[Closed] A Friend in Need? (Yazad)

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Brunnhold's college town, located inside the university grounds.

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Fionn
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Thu Dec 24, 2020 12:28 pm

Dentis 17, 2719 | Afternoon
Some café, The Stacks
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If something occurred repeatedly then it was supposed to become familiar, a habit, and yet Fionn didn’t know that he’d ever get used to this idea of having a day off, despite having taken a number of them at this point. It was strange to wake up as the sun peeked its way into his room, bleary-eyed and feeling the effects of Umberto’s strange hours, and being able to tell himself that he could go back to sleep for as long as he liked. He’d certainly been tired enough to go slip back into slumber this morning, pulling the bedclothes up over his head to cocoon himself in darkness, but it hadn’t been exactly restful. The teenager kept awakening with a start, convinced that he’d overslept before his memory caught up with his panicked brain.

When he’d eventually dragged himself out of bed, it had still been too early for the boy’s liking, the long hours with nothing to fill them stretching out ahead of him. It wouldn’t do to have him moping about the house all day, the academic certainly wouldn’t approve and even if the man stepped out, Fionn hardly wanted to be on edge as he prepared for a quick, ideally unnoticed escape just to remain indoors. Umberto would be ill-pleased if he caught him here, so determined that the passive should have time off as other servants did, failing to comprehend how difficult that was for the youth to achieve.

Instead, the middle Madden had to dress in his ‘human’ guise, the passive blues discarded for the day as he bundled up for the cooling Dentis weather and left his confines with his drawing things. From there, Fionn simply walked, bundle of pencils tucked away in his coat pocket and his drawing paper cradled to his chest while he traversed the streets of the Stacks with no particular destination in mind beyond ‘away’.

The area nearest to the Bastian’s home had become exceptionally familiar to him, but his knowledge beyond it was growing every time he went on one of these excursions. Coming across a strange new place was almost an adventure, the youth sure to go unrecognised, but often anxious and uncertain all the same. There was safety in familiarity, comfort in predictability and he always found himself furtively seeking those landmarks that would lead back to the world that he knew, never giving the impression that he was lost, even when he couldn’t tell one twisting street or one shadowy alleyway from another.
Some sections of the university city were more affluent than others, and while there would be more members of the lower races in the poorer areas, they were the sorts of places where Fionn was more likely to stick out considering the quality of his clothing—second-hand, but good material and not heavily patched—and the way he spoke. It was all about finding a comfortable middle ground so that when he inevitably settled down somewhere, he would be less likely to be kicked out again—and Fionn would settle somewhere; the season was beginning to grow too cold to linger outside.

The boy didn’t know how long he walked, the overcast sky hiding the sun from view so that he couldn’t properly judge the passage of time. The dullness of the day made it feel later than it probably was, closer to the gloom of approaching night rather than noon, which might have been and gone for all the passive knew.

While he maintained a brisk pace, the chill air gnawed at him over time in spite of his layers, leaving his skin icy and his bones faintly aching. Only when a slight shiver had set in and the teenager was left wondering what warmth felt like, only then did he venture indoors, falling into step with a group of humans—empty, so empty with neither field nor nexus—as they entered a café. With the flurry of new activity, it was easier to go unnoticed by those that worked there, the distinctive flash of blond hair carefully tucked away beneath a cap so that it didn’t draw the eye.

It was a smaller establishment than he’d thought from outside, which meant that this might prove more difficult than he’d first believed, fewer working here, more chance that he’d be noticed, even though it was busy. He found himself a table, snatching up a used cup and saucer along the way before the server could clear it. A good ruse, something that could probably buy him a fair bit of time, buy him the day if it’d been a larger place but here…

The youth attempted to relax, quick to remove his coat and doing his best not to shiver as the heat soaked into his limbs. He was supposed to have been here for a while if he’d already gotten his order so he couldn’t start shivering as if he’d just stepped in through the door. He placed his sketchpad in front of him, arranged his pencils on the table and then set to work.

It began simply enough—proper—as he worked on a warm-up, considering the cup before him, sketching the ovals of its rim, the saucer, curves marked on the page before being erased, revised, erased again. When it began, he could remember the pretense, the fact that he should pick up the cup and pretend to drink before setting it back just so, turning it to align with what he’d been drawing. However, after a few minutes, he forgot to keep up the charade, grew exceptionally comfortable as he loosely crossed his legs, setting his knee against the edge of the table as he rested the sketchpad against it.

Fionn was working on adding some shape to his representation by shading in curved lines when a shadow fell over him.

“Can I get you somet’in’, lad?” the man asked, eyes moving to the cup. Fionn looked at it too, tilting up the peak of his cap a little as he considered the contents of the cup, the remnants of the tea having set into the porcelain, obviously having been left to stand for quite some time.

“Uh no, I’m all right. Thanks,” the passive replied, fixing a smile on his lips that was artificial, almost nervous as he gazed up at the… owner? Human, neatly dressed—nicely dressed—with his salt-and-pepper hair and his greying, twitching moustache, considering the servant with a knowing air. There was something a little hard in those grey eyes, as he considered the youth before him and something in those eyes told Fionn that he knew—or suspected.

“Well, lad, if you aren’t going to buy somet’in’ then I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. I know it’s cold out and you’re more’n welcome to stay—so long as you’re paying.”

The blond licked his lips, considering how well he could lie, or rather how likely he was to be believed.

“Do you usually rush your customers out the door soon as they finish their drinks?“ Fionn retorted, chuckling, trying for good-humoured, joking, and wondering if he succeeded.

“No, I don’t usually chase customers out when they finish their drinks, but I’ve been watching you and I’m not sure when you came in, I didn’t see you getting served and you haven’t touched… your drink... in awhile either. There’s nothing left to drink so… are you going to order something or am I going to have to ask you to leave?”

The teenager made a show of looking past the man, thinking on his feet.

“Actually, I’m waiting for someone- Well, they said they’d meet me here—a friend,” he explained, not expecting to see anyone even remotely familiar.

“Waiting for someone? Well, I’m sure that you can have somet’in’ while you wait, and I’m sure you and your… friend will be staying… as customers.”

Paying in other words.

Fionn’s eye had been drawn to an unexpectedly familiar face, not that he knew the person per se, but an awareness built purely on sight. Never spoken, never been this near and yet he knew them; it would be difficult to forget such a peculiar… individual.

The youth had no idea if they were a man or a woman but now that they’d come in here and there was less distance between them at other times, he could feel…

The nexus told him that they were passive, something that seemed wholly unexpected, but the proof appeared to be undeniable. Could it belong to someone else? No one else seemed to be a likely candidate, but then he didn’t exactly look like a candidate himself. At least this… passive who dressed like a man—no skirt anyways—did seem to be a servant so that certainly lent credence to this one being the passive, whatever sex.

The proprietor caught him looking.

“That your friend?”

Fionn paused. It stretched onwards, a beat too long, two beats, caught in uncertainty. He couldn’t say yes, not with any confidence at least, because if he said yes and he didn’t interact with them…

Saying no would buy him time but it was too late for that, the man had a knowing smile on his face.

“Who do you think you’re codding, lad?” he remarked, turning away and taking a step towards that bizarre… creature. “Excuse me… do you know this boy? He seems to think that he can stay here without buying anything if he says he’s waiting for someone.”

There was something smug in that question, an undertone, subtle enough that he could hear it and it was all too clear that he expected the answer to be ‘no’. What else could it be?

“Fuck!” the servant muttered under his breath, half-risen now, his sketches forgotten on the table as he gazed at the other passive, something pleading in his brown eyes.

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Yazad
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Thu Dec 24, 2020 2:21 pm

Some Café, The Stacks
17th of Dentis, 2719; Afternoon
Y azad had favorite days.

They were the days that he spends in all-consuming productivity when he manages to finish every scheduled task before the sun lazily lays down on its place of slumber, somewhere beyond the sky’s horizon. When the world begins to wear the darkened mantle of the night, when the gold of sunlight is no longer bathing his surroundings in natural light, then the day is just...over. He was not quite certain why he felt so, but it is a feeling that had stayed with him since childhood, and the adult that he was now did nothing to change that. Earlier, his morning was the usual affair that is every other morning in his life. Waking up, cleaning, breakfast, more daily chores, some chores that require him to go out, and there he was; mentally ticking the last box of things that he needed to do today.

His visit to the haberdasher had concluded rather quickly with him placing an order for a number of buttons that would replace lost ones from several articles of clothing that Sophronios owned, and new ribbons for the passive’s clocked stockings. No one besides himself was going to see what he wore beneath his nightgown, but Yazad needed not to keep a set of worn, three-year-old brown ribbons if he could have teal ones. The shop’s owner, Hurte bless his jolly heart, shaved a few tallies off the price of the ribbons without Yazad even asking while encouraging the passive’s continuous future patronage. And now, the raven-haired man was walking down the windy streets of The Stacks, his gloved hand slipping the tiny paper bag containing his new strips of cloth in his pocket.

In a perfect world where everything functions in accordance with Yazad’s convenience, the day would not be as cold as it was. But at the very least, the man told himself while looking at his vague red-nosed reflection on a nearby shop window, it was not raining miserably like it did the day before. Shapes moved beyond the glass, some idle and others with more purpose in their motions. Curiously, the man’s gaze lifted up to a perfectly new sign that sat atop the entrance. A cafe. More and more of these had been opening up around The Stacks, or to be exact, certain parts of it. The ones he often passed were occupied by what he could easily recognize as Brunnhold students, if only by field and age.

‘Live a little!’ was something that Yazad had heard several times. It was not ever addressed to him. No, it was always meant for his master, spoken by the galdor’s merry and entirely contrasting younger sibling. Such a statement would generally be followed by further prodding for Sophronios to ‘let loose’ and ‘try something new’. Both outrageous notions to both scholar and servant. One does not simply go around every whim and fancy that they get, or they are no better than mindless beasts. But the chilling gusts of a dry Dentis day were nearly pushing him off his feet, and the passive had done all that he had to do. This, he reasoned with his stricter side, might warrant a brief stop for a warm drink before his eventual return to the galdor’s residence.

He already knew his order. Hot cocoa. Always hot cocoa, especially in temperatures such as these. Calmly, the servant smoothed his coat, brushed his hair with his fingers, and then stepped through the door into the promise of warmth and pleasantly semi-sweet drinks. It was a humble but neat establishment, with most tables already filled in. There were a few vacant ones further away from the entrance, and those are the ones he walked towards. There was some manner of lively conversation that lacked actual friendliness between an older man and a young patron who appeared to be less than relaxed in his position. And while eavesdropping into another’s exchange was tactless, the older of the two did not seem to want to be subtle.

"Pardon me?" The older man, the one who appeared to be a cafe worker, faced him with a question that the passive was not expecting. It was not really aimed at him, it did not feel like it was. There was a snide quality to both the other’s tone of voice and the lopsided smile that he wore. Clearly, the man was not expecting Yazad to answer with a ‘yes’. There was, clearly enough, an issue about buying and waiting for someone. Slowly, the passive’s pale green eyes traveled to the boy in question. A very unfamiliar face, with very unique features. Not someone whom Yazad could say, with any shred of a clear conscience, that he knew. The boy was also quiet, and not only in sound. Ah, another like him. That, in itself, was amusing.

And then, his eyes met the boy’s pleading ones. It was almost the look of a child who had gotten himself into a bit of trouble which he had no control over. In fact, if the boy looked a few years younger, Yazad would very confidently call him an actual child. He knew not who this was, but the need for protection in the other’s gaze tugged effortlessly on his heartstrings.

Yazad turned his head towards the smirking worker, his rose-colored lips bearing a placid smile. "We could get to know each other better.” It was a true enough statement, with no lies or falsehoods on Yazad’s part. “It shall not trouble you if I were to pay for his order from your fine establishment, I assume?" Yazad only lingered for a few seconds in which he politely inclined his head towards the older male, then gracefully seated himself into the chair opposite of the agitated boy. His hand, with a polite and cordial motion, ushered the boy to sit down.

“I am rather unadventurous with my orders, and so I shall request hot cocoa for myself, and--what would you like, good sir?" The words that the smiling man spoke lightheartedly as he crossed his legs and rested his hands on his lap were meant for both to hear.

A Friend In Need? Yes, Indeed
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Fionn
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Thu Dec 24, 2020 6:38 pm

Dentis 17, 2719 | Afternoon
Some café, The Stacks
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Image
The boy had panicked when he realised that he’d been caught out, it was the only reason why he had regarded this stranger imploringly. However, there was undeniable anger simmering beneath the surface, beginning to build as he waited like prey that had been cornered for this to play out.

How fucking dare he! Fionn could understand the proprietor wanting to make money, and needing paying customers to do so. It would have rankled, of course, especially given that the teenager wanted to spend some time out of the cold where he could sit quietly and draw in peace—he was doing no harm after all. However, what really bothered him was how personal the man had made it, acting as if he was deriving some sort of sadistic pleasure from catching the passive out in his lies.

His hand found the edge of the table, gripping it tightly instead of curling it into a fist and bloodying that smug mouth of his.

If he had any self-respect, the passive would gather up his belongings, raise his head high and leave, telling the ersehole that he didn’t have any interest in this establishment anyway. If he had a chance to leave while he still had some dignity remaining.

Alioe preserve him, as if he’d had any dignity in well, in years honestly.

It was probably pure pigheadedness that kept him rooted to the spot, something stubborn in him that refused to back down even though he’d clearly lost. It was this sort of thing that had gotten him into trouble so many times in the past, this unwillingness to what? Concede defeat?

It was almost enough to make him laugh when the winsome creature turned its pale green eyes from Fionn to the café worker and offered an entirely unexpected response. Frankly, the blond was gobsmacked that this pretty person—they were undeniably attractive, even if he couldn’t place what they were— had apparently decided to do him a favour. This passive hadn’t given a flat-out ‘no’, hadn’t actually given any indication that they were strangers, although the answer was a curious one—as was the offer that followed it.
He was grateful, sure, but he also couldn’t understand what the other’s angle was—there had to be an angle. There was no way that the other had decided to do him a favour out of the goodness of his—her? Its?—heart, and he had to believe that there was an ulterior motive because there was always an ulterior motive. While it was the middle of the day and this wasn’t one of those dodgy bars that the youth had been known to frequent, he wondered if this did indeed have something to do with ‘getting to know him better’, a euphemism that he was quite familiar with.

He would admit to some perverse sort of curiosity about his unexpected saviour. Exceptionally pretty, yes, but he was more curious than genuinely attractive. Well, maybe he’d be a bit more decided on the matter of attraction if he knew what in the Circle’s Name it was.

The boy seated himself again slowly, well-aware of the fact that he was gawking at this stranger but he was going to be allowed to stay in any case so the fact that they were unknown to each other didn’t particularly matter now.

“I’ll have… tea,” the boy murmured, speaking half to the server and half to his new companion. Either way, the order was apparently received loud and clear because the man moved off, leaving Fionn alone with his new… friend.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your… generosity. I take it that you’ve recognised me then, even though I’ve never stopped to talk to you.”

His focus returned to his sketch, unable to bring himself to meet the other’s eyes, feeling awkward now that he had someone who could scrutinise his attempts at drawing, even if it was upside down; that probably made it seem much worse. His fingers plucked at a corner of the paper, tipping a knuckle against a pencil to straighten it in relation to the others.

“Obviously, I recognise you. You’re quite”—he coughed uncomfortably, scrambling for a suitable word—“distinctive,” he finished lamely.

This person had helped him out and he was trying to be polite but the question was burning within him, clamouring to escape the surface. It almost itched under his skin, the youth dragging his fingers through his blond hair before immediately trying to flatten the locks down again. He bit his lip.

“What are you?” he blurting, gesturing towards the other’s chest. “I just mean that you- Look, I don’t mean any offence but I can’t quite tell… what you are.”

Heat flashed into his cheeks, sallow skin blooming with new colour as if he’d only just come in from the cold. He cleared his throat awkwardly, fixated on the drawing once more as he picked up a soft pencil and began to add new layers of shadow with light strokes.

The servant might be faking nonchalance, but he was doing his best to stop his hands from shaking; he didn’t feel relaxed enough to be doing this now.

He wet his lips nervously with his tongue.
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Yazad
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Fri Dec 25, 2020 5:49 am

Some Café, The Stacks
17th of Dentis, 2719; Afternoon
T he comfortably seated man smiled as the boy lowered himself on his seat, then turned his head to look at the still-uncertain waiter. "One cup of hot cocoa, and one cup of your finest tea. Thank you kindly, good sir." The smiling passive repeated the order politely, regarding the worker with open friendliness. This fellow had not been subtle with his hostile demeanor when he was in the position to enforce that, but Yazad would be no better if he responded similarly. It was, after all, the shop’s livelihood that was the reason behind this minor altercation. And with the offer of a paid stay, the reason for such a dispute was void and null.

Yazad slowly blinked in silence, appearing slightly confused at the other’s words for a moment. His head slightly canted to the side, as if doing so was going to help him see the boy’s strange perspective of the situation. The notion of him having to have a reason in order to assist a person in need -when he is fully capable of doing so- was an odd one to the passive. Despite that, his smile persisted. "It is rather cold outside. Terribly windy as well. One would rather be in the embrace of warmth rather than out there, would they not?" Yazad remarked with a light chuckle, his fingertips pressing lightly against his lips. "I am afraid that I do not recall ever making your good acquaintance previously." There was an apologetic shake of the man’s raven-crowned head. With features as memorable as these, he would have had at least a vague memory of encountering this boy before. But he does not. Eyes the color of soft jewels widened a smidgen and blinked again when he was told that he had been recognized. For some reason, despite his statement, the boy looked to be rather uncertainly hesitant about...something.

"Ah, could it be--in the university? I do visit it at times." Yazad offered the first thought that crossed his mind, then followed it with another. "I suppose that it is just as likely that it was in the streets of The Stacks." And perhaps he looked ‘distinct’ because of how distinctly lost he appeared at times.

Another question was thrown at him, this time with a general gesture in his direction that made Yazad aware of his appearance. Ah, but of course. Half of his liveries were obscured beneath the teal-colored coat that he wore, making it rather difficult to place his occupation. "I am a servant, in service of the good master Sophronios Logarchon." Yazad replied with sunny and casual ease, offering the other a smile that he hoped would ease his visible tension. The name could only sound recognizable if the boy was indeed affiliated with Brunnhold in any way. "And yourself? The good sir is an artist?" Meaningfully, his gaze drifted towards the pencil and paper sitting in front of the other, both in amusement and in curiosity. The fine arts were a thing that he could appreciate, but he never had a gift for them, unless one counted his penchant for compulsive beautification.

"But my, where are my manners?" Yazad placed a gloved hand on his chest, his head inclined slightly to the boy sitting across from him. "Yazad, at your service. It is a pleasure." Whether the boy would be up to return the polite courtesy or not was up to him.

A Friend In Need? Yes, Indeed
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Fionn
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Fri Dec 25, 2020 9:21 pm

Dentis 17, 2719 | Afternoon
Some café, The Stacks
.
Image
This passive was rather queer, yes, really rather queer. There was such a curious smile on their face and the way they looked at him… Yes, such a queer, winsome creature. This passive, he—Fionn was really leaning towards ‘he’ as a suitable pronoun, although uncertainty remained—offered such a peculiar answer, or at least, unexpected.

“Yes. Obviously. Who… wants to be out in the cold?” he responded slowly, doubtful.

Of course, nobody wanted to be out in the cold on a day like this, not when they had the opportunity to stay here in the warmth, but the offer couldn’t have been motivated by pure kindness, which is how his companion made it sound. You didn’t spend money on a complete stranger just to be kind. Fionn had had things bought for him often enough to understand their true cost. Even without anything monetary involved, the blond had learned all about exchange over the years, knew what it was to be part of a transaction, and considering how little he had and how much he wanted, the youth had always been cheap.

If there was artifice here and the other was lying about recognising him then it was hidden away behind that frankly vapid gaze. However, if his new companion was telling the truth though, and truly didn’t recognise him then it was safe to assume that his passive status was unknown, which meant that he wasn’t going to reveal it. Sure, his appearance did point to the possibility, but the servant had a youthful enough disposition to pass as a human juvenile, perhaps not yet at his full height and while he was slight, he was taller than the average galdor. Free passives weren’t really a thing in Anaxas and thus, it was easier to believe that he was a human rather than an ungated timebomb wandering around this close to the university.

The mention of Brunnhold proper gave him a start, brown eyes darting to the other’s face at once, the sudden terror there frightfully transparent. Obviously the thought of gating hadn’t been plucked from his head, the place where he’d been kept in captivity for so many years, but the idea that he might have been seen there—connected with that place—that terrified him. Worse, the fact that the other should mention it as somewhere that Fionn might have been-

Humans could be on Brunnhold grounds, the outermost section, so his cover hadn’t necessarily been blown.

“No! No, why would you think- No, I’ve seen you at your house. Well, not your house but the one where you- where I’ve seen you, and you’ve waved before when I-I’ve been passing.”

Clocking hell, why had he said so much? Circle forgive him, why could he never keep his bloody mouth shut when it mattered? Why did he always have to say things that were unnecessary? Why did he always have to say the kind of things that could get him into trouble?

Mentally, Fionn had assigned the other a gender of ‘man’, albeit floating nebulously in his mind, doubtful in spite of the evidence that would fit his supposition. The manner of dress and the pitch of the voice—a difficult one as he’d known women with deep ones and men with high ones—appeared to point that way, but his gut instinct was… deeply confused—confused enough to have asked.

Rather he had tried to ask but it had been very much misconstrued. He hadn’t asked ‘what’ as in his occupation, but rather ‘what’ as in ‘what the fuck’ was under that clothing! It was enough to make him sigh, coming incredibly close to rolling his eyes. Mind you, the incredibly chipper attitude in relation to their ‘good master’ made him feel repulsed. It seemed unnatural to be thrilled about servitude, but he had found a number of passives over the years who could be described as grateful to the galdori to whom they were yoked, pleased in a weak, superficial way. They tended to be broken to some degree, some deeper misery having taken root but this one seemed genuinely happy.

Gods, could this one simply be too stupid to be unhappy? Some people really did seem to be too stupid to know, well… anything. The young man was almost frightened to open his mouth again because he had no idea what he’d get in response.

“I’m not a ‘sir’ and I’m no artist. I just… I like to draw, or… try anyway,” the boy grumbled, leaning back as he set his knee against the table once more so that he could rest the drawing pad on it, angled in a way that hid the sketch from the other’s view. The youth huffed out a breath, wriggling briefly in his seat as he tried to make himself comfortable.

Blond brows pulled together and sank down as he considered the shadows he added. Too dark, a heavier hand than he would have liked. Some people could draw in a beautifully minimalist fashion, which he certainly hadn’t achieved.

He smacked down the pencil he’d been using and plucked up an eraser, rubbing at the marks to strip back the layers of soft graphite, although the area was left a little dirty, no longer pristine and unsullied as it had been before he marked it. He blew a lock of hair from his forehead.
“I’m a servant too. And it’s Fionn.”

The teenager gave a short nod of acknowledgement, more interested in examining his hand where the shadow of graphite had caught his eye; his pale skin was blackened. He shoved his right thumb in his mouth to wet it and began scrubbing at the blemish in a distracted fashion, brown gaze flicking up briefly to the other’s face.

“I work for a golly academic, but it’s my day off, so here I am. You clearly can’t say the same. About a day off, I mean. Unless you always wear that get-up,” he laughed, pointing at Yazad’s livery. The youth followed it with a small cough to clear his throat.

“Yazad, that’s… an unusual name. Not from around here, I mean, or else I’ve never heard it. It is a, um…”—his face attempted to crumple in a wince—“... a man’s name… right? That’s what I was asking—trying to ask—before. About what you are. I was checking to see if you were- which uh…”

The middle Madden trailed off, feeling like a total prat, and not entirely relieved by the arrival of their drink order. He wanted to add something about how manners weren’t his forte, certainly not the kind of thing he’d ever been good at managing, but he felt too awkward to say anything while the server was there, plucking up the old teacup and replacing it with a new one. Fionn took the time to move the piece of porcelain into a position that corresponded with his drawing, wondering if he ought to open his mouth again at all.

There was enough rope to hang himself with now; he’d made sure of that.
Last edited by Fionn on Sun Dec 27, 2020 10:19 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Yazad
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Sat Dec 26, 2020 4:57 am

Some Café, The Stacks
17th of Dentis, 2719; Afternoon
T he warmth of fire-heated indoors was beginning to seep into Yazad’s bones, replacing the chill that clung to him after a considerable period of walking the streets in a cold day. The passive felt cozy and relaxed, but he could not say the same about his tense companion. When the boy echoed his words, uncertain, the raven-haired man simply smiled and nodded in affirmation. The other, however, was strangely still looking doubtful. It was already odd enough for the man to have to give a reason for extending a helping hand. "I would also like to have a good sleep tonight. Tomorrow is laundry day, you see. One has to have a clear head for that. Alas, I will not be able to slumber restfully with a clear conscience had I turned my back on you." Yazad elaborated, smilingly.

There was something that is visibly still uneasy about the boy, but Yazad could only assume that he is simply that kind of person. He did look young--younger than Yazad if his features were anything to go by. Not that most people would call Yazad’s face a mature one, but he still liked to think that he looked his age. Now even more amused after the other’s scrambled reply, the Bastian blinked slowly to process the edge in the boy’s rather vehement response. "Ah, goodness me. Did I, now?" A bashful, lighthearted giggle escaped Yazad’s lips before he placed a hand on his pink-dusted cheek. "It is a habit of mine, I will admit. I find it rather tasteless to meet someone’s eyes and not greet them. That would be a terribly impolite thing to do, would you not say?" He admitted, chuckling again. The boy’s words were most likely true and he could very well have waved to him at some point. The boy’s words indicated that he knew where Yazad lived, and that prompted another interesting thought. "Does this mean that you live somewhere near the good master’s house? Are we neighbors?" He asked, half in jest and half in genuine curiosity. "I have not gotten to know many in Brunnhold or The Stacks, sadly." Yazad added, looking hopeful.

"So I see." The passive responded easily, to both accounts. The one before him was neither old enough nor refined enough to be a ‘sir’, but what else could he call him? ‘Good boy’ came to mind as a likely alternative. Although he could only catch a glimpse of what he assumed was a rendition of the teacup on the table, it was good enough to be recognizable as that, which is more than he could ever do.

For a moment, the boy was looking at his paper with pinched brows, as if reevaluating what he had made. Yazad, as any proper man would, remained silent and allowed the other his time of contemplation without interruptions. Drawing did seem to require quite a bit of focus, which can be easily understood if he related it to something like cooking. One wrong step, one too many spoonfuls of salt, and the final result is ruined. "Gracious, are you? Charmed, Fionn." Yazad replied only when Fionn spoke again, giving the boy another courteous bow of his head. There was little to say about the other being a servant as well. There was no shame in it, it was a no less decent occupation than that of a gardener or a shopkeeper. And often in service of noble, respectable families.

"Oh my--" The utterance was a jolted, barely audible one. Spontaneously, Yazad’s palm rested on his chest as he watched, with slightly widening eyes, Fionn shove his thumb in his mouth and-- "Oh goodness--" It was out of prosperity alone that he restrained himself from contorting his face too much at the motion. In reaction to it, he slid his hand into his pocket, ignoring the crunching of paper to reach for the piece of soft fabric that he knew was there. Slowly, he pulled out a plain white handkerchief and presented it to Fionn. "Do take this." What the boy was doing could not possibly be sanitary, or in line with public grace. That, coupled with the way he sat on the chair, made it difficult to view him as anything but a child.

A ‘golly’? Yazad’s fine brows arched upwards slightly. There was only ever one type of people who can be academics, but that was a strange way to refer to one’s master. "Much deserved, I am certain." The raven-haired passive commented with a smile to the remark about Fionn’s day off. "None of that for me, I am afraid. An entire day away from the house and I fear the good master would either perish or burn the house down trying to boil water, Hurte bless his absentminded heart. Not that I much need it, as I pace myself rather evenly every day. And indeed, I do wear these every day with the exception of more private times. Not exactly this exact set every day, that would be just gross." Yazad launched into his answer with a widening smile and palms pressed together. He was not certain if all Anaxi passives were granted this privilege of a day off, given that Fionn was only the second passive that he had met after Aurelie, but it seemed that the boy was under the service of a rather kind and reasonable galdor.

"It is not, indeed. I was given it by my Hessean mother, you see. And indeed, it is a man’s name." His name and appearance were a regular point of confusion for several people, and he felt no offense at either of Fionn’s comments. But then, and only then, did he understand what the boy’s earlier question truly meant. The humor of the situation made the Bastian passive giggle behind the back of his hand, then prop his elbow on the table to rest his cheek on an open palm. Well, this was such an amusing person that he ended up sitting with.

Soon enough, their ordered drinks were delivered to the table by a worker who did not linger. It could have been the one from before, it could be someone else, but really, it did not matter. Yazad smiled and uttered a cordial ‘Thank you kindly’ before cupping the steaming porcelain container with his hands. Ah, the pleasant heat of a freshly made cup of hot cocoa. Right, etiquette first, and then he can indulge in his inviting warm drink. Yazad lightly pinched at the tips of his gloved fingers, carefully pulling the fabric loose so that he may free his hand. Slender fingers with perfectly filed nails repeated the process with the other glove before the man neatly placed both on his lap.

"Mm, delightful. Neither too sweet nor too bitter, just as life itself is." He hummed pleasantly after a tiny sip of assessment, his eyes closing as he relished the taste and the corners of his lips tugging into a blissful smile. Fionn, curiously enough, looked to be more interested in drawing his tea than in drinking it. "Is this how you often spend your days off, Fionn?" Yazad asked gently, looking between the concentrating boy and his untouched cup of tea. He had been wholly focused on his art and Yazad could only admire that amount of dedication.

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Sun Dec 27, 2020 7:36 pm

Dentis 17, 2719 | Afternoon
Some café, The Stacks
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A clear conscience.

The teenager had only known this passive for a scant few minutes, but with each passing moment, he was made more and more aware of the other servant’s peculiarity. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised that his further elaboration for helping Fionn was unusual, should have come to expect that this individual existed on an entirely different plane than the middle Madden was on, and that everything he said would be unexpected. However, he couldn’t help but be amazed.

Of course, Fionn had a conscience, there were plenty of actions and incidents that plagued him with guilt, but it was often greatly delayed, usually bothering him only when things were far beyond his control. It was unusual for his conscience to bother him at the moment when he was faced with decisions. Quite often it didn’t bother him at all, more inclined to lean into his impulsive behaviour and deal with any consequences later. The idea of being able to predict what would irk his conscience in advance was a novel one. He had done far worse than what Yazad claimed would have led to an attack of conscience, and yet he had not felt guilty about them. Despite all the scars on his knuckles, the boy had little remorse for the activities that had created them.

Considering how many serious things he had done without a hint of contrition, it seemed incredibly strange to feel remorse over something quite so trivial.

At the best of times, the middle Madden found it difficult to empathise with the perspective of others, even though he could have incredible insight on occasion, but this was truly beyond him. If he’d been in the other’s shoes, he didn’t know if he would have done the same thing, but if he had then the reasons would have been considerably less noble, and would have almost certainly have revolved around that pretty face.

“I find it rather tasteless to meet someone’s eyes and not greet them. That would be a terribly impolite thing to do, would you not say?”

From what he’d seen of Yazad, he probably didn’t intend his comment to be an underhanded jab, but the youth winced all the same, ducking his head as his blush intensified. Impolite, yes, and yet he had done just that on countless occasions, and even worse, done his utmost to pretend that hadn’t even perceived the passive’s existence.

He cleared his throat.

“Yes, that would be… that. Undeniably so. I’ve never truly been one for decorum though,” he admitted matter-of-factly, before adding more sheepishly, “I’ve never, uh... waved back.”

The prospect of Fionn residing nearby clearly thrilled Yazad, but it made the younger boy uncomfortable, understanding that he was hoping for a friend and not certain how to disentangle himself from the situation without upsetting the other; he did owe him after all. He offered the address hesitantly, aware that it was reasonably close and judging by the eagerness attached to the question, Yazad would probably be excited.

However, he did become rather excitable for a different reason, albeit the cause wasn’t immediately apparent. The teenager snorted when he identified the source of the distress, declining the handkerchief with a careless wave of his hand.

“Thanks, but I have one—if I need it,” he assured his companion, nothing fake about his smile as he chuckled, and continued. It was only a half-hearted attempt in any case, the young man finally settling on rubbing the damp and dirty skin against the palm of the opposite hand to dry it. He might clean the side of his hand but it would just grow dirty again, especially if it was already damp.

His eyebrows rose sceptically, forehead wrinkling at the idea that his day off was deserved; the entire thing was pointless. Would it sound wrong to complain? Ungrateful? Well, he was ungrateful because he found the whole thing terribly inconvenient, especially the expectations that Umberto had about what ‘proper’ servants did with their off-time.

“Yeah, it’d be better if I didn’t have them, but he insists, even though he definitely benefits from supervision. I have no idea how he managed before I came along; it’s a wonder that he remembered to feed himself,” Fionn sneered, lacking the fondness that Yazad clearly displayed for his master.

The mention of ‘private times’ made his mind go to—well, places. His eyes turned up to the ceiling, remaining fixed there as he tried to gain some mastery over himself before his thoughts could show on his face—his ever expressive face. A fingernail found its way into his mouth, an oddly welcome distraction as the pristine layers of keratin caught and bent between his teeth before he realised what he was doing, stopping himself before he could bite through or snap it, irritated with himself. The young man kept believing that he’d gotten shot of this particular bad habit, but it never went away completely, no matter how much it had improved over the years. Impolite, yes, but mainly disgusting, hardly something that he wanted to be doing in front of the servant.

When the drinks came and he adjusted the position of his cup, the boy was at a loose end. He had to wait for his drink to cool— he wasn’t in the habit of adding anything to tea, except for cold water— and he felt terribly self-conscious about drawing in front of his new companion. Without noticing, he found himself picking at the same nail when his hands weren’t otherwise occupied.

He found himself watching Yazad, mesmerised by the way he stripped off his gloves, something scandalous but also undeniably alluring about how effeminate the exercise seemed.

“Neither too sweet nor too bitter, just as life itself is.”

Blond eyelashes fluttered, the youth hardly able to believe that he had really heard the other say that. It sounded incredibly naive, but it also made him wonder what kind of experience Yazad had had. Maybe he wasn’t broken because he had never gone through anything like what Fionn himself had experienced. Could it be possible that the other had led a truly good life? The teenager had had very little sweetness in his life, but plenty of bitterness, which didn’t seem to be what the dark-haired servant knew.

“I’ll… take your word for it,” Fionn responded slowly, gaze flicking to his own hot drink, which he knew would be markedly bitter; apparently, each had gotten a drink fitting to his life. His brow furrowed. “I’ve never had that actually. Cocoa. It can’t be anything like coffee—nothing sweet about that, trust me.”

The teenager grimaced, recalling the last time he’d had the misfortune to have coffee. Quite memorable considering that he had thrown it up along with the alcohol he’d consumed that night.

A questioning hum escaped him followed by a soft ‘oh’ as he registered what his companion had said, a teasing grin spreading across his lips moments later.

“Have a stranger buy a drink for me in a café so that I don’t get thrown out by some bullying human ersehole? No, I can’t say that that happens often—never in fact!” he joked, a voice in the back of his mind whispering that it had happened often enough if you weren’t so picky about the location; his smile flickered.

A hand lightly touched the porcelain teacup. Still too hot.

“I try to find somewhere I can sit in peace and draw. Mostly I walk around and wonder when I can go back. At least I can draw in peace in my room.”

He shrugged.

The youth’s head tilted as he regarded the other, lip briefly worried at by his teeth as he considered the other’s name and appearance, curious about his origins because of them, but also due to his seemingly rosy outlook.

“Your name came from your Hessean mother, you say? So I assume that your father… wasn’t Hessean? Are you from Hesse or somewhere else? Your accent is- Well, it’s hard to tell. It’s not like I’m well travelled.”
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Mon Dec 28, 2020 9:12 am

Some Café, The Stacks
17th of Dentis, 2719; Afternoon
H ot cocoa did more than simply taste good to the passive’s tongue--it also provided an additional bit of warmth to the hands that were no longer dressed in white kid leather. He only owned one set of serviceable gloves, and so it stood to reason for him to be certain that it was of durable material and a flexible enough design to look chic with all of his outfits--all four of them. Quality over quantity, Yazad reminded himself as his humble wardrobe came to mind. His liveries were on par with most galdor wear out there, tailoring-wise, arguably for the reason of them being ordered under the name of a galdor.

The cafe was, now that Yazad had the time to take it in, cozy enough. The tables were nearly all full of patrons who, such as Fionn and himself, engaged in conversation with varying degrees of liveliness. The droning hum of many words spoken was minimal, but still present. Not bothersome in any way; only enough to remind the passive that he was in open company.

"You seem a rather reserved sort, so I hold nothing against you." Yazad responded with a smile and a slight shrug. That is not to say that he would hold anything against anyone no matter their disposition. It was oh so cumbersome to bear grudges and be upset; the servant can very much do without that. Fionn was still not what Yazad would call relaxed. Was the boy, perhaps, a naturally shy person? He looked like it, if one went by his expression and behavior.

"Ah, I see--" Yazad responded politely, the slightly blank gaze he wore giving away that he did not register the relation between the spoken address and his own place of residence, yet he said nothing to reveal his ignorance.

The offering of a handkerchief was bluntly refused, and Yazad retracted his cloth-bearing hand with a soft sigh. The thought of ‘then why not use it?’ was left unspoken. Strangely enough, the other’s smile was the clearest expression that Yazad had seen so far on Fionn, and suddenly, he no longer had the heart to be insistent about public manners and hygiene.

"Goodness, what diligence." The smiling raven-haired man lightly clapped his hands, once. Fion had said that he is in no need of his days off, which was a sentiment that Yazad himself shared, but to see that a young one is concerned enough with his duties to not desire some free time for himself was, frankly, quite impressive. "I most definitely know the kind you speak of. One would think that all scholarly types are made with similar enough personality quirks." Perhaps it was a side effect to having more academic intelligence than common sense. Once again, Yazad noted -and mused at- the lack of affection in the other’s tone when speaking about his master. The galdor did not seem to be unpleasant if he was adamant about giving his servant a day off, but Yazad knew that there was more to a man’s personality than just how generous they are.

It took even more composure for Yazad to not make a comment about the anxious biting of Fionn’s nail in a manner that he found to be almost--childish. Clearly, it was a nervous tick of some sort, which only led the passive to conclude that Fionn was in need of some thoughtful calming down. Urged by an inherent instinct that he had always carried, Yazad’s still warm slender fingers reached over to gingerly pat the other’s forearm. The touch was gentle, brief, and carried all the concern that Yazad felt for a younger boy who simply could not seem to be able to unwind. "It could be potentially unhealthy to insert body parts into one’s mouth, do be careful." The passive’s voice -just like his smile- was sincere and light. Careful as Fionn could be, it was difficult to dismiss the possibility of contamination or possibly lingering illnesses. A sick servant not only suffered the brunt of whatever ailment they contracted, but also the guilt of being unable to perform their duties adequately. It was part of the reason Yazad was incredibly careful about his habits and intakes of both food and drinks.

There were times in which Fionn looked at him with eyes that carried confusion, and Yazad could not understand why. As if his mind was elsewhere in thought. Yazad himself was prone to moments of ill-timed contemplation, so he could say nothing about that. Deciding to leave the other to whatever thought he was having, Yazad took the time to take another sip of his delightfully warm drink.

"Ah, do you dislike sweetness?" Yazad asked, his hand raising the porcelain cup slightly. People had incredibly different tastes, and he was very aware of how selective he is about what he consumed, so perhaps he should not be quite too surprised with the boy never having tasted cocoa. Bitterness was his flavor of choice if the drink he ordered was anything to go by. "Goodness gracious, I am not a lover of coffee. There are many ways to alter the taste, but the effects of it still remain." Yazad admitted with a chuckle. His body, sensitive as it is, did not tolerate the strong beverage very well. It caused him to feel faint and sickly, which was in no way conducive to him wanting to be productive.

Fionn’s reply, coupled with an unexpected impish grin, left Yazad blinking slowly at the other for a second before he began to giggle. The hands that cupped the cocoa mug were now lightly closing around the passive’s mouth. Above it, eyes laced with mirth looked at the boy. The other servant’s colorful language caused an obscured blush of bashfulness to spread across his round cheeks. "There is a first time for everything, as the saying goes. That makes for an unforgettable experience, no?" Yazad softly cleared his throat, sat up straight, and nodded. ”I must apologize for infringing upon your drawing time, then. Do not mind me, please go ahead." There was neither annoyance nor awkwardness in the voice of the passive who simply rested his chin on the back of his hand and reached for his cup with the other, choosing to give the budding artist his peace.

Another sip of mildly sweet goodness, and another newborn thought to go with it. The raven-haired man -with his unchanging smile- watched the fading steam that rose in thin, nearly invisible wisps with slightly hooded eyelids. Delectable as the beverage was, he could still think of a few improving additions to it.

”Hm?" Pale green eyes looked up at Fionn when Yazad was addressed with a question. Or rather, three. ”Ah, no, he was not indeed. My father is Bastian. Me and the good master, we have not been in Anaxas for long, we only relocated recently from Florne." The passive answered readily, in the manner of someone who had answered similar questions regularly enough. It was often his name that prompted such inquisitive questions, and he did not even use his family’s name. ”What of your name, Fionn? What meaning lies behind it?"

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Tue Dec 29, 2020 12:34 pm

Dentis 17, 2719 | Afternoon
Some café, The Stacks
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Reserved? Fionn didn’t think that anyone had ever called him reserved before. Insubordinate, snide, sullen, too smart for his own good—he’d been told that he was all those things, but reserved? No, never, he’d never been called that. On the contrary, he had often been cursed—and cursed himself—for his inability to keep his mouth shut when he ought to do so.

It was strange to attempt to view himself through the other’s eyes in such a way, but he supposed that he could understand it. The blond had always been good at keeping others at a distance, often standoffish, but usually residing in his own little bubble. Yes, the boy had frequently thought of himself as an island of one, frequently telling others that he was alone, even if he didn’t necessarily have to be. Then again, considering how his connections tended to go, it wasn’t that surprising that he did his best to avoid them. They could be wondrous, but they could also be agonising, and he had become rather good at keeping himself together by keeping others apart from him.

It’s what he was doing now, not being reserved but rather doing his utmost to prevent Yazad from gaining access to him. In this instance, he was doing his best not to reveal too much, but really what benefit was there in that? The other servant now knew where he resided and would likely spot him more readily now so it made sense that his passive status wouldn’t remain a secret forever. Not that that made him any more inclined to admit it in public space like this.

Reserved might still be a word to describe him, but now, he might be better described as introspective, quieter simply because he was rather deep within his own head.

He found himself nodding along in agreement with the comment about academics, finding himself comparing Harper, Gus and Umberto in his head.

“Academics do have varying eccentricities but absentmindedness seems to be a common denominator. At the very least, they seem easily distracted by whatever field they pursue,” the blond remarked, only realising after he’d spoken that he’d used the sort of language that gave certain things away. No, no, a few long words didn’t necessarily make him stand out, he needn’t worry. Besides, didn’t it make sense that he could have had such vocabulary rub off on him by virtue of working in close proximity to learned men?

A hand reached out to him, unbidden and unexpected, and the youth couldn’t help but shrink from it, mouth twisting in undisguised displeasure while his eyes grew wide with alarm. Of course, he couldn’t properly escape contact, stiffening instead as those elegant fingers patted him. The other’s intentions were utterly unknown to him but regrettably had the precise opposite effect to what Yazad had hoped. It was a harmless touch, and he would have thawed to it, only beginning to do so when the warm hand was being withdrawn.

“It could be potentially unhealthy to insert body parts into one’s mouth, do be careful.”

A laugh bubbled up and escaped, surprising the boy as much as his companion’s comment had.

“I’ve had far worse body parts in my mouth,” the teenager choked out, pressing his knuckles to his lips to stifle further laughter—a giggle.

Gods, the half-Hessean probably hadn’t intended to voice something so vulgar sounding, but Fionn couldn’t help it; it was just too funny to him. Even though he didn’t have the most pleasant associations with such things, despite what he’d said, in spite of his laughter; sometimes you had to laugh or you’d end up crying instead.

In order to choke it down, he moved to take a drink, but when it hit his tongue, it was too hot. The delicate sip he took flitted across his tongue and was hastily swallowed, hardly tasting anything as it scalded his palate. He pushed the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth, trying to dispel the burning sensation. Ordinarily, he would have added a little cold water and knocked it back, accustomed to taking tea when he could and when it wasn’t strictly permitted; it was one of the reasons why he didn’t add anything to it to alter the flavour.

“No, I… I do have a sweet tooth, I don’t think it’s ever gone away but I’m just… not used to having anything sweet anymore. It’s not that I don’t like it…” he explained, silently adding, it’s just that I’m a passive.

While the galdori had access to cake and sweets of various sorts, passives could usually only have them on special occasions. Sugar was a valuable enough commodity, certainly not something to be distributed frivolously to the servant class. There were other sweeteners, other means of flavouring desserts, but it was far more typical that they would be making them for others. While he had been able to sneak tea when he merely ought to be serving, the youth had always thought it better not to add to his trouble by being caught putting additives in it.

Fionn had better access to such commodities now, but he’d found that tea tasted unpleasantly sweet to him with sugar added, whereas he didn’t seem able to combat the burned bitterness of coffee short of dumping most of the contents of the sugar bowl into it.

“I’ve tried altering the taste of coffee, but it’s simply too potent. If you add enough sugar then that starts to make you feel sick instead of the coffee alone so there doesn’t seem to be a happy balance. Yet there are people who drink it black and strong with nothing else in it.”

The teenager twisted his mouth to show what he thought of that.

He picked up a pencil again, contemplating his drawing now that he’d had Yazad’s encouragement, but mainly needing to do something with his hands; he was fighting the urge to fidget. It was peculiar to have someone watch him draw, perhaps more so because the other appeared to have some genuine interest in the activity. Nobody had taken much notice of it when he was a child, aside from his sister, of course, and it was her doing as much as anything that had caused him to pick it up again after the intervening years, but she had never hovered. Not that the other passive was hovering, not when he was sitting down but the sensation was the same. He didn’t like people hovering when he was doing anything, in fairness, especially if it required coordination, because his ability to function like a person would fail him.

He traced the outline of his drawing, pencil tip hovering above the paper’s surface as he sought to loosen up and ensure that his hand was willing to glide. If his fingers wanted to malfunction, it was far more preferable that they do so now when they couldn’t do any real harm rather than setting to work immediately and discovering that his nervous system didn’t wish to cooperate.

Everything seeming to be fine, he focused on blocking out the darkest areas of the object and noting the play of light and shade inside the teacup, particularly the way the contents affected it. He prodded the saucer to shift the cup’s position, porcelain rattling as he watched with interest as the brighter points wobbled and shifted as the tea sloshed gently back and forth. The new situation of the object provided some interesting changes even when the liquid stilled, causing the youth to hum thoughtfully before he shifted it back to its original position, wincing slightly at the soft, high-pitched sound it made as the porcelain slipped back across the wooden table.

Fionn flashed an apologetic smile, which became more of a grimace at the mention of Bastia.

“Everyone seems to be leaving there of late,” he muttered cryptically, thinking of Umberto but also the unfortunate visit from Ana Steerpike the previous day.

“My employer’s from there, but I’ve never been. I think he might have mentioned Florne specifically. That’s the capital, isn’t it?” Fionn asked, voice at a more acceptable volume for conversing with another. “He hasn’t been here for too long, I suppose it’s one of the reasons why he has me now. New city and all that. It’s pretty new to me as well.”

Cursing inwardly, he reflected that it wasn’t necessarily a dangerous truth to have revealed, but it would have been better if he hadn’t said anything at all. The youth would have given his right hand—not the left, of course, not when that was his dominant hand—to force a change of topic in that moment, but thankfully Yazad ensured that he didn’t have to go to such extremes.

“The meaning behind my name? Oh, it isn’t anything profound or creative, trust me. It just means that I’m a tow-head—blond, I mean. Fair-headed,” he explained with a bark of laughter. “I think there might be other meanings, but I can’t say that I remember them. It’s just my name.”

He gave a sniff and shrugged, the scent of the other’s drink reaching him over the comparably bitter smell of his own. He couldn’t deny that it smelled good and he was at least a little curious about it. The cocoa he’d had as a child seemed like a distant dream now and he wasn’t sure that he could even recall what it tasted like.

“What does it taste like? The cocoa.”

Only after voicing it did he realise that it might not have been the question that he should have asked. It would probably have been polite to ask about the other’s name, any meaning it might hold; it was the sort of thing that he’d taught himself to do as a child, parrot the queries of others in order to make small talk. However, he had asked about its origins and that was probably enough, and furthermore, it had been sought out of genuine desire to know rather than some feigned attempt at showing that he gave a damn about the other.

His lips pressed together as he further dissected his own words, wondering if it would be the sort of question that would earn him an odd look; the blond had always been good at asking those kinds of queries.

“Sorry, does that sound strange? I suppose it’s probably difficult to describe, but I… I really don’t remember what it’s like,” he confided, chewing at the inside of his cheek.
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Wed Dec 30, 2020 3:16 am

Some Café, The Stacks
17th of Dentis, 2719; Afternoon
Y azad’s smile gained in playfulness at the comment that Fionn had so intelligently made, his pale green eyes peeking over the edge of the cup he lifted to take another sip of. It was still very warm, but not to the point of causing any harm to his mouth. A proper gentleman would know how to sip a beverage without scalding his tongue or ending up with a dreadful stain on his lips. "My, do we not have a scholar in the making here." The passive commented, chuckling. There was the urge to reach over and lightly ruffle the other’s head in endearment, but having a table between them makes that a rather difficult and awkward maneuver.

The effect of his earlier touch did not escape Yazad’s attention, although the man felt more baffled than anything with the reaction. Had he surprised Fionn that badly? Was the boy naturally that skittish? There was no ill intention meant on Yazad’s part, but he found himself apologizing for whatever fright he had caused Fionn. "Goodness gracious, I am sorry. I did not mean to alarm you so, Fionn." A touch of comfort was by far the best thing that he could have gotten when he was a troubled child, but he needed to keep in mind that not all people are like him. Or, for all that he knows, his fingers might have been too warm for the other’s skin. Thankfully for both of them, the moment had come and gone, and the exchange went on.

"You and I both." Yazad responded smilingly with a nod of understanding. Fionn’s outburst of laughter was sudden as much as it was amusing to see. Why he found this particular phrase to be so humorous, Yazad did not exactly know, but he could relate anyway. "Embarrassingly, I had been told that I constantly attempted to insert my toe into my mouth as a toddler. I would have been mortified about it had I not been a year old at the time." Indeed, the raven-haired man sounded very un-mortified as he recounted the account. "But I shall defend my babe-self’s actions by saying that I had not learned to walk by then, so my feet were very likely unsoiled." Babies chewing on their toes was an odd twist of turns, but apparently, this is how the conversation is going now.

The pale green eyes watching Fionn glimmered for a second as the boy admitted his favoring of sweets. Yazad, internally, made the mental note to offer the boy a few pastries should he ever see him walking the street in front of the scholar’s house again. After this meeting, odd as it is, the Bastian at least knew who to look out for. "For as much sugar as I use in cooking, I do not consume much of it on a daily basis. But I am generally rather particular about what I eat." Yazad remarked, choosing to not ask Fionn just why he could not have sweet things if he enjoyed them. It could relate to his, or his family’s, financial situation, which is a rather sensitive subject. Having access to the plentiful pantry of a galdori household did not mean that a servant is entitled to indulgence in the content unless permitted to.

"And invincible they must be to do that." The dark-crowned head shook disapprovingly, feeling his stomach turn at the thought of drinking something that is half sugar and half coffee. A happy balance, as Fionn called it, was ideal but not always possible. Every time Fionn was engrossed in his art once again, Yazad took that as his cue to sip more of his hot cocoa and leave the boy in peace.

"Hm?" There was a comment, a mumbled one, about leaving Bastia, and Yazad was not sure where this had come from. It sounded as though he was not the only relocating Bastian that Fionn knew. A moment later, Yazad’s thought was confirmed. "Ah, is he? And a Flornean, no less. Florne is indeed the capital, and it is where the good master and myself hail from originally." And he missed the gloriously beautiful city so. Yazad’s smile was nostalgic as he went on. "If I am to be frank -and I always am, mind you-, I prefer Florne to Brunnhold and The Stacks. Alas, to wish for a return to Florne is to deny the good master his desire, so that would be a rather selfish thing to hope for." The city of a thousand rose beds, the place of his birth, and the only world that he had known for all of his life.

"Ah, a straightforward name.” Yazad nodded in understanding, glancing over at the other’s hair. Truly not the most creative choice on the part of Fionn’s parents, but-- "There is beauty in simplicity still.” The man nodded approvingly, both to his own statement and the boy’s words.

Fionn’s question plucked Yazad from thoughts of what had been and returned him to the present moment. For some odd reason, his companion seemed to later think that his question was strange. The passive, confused yet still maintaining his smile, simply shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I do not find any question of curiosity strange. It is our nature to want to understand matters, and that can only be done through inquiries. It might be difficult to describe, but I shall try my best." Yazad’s words ended with a chuckle before he went silent for a moment.

"Like delight." Yazad started, earnestly but still lightheartedly. His gaze dropped down towards the slowly cooling cup of rich brown as his chin rested on the palm of his propped arm. For a few seconds, while words formulated, Yazad’s index finger traced the cup's handle idly. "It is neither completely bitter nor completely sweet, but rather a harmony between the both. A warm, gentle flavor that does not overwhelm. If you like sweetness, and you said that you did, then I strongly recommend that you try it the next time you get a chance to." Yazad looked up to meet Fionn’s eyes. He would have offered to order a cup of hot cocoa for Fionn since the boy was clearly not intending to use his tea for more than art, but he did not want to force the experience upon the other.

"I suspect that this fine establishment uses white sugar. The taste is distinct, and given the nature of their clientele--," the man’s hand chanced a delicate arbitrary motion towards the notable number of young patrons who could only be galdor students of Brunnhold, "It stands to reason that they would. Alas, I personally would make my hot cocoa with brown sugar and the addition of some vanilla. A small alteration, perhaps--but one that makes a world of difference." The tangent was in no way a necessary one, but cooking was one of the subjects that Yazad simply could not help but indulge in. "And that is my special recipe for an especially delectable cup of hot cocoa. If your employer is a lover of hot beverages, it could be a pleasant surprise to make him some." Yazad suggested with a light clap. Hopefully, by extension, Fionn himself might get to have a share of his own.

A Friend In Need? Yes, Indeed
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