forehead striking the corner of the vanity and the blood spurting, painting everything while her Father left, chaos remaining in his wake.
She wasn't supposed to wear makeup. She wasn't. She was meant to be a good girl. She was meant to be good and she wasn't being good. Harper wasn't the sort of man that her father wanted her to make herself pretty for, wasn't marriage material. If Toibin Madden had his way, his daughter wouldn't even associate with the man. She was likely to get an earful about working with him and Professor Devlin when she got home. But if he knew about her infatuation, had even an inkling of it...
If she hadn't gotten as far as the kitchens and been seen then there might still have been a chance to turn around. Maybe she could still go back, clean herself up, make herself appropriately dowdy and then go to see the professor. Or maybe it'd be better if she didn't go at all but she could hardly eat a whole chocolate cake by herself, the layers thick and luxurious looking, the icing certainly not as minimalist as she'd hoped or expected. It would be mean to have asked the passives to make such a thing and run away with it herself because she was being a fool.
Who was going to see her like this? Some passives who didn't care about what galdori got up to or their comparatively trivial concerns? Harper Moore who wasn't likely to notice in any case? It wasn't as if Father was going to find out so she was safe... wasn't she?
She was definitely a little dewy-eyed as she left the kitchens, blinking rapidly to stop herself from crying because after the effort and the decision that she'd come to the last thing she needed was to make her makeup run. She walked as briskly as she dared given her rather chocolatey burden and the pale clothing she was wearing that would broadcast the tiniest stain to the world at large.
There was a nervous energy running through her as she walked, heading for the familiar laboratory, wondering what she was meant to say. Assuming that he was there. Yes, he was wont to live - quite literally - and work in the lab but what if he wasn't? What if he'd gone home to Muffey? What if one of his colleagues had dragged him off to make him take a break and celebrate? What if he was out with some other woman who'd managed to catch his eye who was smart enough and pretty enough and wouldn't need to pad the top of a corset to pretend that she had a bust? She hadn't even bothered with that because what was the point, what was the point in lying to herself? She had to listen to the snide comments often enough, her brother's friends particularly cruel to the frigid, titless bitch because that was what she was, wasn't it? The idea that Moore, or anyone else, might ever think that she was trying to seduce the man was laughable. With what?
And if he was there, what was she meant to say? Oh, I brought cake because I found out it was your birthday by eavesdropping? Oh yes, it would all be marvellous! She really hadn't thought this true and the redhead was having many regrets but she was on her course now and she was going to see it through, no matter how humiliating it might turn out to be. He might just tell her to go away, not wanting the silly girl to disturb his work and if he did that then she was going to shatter into a million little shards and he'd probably unthinkingly and unknowingly grind them underfoot.
All too soon - or maybe all too late - Niamh arrived at her destination, adjusting her grip on the cake so that she could hold it with one hand, leaving her free to knock on the door and turn the handle, returning to a two-handed grip when it clicked open. She used her elbow to push the door inwards, coming through it to... chaos.
Harper Moore was absentminded at the best of times. The man became very absorbed in his work and so it wasn't unusual for things to became a bit disorganised and... slovenly. This was... this was a new level of mess. There was paper everywhere. The scrawled sheets seemed to be absolutely everywhere, every surface littered with them or some other artefact of his work and that included on the floor. It looked as if he might have laid them out on the ground at one point for some unclear reason. There were teacups dotted around the place as well, some leaning askew from their saucers, the dregs of their contents plain to see. There was every sign that the man had slept there, the couch bearing clear hallmarks of use especially as the man had forgotten to tidy up anything at all, blankets thrown haphazardly from where they'd been tossed back. And in the midst of it all was the whirlwind himself with ink staining his fingers and smeared across his forehead.
The girl stared, exuding a shocked breath. Hazel eyes were wide in her flushed face, the walk and the excitement having filled her visage with colour, and she might have blushed at the sight of it all, what she'd so innocently walked into if she wasn't so warm already.
"Um... good evening, professor. I... don't mean to impose, especially as I can see that you're... busy." Her gaze travelled around the room, more than a little dismay in her features as she used her foot to gently push the door shut behind her. "I'd heard that it was your birthday so I-I-I brought cake," she explained, holding up the offering in question as if it wasn't already obvious enough. Gods, she had no idea where she was going to put it? What was the man doing? What on Vita could be so important that he hadn't noticed this? There was even a lived-in smell in here that wasn't wholly pleasant.
Maybe that was why her tongue kept going entirely unbidden. "Well, I think that you could use a break in any case and then we can see if we can't clean this place up a bit because honestly, professor, it really is a state," she chided, a new voice screaming wordlessly in her head as she just carried on, as practical as can be.
"I know that I'm meant to help you with your research but I don't think that means that I'm meant to pick up things after you. I'm not a maid, your maid, I'm not um..."
Okay, now she was blushing because she'd managed to have an unfortunate thought in the middle of declaring her non-maid status. No, she was that, a virgin, yes but then the thought had kept going in line with the words, especially that little voice that said that it wanted him to be the one that-
"So where will I put the cake?" she asked with loud enthusiasm.
Gods, don't let him notice, don't let him notice, don't let him notice-