Into The Lion's Den

my brother, I'd follow you in

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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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Sun Mar 24, 2019 11:23 pm

CAFETERIA
OPHUS 23, 2718 LUNCH HOUR
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"Morgan, could you pass me my fork please?" requested Donatien, the already-awkward teen straining to stretch across the table's surface, reaching for the fork that had jumped out of his hand and landed on the empty seat across from his own. He heard a grumble from nearby, a typical reaction from the student's brunette companion; nonetheless Morgan grabbed the fork from the seat and pushed the utensil into his friend's reaching hand.

"Thanks," the blonde seated himself again, blue-tinted hazel eyes glancing to his fellow student with a small smile.

"Yeah yeah," Morgan offered in response, returning his own fork to his hand to continue with his meal, "that's the last time I'm picking up after you today, 'kay? I can only grab so many books and papers and forks in a day."

"That's why we've got scraps," said Donatien rather dismissively, quite obviously not worried with his companion's warning. Scooping a bite of mashed potatoes onto his fork, he brought it to his mouth, a sudden and strange feeling brushing against his field for a brief moment - it felt as if someone was watching him; glaring at the back of his head. He glanced over his shoulder as he swallowed - the potatoes were particularly good today, thankfully - but found nothing but empty space behind him, and shrugged the feeling off as he turned back to his meal.

"So why did you come back, Dona? I thought you were spending the whole break at home. I mean, I'm not complaining - but I kind of am. You're annoying."

The Hessean couldn't help the curling of his lips as they pulled upward into another smile, "well, it's certainly not to see you, is it?" he offered first, "no, but I also figured I might as well prep for the new year here. I'll get some studying in, at least."

"Ew. You don't even know what you're supposed to be studying yet, Dona," the brunette rolled his eyes playfully, evidenced by the fact that the young Bastian couldn't hold back his own smile, "you're a real ersekisser."

"You're not wrong. I kiss you, don't I?"

Another grumble from the brunette, but no words of protest.

Donatien already knew why Morgan remained within Brunnhold's fortified walls over each and every break, and didn't bother to ask what his latest excuse was. He'd known the Bastian for just over seven years; Morgan had been the first to befriend him in his first year (the brunette's second) and the two had been quite inseparable since.

He already knew that the university was nothing short of a safe haven for the other student, and that no other place in Anaxas felt like home to the Bastian.

It wasn't long before the two had finished their lunches; Donatien reached for Morgan's emptied tray, forever impressed by the boy's ability to eat any and everything on his plate, stacking it below his own, which still held remnants of mashed potatoes and whatever daring sauce the kitchen scraps had ventured to use on the garmon today. Stepping away from the table, Donatien directed himself toward the kitchen -

"Oh!"

- and walked straight into the passive that had been coming to fetch said trays.

"Sweet Lady," hissed the shorter of the blondes, hazel eyes scanning the taller's now-stained uniform, ears picking up on the sound of his boyfriend's laughter from the table, "I was coming to bring it - ugh. Here, I've got some napkins."

"Sorry, sir," he heard from the passive as he turned around, grabbing the unused napkins and throwing a glare to his giggling companion. He could hear the clacking of trays as the servant bent to pick them off of the floor, and offered out the napkins only once the man had straightened back up, trays held tightly at his side.

The taller blonde accepted with a small bow of his head, using his free hand to wipe the bits of mashed potatoes and sauce from his shirt, though Donatien imagined the uniform would need to be laundered to get those stains out. It wasn't that big of a deal, the passive could just get one of his other passive friends from the laundries to fix it up.

"What's your name?" questioned the student, "don't tell me you're Djoriah's assistant - I can't handle her little pranks this year, not anymore, you tell her that, okay?"

"Uh - no, sir, he doesn't know any Djoriah; his name is Lars."

"Oh. Well, if you see her, then. That's all," he gave in dismissal, turning back to seat himself across from Morgan, only turning his head to meet a steely-blue gaze again when he was addressed.

"Sorry, sir, he doesn't mean to intrude, but - could he ask your name, sir? You just seem very... familiar."

As if, he couldn't help but think, "Donatien."

Underneath the table, a swift kick came to knock against his shin; Morgan earning yet another glare.

"Donatien Aloysious Savatier. Sorry, my friend here gets a real kick out of that name."

"Oh, come on, it's such a big and flowery name," started Morgan, eyes flicking to rest upon the passive, "he's bashful. He's only the heir to a shitload of goldmines and farming land and oh, the biggest house I've ever seen. Nothing special, right?"

It was Morgan's turn to be kicked, the brunette letting out a pained gasp and reaching for his wounded shin while Donatien turned to the hovering servant. To his surprise, the older man's expression had shifted drastically; eyes a pool of blue that pin-point pupils could only hope not to drown within - he looked as if he'd seen a ghost, and Donatien's confusion only spiked when the servant spoke.

"Savatier," breathed the older blonde, "from Hesse, right?"

"Uh, yes... you've heard of us, I take it?"

"Oh, yes," nodded Lars, the servant daring to drop the dirtied trays back onto the surface of the table, sliding into the seat beside a wildly confused Donatien. Even Morgan, in all his humor, looked to the passive with a suspicious glint to dark eyes.

"I remember hearing about Aloysious Savatier, when I was young. He and his brother Laurent were the ones that made the Savatier fortune," continued the servant, "they claimed their partnership was... divine, that Ophur himself lived through them."

"Right, yeah, of course," granted Donatien with a half-nod, "I remember hearing that one."

"Well you must not have listened, Donatien," suddenly snapped the older, widening the eyes of both students and sending a twinge of both irritation and shock through adolescent fields, "because a Savatier doesn't believe in Ophur, unless you've decided to disregard that family value."

"Excuse me? I - get out of here, scrap," hissed the rustled Donatien, "in the future, maybe don't insult and pretend to know better than your superiors? Get out of here or I'll get your patron."

"You are not my superior, kid."

"Gods, who in clocking hell do you think you are?"

"Laurentius Illizad Savatier II, and I'm your fucking brother."

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