[Closed] Taking Measure

Ana calls on Mr. Bassington-Smythe, and gets his servant instead.

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

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Thu Jul 30, 2020 8:20 pm

16th of Dentis, 2719
Mr. Bassington-Smythe's Residence
Perhaps it was good that she had not stayed out late the night before, Ana thought. It had not been her choice, but it worked out all the same. Not for the best, but certainly it had worked out well enough.

No, it had not been her choice--but she remained optimistic about what could have been, and she had other business while she was still here besides. Her heels struck brisk, measured steps on the stone streets of Brunnhold that morning, neither too quick nor too slow. The dark saffron and brown of her visiting gown swished quietly around her, her cosmetics restrained and precise. One would never know to look at her how she had spent her evening; that was rather the intent.

Her thoughts wandered, as they did from time to time, to her sister's small freckled face--angry, stubborn, sad. Not a step faltered. Ana was optimistic about this, too. Aurelie was stubborn, a Steerpike down to her bones. But Ana was a Steerpike too, and more importantly, she was right. Time enough to revisit this discussion--not an argument, she refused to think of it in such terms--when she had the paperwork in order. Plenty of time; though, she hoped, not too much.

Her business now had nothing to do with her sister at all, and nothing to do with Nicolette Ibutatu either. Hardly even business, except that of keeping up with those who she used to know. Since her return to Anaxas, Ana had found herself falling out of touch with a great many people. This, she thought, simply would not do. One must always keep up with one's acquaintances; it proved to be useful in the most unexpected of circumstances.

Fortunately, one such connection had come to Anaxas before her. She had heard (for she was not completely out of touch) that he was a visiting lecturer at the University, of all things. A curious man, to be sure, but his family's connections had always proven valuable to her both in Anaxas and in Florne, and they had several rather more social relationships in common.

She had been put in mind, of late, of one such person--a young woman they had both known, Ana with what she thought was likely to be a great deal more intimacy. While she was in town, it seemed to her a good and valuable use of her time to go calling on Mr. Bassington-Smythe.

It was to his home that she journeyed now, the first in a series of small errands for the day. She would take her carriage back to Muffey in the early evening. Truthfully, she could have left any number of these tasks for another visit; they were none of them pressing. But she wanted to do at least one of the things she had set out to do, and certainly paying a visit was one she thought she could manage quite handily.

Ah, and there was the address now. She checked it against a small card, neatly written, that she pulled from her reticule. Yes, this was certainly the place. Reasonable standard of living, it seemed to her, for a lecturer--more than she would have expected for one who was only visiting. Ana placed the card back inside and snapped the bag shut.

A few more measured strides took her to the door. She knocked with a white-gloved hand. Now, she reflected, was not necessarily the best of hours--it was a six, after all, and early enough in the day that there was a strong likelihood that he would be out. No matter; if the man was at home, wonderful. And if he proved not to be, she would leave her calling card with her Muffey address. Should he choose to want to get in touch.
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Fionn
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Fri Aug 14, 2020 7:28 pm

Dentis 16, 2719 | Morning
Umberto’s House
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The passive was considering skiving off for a little bit but was uncertain about it. A ragged corner of fingernail found its way between his teeth, the youth worrying at it absentmindedly until it came away from the nailbed. The quick dart of pain had him hissing, registering what he’d been doing as he held his hand out and peered at the tiny, shining dot of red that had appeared in the corner of his middle fingernail. Not precisely bleeding but raw all the same. A huff of irritation and then it was in his mouth, left eye scrunching slightly as his saliva met his new injury.

Every time he thought that he didn’t bite his nails anymore, Fionn would find himself doing it again as something occupied his thoughts. If he wasn’t biting them then he was picking at them or picking at something on his person. How many minuscule scars did he have on his person that had come about because he couldn’t leave a scab alone? Or the result of him poking at some spot or blemish that he simply couldn’t leave be? His knuckles probably wouldn’t have been as scarred as they were if it hadn’t been for that unfortunate habit and it wasn’t precisely nervous. Oh, he certainly did it when he was anxious about things but he was also inclined to do it when he was deep in thought. He fidgeted like that when he was uneasy or pensive, but he didn’t tend to bite his nails in front of people, although he might have done it once upon a time. More than likely it had been beaten out of him — literally or verbally — and now it had become a private thing, although he never did it on purpose.

The youth glared briefly at his hands, taking in the state of his fingernails before burying them in his trouser pockets.The thumbnails weren’t too bad and his index fingers had perfectly smooth crescents. The blond couldn’t understand when he’d managed to do all the damage that he had but he felt sure they hadn’t looked like that the previous day, maybe the day before that. The boy wasn’t extremely anxious or anything, given the pristine condition of one nail on each hand but it might only be a matter of time at this point. He was contemplating having another look at the letter he’d written Aura, there was no doubt time for another rewrite before Niamh collected it but the problem was that he was meant to be working, not skiving off, but he didn’t know when Umberto would be back.

Not knowing made him edgy.

Since the galdor had stepped out, he’d worked his way up through the house, completing tasks on the ground floor first so that there’d be a greater chance of him taking a few minutes for himself. Not that they’d truly be for himself, no. He wouldn’t be able to afford to become absorbed in his own little world, always having to keep an ear out for the professor’s return, jumping at every little creak of the house, holding his breath whenever he caught a sound that was out of place if he was the sole occupant of the residence. Just thinking about it made a hand snake its way out of his pocket as he padded softly to his room, fingers dancing along his jaw before the index finger found its way into the corner of his mouth. The youth caught himself in time, returning it to its rightful place with an exasperated sigh.

The blond fished out the carefully folded letter and perched on his bed, defining the creases further as pinched them between finger and thumb before finally opening it. He traced over the dark, spiky writing, the words neat and unblemished but the hand still appearing painfully childish to his gaze. If he wrote it out anew, it wouldn’t make much difference but he was still oddly tempted to try as if the third time would do the trick and mature, confident handwriting would emerge.

Reading his own words for the umpteenth time, Fionn considered what he could add, considered what turns of phrase were wrong or could be improved. Unconsciously, his thumbnail found its way into his mouth as he contemplated the matter.

His pensive reading was disturbed about halfway down the page as a knock came from downstairs. Obviously Umberto wouldn’t knock but it was so abrupt and unexpected that he started in panic — guilt. His hand jerked and sent the letter flying, left to flutter to the ground unobserved as the passive’s gaze fixed on his open doorway.

Knock meant guest. Knock meant Umberto hadn’t caught him and the visitor didn’t know what he’d been up to either so it was fine.

Everything was fine. Except that whoever it was wouldn’t want to be kept waiting.

The teenager made it to his door before remembering the letter, darting back to collect it and fold it and secrete it away in his drawer because he didn’t want Umberto to return while he just had it lying around. He dashed out to make up for the lost seconds, taking the stairs too quickly, one hand on the rail and the other on the wall for balance but he still felt as if he’d lose his footing and break his neck right up until when he hit the solid level of the ground floor. His uniform was brushed down hastily, hair mussed in his nervousness and then pawed down again with both hands in a vain attempt to make it presentable. His sleeves were rolled up but they looked neat enough, the only thing potentially problematic being the bracelet on his wrist but he was in servant blues — who would bother to look closely enough to notice?

A deep breath to calm and ground him as he willed his expression to neutrality by the exhalation, and he swung open the door, careful to stand slightly behind it so he wouldn’t appear to be barring entry to…

The strikingly beautiful galdori woman to whom he found himself gazing eye-to-eye.

Eye contact wasn’t good with your superiors and he was in the habit of gazing a little over the heads of others, many of whom were taller than him but this woman was really fucking tall — taller than Niamh. Brown eyes dipped in deference, encountered her chest — which was rather difficult to miss — and came straight back up, the youth opting for focusing on a point by her head instead. His cheeks were no doubt pinked from his mad dash to the front door but it would be more pronounced now.

Damnit, what was this woman doing here? So beautiful and unexpected? There must be some sort of mistake, she couldn’t be here for Umberto because the man was… well — he was too peculiar to merit such fine company that was certain! If she was here for the academic then she might have been expected and it would be entirely typical of the galdor to have forgotten when he popped out without a word to Fionn about where he was going, when he’d be back, or that company was expected.

"Good morning, ma’am," he intoned politely, finding his tongue after a pause of what was surely far too many seconds.

Did his voice sound a little higher than usual? Gods, he hoped it didn’t carry that strained pitch that his ears were saying it did.

“If you’re looking for the professor, I’m afraid to say that he’s out although he…well, he might be back at any moment if you’d be interested in waiting for a few minutes?”

The teenager was feeling both anxious and self-conscious, aware that his uniform would mark him as gated if she had any familiarity with his kind in Brunnhold and that might make her hesitant to step in because he was supposed to be dangerous after all...

… and here he was in a house alone with no galdor to protect others should his diablerie go off. Some part of him wanted to excuse the man’s absence, assure her that he was safe or that there were safeguards in place but he forced himself to hold his tongue. The boy did his best to keep his shoulders back, standing properly erect so that his posture wouldn’t give away his unease. Unfortunately, his face probably said too much — as usual.
Last edited by Fionn on Sat Aug 22, 2020 4:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Sun Aug 16, 2020 5:11 pm

16th of Dentis, 2719 - Morning
Mr. Bassington-Smythe's Residence, The Stacks
The young man who opened the door was not at all what Lilliana would have expected. For one thing, he looked entirely disheveled, as if he had been rolling about on the floor a mere moment before her white-gloved knock. The blonde of his hair looked as if it had never seen a comb, or least not in a great while, save for that of his own fingers. As if that weren't enough, his uniform was rumpled too, sleeves rolled up to the elbows like some kind of common day-laborer. Which was all well and good for someone engaged in such occupations, but hardly for a servant to a proper household. Even such a marginally proper one such as the home of a strange academic like Mr. Bassington-Smythe.

For another thing, although he was a bit tall, he was clearly of galdori stock. It was the blue of the uniform that struck her first, followed by the fieldlessness. Passive. The tailored arch of Ana's dark red eyebrows pulled up in momentary surprise. She was rather given to the understanding that their kind—her sister's kind, she reminded herself—were confined to campus proper. The peculiarities of the life of an academic reached a good deal further than she would have assumed, evidently.

Despite her initial surprise, there was no flicker of her polite smile, painted a conservative and soft pink only a shade rosier than her natural color, nor was there a shift in the diamond-bright indectal wall of her field. The boy wouldn't have noticed anyway, Ana knew, afflicted as he was, but it was the principle of the matter. Control, that was the name of the game. Always, utterly, it was control. To be otherwise was simply not done.

The sharp gold of her eyes narrowed briefly as his gaze drifted downwards for just a moment. That, she thought, was also rather not done. If Umberto did want to reach out to her and rekindle their acquaintance, she would have to have a word with the man about his boy. Were Ana any less understanding of a woman, she would be inclined to take umbrage. The blush in his face only made her more certain of what had just transpired. Ana managed not to frown, but only just.

"Good morning," she said, with a polite incline of her head. Just because her opinion of the young man was rapidly pulling to the negative, that certainly gave her no cause to forget social niceties. It was upon these that a country was built, and one only broke them when it was called for. Now was not such a time—yet.

Ah, so the man was out. Ana had no particular need to see him in person; dropping off the card would do, and he could simply write her if he so desired. It was an idle sort of wish to begin with, coming here at all. She quite nearly shook her head, with its neatly-swept updo, softened by artful design rather than natural circumstance, intending to politely refuse the offer and leave the card. That was, of course, until her eyes swept down to the boy's wrist.

She knew that bracelet. Or at least, she knew one very nearly like it. A frown did flicker across her face then, just briefly—only careful attention to Ana's face would have caught it at all. She smoothed her expression back out into a smile, looking at the boy. He could not be a tremendously dangerous example of his kind, she reasoned, to be allowed this rather unorthodox position. Not dangerous to her, at least.

To Aurelie? If he was, in fact, this "friend" she had mentioned? Her poor sister was far more likely to come to harm by him than Ana was. Worse harm than diablerie. Something steeled in her heart. She knew Umberto wouldn't be expecting her, and it was perhaps uncouth to wait in his parlor under such circumstances. This was more important. Sometimes the rules of society had to be bent, after all.

"Oh, why yes, thank you. I couldn't possible stay too long, but I was rather hoping to catch Mr. Bassington-Smythe at home." She smiled a beautiful, calculated smile. That was a lie, but that hardly mattered. She did have business with the man, and now with the boy. She had meant what she said about the length of her stay—she wouldn't be there long. Only long enough to get the measure of the boy, and learn how best to unhook him from poor, innocent Aurelie. It was for her sister's benefit. Always, everything, for Aurelie and Aurelie alone.
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Fionn
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Mon Aug 24, 2020 9:44 am

Dentis 16, 2719 | Morning
Umberto’s House
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There were too many opportunities to misstep, the youth afraid that he’d accidentally embraced an unfortunate number of them. For one thing, he’d probably made a mistake in speaking beyond a simple greeting as one wasn’t meant to speak unless spoken to or something like that. It would have been rude not to greet her but beyond that, Fionn thought he was on shaky ground. Alas, he couldn’t even say that that was his first mistake — and it wasn’t likely to be the last. The teenager certainly hadn’t meant to devote any attention to her chest, not even for a moment, but it had just been there in his eyeline somewhat unexpectedly and… yeah…

Unfortunately, there was a long list of things that the passive would have to avoid doing or which would require a certain degree of caution. Anything he said about Umberto to this woman would have to be carefully considered, nothing said that might be construed as disloyal or disrespectful to the academic. Calling him bizarre was absolutely out of the question. Not that there would be much fear of that if they never got into small talk and there seemed little chance of that. As it was, even if she came in, she’d no doubt treat him as furniture until it was necessary for said furniture to fetch tea or something.

While he stood there taking in the sight of her — albeit more discreetly now through his peripheral vision — he grew more and more aware that she would also be assessing his appearance. The blond locks were probably in a disgraceful state of dishevelment in spite of his attempts to tame them with his fingers and his state of dress currently leaned more towards comfort and practicality than presentability. Umberto hardly cared if he wanted to slouch around the place with his shirt hanging open and hands buried in his pockets so long as he functioned. The professor sometimes only took notice of him in a distracted fashion, seeing the bigger picture rather than any of the fine details. Too busy wrestling with whatever linguistic mysteries of magical import had gripped his imagination this time.

If anything about the passive teenager irked the household’s unexpected guest, she didn’t show it. Oh there was a flicker of something in her face but it caused little more than a ripple in her expression, easily missed if he’d chosen that moment to blink. There was no telling what she thought and in all honesty, she might have been merely surprised by his presence as a passive outside of Brunnhold; there was no way of knowing.

Her smile was polite, as was her greeting and he bowed his head briefly in response to her, resisting the urge to allow his knees to partially buckle in a way that would have made his body bob down with his head. A craven, cringing gesture is what that would have been and he had no notion why he’d wanted to use it. Too intimidated after these many weeks by this social encounter that had been so unexpectedly thrust on him, the boy was left feeling incredibly rusty in social graces — not that he’d had many of them to begin with.

There was also something about her, some niggling familiarity that told him that the woman in front of him had some place in his recollection but not something that he could place. Might it be that he had seen her while she was attending Brunnhold? It was hard to tell if she was the right age to have been there since his gating, those in their twenties in that indeterminate phase where all ages seemed to blur together making it difficult, if not impossible, to pin down their precise age. Those in their thirties were little better but at least there were often signs in those in the latter half of that decade that provided some assistance in determining the length of their existence. Not that the servant was any good at those estimates or the best at recognising faces despite all the time he spent scrutinising them.

The youth was inclined to think that this woman was older, her attitude and carriage pointing to someone who had had time to build confidence in themselves through lived experience. Possibly out of the timeframe for his remembrance but even if she had been a student since his gating, there was no guarantee that he had actually seen her. More likely that something in her face had reminded him of someone else. The boy had an awful habit of finding vague resemblances between two people, seeing some strange similarity that nobody else could. They didn’t have to actually be related and more often than not, no one else could even understand how he made his connections even when he pointed out his reasoning. The youth simply had to be stupid enough to see some minor pattern in the collection of features to set uncertainty and puzzlement off in his brain.

Fionn did his best to shrug off the sense of recognition, catching something that looked awfully like a frown on her face, brief though it was.

Sod it all, had he been staring? Yes, she’d probably seen him scrutinising her face when it certainly wasn’t his place to do so. His head ducked in deference, gaze dropping to the hem of her dress. His eyes fixed on that spot shouldn’t provoke any particular response — or offence — but even with his face bent downwards, she’d no doubt catch the upward dart of his brows as she accepted his invitation to step in and wait.

Wonderful. This was exactly what he’d wanted. Suppressing a sigh, he drew the door open wider and stepped more behind it so that there’d be no chance of him blocking her entry.

“One can never be entirely certain of when he’ll be in. His schedule isn’t precisely fixed,” the boy explained, a genuine apology in his voice. He felt sorry that she would be stuck here with him instead of the galdor but equally sorry for himself as he’d be the one clocking up various faux pas to agonise over later. Not to mention that he’d have to remain in the presence of her clocking field, the monic Aura rigid and coldly unfamiliar to him. No doubt his seeming lack of one would be uncomfortable to her but she might be accustomed to it. This seemed like the sort of woman who would have servants. Of course, humans didn’t have fields and if she had any passives, she would think they lacked them as well.

Once she stepped inside, he’d close the door softly behind her, wary to keep his distance as he showed her where she could seat herself, glad that it was tidy down here.

“Can I get you anything, ma’am?”

Fuck! Was she too young for him to be using ma’am? Some women didn’t like it, he knew that, especially when they were on the younger side but she was older than him surely, and would understand that it had only been said out of respect. Gods, he hoped that she took it that way instead of taking it poorly.

“Tea, coffee, something to eat?” the teenager asked hopefully, wanting her to agree to something so that he’d have an excuse to be out of her vicinity. It’d probably be taken as eagerness to serve. That would probably be good.

He took the moments while he waited for a reply to roll down his sleeves, trying to smooth out the accordion of creases as he did so. He also redid buttons at his collar so it gaped less at the neck. Too little too late but at least he was making the effort. Surely that had to count for something.
Last edited by Fionn on Sun Sep 13, 2020 5:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Fri Aug 28, 2020 3:46 pm

16th of Dentis, 2719 - Morning
Mr. Bassington-Smythe's Residence, The Stacks
Ana kept the sculpted arches of her eyebrows and the painted curve of her smile firmly in place, even when the boy bowed with less depth than was proper. Ill-mannered, she noted, composing a list somewhere in her mind. Etched in bright, gleaming bronze, and unwavering.

He was at least not so poor in his job as to not show her inside. On this plaque of her imagination, she noted also the jerk of his eyebrows when she accepted his offer to wait for Mr. Bassington-Smythe. Why, then, had he offered? Foolish and rude. Ana stepped into the parlor, none of her displeasure showing on her face or in the bright, shimmering wall of her field. She had yet to see anything that impressed her, or even pleased her.

"I have a bit of time," she assured him. "It's no trouble to wait." She was left to hang her own coat; luckily she was able to do so without much trouble. The advantage, she supposed, to small houses such as this. Still, yet another strike against the boy. Had he been at Briarwood, she would have fired him on the spot. How on Vita had he managed to be assigned a position he was clearly so ill-suited for?

And what, then, did her sister see? Ana thought it would be easier if she found it, whatever it was. Even if it was only illusion, as she knew it must be.

Umberto's home was tidy at least; she wondered idly if someone else did that. She couldn't imagine this disheveled boy being much for housekeeping. As one's appearance, so one's work—Ana had always thought this held true. Perhaps there was a proper maid in. Or, equally likely and more terrible, Umberto was made to do for himself. Ana took a seat, neatly with her legs crossed lightly at the ankle. Her reticule she set out of the way beside her, and she folded her white-gloved hands in her lap.

"Coffee would be lovely," she said, an artful kind of warmth in her voice. It would do no good to be cold; she would learn nothing that way. He seemed, at least, appropriately eager to do that much. The most useful he'd proven so far. Coffee would be lovely, indeed; provided he could make it properly, of course. She would have as much to say to Mr. Bassington-Smythe as she would the boy if he couldn't. She had been very exacting in the instruction of her own staff; it was one of the things she found she missed more now that she had left Florne than she had ever cherished it while she was there.

"If you would be so kind; I am sorry to keep you from your other work, Mister...?" Her eyebrows raised, her gold eyes bright—too bright, almost, and sharp. But her smile was kind, mixed with a small amount of apology, and her voice was pleasant. Ana thought it prudent to learn his name; no matter the outcome, she couldn't keep simply calling him "the boy" if she were to solve this little problem. She didn't offer her own name. They were not making acquaintances, and Ana wished not to tip her hand so soon. Although she knew some so afflicted felt they had no right to their family name, and used it no longer. Ana felt a sharp pain in her breast at the idea that Aurelie might feel so.

No, Ana told herself firmly; no. Aurelie was not so foolish as that. And if she was, Ana would correct her. She was a Steerpike still, no matter what misfortune nature had brought her. Soon she would be one in proper, back home. Once Ana had taken care of a few small problems—like the rumpled young man pawing at his buttons in front of her.
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Tue Sep 15, 2020 6:12 pm

Dentis 16, 2719 | Morning
Umberto’s House
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The boy added another error to his growing list as he caught her movement from the side of his eye as she hung up her own coat.

Bollocks! I’m not cut out for this! he thought bitterly, inexperience certainly no excuse for failing to do something that should have been obvious to anyone. She didn’t say anything but that just meant that she was far better bred than he — hardly that surprising given what he was. Still, he had a moment of indecision about whether he should intercede or not, ultimately judging it to be worse if he jumped in now to take over a task that wasn’t difficult and would make it seem as if he considered her incapable of doing the simple thing by herself.

“I hope that it won’t be time spent in vain.”

The words dropped from his lips automatically, though they were presented in the properly respectful tone and even carried something genuine, a note of sympathy because he knew what the man could be like. The passive knew that he shouldn’t have said them as soon as they’d been uttered but regrettably, he’d learned that that didn’t allow you to snatch them out of the air and shove them back from whence they’d come. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so discombobulated on account of his most recent faux pas then he wouldn’t have volunteered such an opinion, even if it hadn’t been ill-meant.

Then again, who was he kidding? He didn’t need to be thrown off by anything to come out with something ill-advised; it was more difficult to prevent his own idiocy.

How difficult could it be to simply keep his mind on the task at hand and only open his mouth when it was absolutely necessary? It didn’t help that he was inclined to ask a barrage of questions before executing the simplest of tasks because it was far too easy to make a mistake when you had very different assumptions from the person whose request you were fulfilling. With Umberto, he knew his coffee habits, understood when he would prefer the drink served chilled or hot but with this one...

Just don’t think aloud, Fionn reminded himself.

“Hot or chilled? Oh well, I suppose it’s a little late in the year for cold coffee,” he added in a murmur, still audible but clearly more for himself as he turned to head to the kitchen.

What. A. Fucking. Idiot.

Her apparent concern at keeping him from his work and her request for his name gave him pause, causing him to face her once more, brown eyes wary as he considered giving his surname at all. In theory, it wouldn’t hurt if she knew but in practice, there were all manner of things that could be wrong with declaring his lineage.

“Fionn, ma’am. Fionn… Madden.”

The pause was a short one but it seemed to make his hesitation stand out starkly.

“It’s no trouble, ma’am. I’m here to be of service,” he explained with a careful bow of his head, gaze fixing on the floor.

The boy drifted off to the kitchen, fetching the flask of coffee from the icebox. He could have brewed it from scratch, it probably would have taken about the same amount of time but he trusted the blend that the golly had brewed himself. He’d hate to attempt it himself without supervision because he’d be sure to fuck it up somehow. No, better to take some of the potent chilled concoction, dump it into a pot, add some water, and bring it to the boil — or close to it.

He found a suitably sized pot, added a generous amount of the dark, aromatic liquid. Lighting two rings on the range, he left the coffee to heat and put the kettle on the other ring, adjusting the flame so that it was larger and hotter. The servant went in search of a coffee pot, buffing its silver surface so that it shone and set it on the drain as he put together a tray with suitable crockery, which thankfully matched courtesy of the purchases that he’d made on the linguist’s behalf. It had taken more than one hint for him to get the message but Fionn was incredibly glad that he’d become a bit more forceful on the matter for the sake of guests.

If the crockery hadn’t matched then it would have been his fault somehow; the passive felt it in his bones.

When the kettle boiled, he used the water to scald the inside of the coffee pot, swirling it around the interior. Adding some cool water to the cup he’d picked out, he poured the boiled water into it, swirling it around the ceramic before dumping it out. More boiling water went into the coffee so that it was somewhat diluted, stirring it as he frowned over the mixture. Not weakened too much but he didn’t think that anyone could possibly consume the stuff at the strength that Umberto did; it was a wonder that the academic still had a stomach. He raised the flame, stirring all the while as steam billowed off its surface. When he judged it to be done, he transferred it carefully into the scalded pot, absolute concentration on his face as he did his best not to spill it anywhere.

Wrapping his handkerchief neatly around his fingers, he used it to protect his hand from the heat of the metal handle as he transferred the coffeepot to the tray and the scalded cup. With the choice of milk and cream, as well as a little bowl of sugar cubes, he carried the coffee back to the pretty galdor woman. He set it down gently on the low table before her, his movements were stilted, like an automaton’s precision as he took great care not to do something unfortunate.

The handkerchief found its way around his fingers once more, the stitched ivy on display as he rested his right forefinger on the pot’s lid while he poured.

“Do you take sugar? Milk or cream?” the teenager questioned softly, pleased with himself for asking such necessary questions. Unfortunately, he didn’t want to leave it at that and while the servant tried to press his teeth into his lips to stop himself, it did nothing to block the words that bubbled up his throat.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, ma’am — miss — but ma’am seems far too matronly a title for someone of your youthful appearance. I wouldn’t want to cause you offence by making you feel older than you are — or belittled either. Do you have a preference?” the blond boy questioned, unable to stop himself catching his lip, his anxiety palpable. His fingers itched to trail uneasily through blond locks as if putting them into further disarray would somehow smooth the discomposure of his mind. At least his hands were too occupied for him to give into such temptation.

Depending on her preferences, he’d add them to the coffee before setting it nearer to hand, a woven coaster tucked under the hot cup before stepping back, hands clasped behind him as he put space between them, remaining standing all the while. He almost made it to the edge of her rigid and unbending field — but not quite — before he grew still, gaze carefully lowered.

Brown eyes flicked briefly to her face as he addressed her once more.

“Can I get you anything else? Something to eat perhaps?”

How many times was he going to ask what he could do for her? How many times was a good little passive supposed to ask? How many times before she’d get fed up and leave him before he had a chance to grow sufficiently nervous to do something truly and incredibly stupid?
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Sat Sep 19, 2020 4:25 am

16th of Dentis, 2719 - Morning
Mr. Bassington-Smythe's Residence, The Stacks
Oh, no. No time Lilliana Steerpike ever spent was truly in vain. Certainly not this time, regardless of whether or not Umberto himself appeared. She inclined her copper-colored head with a gracious sort of smile at that. No, not in vain at all—she would learn what she was after, one way or the other.

At least he'd said it respectfully. Ana had her doubts, still, about his suitability—for much of anything, were she pressed to give her opinion. Perhaps even with a note of the sympathetic somewhere in his voice. She had no need of his sympathies, but her mind took sharp and careful note of it. She let a careful degree of bastly gold shimmer in her field, even if she wasn't sure he would know it was there.

That was one of the curious things about those afflicted with this unfortunate condition. No fields of their own, certainly, but they had leylines still. Inaccessible, not functional, but there. Could they then accordingly read any of the broader communications to be found there? In that subtle art of reinforcement and deceit to be employed in one's field? Perhaps she would ask her sister. A question to be filed away for another time. Now she was focused, intent.

The boy asked her if she had a preference for the coffee offered to her, but could hardly bother himself to wait for the answer. No matter that he was right; it was the form of the thing. When his back was to her, she permitted herself a moment of disdain; her full mouth pressed into a thin line. Any trace of it was gone by the time he turned back, and she was all warm smiles that even very nearly mirrored in the gold of her eyes. She asked the boy his name, and his eyes turned wary.

"Thank you, then, Mr. Madden. Or may I call you Fionn...?" Her voice was gentle, and she let a little more of the apologetic creep into it. In deference, perhaps, to his clearly uncomfortable pause. A soft lure, to make sure that the information she wanted came into her white-gloved hands. The name Madden was familiar, but Ana couldn't place it straight away.

While Fionn was gone, Ana was alone with her thoughts. Her thoughts, and Umberto's parlor. She glanced around, politely. She wasn't concerned with the state of the man's home, not precisely. Any thoughts she would form about the rest of his household were best formed with the man himself present. Perhaps Fionn's presence was some form of charity. Of what nature? She couldn't be sure. But he had always been a strange man; Ana could hardly imagine that being in Anaxas once more had changed that fact.

She still couldn't understand how this—young man had come to know her sister at all. Let alone how he had gotten such hooks in her that she would refuse to come home. He was pretty enough, Ana supposed, for a young man. She had been in Bastia far too long not to recognize beauty where it could be found, even if she herself had no interest in the masculine form.

Fionn returned after an acceptable length of time, gleaming silver coffee pot and delicate china cup set upon a tray with a bowl of sugar and two small pitchers. He had wrapped his hand in a handkerchief, decorated in some clumsy needlework. His motions were precise, but lacking in anything approaching grace. Yet another thing that she would not have permitted. A servant too ill-adjusted in their work to do it with any ease was too ill-adjusted to be left unsupervised. A flaw in the master, or in the servant? Both, Ana admitted reluctantly. Fionn alone could not be blamed for his own lack of refinement in this task. Simple as they were, these things could be taught. Aurelie, Ana knew, could—

"Cream, please, and no sugar. Thank you." Her mind turned away from the image of her sister pouring coffee for faculty and visiting academics. Assuredly, a mistress of any decent house could pour tea and coffee service elegantly for company. That was not at all the same. A Steerpike, laboring. Ana would set it to rights.

A rather young man, Ana would have supposed. Younger than her Birdie, even, although by how much it was difficult to tell. Ana contemplated this as she patiently waited for him to reach the end of his gibbering about her own age. Her brows raised, a fraction of an inch. She couldn't tell if Fionn was trying to be rude, or was just stupid. He had all but asked Ana her age with that absolute mess of babbling. She laughed, a graceful little sound; the laugh of a lady of breeding caught in an awkward question.

"Well aren't you sweet," she said, instead of what she was thinking. He stepped to the edge of the diamond-brightness of her field, but not outside of it. She had not bothered to dampen it in his presence. This, she thought crossly, was not getting her much of anywhere. She needed to try something else, a different angle of approach. Ana thought, quickly, and decided on a course of action. Swift and merciless.

"Just the coffee is fine, thank you. And Miss Steerpike is fine, thank you." Ana grasped the edge of the cup with her hand, and took a delicate, watchful sip. Reheated, and not nearly strong enough. She would have to have a word with Umberto after all.
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Tue Oct 06, 2020 7:28 pm

Dentis 16, 2719 | Morning
Umberto’s House
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If he told her what he preferred to be called, if he said anything to steer her away from ‘Madden’, he feared that he’d draw far too much attention to his family name, which was the opposite of what he wanted. Not that she intended to use it with ill-effect, not that she was planning to do anything with the information—Fionn was just being paranoid. The passive had given out his name before in an act of defiance and since then, it seemed as if he no longer had control over what happened to it. It felt as if it was gradually being removed from his possession, and one day, he’d have no way to deny his origins. Obviously, anyone who realised Niamh’s relationship to him could work it out, but this woman would likely never have seen them together and yet, she now knew something about him that was too powerful in light of the brevity of their relationship. It didn’t feel right.

Honestly, he would have preferred for her to know that he was a bastard—probably one anyway.

“Fionn,” he responded softly, “Fionn is my only name.”

Hadn’t he basically contradicted himself? Clearly he had a surname, some origin and he’d given it but he could hardly scrub it away now. Too late.

It didn’t help that there was an imbalance of power between them—there was always an imbalance of power—but he was at a disadvantage for not knowing her name and not really having the right to ask it either. He’d only have grounds to ask it when she departed, assuming that Umberto hadn’t put in an appearance, because then he would be able to ask who had called and he’d finally be able to learn her identity. Otherwise, the passive was entirely reliant on her volunteering the information of her own accord and why on Vita would she do such a thing when he was a poor, disabled thing at best and at worst—

No point dwelling on it.

When he returned, he was all too aware of the delicate tremor in his hands. It was more than likely invisible to the visitor, the shaking perhaps more of a tingling in the nerves of his fingers rather than a visible phenomenon. He felt unsteady, and was made truly inelegant by the encumbrance of his body that he had to do his best to overcome. In truth, it was a small wonder that he managed the coffee pot without spilling its contents when he poured—or worse, dropped it.

It wasn’t as if he did this on a regular basis or had ever done so in truth. Sure, he served Umberto food and drink but it lacked this formality. Besides not only would the academic not mind about his physical awkwardness, he probably wouldn’t even notice unless Fionn had an accident that pulled him away from his work.

That night he’d come home guttered didn’t precisely count, but in truth, he’d been an unwelcome diversion from the man’s work by being too much of a godsbedamned nuisance and after that… well, the golly had felt sorry for him. He didn’t think that this woman would be capable of pity for the likes of him—not that he wanted it—but it did mean that he had less room for error. No, she had a falseness about her, someone who had a mask for every situation. Her expression changed too little and her field remained too inexcitable for her displays to be anything other than controlled and carefully calculated.

Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time that he’d allowed paranoia to get the best of him.

The teenager handled her coffee preferences, silently praying that it would be up to snuff, and found his neck flushing moments later.

"Well aren't you sweet."

The blond really didn’t know how to respond to that and he didn’t know that the blotchy redness that was creeping up onto his face was helping him out. He probably looked ruddy—literally—awful.

“Um,” he began eloquently, blinking rapidly as he attempted to maintain and avoid eye contact simultaneously, “I just meant— well, I didn’t mean anything in particular by it. J-j-just the truth. That you’re a beautiful, young woman. N-n-not that I— Not that you’d want someone like me…”

Far too late, the youth trailed off, thankfully having run out of power to continue digging a hole for himself. It had been an idiotic thing to say and no doubt she’d view him as an exceedingly stupid creature but that was nothing new. He must seem extremely young, standing there scarlet and stammering, all too clearly ill-equipped to be in this situation. He wasn’t meant to be alone with women, didn’t she realise that? The visitor knew what he was so she must realise that he’d never had cause to be talking to a young woman like this, least of all a golly one! At least Aura didn’t care what foolishness came out of his mouth as he came close to choking on his own tongue but she—

“Wh-wh— Steerpike! Oh! Yes, of course! Miss Steerpike.”

For one horrifying moment, the blond believed that the galdor had glimpsed his thoughts and plucked the redhead passive from his mind. It took him a few seconds to understand that that was her name and a few far worse ones where her identity dawned on him in its entirety.

And then of course, he went right ahead and opened his mouth to spew out words.

“Oh you’re Ana—Lilliana! Uh so you— Umb— I mean, Mr. Bassington-Smythe is from Bastia and you— I imagine that you know him from there and—” the middle Madden caught himself and managed to change direction—too little, too late. “Not that it’s any of my business. Forgive me, I’ve gone and— At least part of the reason why I’m here is because I think—a thinking passive, there’s an oxymoron, ahaha. But obviously I think too much which is a, uh… a-a-a problem.”

It was a good thing that his hands were behind his back and already clasped because each of his fingers seemed to be trying to fidget and squirm right off. The youth did his best to hold them as rigidly as possible, resisting the urge to shift his weight from foot to foot as anxious energy bounced up and down his nervous system. The pained twist of his lips might have been an agonised and embarrassed smile or a rictus of sheer terror but certainly not the expression of someone who was doing quite alright at the moment. Even in spite of the movement, the teenager knew that he must appear utterly manic, right down to the near hysterical titter of laughter in there at a—

Ye gods, had he actually made a self-deprecating joke in the middle of that brief but all too informative overshare? It was a wonder that he hadn’t mentioned Aurelie just to add insult to fucking injury.

He cleared his throat.

“Forgive me, I really— I’m not always like this but I’m like this… enough. I’m sorry,” Fionn managed, slightly deflated now, growing weary as adrenaline receded and he waited for the consequences to fall hard on his head.
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Mon Oct 19, 2020 3:32 pm

16th of Dentis, 2719 - Morning
Mr. Bassington-Smythe's Residence, The Stacks
Ana filed that information away, contradictory as it had been, before the boy left her to go to the kitchen. Wishy-washy, that's what it was. She had never been able to abide such a nature, with very rare exceptions. To give her his full name, only to insist that it wasn't so a moment later... Well, she certainly took note of it in the ledger of her mind. Still, she had smiled beautifully, kindly, and he had left and returned with the subject closed. For now.

There were plenty of other things to displease her, she found. The fumbling inquiry into her age, for instance. Ana accepted this too with grace and good humor, as any lady of breeding must. Just because one was conversing with some sort of bumbling child, that did not give one allowance to behave in kind.

And Gracious Lady, did her idle acceptance have a rather stronger effect than she would ever have expected! The boy—Fionn, she reminded herself again, Fionn—turned a rather blotchy shade of red, stammering some nonsense or another in response. Ana's smile did not falter, her field indectal as it had been since she arrived at the door. Was he like this with every beautiful woman he met? Ana was not one to lie to herself or others for the dubious merits of modest humility, but this was rather ridiculous.

It did not inspire confidence, either, when it came to her Birdie. Birdie was a very lovely girl—that hadn't changed at all, even with so much of her soft bright hair cut away. Not quite the beauty she might have been, given their family, but lovely still. A different sort of pretty, Ana felt, to herself and the other women of their line; fresh-faced and sweet, with a charm that lay more in her nature than her features. Likely vulnerable to this sort of awkward, fumbling excuse for flattering as well, sheltered as she was. Another note.

Not at all useful, however; Ana pivoted her tactics. That, she noted with triumph, did get her somewhere. His face twisted and transformed, clearly pained. The boy could keep nothing to himself, it seemed—Ana was forced to reluctantly admit that he and her sister had that in common. She chose not to dwell overly long on this similarity; it certainly would make her task easier.

She very nearly bristled at his casual use of the diminutive. Umberto certainly never referred to her that way—it would have been highly inappropriate. Her Aura, of course, was quite allowed. It did warm her heart to think that Birdie spoke of her, even if it was to this foolish child. The smallest flicker of a frown passed over her mouth for just a moment; his being here was a punishment. For her acquaintance, or for the boy? Both seemed rather likely. The sour note to her expression was there for only a fraction of a second—a blink would have missed it entirely, and then her face was as smooth as if it had never been.

Ana highly doubted it was for thinking too much; such thoughtfulness had not been on display for even a moment in this entire dreadful interaction. No, that wasn't likely at all. So what, then, had he done to be plucked out from his peers and sent off to torment poor Umberto? And why him? The man had always been an eccentric, but weren't all academics?

He cleared his throat and apologized to her. Yes, she thought, it was rather clear this was his natural state. Ana found herself in despair again that Aurelie would be quite so attached to... this. Better for her purposes, of course; the bond should prove easy enough to break, fool that he was proving to be. Were Ana more inclined to patience in this matter, she rather thought he'd hang himself in his own noose without her intervention. But somewhere in the bottom of her heart, she was troubled. What if, she thought to herself, that hanging happened too late—? Men were all of a kind, and poor Birdie was too sweet and too innocent to protect herself adequately. No, she couldn't allow that.

If he laid a single hand on her, she vowed silently, she would break both of them herself. Although that would certainly strengthen her case against the University.

"Please, it's quite all right!" she offered pleasantly, a hint of concern creeping into her voice. "You are correct, I do know Mr. Bassington-Smythe from my time in Bastia." Ana carried on as if nothing were wrong. As if there was any way the boy could have known that, other than from her sister's own mouth. She had no trace of Florne in her accent, not even after so many years, and none of it in her manner or dress. There was no way to have made such a supposition but through Birdie.

A little longer, Ana thought. She would stay a little longer—she knew now without a shadow of a doubt that this young man knew her sister. What she did not know, yet, was the precise nature of such knowing, and what sort of a threat he posed to her. That he was a threat was clear; Ana could not imagine his intentions towards Aura were anything like purity. The bracelet troubled her. It implied promises. She needed to know the exact shape of those promises, so that she could free her sister of the net they caught her in.

"He's quite the interesting man," she went on, painted mouth in a perfect smile, "Mr. Bassington-Smythe. I was hoping to reconnect with him, as we are both in the same country once more. I find my business takes me often to Brunnhold, lately. How long have you been in his service, Mr. Fionn?"
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Thu Oct 29, 2020 7:33 pm

Dentis 16, 2719 | Morning
Umberto’s House
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He’d thought her false, the expression she wore no more than a pretty mask and his suspicions only seemed to be confirmed when the frown flickered into view before being scrubbed clean. Her visage gave so little away, the sweet and smiling countenance that she’d presented to him since her arrival unlikely to have been in any way genuine, which frightened him. There was no telling what was truly going on behind those bright eyes and the business-like bent of her field.

If Fionn had realised it sooner then he could have been on his guard, especially as—horrifyingly—he could draw a connection between her behaviour and Ayden’s.

The boy had managed to think of his former roommate, overseer and abuser in infrequent bursts over the past number of months, burying memories of the parse for the most part and only taking them out when he felt as if he had the strength to examine them. Since he’d had all connection with the older man severed, the passive had been relatively sheltered, treated kindly by those galdori that he’d had reason to work with, and enabled to heal somewhat. A lot of his distrust and fear of authority figures had eroded, and so even though he hadn’t believed the elder Steerpike to be wholly genuine, he hadn’t been truly wary of her.

That had definitely changed.

Something within him loosened, a strange sort of calm settling over the servant. Fionn had some idea how this went when you were aware that someone might have an ulterior motive when interacting with you. There was familiarity here and that could dispel some of his anxiety because he knew how to handle things when they fell into a certain pattern, and while the unfamiliar could make him edgy and unsure of himself, there was a quiet confidence in him now as his countenance relaxed and the tension slid away.

It was also just a little bit disheartening, enough for the affect to drop from his voice, eye contact easier to maintain because what she thought no longer mattered. It wasn’t wholly conscious, the youth had simply sought to retreat and his brain had managed the rest. From now on, the false feeling in Ana’s voice would have to suffice for both of them.

Fionn could observe her as if from a distance, dispassionate as she said that things were quite all right, mentally translating that as not all right at all. No doubt she hadn’t approved of his comments regarding her age earlier either. Calling him sweet couldn’t have been genuine, too sentimental to have been anything other than affected in order to what? Set him at his ease? Frankly, he didn’t know. Could be that she was fishing for information for some reason, something about Umberto, or the University or something else that wasn’t immediately obvious. This couldn’t be about him because he was nothing to her—nothing and no one—so it wasn’t as if he needed to care.

Whatever her machinations, he simply had to be an unpromising source of information. Unfortunately, while he was like this, he wasn’t beyond with being insubordinate so he just had to open his mouth as little as possible, which was markedly easier now that he wasn’t exceptionally agitated.

She’d hoped to reconnect with the academic. That was probably the truth, especially considering the present situation, as was the notion that she came to Brunnhold often these days. It could be exclusively due to Aura, as the girl had admitted to having had a visit from Ana, but no doubt this woman had a life far beyond her passive sister.

The best lies had truth in them, but he probably shouldn’t be trying to read too much into her words to try to discern fact from fiction, because it wasn’t worth it. Besides, he was probably indulging in more paranoia than the golly woman was worth.

Her question made his eyes slip to the side as he briefly considered the current date, using that as a frame of reference as his own memory couldn’t be relied on for judging the passage of time where days could feel like weeks and weeks could feel like days.


“Almost a month,” Fionn responded simply, his brown eyes finding her face once more, remaining fixed there as he hardly blinked, not giving any indication that he’d offer any more in the way of conversation. His gaze didn’t move, no indication that he was scanning her face—because he wasn’t—although he was considering her in a dispassionate sort of way.

Blink.

Yes, she was a beauty and her use of cosmetics was clearly designed to accentuate that fact. However, he realised that her evident awareness of her own good looks detracted from them, another layer of artifice to her that made her, if not precisely ugly, then certainly less appealing than he’d viewed her before. Fionn discovered that he much preferred the genuine feeling that shone from Aura’s face, or even his sister than this woman.

“If there’s nothing else I can get you then I had best return to my work,” the teenager explained, his tone hardly rising or falling, not quite monotonous, but not with any clear emotion within it either—almost matter-of-fact.

Blink.

“I have ingredients to prepare for soup. If you wish, I can do so here if conversation with a passive would be an adequate way to pass the time while waiting for the Professor to return.”

The blond found that he didn’t actually care what she decided, no preference for whether he chopped ingredients here or in the kitchen, the task one that he could be content in no matter the location. If he could find a sort of solace in such work in the noisy and crowded space of Brunnhold’s kitchen then the presence of one sorceress and her obtrusive field would make no difference to him.

This time, he didn’t make any move to rush away, or showed any signs of waiting nervously or impatiently for her response. No, he could wait quite calmly.

Funny, he realised, that he could act this way now when this demeanour of utter passivity had so often eluded him.

Blink.
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