[Closed] Taking Measure

[caporushes]

16th of Dentis, 2719 - Morning
Mr. Bassington-Smythe's Residence, The Stacks

A month. Yaris, Ana thought, was a long month. And certainly Birdie had argued with her the first time she’d come, too; there had been no bracelet then, but the resistance had been there. Ana thought, her face and field as pleasant and professionally friendly as it had been when she walked through the door. That was either in her favor, or it was nothing. Generally, things were in her favor—she saw no reason why this would be different.

Still, an angle worth exploration. Some strange look had come over the boy’s face—he was an odd child, she thought; so many of them were. Even her dear sister was odd, in her own way. Endearingly so with Aurelie; the steady gaze fixed on her face was nothing of the sort.

”Long enough to know him for an eccentric,” she said then, a little conspiratorial light in her smile. Not too scandalous an insult, in his line of work. Frankly, she had found most of Mr. Bassington-Smythe’s sort to find being called an eccentric to be a kind of badge of honor. Ana had been called it herself, of late; she thought she was starting to understand the appeal.

There was nothing in the boy’s tone when he spoke again that spoke to her of insubordination; indeed, the rather reserved tone was far more appropriate than anything exhibited thus far. But if he thought to rectify earlier mistakes, he had best choose his words with better care. Giving himself leave was certainly bordering on rudeness. More than bordering, really. But it was, as all of this had been so far, not far enough down that road for her to waste her time. With any luck, she would hear what she needed to and never see this ridiculous child again.

The question then became, rather, how to make sure she heard it. Ana found the suggestion of doing vegetable preparation in the parlour deeply repugnant—one had this done in the kitchens for a reason. Ana had never done much cooking herself, but she did understand on a basic level how it was done. And it tended to be messy. She had no desire to have Umberto’s home become any more untidy than it already was.

Ana curled slender fingers around the handle of her cup of mediocre coffee, smiling apologetically. ”I shouldn’t like to make your work any more difficult for you.” A sip; cup met saucer once more with a clink of porcelain. ”I had really best be getting on. It doesn’t seem as if our Mr. Bassington-Smythe will be returning any time soon. Quite all right. I’ll leave my card with you, if you would be a dear and give it to him when next he returns.”

The cup, middlingly terrible coffee, and saucer were all set gently against the table in front of her. Ana stood, smoothing her skirts over her thighs with a smile. ”It was lovely to meet you—at last. My sister,” she offered, ”has said much about you. I do hope that’s right—you do know my sister, don’t you? Aurelie?”

[Fionn]

Dentis 16, 2719 | Morning
Umberto’s House

.

He hoped that the young woman would simply take her leave so that he could be shot of her. Fionn had no desire to have her remain, least of all because his paranoia was running high, the youth somewhat on his guard even though her ulterior motives had nothing to do with him. It didn’t matter that it didn’t concern him; he wanted no further part of it.

His mention of food preparation had definitely been intended as a less than subtle reminder that her presence was a disruption to his work schedule and while he would have been willing to handle it in her presence, he was far more satisfied that she’d taken the hint and chosen to fuck off.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble,” he assured her, almost pleasant as the tone of his voice lifted a little, fully aware that he wasn’t being wholly truthful. The blond didn’t particularly enjoy being scrutinised while working in such a fashion and it would go far more smoothly if he could push his surroundings into the background. But it was one of those things that had to be said, a matter of politeness that rose to his lips automatically and unbidden; he could be polite sometimes.

“However, if you won’t be staying then of course I can pass your card—and your regards—along to Mr Bassington-Smythe when he puts in an appearance.”

His posture shifted, hands moving to the front of his torso, and the bracelet slid a few inches down his wrist as the left one was raised palm upward, fingers slightly curled as he waited, ready to receive the promised card. The youth had to do his best to remain present rather than allowing his mind to wander away before she’d actually departed.

And then the interaction took such an unexpected turn that he found himself rooted to the spot, brown eyes fluttering briefly as they fixed on her face with new intensity. His lips parted but he made no effort to speak as the mechanism of his mind whirred with new activity.

Aura had-

No, that couldn’t be right! Aura would never have risked such a thing, especially not to her sister. She was too cautious for that, too aware that Fionn was a secret that she’d have to keep. No, she was confirming that the other passive knew him, fishing for information and it was with a mix of alarm and—surprisingly—disgust that he realised her underhanded manipulation had something to do with him after all.

“Did she really?” he questioned, interest entering his voice although there was an edge of something beneath it as a thin smile took hold on his features. The barest curl of his lips suggested that they were on the verge of becoming a sneer—or a snarl.

“Do you know, that doesn’t sound like Aura at all,” Fionn continued, dangerously pleasant now, “but I think we both know why it sounds so unlikely, don’t we?”

The boy hadn’t called her a liar directly, but the accusation certainly hovered in the air between them.

There was no sense in denying the association, not when the galdor had only asked because she already had a fair idea what the answer would be. Aurelie certainly hadn’t told her and he hadn’t said anything to suggest that he knew her—the reaction to the name of ‘Steerpike’ surely couldn’t have been sufficient indication—nothing that could have made her confident enough to say it aloud. There was no doubt that Lilliana Steerpike wouldn’t have hazarded a guess on some wild notion, not when he could see the evidence of her care and control, and had been doing so since she’d arrived.

His eyes narrowed slightly, the barest crease appearing between his brows as he considered her, and before he could stop himself, his raised hand shifted higher to slide fingers through his blond locks in a manner that made them more unruly. It was a habit that couldn’t be helped, not merely a sign of agitation but also a gesture that accompanied intense bouts of thought. It aided him in an unexpected way in this instance as he felt the bracelet shift against his wrist again.

A suspicion quickly formed. There had definitely been some concern between them that the matching accessories would make their link more obvious to someone paying attention, and it wasn’t as if those gated in the university were particularly inclined to don such forms of self-expression so it was sufficiently unusual that it might-

In hindsight, with that new suspicion in mind, how much of her behaviour took on a different meaning? Hells, the fact that she had entered the house at all- his sleeves had been rolled up when she’d arrived and she’d clearly taken stock of him and then her attitude had become… yes, warmer, more friendly, more approachable to a passive boy who would be more accustomed to being treated as a piece of furniture assuming he wasn’t being carefully ignored.

The teenager chuckled, dark-humoured, as he realised how wrong he’d been in interpreting her motives. How sly the golly bitch had been if she had really hung around on his account to confirm this. All this just to confirm his relationship with her little sister, forced to ask him directly, even though it had been made to sound inconsequential.

No, surely, she couldn’t have really done all of that on account of little old him?

“Was that really all that you wanted? Is that what you’ve been trying to get out of me all this time with your smiles and your friendly words?” he asked, a finger snagging the woven loop so that he could tug it briefly into view from beneath the cuff. After a few seconds, he realised it, hands slipping into his pockets in a display of nonchalance that he didn’t quite feel.

“Don’t get me wrong, you were very good—had me fooled when I should definitely know better—but you don’t know your sister very well, do you? Oh I’m sure that you knew her well before, but you don’t know her as a passive.”

That was it, wasn’t it? The relationship had been a relatively brief one, but he had understood enough about her from that first moment that she’d told him that he shouldn’t be drawing that day at dinner. Brunnhold twisted them in different ways, it was true, but there was a great deal of commonality between the magical bombs, as Umberto had called them.

He couldn’t help but smile more broadly, even though bitterness marred the brightness.

“You’re all excellent at not seeing us when you’re looking directly at us.”

[caporushes]

16th of Dentis, 2719 - Morning
Mr. Bassington-Smythe's Residence, The Stacks

Ana had already begun to search through her reticule for the calling card when she spoke. Slower than was warranted, grant; it was not much of a search in a bag as ruthlessly organized as her own. The cards were all neatly together in a cloisonne card case that had belonged to her mother; one of the very few things Ana had kept for own personal use.

Truth was not the order of the day—at least, not from her. Truthfully, she found the boy simple and aggravating both. Truthfully, she didn't care if she kept him from the undoubtedly sloppy execution of his work or not. And truthfully, her sister hadn't mentioned him at all. Not by name. But she had been too much of her sister's childhood confidante for nothing to slip through, and Lilliana Steerpike was not a fool. She could certainly put these rather clear pieces together.

Her fingers clasped around the card case; the boy spoke. Ana paused, smile still fixed on her face, to flick her gold eyes up. There was some shift in his voice, an edge she found exceedingly unpleasant. Although it hardly mattered—she had wanted confirmation of association, and she had gotten it. To be so familiar as to call her Aura! A frown very nearly found its way onto her face, but Ana held herself in check.

Dearest Birdie! Leaving aside the simply abhorrent thought of just what the boy in front of her undoubtedly wanted from friendship with her sweet sister, there was the matter of what that said about her sister's taste. She had thought her, at least, not the type of girl to be so persuaded by a pretty face and nothing else. Ana almost preferred the sullen Bastian boy her parents had so absurdly decided was her sister's fiancé, the Morandi child. No, she had preferred him, she was quite sure—he, at least, had respect for the way things ought to be done.

"Am I mistaken?" Ana asked pleasantly, voice mild, gem-bright field as orderly and indectal as she had held it the entire time she had been here. Watching the boy put his hair into disarray once more. Ana flicked open the card case, a gloved hand sliding out one of her calling cards. (Where there was truth, of course, was the fact that she had come to see an old acquaintance, and did wish to hear from him if he was amenable.)

He laughed; Ana shut the card case with a firm and decisive snap. This outburst of unconscionable rudeness she could have ignored, as she had ignored all the others. The sullen look on his face, the arrogant laughter—all of it. She was not so unreasonable a woman as to get truly riled by some puffed-up boy who didn't know his place.

If not, then, for the way he spoke of Aurelie. As if she were the unwelcome outsider, and not the only family that girl had in the world. Sneeringly confident in his assessment; nobody knew her the way Ana did. She had been there at the moment of her birth; her first word had been Ana's name. Something in her kindled and flared to brilliant life. With it came the release of any pretense of dampening on her field, and gentleness as well. Ana had the distinct feeling the child thought he could intimidate her.

"Boy," she said, voice hard-edged and brisk, "I believe I see plenty. I have, in fact, seen more here than I cared to." The disdainful sweep up the scant inch between them and back down left no doubt as to what it was she cared so little for. She held the card out between them even as her field flexed, firmly, a shimmering net.

"Shall I tell you what I see?" It wasn't, of course, any sort of question; she didn't wait for a response. "I see an arrogant young man who will do my sister irreparable harm. If I allow it; I assure you, I will not."

[Fionn]

Dentis 16, 2719 | Morning
Umberto’s House

.

The youth knew that he was playing an extremely dangerous game. Gollies could react very, very poorly to insubordination, or what they perceived as it. Well, not just gollies, but any who judged themselves as being his superior and Alioe knew, there were plenty of those, and the passive had always been exceptional at dancing on that dangerous line, and crossing over it far too many times; the blond had often been termed ‘cheeky’ or ‘uppity’. To have even hinted at the notion that she was a liar, that she might be mistaken, was too much and her question as innocent as it sounded could only be a trap, posed to lead him into danger. He could do enough damage without her leading him to it.

“Mistaken? Oh no, I’m far more likely to be mistaken than you. What would I know after all?” he retorted, aiming for innocence but unable to prevent something sardonic from creeping in.

Well fuck… apparently, he was heading for the danger zone anyway, even though he’d attempted to soften things; it was unsurprising that he had failed in typical Fionn fashion.

From there, it could only go from bad to worse, but really if he’d been in anything like his right mind then he might not have taken a running jump over the clocking line like a total fool. It was clear when the woman changed, her true face revealing itself at last. The youth had made a mistake—hardly unusual—but at least there were to be no more lies between them.

Here was the contempt now, the undisguised disdain as she gave him a once-over. The way her field flexed made him grimace, never fond of the sensation of a field at the best of times, but this was a power move, an act of intimidation, a reminder of what she was and how compared to her, he was nothing.

Worthless.

Empty

Even with the nexus surrounding him, undeniably present, the youth couldn’t help but feel the same old bitterness, the same self-doubt, the same self-loathing—as if that ever went away.

“Arrogant. Right, ‘cos I’m the arrogant one,” the teenager murmured, sighing as he scrubbed a hand over his face. He went to take the offered card with the same hand, reconsidered as he wiped it on his shirt first and then plucked it delicately from her grasp between two fingers. It was drawn back but he continued to hold it aloft, not yet sure where he would put it.

“I don’t know what you think that I’ll do to Aur- your sister, but I’m not the one that you have to worry about. I’m not there anymore, and if I was then maybe she wouldn’t be on her own. In that place. You don’t know what it’s like in there. You aren’t one of us.”

The youth shut his eyes, visibly deflated. The hand without the card returned to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed, caught between wanting to act purely in Aura’s interests and wanting to strike a blow against her sister for the sake of his godsbedamned pride.

“We’re all shoved in together there, no true privacy, no space that’s our own, and yet each and every one of us is entirely alone. Some passives have friends, it’s true, but Aura… she’s been alone. I… haven’t. I know what it is… to be used. But I wouldn’t do to your sister what was done to me.”

His eyes opened again, heavy-lidded, a mournful brown.

“I have been irreparably damaged, I think we all end up damaged in some way by being gated. Aurelie probably has been already, there’s more than one way and she’s been in Brunnhold longer than me—not by much—but still longer,” he explained, gaze shifting to the card in his hand, mentally tracing the letters on it.

“If you can get her out, then do it. Even if she tells you that you shouldn’t.”

The protuberance in his throat bobbed, the blond feeling incredibly vulnerable in front of this woman who had made it quite clear that she didn’t regard him favourably. He had chosen Aurelie over himself and right now, with nerves gripping him with such ferocity that he had to hold himself rigid so as not to tremble—right now, he hated himself for not protecting himself.

[caporushes]

16th of Dentis, 2719 - Morning
Mr. Bassington-Smythe's Residence, The Stacks

Lilliana Steerpike was a reasonable woman, in most regards. And why wouldn't she be? What need did she have to be unreasonable, to what end? There was just something about the way this boy, who couldn't even do the job entrusted to him with anything approaching skill or finesse but evidently felt within his rights to tell her about her own sister, which set her on edge.

No, not "something". Ana was perfectly aware of what it was. Was she not glancing at it, right there on his wrist, as he muttered to himself before taking the calling card from her gloved hand? She cared very little for his sloppiness in his work, for she wasn't his employer, and she cared even less about his rudeness, for she wasn't—ideally—to ever see the child again after this moment. (She would, she had already decided, invite Umberto over to her townhouse in Muffey, should any visiting be done. This was not an experience she wished to repeat.)

All she cared about was Aurelie; all she had ever truly cared about was her. From that first moment on a rainy Loshis that she had laid eyes on her. Ana hardly needed this lout to tell her.

At least she needn't worry about any continued association. Although, from their last visit, she was uncertain if Birdie knew this. Provided it was truth, even, which Ana wasn't certain of either. The cheap trinket that so bound her misguided sister to this place left room for doubt. Far too much room, in fact. Helpful, though, if true and if Aura didn't yet know. If it weren't for the damage he might do to her in the meantime, Ana supposed she might not have to worry—this seemed bound to unravel on its own.

The boy sighed and his posture altered; Ana's held, neatly unforgiving. She didn't interrupt his rambling on, though if he thought to buy her sympathy, he'd certainly misjudged. She knew all of these things already—was that not the purpose to her being here at all? His assurances were tedious; that they knew each other at all was proof enough that he thought rules did not apply. Ana wasn't as naive as Aurelie. She wouldn't believe for a moment that his intentions stayed within the bounds of the proper order of courtship. Men were so very often alike in this way.

Gold eyes narrowed, scanning his face. As if she needed this boy, by his own admission younger even than her Aurelie, to tell her—no, that wasn't the point. Ana's field remained undampened in the space between them, though she pressed on him no longer. That point had been made, she thought. What interested her now was the last thing he said—and why.

"And what, might I ask, makes you think that's what I intend?" Her voice was neutral, but her eyes were bright and sharp. Had Birdie told him, yet refused her? That was a slightly different angle, with different variables to account for—and she would account for them.

[Fionn]

Dentis 16, 2719 | Morning
Umberto’s House

.

The woman had so much, and yet she seemed to insist on taking and taking and taking. She was like a parasite, doing her utmost to leech everything that she could from him. She read him, eyes taking in his appearance, his demeanour, and no doubt picking up on every minute shift in his expression— not that his countenance ever altered in anything but the broadest strokes. Her own eyes were unreadable, giving nothing away because she was both exceptionally good at masking her feelings and he didn’t have a true knack for reading emotions in any case.

The passive didn’t like how unresponsive she was, how she regarded him in silence despite what he’d said—perhaps because of what he’d said. Her silence probably wasn’t good, a sign that she was weighing his words and calculating. Fionn had already been on the receiving end of her calculating ways. The fact that what he’d said hadn’t moved her enough to elicit a genuine response as when she’d looked him up and down and contemned him.

He sighed, his eyes closing once more as weariness set in.

This was the first time that he had met Lilliana Steerpike and it might not be the last if she called on Umberto again, although he had no doubt that his presence would be unwelcome on such an occasion. However, first impressions could count for a great deal and he had gained at least some sense of her from her younger sister, enough to gather that she was a force with which to be reckoned.

Entitlement billowed from her in waves, something imagined rather than tangibly felt, not like a field, but all the same, it oozed out of her pores, accentuated the haughty set of her chin, and gave strength to her posture. Given that sense of privilege, the youth should have expected that she would ask questions, not even bothering to address a word of his warnings about Brunnhold and his implorement that she take care of Aura , because what was his word worth? The word of a passive.

He had to suppress an even deeper, wearier sigh, even though she was asking him nicely enough, òr rather not seeking answers in a demanding way, which was probably nice all things considered.

When he reopened his eyes, he found that her gaze was quite intense in spite of the mildness of her tone.

The youth exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her judgement, her contempt, her quiet demand for answers. There was a confidence there, a certainty that he would respond to her simply because it was her wish.

“Well, I suppose that I- She never said that you intended to do it, but she did talk about life outside Brunnhold and I-” he sighed, glancing down at his hands as his brows creased deeply. He reached up and massaged his forehead as if attempting to get the wrinkles out by hand.

“You seem to be a woman who gets what she wants. You don’t allow anything to stand in your way and if you really wanted to stop harm befalling her then you’d take her out of there. If her diablerie went off… well, if it was a lethal one, I’m not sure that anyone could protect her, it happens so quickly and if something could be done, I imagine they wouldn’t have allowed that scrap to inadvertently freeze some of the students.”

His expression was incredibly sombre when he chanced to raise his brown gaze to meet those piercing eyes.

“Not that I’m saying that she will- It might never happen. Plenty of passives never experience them and they aren’t all… deadly. Mine isn’t. It isn’t precisely pretty but it isn’t- It worries her though, I think. I think most probably do worry that they’ll go off unexpectedly, not a constant worry but…”

This was not the sort of territory that he’d intended to get into and it did sound incredibly grim now that he’d opened his godsbedamned mouth.

“It bothers Aura. She wouldn’t want anyone to suffer on her account. I think she was really horrified when I took a slap for her-”

Too late. Why had he allowed his mouth to run away with him? Why was he speculating about such things in front of the redhead’s golly sister? This was truly the worst time that he could be thinking aloud, potentially reading more into things that the other servant had said to him and no doubt leaving her sister wondering what in clocking hell Aura had told him.

Nothing important, he could assure her, except that she had told him much of her inner thoughts, certainly told him things of consequence—of consequence to her but not necessarily to Lilliana Steerpike.

It was highly unlikely that Lilliana would respond kindly to the hole that he’d just dug for himself. After all, he had casually discussed that her sister might die one day in a freak magical accident as a result of her birth. The idea of such a thing was obviously horrible and was far more upsetting to him than the last few moments would have suggested.

Aside from the continued frown and maybe some hint of pain in his eyes, which might only appear to be mild discomfort, he was rather lacking in emotion.

Of course. His body seemed to pick its moments very well.

[caporushes]

16th of Dentis, 2719 - Morning
Mr. Bassington-Smythe's Residence, The Stacks

Sweet Birdie. It did warm her heart so, hearing that Aurelie had spoken of her life at home. Even to this foolish boy; well, Ana could hardly blame her. Aurelie had never been very good at choosing suitable companions with which to spend her time. She never had liked the Morandi boy. Too sickly for Ana to have had much confidence that he could take adequate care of her sister; the whole engagement had been absurd.

Irrelevant now, of course. And she needn't worry about any of that once she was home again. Ana would see to it that she had more suitable company, for her delicate temperament and condition. Whatever that might be—she was sure she would find someone suitable.

At the word "scrap", spoken so carelessly, Ana frowned, sharply. That was hardly appropriate language to use in front of a lady. She didn't care what he called himself, of course; he could call himself a plague-riddled bastard son of a prostitute for all she cared. But the casual use of the term here included her Birdie. That, Ana could not abide.

Ana held still and silent as he rambled on about the potential fatality of diablerie. Truthfully, it had woken her up in the night—not that she thought Aurelie could hurt her. Gracious Lady, no! That was simply inconceivable. But that she might hurt herself? That Ana could believe very easily, and it made her sick at heart.

Perhaps it was this that made her unable to contain her irritation. Since she'd mentioned her sister, her Birdie, he'd done nothing but talk about her as if he knew her better. As if he were her key confidant, who knew her better than Ana did. Of course she didn't want anyone to suffer; Aurelie was a sweet and fragile young woman. Ana knew that very well. Her concern was merely misplaced.

"And what," she asked sharply, "did you do to earn such a— No, nevermind, do not tell me." She had lost her composure, her normally-indectal field crackling slightly red. She took a deep breath in and out, steadying herself. Calm, she would remain calm. However much a fool this child was, she'd learned many things today. Useful things. Things that would help her bring Aurelie home, to Briarwood, where she belonged.

Ana straightened, her lovely face severe in her disdain. "What I want, boy, is largely none of your concern. Except in this one key arena: do not lay a hand on my sister. If you are in any way as concerned with her welfare as you claim," which she highly doubted, "you won't tie her to this place any more than you already have."

She didn't bear down on him with her field or anything so terribly out of order. But her gaze was sharp, and she used it to pin him into place, a golden needle.

[Fionn]

Dentis 16, 2719 | Morning
Umberto’s House

.

Her composure was beginning to crack, enough to make him regret wishing that she wouldn’t be so damn rigid and controlled. The carefully schooled expression and the sharp, indectal field giving way as Fionn managed to worm his way through her self-possession. Maybe it was a wonder that it had taken so long to decay in his presence, especially considering that he’d always been rather good at rubbing people up the wrong way—not on purpose—and it was clear that she didn’t have a fondness for him. The warning of a noticeable change was there, the youth failing to read her less-than-subtle frown as a harbinger of something sharp. Only when words lashed out at him did he realise that he’d truly fucked up somewhere, although Circle only knew what it had been; there always seemed to be something when it came to the middle Madden.

There was a wince, pure reflex and a stutter of syllables that failed to coalesce into anything comprehensible as his brain raced to make sense of the question to which his own ill-considered words had exposed him. Enough brain cells had rallied to prevent him from blurting out pure, unvarnished truth but more due to the fact that there was a larger story behind it rather than a sense of self-preservation. Lucky really that he became tongue-tied as he did as the story behind that slap would have no doubt further inflamed the Steerpike’s passions.

The blond could feel the shift, could sense the strength and fire of it even if he couldn’t truly comprehend the red flicker of her field. What he sensed coupled with the situation allowed him to make an educated guess, a grimace drawing his lips back to expose a sliver of teeth—an expression that had all too often been mistook for a grin on his youthful face. He leaned away, muscles taut as he anticipated- Well, he hadn’t expected mere words, her attitude and experience telling him to predict pain, violence, something physical. Unconsciously, the teenager had set his jaw in a way that would better weather a punch or a slap, his visage having too often posed the most obvious target. Quite clear that he had been the recipient of such treatment, but for him there was only a grim acceptance that went with the assumption.

A blow didn’t come, her field didn’t swell or agitate—not that he had any real familiarity with magical anger—and her voice lacked the spitting viciousness of uncontrolled rage, but her words were sharp all the same—tempered blades.

Bewilderment took root briefly on his features—his emotions painfully transparent and uncontrolled as always—then worry, guilt, uncertainty—a confused medley.

“Lay hands on her? Wh-what do you think I’d-”

Well, he’d done a lot more than simply lay hands on her, hadn’t he? His mouth had been on her for one thing and her hands-

No, best not to think of that, but-

Too late, he could already feel the flash of heat across his face, teeth pressing the inside of his lip as the beginnings of sheepishness began to manifest.

And then he registered the rest of her words, the meaning creeping insidiously into his heart so that the fresh bloom of colour in his cheeks drained away, leaving them bloodless—grey.

”Tie-?” he managed to squeeze from between numb lips, brown eyes grown wide and unfocused. His heart seemed to be sinking, dropping slowly into the region of his stomach. Impossibly heavy it continued to sink and left him feeling more than a little ill.

Unthinkingly, trembling fingers had found the bracelet encircling his wrist.

The youth hadn’t thought of himself, hadn’t considered that he might play a role in Aurelie’s freedom—or lack of it. The full implications of what it would mean if Ana took her hadn’t yet sunk in, the idea too new to have been properly contemplated. Later, he would no doubt feel the idea of her absence, the yawning hole it would leave within him that was merely an extension of the loneliness that had been threatening to devour him from within since he’d come to Umberto’s. It would have an impact on him, it would have an impact on her but the idea that he would affect anything hadn’t entered his mind at all—not beyond the chance to positively influence her sister.

The idea that they were tied was one he’d thought about when he’d gifted her the matching bracelet around her slender wrist—he couldn’t recall if he’d voiced something of the sort aloud—but the galdor’s words had chimed against the remembrance with horrifying results.

Gods, he did feel sick now, he really did. Yet his throat also felt constricted as if something had lodged itself there, making it difficult to breathe. He would have said that it was his heart, its pulse unmistakably there, but then how could it be sitting stone-like in his belly at the same time?

“Me? Good gods…” he whispered, hand seeking the back of a chair that he could clench, white-knuckled.

Sweet Lady! He’d told her that he loved her, he’d bound her to him in more than one way, and he wished that he could say that she wouldn’t turn down a chance for freedom on his account, but hadn’t he had opportunities himself? Any time that the academic sent him out, he could simply choose to go on the lam, but part of him felt tethered to Brunnhold because-

He shook his head, disagreement—no, denial—but he could see it. Fionn thought he might cry.

“No, I wouldn’t- I won’t”—his gaze found the woman’s to repeat it and winced under the glare—“I won’t.”

It was timid, the promise of a chastened child, soft and damn near teary.

He had to close his eyes so the moisture wouldn’t escape, feeling the sting despite the balm of darkness. Fionn took a deep breath, exhaling shakily as he forced himself to straighten, swallowing the lump that threatened to choke him.

Brown eyes found hers, shiny but blessedly disinclined to start leaking, the rest of his face bearing the gravity of one who’d received grim news.

“That isn’t what I want for her,” he responded flatly.

The card she’d given him had fluttered from his grasp at some point and he bent to collect it. For safekeeping, he stowed it within the cover of one of the volumes on the nearby table that Umberto had been perusing of late, leaving enough of the stationery poking out so that it wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll see you out, Miss… Steerpike. I’ve kept you long enough as it is,” he remarked, shoulders slumping as he continued almost under his breath, “No doubt you have better uses for your time.”

[caporushes]

16th of Dentis, 2719 - Morning
Mr. Bassington-Smythe's Residence, The Stacks

The boy had flinched back from the weight of her anger like he was expecting a physical blow. Ana would never be so heavy-handed, but he didn't know this of course. She had never felt one should treat even human help so; firmness won loyalty, but cruelty squandered it. The reaction neither surprised her nor made her pause; she had seen just such a thing in her time both here in Brunnhold and later in Anastou. All the more reason to remove Aurelie from this place; she couldn't possibly bear up under such harsh treatment.

She had instructed him rather sharply, she supposed. Her temper had certainly gotten the better of her, for which she was genuinely ashamed. There were certainly more subtle ways to deliver her message. And yet—no. Ana didn't think this boy would have gotten a more carefully-crafted message than what she had given him.

After all, he seemed so positively shocked at her instruction not to touch her sister. As if he didn't know! Ana found that extremely difficult to believe; men were so often of a type, and given where his eyes went immediately upon opening the door for her, she doubted he broke far from the mold. The idea that he might have already done so had crossed her mind, but Ana refused to entertain it. As long as it ended, she could... only hope that he had done her and her spirit no lasting damage.

She watched with that same piercing look as her words sank in properly. Oh, he tried to deny it at first, but she saw the moment it permeated. Reaching for that bracelet, odd-looking thing that it was. The expression on his face was curious; not one of anger or victory, once the confusion melted away, but something else entirely. Horror, she thought. And sorrow. Exactly as it should be.

"Good." Just one word, flat and final. Good—if she could believe his word. Ana didn't, of course, believe a single thing he said. One did not hold children to their promises especially harshly, and so too here. He had gone from irritatingly dim to annoyingly defiant to appropriately cowed rather quickly. Perhaps she should have been harsh sooner; she would have spared herself a lot of wasted time.

Time that she no longer had. "I do not care what you want her for," she enunciated very clearly. "Only that you are good to your word." Her gaze was hard and flat a moment more before she relented. Ana blinked, and her face was fairly pleasant once more.

While the boy bent to retriever her calling card (how he had managed to drop it so quickly, she did not know) Ana gathered her bearings together. Should she go back, speak to Birdie again...? No. No, there was too much work to be done. She had the auction to arrange for, and the matter of legal action to pursue. She hadn't truthfully had this much time to waste here, but she was glad she had in the end. Everything was falling into place.

This wouldn't last, she thought confidently. It was clear to her now that this boy, this Fionn, was no suitable association for her Aurelie. With time and distance, which it seemed would be put between them no matter what, she knew that her dear sister would see that, too.

"I'm glad we had this chat, Fionn," she said mildly as she made her way to the door. That was truth, too. In a way. She even spared him a smile. "Do remember to give your master my card, won't you?"

Yes, she felt much better about all of this now. With any luck, by the next time she saw Aurelie, the poor girl would be much less confused. Then there would be only the small matter of the arcane court and the University to deal with. A trifling, really—Lilliana Steerpike had yet to meet an obstacle she could not overcome.

[Fionn]

Dentis 16, 2719 | Morning
Umberto’s House

.

Her anger didn’t instantly dissipate but it did seem more controlled, more carefully focused in his direction so that he didn’t doubt that she would strike him down—but only if she so chose, not on account of what her emotions dictated.

Her initial response didn’t exactly convey that she was terribly pleased with what he had said, in spite of his sincerity, but she might be willing to accept it. It was understandable, he supposed, considering the opinion that she’d evidently formed about him and thus, he could hardly expect to sway her at this late juncture. He hadn’t said what he had in an attempt to endear himself to her, but a softening would have been nice to see; the blond wasn’t certain that she believed him.

She hadn’t hit him, but the passive didn’t consider it to be beyond the realm of possibility as that hard stare continued, suggesting that she still had the potential to go through him. Whether she believed him or not, she made it all too clear that her opinion of him—especially in relation to her sister—remained dismally low. Her words left him torn between wincing and sighing, settling on the latter as he nodded curtly to show that he acknowledged what she’d said. He could only hope that she’d believe that that meant he intended to keep his promise, but perhaps she didn’t trust anything that he’d said.

Pressing her to find out what she thought of his oath seemed pointless, especially as she didn’t owe him a response, and it wouldn’t achieve anything; if Lilliana disbelieved him then any attempt to argue his case would probably only worsen things.

The youth didn’t appreciate the near pleasantness of her visage once her threats had run their course, her demeanour scrubbed clean of any of the hostility that had existed only moments before. Not that the dislike showed on his face, no, not when it was such a minor thing in the context of everything else. He was too absorbed in his own private hell to display anything beyond preoccupied sadness, not so disconnected that he could be accused of being in any way negligent, just sufficiently detached to be… well, not wholly present. The humour could swallow him entirely once she departed, but he wasn’t quite so lacking in self-preservation as to allow his mind to retreat while she remained.

“I'm glad we had this chat, Fionn.”

They were en route to the door, brown eyes raising briefly to skim her face as if seeking the truth behind her words.

“I-” he broke off, bemused as he realised that he didn’t know where he wanted to go after that initial pronoun.

He couldn’t muster the manner of response that would have been polite in construction and yet insulting in its reality. Telling her that he was glad in return would be a bald-faced lie and doubtlessly, it would not be well-received. No, he certainly wasn’t glad but he couldn’t say that he was truly regretful either; the meeting had afforded him insight into the character of the sister that caused Aurelie such worry and uncertainty. He could see for himself now that the way the kitchen maid had spoken about her hadn’t borne much resemblance to his own state after meeting Niamh again after so many years; the redhead had seemed a little frightened when she’d described the reacquaintance.

It didn’t seem possible that he could be entirely neutral about their encounter, yet he found himself unable to find suitable emotion to truly care. In the scheme of things, Ana herself had grown rather insignificant, of paltry concern beside her younger sibling.

“I’ll be certain to provide him with your card,” he assured her, knowing that it was a promise that would be far easier for him to fulfil, even if he hoped that Umberto never made use of it; he didn’t care to have reason to lay eyes on her ever again.

His hand found the door’s handle, its opening a purely mechanical action, as was the shallow bow sketched as he drew the portal open for her and stood to one side, the youth like a skillfully puppeteered marionette.

“Good day, Miss Steerpike,” he managed as she departed, closing the door behind her with the same rigid movement before collapsing against it as if his strings had been cut.

His knees partly buckled, gravity leaving him with the appearance of being half-sitting against the wood, in a display that might have been comical to an onlooker if it weren’t for the rictus of agony that had overtaken his features. His limbs trembled, his hands splayed at his side as if he expected them to sink into the portal and get lost in the grain of its wood.

Aura remain in Brunnhold because of him! He couldn’t- She would never- It couldn’t-

It couldn’t-!

A sound between a keen and a groan rattled in his throat and tried to claw its way out.

Enough composure returned to him to make him scrabble for the bracelet at his wrist, and he would have torn it free if he could have, but it wouldn’t be so readily demolished. He fumbled but he got it off, leaving it clasped tightly in his hand, staring at it with a manic horror in his gaze. His other hand wrapped around it, the teenager squeezing so tightly that his hands hurt as he grasped them together plaintively, pleadingly.

“Gr-grant me wisdom that I m-m-might do what must be done,” he began, drawing on some of the formal prayers that he’d been taught years before. It had been years since he had properly prayed, especially so formally but it had come out now, fervent and almost tearful as his tongue shaped words from his past.

“L-l-lend me strength when I have none,” he continued, murmuring fiercely to himself—to the Circle—in the house alone, the passage of time forgotten and uncertain as he prayed.

And prayed.

Lilliana wasn’t to know how impactful her visit had been nor how torturous the promise she’d extracted from him was already proving to be. No doubt, she would have thought he deserved it.

Fionn was left alone to the turmoil of his own mind as he voiced desperate pleas to the divine and awaited Unberto’s return.