[M] No Sunlight

Lars has a difficult time containing his emotions.

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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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Tue Mar 26, 2019 11:46 pm

THE KITCHENS
ON THE NIGHT OF OPHUS 24TH, 2718
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Rustling behind him, he could hear the familiar sound of aprons swishing and moving against pale blue uniforms, mingling with the sounds of idle chatter and direction; the scent of flour and yeast below his nose overpowering the far less noticeable smell of vegetables being chopped and diced - the passives worked tirelessly as usual in the kitchens of the university, prepping everything they'd need for the next day's meals. What was it they'd mentioned tomorrow's lunch hour would include? He wouldn't be arriving until mid-lunch, but he could recall the mention of garmon and mashed potatoes again; gravy and vegetables to suit.

Long fingers stuck to the dough; he scraped the remnants from his hands before adding a touch of flour and continuing on. He pushed into the dough with the palm of his hand, pulling it back just as soon to roll it gently across the floured surface until it was a size and shape more suitable. Setting it down onto the pan with the rest of the balls of dough to be made into rolls, he pulled another clump from the dough, repeating the process once again with a calmness in expression only found in the kitchens.

"Hey, Lars?" the voice of Andre disturbed his focus; dragged dull eyes upward from dough to look at the other passive, "this student's asking for you. Didn't say what he wanted, but he's at the door."

Lars offered a small nod of acknowledgement, wordlessly scraping the dough from his fingers again before wiping them against his apron. It was with great reluctance that he left his station, for once not at all uncertain of what might await him at the door, and the Hessean squeezed between his fellow servants to proceed towards the exit, careful not to jostle any elbows and cause any injuries.

Before he could even reach the door, the boy awaiting him greeted, "hey!"

and Lars was surprised to see a plume of raven-colored hair rather than blonde. He'd admit he had no clue what the boy's name was; he hadn't asked the day before and hadn't figured it would matter. Seemingly he had been mistaken - his brother's companion offered a smile that felt far too sly than it should've been, peering through the doorway at the passive's evident confusion as he approached. The student took his place leaning against the doorframe, holding the door open with what the servant could only assume was magic, considering his hands were stuffed into his pockets.

He had thought there were some sort of rules about that type of thing - about "Noble Uses" or something, and not being reliant on magic... but he'd be the first to admit he had no clocking idea what it all meant. On any note, he was pulled from his curious thoughts as the boy began to speak.

"Lau... rentius? Right?"

"Lars is fine, sir."

"That's easier - hey, so, Dona's being all uptight and weird since you talked to us yesterday, and I think you two need to have more of a talk. If for nothing else, then to get him to stop being weird," offered the Bastian, and the passive was surprised only more by his casualness as he spoke to a servant, "I mean, it's gotta be weird for you too, right? Probably doesn't make it any less weird just because you're a scrap."

The older drew a breath, glancing away from the student to focus instead on the fixed door, "mhm. That's fine, sir."

The brunette shook his head, an exaggerated look of discomfort crossing his face that only fed into the fake shiver of his body, "just call me Morgan. 'Sir' makes me feel like a weird old man - anyway, come by our dorm once you're done here."

If he hadn't been dealing with it for the majority of his years, he would've been just as surprised by a student's ability to command he and his fellow servants as he was by Morgan's casual attitude towards him. Hesitantly, Lars gave a nod, "alright, s - ...Morgan."

It was almost amusing how quickly the boy flashed another goofy smile, just for his focus to deplete and allow the door to close on his face. The Hessean heard a pained, irritated noise from the other side, followed by a string of curses that quieted as the student left.

While the blonde didn't want to speak to the younger boys in the first place, he wanted to return to his own dorm even less, and he'd be lying if he claimed to not be curious about the state of his family. He hadn't known that his parents had had another child after his entrance into servitude... but it was ever more surprising to the passive that they hadn't even told the child about his existence. He was well aware that most families disregarded that their passive children had ever existed, and he couldn't exactly fix that fact - but he would not be made invisible. Not to a brother; not any longer.

Not when the entire world already looked through him.

Returning to his work was made more difficult with these things on his mind; the blonde distracted with questions and curiosities, wondering what in Alioe's name his brother might ask of him or if he'd even want to talk at all. Morgan had approached alone, after all, and considering the way he'd spoken of the other boy, Lars would've been surprised if Donatien had been made aware of their impending meeting.

His hands were too cold to knead, twitching too much to roll dough into shape, and the passive resigned himself to leave the rest of it for someone else. He did manage to finish up the pans he'd already prepared; brushing the slightest amount of butter across each uncooked roll, handing the pans off to another before pulling off his apron and washing the evidence of work from his hands.

Something bad's going to happen. You can feel it.

"Shh," he hushed, leaving pushing off from the washbasin to start heading towards the door.

You heard him yesterday - he's the Savatier heir, not you. Had you not realized that years ago?

I'm still the firstborn, the servant hesitated at the door, head turning slowly to glance back at the kitchens as they began to empty out. Shifts were changing; for a few minutes after the current servants left they would be empty, save for the overseer outside.

Firstborn means nothing when you're passive.

A peaceful moment passed in which his fellows passed him by; uttering goodbyes and goodnights and promises of seeing each other in the morning. It was strangely serene to stand in the kitchen all alone.

Hands reached out, grabbing onto the lightweight, long table that served as the station he'd used, fingernails digging slightly into the edge as he pulled it with a hard jerk to the floor.

"Then I'll be the only damned one," the words fell from his mouth with a rushed force, a gritty aggression that rumbled like a roar in his throat.

Pulling his leg back, he kicked against the table once, and again, and again, until the surface began to dent against the force and he elected to stop before any lasting damage was done. He failed to notice the sound as the door opened again, his breaths loud as he attempted to catch them in his lungs, so it was all the more startling when a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

A gasp escaped him, the Hessean turning around quickly enough that it forced the other person back a small distance - "Clover, what th - what is wrong with you?"

"I - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the woman replied quickly, raising her hands, "is... is everything okay, Lars? Why's the table on the floor?"

She's still clueless.

"How stupid are you?" Lars inquired incredulously, staring for a moment through gray-filtered eyes at the auburn-haired servant as her mouth opened to respond. He reached out suddenly, covering her mouth with one hand, "don't speak, Clover, gods don't say another thing. I can't handle it anymore," while the other hand moved to shove at her shoulder.

She was pushed back only a little, but another shove with both hands to her shoulders was enough to throw her off balance, sending her to the floor with a shocked yelp.

"No," he murmured, irritation dripping from the word, "none of that."

He followed her to the floor gracefully, dropping to his knees to straddle her waist as hands rushed forward again, fingers finding their place about her throat and failing to budge even as she pulled against his arms.

"L -" croaked Clover, emerald eyes wide as they darted between the man's arms and his focused face, "s - sto -" but he pressed harder against the soft skin; crushing her attempts to speak. The blonde leaned down, until golden waves brushed against the woman's face and his breath could be felt against her skin.

"I told you Clover," gave the passive, "I told you to stop. I've given you what you want, Clover, I've been so good to you. Haven't I been kind?"

Weakly the woman nodded, though the action only strengthened his grip.

"Yes, I have, and it's been very difficult, Clover. Don't you know how hard it is for me here? Don't you remember what they did to me? I only wanted you to stop talking to me in public, Clover, was I not clear enough? Do I have to stop it permanently Clover, or will you stop? Will you stop please? I want to love you Clover, can't you stop since I've been so kind?"

It took a moment for the Hessean to remember that the woman couldn't speak under his hold, and finally his grip was loosened, the woman gasping for air beneath him but nodding frantically nonetheless.

"Good, good, that's wonderful, dear," he whispered, "that makes me very happy, Clover, don't you know how happy you make me?"

"Y - y - ye -" she broke off into a cough, the blonde's fingers moving now to smooth into her hair, a comforting sensation against the pain in her throat.

The next shift is coming. Get out.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Soon we wont have to worry about this - about any of it. Just hold on a little longer."

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