A Current To Purify

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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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Sat Jun 01, 2019 12:38 am

BRUNNHOLD
HAMIS 23, 2719 EARLY AFTERNOON
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"-And they had more. After they rid themselves of him, they had more children to carry on their name - his name, because he wasn't good enough. He wasn't... loved enough. He - you don't think he's unlovable, do you?"

"O - of course not, Lars, that's absurd. How could you ever think I'd believe something like that?"

"He didn't. He knows you, Clover. He trusts you - and more than anything else, he loves you."

"It still feels like I'm in a dream, hearing you say that."

"A pleasant dream, he hopes," it was the first smile he'd cracked in days, weeks even. It split across his face unevenly, one side of his mouth lifted higher than the other, the gesture almost reaching his eyes. Blonde waves cascaded downward on either side of his face, an otherwise perfect golden frame save for the lightening here and there of flour. Bony fingers reached up to push through the strands, knocking a bit of loose flour from their hold, falling to rest upon his pointed nose - it brought the smallest of laughs from his companion.

"It's always a pleasant dream with you there," assured Clover, the auburn-haired woman reaching to brush the flour from Lars' face. He leaned into the touch, eyes closing briefly, smile widening in an almost goofy fashion.

"Let's leave," he offered quietly, "clock the kitchen, our shifts are almost over anyway. The whole month's been nothing but chaos, they're not going to notice if two of us have left a bit early."

His companion was silent as she considered the suggestion, emerald gaze searching the angular face in front of her, delighting in his lighthearted manner. A small smile lifted her own lips, this time, and Clover offered a nod despite Lars' closed eyes.

"Sure. What's the worst that can happen?"

I could think of a few things.

The taller opened his eyes again, pale and ever-void, to look upon his fellow passive and extend a dirty, flour-battered hand. Despite the various other working servants around them, going about their business in the kitchens, Clover reached out to accept.

"Let's go to the gardens. He knows a shortcut."


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"I don't know how to help him, Lars."

He sat across from the student with a guarded expression; eyes focused downward, legs crossed at his ankles as he sat upon the stool. The blonde cleared his throat as he considered, his fingers idly brushing against each other. Morgan sat upon the edge of his bed, shoulders pulled up and in - defensive, Lars noted, and the circles beneath his eyes could only further his suspicions that the student's relationship with his brother had taken a turn since the beginning of the month.

"I'm tired of just saying sorry. I want to help, but how am I supposed to do that? His family's dead, for Alioe's sake, is a simple hug supposed to make that better?"

"No..." the older began, gaze darting to rest upon the brunette's tired form, "...he thinks he needs time. He knows you're sorry, he probably knows you want to help. Stop trying so hard - just be there for him."

Morgan couldn't help but sigh at the simplicity of Lars' response, bringing a hand up to wipe across his face, "and you think that'll help him get through this? Just being normal?"

"It's a start."

The passive stared across the little dorm, watching as the young galdor stood and began to stretch his arms. A habit of Morgan's, he'd noticed in the time since meeting him and Donatien - he hadn't spent a lot of time with them by any means, but he'd visited their shared dorm often enough to get to know their little quirks. Tilting his head, his gaze followed the line of Morgan's left side, down to his feet, to the polished shoes keeping him from the dirty floor. The teenager's voice pulled him from his thoughts, from the utter nothingness that threatened the edges of his eyes.

"Alright, well, I've gotta go find him before I head to my next class, 'kay? You gonna be fine to get back to... wherever you're supposed to be?"

"Oh, he thinks he knows where Donatien is, if you'd like him to take you to him."

The Bastian offered a grunt of approval, slipping his hands into his pockets and nodding towards the door, "sure, thanks scrappy."

Lars offered a smile.

"Of course. You're basically family, at this point."


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"Y-y-y- you can't jus - just tell me t-to calm down, fu-fuckin' scrap, you can't -"

"It's alright," he tried, again, to reassure his weeping brother, "it's alright, Donatien."

His arms were wrapped about the boy tightly, not enough to cause discomfort but just enough to keep the shorter in place. One hand rested on the back of Donatien's head, cold fingers tangled in wavy blonde hair, keeping the boy to cry against his shoulder. Despite his words of rejection, the student had made no move to get away from his older brother's hold, instead leaning into the comforting embrace and allowing his tears to fall freely.

"I can't - I can't g- do this, I c-can't do this without them," the boy sobbed, "they were all - all I had, th - they were my family! The-they they're ju-just... just dead."

"I know."

It was a while before either spoke again. The minutes between were made up of sobs, whimpers, of pleading with invisible beings whilst ignoring the one providing real, tangible comfort. He wasn't unused to being ignored, or even insulted in one's time of pain. Grief did monstrous things to a person, most of all the Savatiers.

What was left of them, anyway.

Eventually the younger must've grown tired of his visible sorrows, choosing instead to sniff and pull away, eyes downcast.

"...I don't know wh - what I've got to do now. I... the house... it must all be gone, if all of them..." unable to continue, Donatien shook his head, finally raising his gaze to meet Lars'.

"The house doesn't matter anyway, I suppose. Wouldn't want to live in it now."

The servant could only nod in solemn understanding.

"I... I haven't seen you cry at all, Lars. I know that... that things didn't go the way you wanted, and... all of that, but - they were still your family, too."

"I mean no disrespect, sir, but I've spent more time without them than I did with them."

He heard his brother sniff again, though it was almost more of a huff, a petulant noise of disapproval.

"How long? How much older than me are you?"

Lars was silent for a few moments, eyes searching his brother's face, before he was finally bothered to speak, "seventeen years without them, today. I can't say I'd remember their faces if I tried."

"Oh..." Donatien breathed, blinking away the last of his tears for the moment, "is today your birthday, then? I'm not sure what a passive's meant to be gifted."

"I don't need anything," the older assured, "but you could walk me to my next shift, if you wanted to be kind."


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