[St Grumbles] Lady in Red (Muse)

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Niamh Madden
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: I'm a good girl...
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Wed Sep 25, 2019 1:19 pm

Loshis 3, 2719 | Evening
St. Grumble’s Red Tie, Brunnhold
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She was going to end up being late to dinner if she wasn't careful and all because she was having second thoughts about her dress. Well, more than second thoughts at this point given how many times Niamh had worried about her suggestion, locked in a debate with herself with a constant back and forth.

It was her decision, she'd made it so why not clocking well stick with it? Especially when she'd put Rina to so much effort.

But it'd be so easy not to wear it, go with the lovely white dress that she'd worn at her father's party in Ophus. Better to go with the flow, be a good girl and not cause a scandal.

But why shouldn't she have control over something? Why shouldn't she dress like a harlot if she wanted? It would be her choice, she still had her free will and damn her parents for thinking that they could make her conform to anything!

On and on and on, the same arguments going around and around so that she was left feeling torn. She'd gone to effort with her hair and her make-up, pushing Rina to get the dress itself ready for her. She'd even borrowed a lovely white fur stole from a girl that she knew and she could hardly show up in a white dress with that thrown over her shoulders now, could she? Expense, effort and time had gone into this endeavour and so it wasn't easy to back out of it. It wouldn't be right.

Worst of all, the eldest Madden couldn't imagine donning that white dress, the very one that she'd worn when Toibin had wanted all eyes upon her, wanted all potential suitors to consider her carefully. Innocence incarnate, good, obedient, perfect. Wouldn't her fiancé be delighted to see her kitted out like that again, the sacrificial virgin that he expected would be all his. So she couldn't be that. She couldn't give Caleb Darcy the satisfaction although she had a feeling that he'd enjoy the sight of her in the dress that she had selected. Satisfied and then protective, or jealous, perhaps because she was going to get attention and it wasn't likely that he'd want to share.

So she had to wear this red dress but that didn't mean that she was confident about it. No one knew about it other than Rina and her opinion was likely biased in her favour, the mixed-race fashionista inclined to be kind to Niamh and so she didn't entirely trust her. Although her own reflection did suggest some... favourable things indeed. Still, some external validation would be nice and there was one person she knew who would speak their mind and wouldn't try to spare her feelings.

Fionn.

Even knowing that her roommates had left, already having headed off to the Red Tie, she was apprehensive about stepping out of her room. It was something that she'd have to get used to if she was going to dinner like this but it was one thing to walk into a large room filled with people and another entirely to step into close quarters with girls who liked to tease and gossip and had seen more of her awkward moments than she would have liked. She listened, standing stock still on two inch heels until she was sure that she was in the clear before trotting off.

The galdor might not be as physically able as her brother but she had a particular set of physical skills that she doubted he'd be able to manage. She'd had careful lessons in lady-like behaviour, the sort of things that led to one walking around with grace and poise and made every movement mean something, no energy wasted or expended pointlessly. Niamh.. wasn't as good as many of the girls who'd had similar lessons, certainly didn't have the demeanour of her mother but she'd had time to grow accustomed to heels - a side effect of attending functions with her father where she was meant to fit a certain image. She'd learned how to hold herself, to allow herself to sway as her centre of gravity shifted and grew unsettled and it stood well for her now. Her steps were slow and careful so she wouldn't risk falling on her face but she could pull it off, hem of her dress tickling her ankles.

The redhead had to trot as quickly as she could though as she went looking for Fionn, wobbling and reeling almost drunkenly, slowing when she drew close to witnesses but if she kept at a pace that stopped or smacking her face into the ground then she'd make next year's St. Grumble's Red Tie instead of this year's.

The student headed for Keyes' office, the only certain place she knew that she could find her brother. Except that he wasn't there and neither was the professor, which made sense of course. The Red Tie was on and it was a compulsory event, the staff could hardly fail to attend when all the students had to go; they had to set a good example after all. Outside of the engraver's office, she didn't have a definite place that she knew she could find him. They'd met in other places but it had always been prearranged. On a night like tonight, she couldn't be sure that he hadn't been pulled away to do one job or another related to the festivities. Niamh could wander into the scrapyard but that would be awkward and she'd likely get in trouble.

Could she waylay some passives and ask them if they knew her younger brother? See if any of them knew where the boy might be?

There were servants around but not as many as she was used to seeing. Many would have been roped into carrying out tasks for the Red Tie as well as being consumed by their usual tasks. However, she realised for the first time that perhaps those who were unoccupied with work were enjoying festivities of their own. It made sense; they were probably monitored less on days like these and why wouldn't they want to celebrate as the galdori did, as all of Anaxas did?

There was no guarantee that she’d find someone who knew where Fionn was but she had to try. So she started waylaying passives to ask them if they knew her brother and if they knew where he might be. A drizzle began to fall as she started her investigations but she was well covered, a long coat wrapped around her that fell to mid-calf. Her legs were bare though and given that front hem of her dress was a little higher than the bottom of the coat, there was plenty of area to chill. She persevered, trying not to feel self-conscious as many servants dropped their eyes to her feet in an effort to avoid looking at her face and then had their gazes skip higher so they wouldn’t be staring at slim, freckled legs. Although there was something exhilarating about it as her appearance produced a clear response. If the passives were reacting with shock or embarrassment or something else, she didn’t know, their nexi not giving insight into their emotions the way that a field would. She didn’t think that the anti-mona - Fionn’s word for what existed in nexi - could convey emotions but maybe that was something that you had to learn to notice in the same way that you had to make yourself aware of a nexus.

The redhead encountered a number of nexi, some carrying a little familiarity for her, perhaps having met a servant before although their faces were unknown to her. In spite of her fervent little search, no nexus she came across or touched with the edge of her senses was the one that belonged to her brother. Furthermore, his peers either remained blank at his name or tensed a little if they knew him but none knew his probable location. She couldn’t have spent more than ten minutes at it but in that time, the drizzle grew heavier and she had to abandon her efforts, covering her head with the borrowed stole - which would likely end up smelling awful if it was real fur - so that her bare neck and styled hair wouldn’t end up saturated.

With no hope of finding Fionn and no chance of returning to her room in time to change, the final year student hurried off to the Red Tie, nervous and damp.

The place was full of the buzz of many voices when she arrived, the young woman’s cheeks flushed from a mixture of embarrassment and warmth as she left the cold rain behind. She gave her name to the man taking attendance, smiling and offering apologies and awkward humour to explain her tardiness. She wasn’t likely to be the latest to arrive but she was definitely pushing things. Many people had taken seats, friends and acquaintances sitting together as they waited for the meal, some teenagers showing signs of frustration and boredom as they anticipated the end of this affair so they could attend their own puerile pursuits.

Hazel eyes skimmed the space anxiously, recognisable faces difficult to pick out when faced with such overwhelming numbers. There was a face that she was seeking and sure enough, she found him standing, apparently too wrapped up in conversation to have noticed free seats were diminishing. He’d end up sitting with the staff of course although he was the type of man who would end up sitting beside anyone who he could converse with, regardless of their age or occupation.

Harper Moore.

Her heart fluttered in her throat, eager to fly to him and yet nervous at the same time. She couldn’t just walk up to him though, not when people were watching, curious and critical eyes certain to follow her across the room, sure to gain far too much attention in the almost infinite space between them.

And she wasn’t entirely wrong about the eyes. There were those who looked to the doors to see those who entered, some curious to see what others had chosen to wear or who they arrived with, while others were just waiting for the number of entrants to ebb so that they had a good indication when this would start. So of course, gazes fell on her before sliding off again. There were some disinterested eyes, some who came back for a second glance and some who - realising that the passive-loving wallflower had stepped into their midst looking like that - nudged neighbours so they could point out the familiar face. It wasn’t like it was a huge stir but the fact that even one pointing finger caught her eye was too much for her.

Her coat had been discarded once she came in, the unpleasantly wet stole left behind in the cloakroom as well. As such, she was on full display to others for the first time this evening and honestly, she hadn’t even felt this exposed at her father’s party in Ophus, not even in hindsight when she realised why she’d been dressed up the way that she had. The young woman had wanted to be daring, had wanted to show that she wasn’t the quiet little creature that others took her to be and so she had done this to herself as she was left hovering indecisively in plain view where everyone had the opportunity to look her up and down.

She’d put her hair up for a change, not tied in a low ponytail as was her wont when she was working but in a bun on top of her head, strands artfully teased out so that it looked less severe, wavy locks framing her face while her neck was left bare. The dress she wore was red, with an orange tinge to it, an autumnal hue that complemented her red hair and Anaxi skin. While it fit with Anaxi colouring, it didn’t fit with Anaxi galdori fashions - no high-collar, no puffy sleeves, no pencil-thin skirt.

The corset-style bodice was tight fitting, cinching in at the waist and providing a little lift to her chest. There was no show of cleavage, the bodice covering her chest up to the first swell, a cupid’s bow shaping the top of the bodice. From there, sheer, red-tinged gauze covered her up to the top of her sternum where it formed a wide, round neck that left her collarbones exposed. The gauze covered the tops of her shoulders that would have been otherwise bare, the dress possessing sleeves that were off the shoulder and covered her upper arms, loose and cut to triangular points, the asymmetry of it meaning that there was more material on the outside than the inside.

The skirt flowed out, giving the impression of accommodating wide hips before tapering subtly inwards so the rest fell reasonably straight, appearing to hang appealing from curves. The skirt was longer at the back, the hem kissing the backs of her ankles while at the front it came to mid-calf. On one side, a slit had been added but instead of showing more leg when the material moved, there was a panel of a different red hue, embroidered with floral designs in a colour that was close to that of the background so that the patterns were subtle; the thread seemed to have a slight glint to it. Similar designs had been embroidered over one shoulder, minimal on the delicate looking gauze.

If her father knew that his money had been used for this…

The eldest Madden walked forward slowly, holding her field close and still as she tried to seem calm and unhurried, pulse skipping in her throat as she looked around the room. In truth, she was still deciding what to do. It was while she was doing so that she spotted her brother, Oísin gawking in her direction, mouth hanging slightly open. She would have loved to have that expression preserved although a dozen specs wouldn’t do it justice. Meanwhile, a young man rose slowly beside Oísin, hands resting on the table as if to steady himself: Caleb Darcy.

The quick dance of her heart continued but now it felt like it was close to cutting off her air supply, her stomach beginning to roil at the sight of him. Her fiancé. She’d done an excellent job of avoiding him in recent days. Before she had a chance to look away, she saw him beckon her. What did he think that he could tell her to come and she would? She wasn’t his fucking pet.

Niamh turned her head away, too quick for it to be viewed as anything other than intentional, a pulse of annoyance in her field earning her some startled looks from some excitable mites who scampered away as she approached. Moving a bit faster now, she intended to put some distance between herself and Darcy, find a seat far from her brother and his friends but he came up behind her, his field infringing rudely on her senses before his voice did.

”Niamh! Hey, Niamh, wait!”

The touch of his hand on her shoulder had her turning out of his grasp, stepping back as she did so. She stopped, facing him, arms crossed over her chest as she tried to calm the ripples in her field. He must have sensed the tension in the mona around her but he chose to ignore it, an easy smile spreading across his features.

”I thought you saw me but- Never mind. You look… good, Niamh. Really good. I appreciate it.”

Her lips twitched, the girl fighting the urge to let them curl in disgust as he leaned a little away from her, glancing up and down with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Circle preserve her, did he have no shame?

”Appreciate it?” she bit out, voice tight. ”I didn’t wear it for you.”

The smile diminished a little before he bolstered his good humour again, the barest tremor in his field.

”I appreciate you going to pains to ah… present yourself well,” he added as if she hadn’t said anything, eyes moving over her face and frowning slightly as he skimmed over the sight of her oil-sheened lips and the touch of brown powder she’d used on her eyelids. She could take some pleasure in the fact that he had to look up at her; she had a few inches on him in these heels.

”What I do or don’t do is no concern of yours,” Niamh retorted hotly.

”Well, of course it does, you’re my wife-”

”We aren’t married, I’m not your wife.”

”You’re going to be my wife,” he corrected himself, the smile barely hanging in there now; they’d garnered a bit of an audience in those nearest them, interest stirring in nearby fields. She was embarrassing him.

”I didn’t agree to anything and I don’t intend to. I was told that we’re engaged but that doesn’t mean anything. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Niamh remarked forcefully, not giving him a chance to say more as she watched his face slacken in shock. She turned away, now determined to do anything to spite him. Damn him, she would go talk to Harper, let everybody fucking talk!

”Actually-”

”I wasn’t asking for permission!” she shot back coolly, throwing a sharp look back over her shoulder that actually made him cringe back. She didn’t stop moving and the act of turning like that while in heels did not do happy things to her balance but she didn’t fall over. There was a moment of misstep and wobble but it was small, not likely to have been noticed and it was entirely worth it because even though his expression was trapped in a rigid smile, Caleb’s field pulsed violently, his anger clear and she was glad to have made his facade drop in front of others.

It wasn’t the first time that she’d seen what truly lay beneath, the young man not getting his own way then as well as now. He was a factory-rich brat, spoiled rotten since the day he’d been born and he’d always gotten what he wanted. He didn’t like the word ‘no’ because he wasn’t used to hearing it.

Before he had a chance to do anything more, she made a beeline for Harper, the tension from her last encounter bleeding out of her demeanour. She aimed for neutrality but found a genuine smile coming to her lips instead, a little twitchy with nerves around the edges but still a real smile. Just being in the presence of his field was comforting, even if it did set nerves in her body singing, the giddiness from earlier returning.

”Good evening! I’m glad that the dinner hasn’t started yet. I was terrified that I’d arrive too late and everyone would be very disapproving,” she remarked with a light laugh, a trace of a giggle creeping in. "I hope that I’m not intruding… Harper?”

Hazel eyes fell on him questioningly, the young woman not quite able to fully meet his gaze as warmth spread across her face.

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Fri Jan 10, 2020 3:32 pm

3rd of Loshis, 2719
Formal Dinging Hall | Evening
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Heretic. Sympathizer. Fool. These words and more had been tossed around over the past few days in Professor Harper Moore's direction from the mouths of his own peers, from the lips of politicians, and from some of the few people the monic theorist had once bothered to call friends. While Magister Devlin and Headmistress Servalis were firmly in his intellectual encampment, the power they wielded as individuals paled in comparison to the cacophony of Anaxi opinion on the subjects of passivity and galdorkind's ancient decision to exclude them as normal, acceptable members of the same species despite the fact that there was no denying their same origins.

Fortunately for this evening, after having waded through a very danger-filled potential conversation on this very subject (well, birth more than passive genetics as everyone had made some compliment to how lovely Mrs. Minerva Baquio, professor of economic development studies, looked in her sixth month of pregnancy), the bespectacled monic theorist found himself wading through far more personal subjects than his latest research.

A single comment about a young expecting woman—on how she seemed to be glowing while with child—led to all sorts of far less innocuous subjects than even Harper was entirely prepared for. He'd had just enough to drink that the atmosphere was pleasant enough, that he'd loosened his cravat at least once while speaking on the comparisons between physical reactions to casting and pleasure and hormones, magical addiction and other so-called perversions—subjects that were surprisingly taboo in the classroom but rather chuckled over after enough alcohol and a social excuse to do so.

The monic theorist wasn't embarrassed by the subject matter, no, instead he was quite amused that one person's evidence of enjoyment in marriage, pregnant as she was, could lead to a discussion about such enjoyments among a gaggle of otherwise stuffy professors and faculty who mostly subscribed whole-heartedly to the otherwise very prudish Anaxi perspective on sexual expression. It was nearly as oppressive as passive politics, to be fair, and so Harper waded through it all with the same indelible grace as he moved through his results on rifts and nexi, on monic pathways and ley lines.

This was much better than digs at his current research, oh by leaps and bounds.

The dark-haired professor had just raised his second—or was it third?—drink to his lips, smiling over the rim after dropping a comment about the measurements of spellcasting success and comparative levels of satisfaction, admitting that he had not, personally made further comparative studies but how he wouldn't be surprised if the results appeared curiously similar in response when he felt the hints of a familiar field reach the edges of his well-attuned magical perceptions,

"So, Professor Moore, what you're saying is that in a similar fashion—" Gazes shifted to the young woman who entered their circle of rather unorthodox commentary, and it wasn't Harper who blushed.

Not right away, at least.

He'd greeted her with a flex of his Quantitative-laden aura once she was within range, the smile hidden behind his glass one he would have shared had he not been so suddenly aware of the company he was in or the type of inappropriate conversation they'd just convivially attempted to pretend fit comfortably into academia. When he did look up and see the young woman in her dress, his eyes widened and he inhaled sharply, free hand not holding a crystal glass immediately straying to fluff his cravat as if it needed something to do. The monic theorist was far more understated—bright red tie as was expected of the event and dull, almost ivory attire with crisp black accents and silver buttons. There was most definitely a floral embroidery to the vest beneath his waistcoat, red roses perhaps, in subtle homage to his family home in Muffey and all the lovely roses of his mother's garden,

"Miss Madden—hello—uh—Good evening. Intruding? No, of course not. This Saint Grumbles gathering, while a bit unorthodox in strict attendance requirements, is certainly for everyone. I'm sure you know Professor Hulle as well as Magister Elytha. Have you met Professor Vul'liwen of Hesse? He is a visiting lecturer on minerals and geology." Harper Moore cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, immediately improving his posture. He made introductions, moving through the names of the faculty present, unaware that there was a hint of pink to his cheeks as he did so—involuntary responses and all.

He took another sip of his drink, still attempting to decide if he'd finished the second and moved onto the third or if this really was still his second. He'd gotten distracted somewhere in the middle of things and he just hadn't paid attention to the details, as usual. The red of the young woman's dress filled the corner of his vision and he tilted his head toward her,

"We were just discussing physical responses to spellcasting and their similarities to other physiological phenomenon which—which—well."

Niamh was a student and while she was, indeed, Professor Moore's assistant in Laboratory Beta and an upper form close to graduation, there was an immediate shift in mood among the other gathered galdori who were Harper's peers. They smiled curtly, introduced themselves, and nodded with small talk, but conversation was quickly quelled to a much tamer level of formality.

Eventually, one by one, each of the other faculty found themselves another conversation they simply had to become a part of, leaving Harper and the young Madden to themselves.

"I am most grateful you haven't missed dinner, either. If only because this tends to be the results of my attempts at prolonged social engagement." The dark-haired galdor tipped his now empty glass at where Professor Hulle had been standing, indicating that they'd been abandoned.
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Niamh Madden
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: I'm a good girl...
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Sun Jan 12, 2020 6:40 pm

Loshis 3, 2719 | Evening
St Grumble’s Red Tie, Brunnhold
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There was no going back now. She’d done it, she’d really done it. She’d even called him Harper — in front of witnesses! The young woman wanted to die, just drop down dead here and now from embarrassment as the conversation sputtered out — she hadn’t heard what it was about — and the eyes of the men turned to her. While dying would be a convenient escape, she really couldn’t afford to falter now, not when she had to keep her wits about her for Harper’s sake. Actually, she might be extremely embarrassed but was doing surprisingly well, feeling as if she was floating, possibly an effect of all the adrenaline flooding her system.

It allowed her to smile, surprisingly serene albeit still shy, as she gazed around at the other faces, discovering that some of them were blushing. Absurdly, she wondered if her mood was catching. Then again, the young woman was glowing a little, delighted by the little flex of his field and also insanely gratified by the way his eyes widened when they fell on her; her presence pleased — and perhaps interested — Harper, it seemed. Actually, Niamh thought that she might be able to enjoy herself because these men were uncomfortable with her presence as if the appearance of a young woman was distressing to their cosy little fellowship.

The eldest Madden felt awful to have done such a thing. Honestly, she’d never forgive herself for making these stuffy academics — yes, maybe even Harper — have to adjust to the presence of a woman in their sphere. The student wondered how the Headmistress coped with all the- Well, frankly, the chroveshit.

Although, she didn’t think badly of every response to her decidedly feminine presence. Watching Harper fluff his cravat made her giddy, heart skipping excitedly in her chest. She tried to stop herself from appraising him, not wanting to do it when there were witnesses so close at hand, witnesses who would know that her relationship with the professor wasn’t strictly professional. For the daughter of a politician, she was poor at hiding things and her face… Sweet Lady, she didn’t want to think about what it might be conveying. Her colour heightened at the thought.

Harper made the necessary introductions, Niamh bowing her head a little at each new face. The formality seemed a bit late, especially after she’d referred to the professor by his first name, which constituted a level of friendliness that shouldn’t exist outside the lab. They weren’t peers. She had to remember that they weren’t peers but at the same time… he was interested and it wasn’t as if she’d be the first — or the last — student to-

Stop it! Just be civil! Make small talk, she reminded herself. Anything was better than remaining in her fiancé’s presence at any rate. Nothing could be worse and it wasn’t as if there wasn’t embarrassment for her in that area as well, although in truth, what she felt around the man for the most part was anger.

However, this situation was… more embarrassing than she’d initially anticipated. As Harper haltingly explained what they’d been discussing, she understood the reaction that her appearance had garnered and if her face could get any redder- It made small talk difficult, the redhead managing little more than the odd hum of sound, or monosyllabic response to what the other academics said and it was hardly surprising that each took their leave after making the necessary excuses. If there was one thing she had learned from mingling at parties to which she was dragged along, it was how to tell when someone was manufacturing a socially acceptable exit.

Still, the eldest Madden would have been lying if she said that she was sorry for their departure and she was a poor excuse for a liar. The only thing she did regret was the way the professor seemed to think that this was his fault. Maybe at other times, he’d found others doing their best to get away from him — she imagined that uncomfortable truths would do it — but in this instance, she knew that it was her own presence that had done it. Her presumption and her recklessness, both born of rage and indignation after her encounter with her betrothed had made her impose herself on a social group where she was unwelcome. A woman and a student, it could hardly be considered her place to be among men and real academics ones with experience and qualifications behind them. Beside them, she must seem like a child and she supposed that she was one — despite what her current appearance might suggest.

The young woman smiled — part amused, part apologetic. “I’m afraid this is my fault actually,” she admitted, gesturing at the empty space where others had so recently stood. A hand began to play with one of the teased out strands, curling the hair around her finger, first one way and then the other. She needed a drink, she needed to do something with her hands, some way that wouldn’t be so clearly nervous. At least a glass would keep her nervous fingers occupied.

“You were all getting along quite well until I appeared. I uh… I rather think that the presence of a young woman while you were d-d-discussing- The topic probably seemed to unsuitable to discuss in front of one of the em… ‘delicate’ sex,” she remarked, lip curling a bit disdainfully as she referred to women in such a manner.. Very smooth, couldn’t have been smoother. “Ridiculous of course because I’m- well I’m a decent Living Conversationalist-”

Had she really just downplayed her own magical ability? Niamh was more than decent and she knew it. Why should she deride societal expectations in one breath and play into them in the next one?

“I’m a very good Living Conversationalist actually,” the redhead corrected, smiling shyly. As it was just between them, she thought it was better not to hide — she didn’t need to do so, not with Harper. “I know my stuff, I understand about physical responses, quite a bit about all sorts of- well, I know what bodies do. N-N-Not that I know everything of course, I’m not going to fall foul of hubris.”

Wonderful! Niamh was actually being wonderful! Her face was warm and she knew that eyes were on them and she had this faint feeling as if she might swoon but the young woman was getting words out. They sounded like eloquent, well-put together words! Even if she did feel like falling over and couldn’t seem to say the word ‘sex’, at least not in regard to intercourse of a far more involved sort than conversation. Actually to anyone looking at her, it was fair to say that she was glowing, a definite self-satisfied joy rising from within her. And why not? The student had done it in spite of all her anxieties and doubts and it wasn’t that bad. Well, it was weatherable.

That being said, her heart might not be able to stand up well to much more of this. At the rate it was going, it felt as if her pulmonary system might go into a state of collapse at any moment simply from vigorous overuse.

“I am sorry, Har- professor,” the Living Conversationalist explained sincerely as her smile dimmed a little. She’d scaled back the familiarity, although it was regrettably too late for that, especially as the other moa had long since rushed off while she lagged at the starting line. “I should have realised what sort of reaction I’d cause, even if the topic had been a more banal one. I’m only a student and a female one at that, my presence would understandably alter things — even though it shouldn’t. I wasn’t thinking, I was distracted by-”

The student broke off, resisting the urge to glance back the way that she’d come for fear that she’d discover Caleb’s eyes on her. Better to veer off to another topic, especially as it would solve another problem, namely the one of what to do with her fidgety fingers.

“I think I need a drink although I don’t know what. I’m not that used to it and I don’t really know- Nothing too strong because I don’t want to overindulge. I did that at Clock’s Eve and- well, I-”

Her hazel gaze widened as she realised what she was referring to and that her companion of all people knew precisely what it had done to her.

“I-I-I’m afraid that I made rather a f-fool of myself and I don’t want to- I’d rather not appear foolish this evening. Well, any more foolish a-anyway,” she stuttered out before giggling.

Oh Alioe, let her sands run out! Had the young woman really thought that this was going well? She might have been high on his presence for a moment, thrilled to be away from Caleb and basking in some temporary power but it was gone now and her normal anxious self was returning, complete with her overtalkative tongue. Circle, she needed that drink!
Last edited by Niamh Madden on Tue Feb 18, 2020 4:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Tue Feb 11, 2020 2:48 pm

3rd of Loshis, 2719
Formal Dining Hall | Evening

"I suppose it doesn't really matter whose fault it is, in the end. We're still here and the evening is young enough." Harper chuckled, polishing off his drink with a sigh at the end while his hazel eyes drifted over the backs of faculty he knew and past the faces of a whole host of students he didn't. There were so many, gathered here as if the world outside Brunnhold's red walls was really that much of a danger to their young lives. They'd have to deal with it eventually—now or later—and the monic theorist admittedly didn't understand the need to shelter anyone from the truth.

Had he spent so much of his career chasing after whatever that truth was supposed to be?

He still hadn't found it.

"Maybe it was more that you're a student than you're a woman. We can pretend, right? Though I'd venture over half of those involved in our conversation require a woman to be present for said subject matter to be an enjoyable activity. Well, perhaps not. Either way—no thank you." Harper chuckled, unashamed of such an admission now that no one else was around save for both of them, "I swear the original topic began innocuously enou—"

The dark-haired professor paused, nearly giggling, and looked downward into his empty glass. He chose not to comment on the eldest Madden's shy admissions of her knowledge or lack thereof. It wasn't his place, and Anaxi society generally had it's own expectations.

"—Living Conversationalist, indeed. While we really did make attempts to stay away from specific magical disciplines, speaking more of the physical responses to casting itself, well, yes. Living magic tends to have the most curious of applications outside of classroom, agricultural, and medical use. Honestly, you're an upper form student on the cusp of graduation—the way the world and bodies work shouldn't be kept from you like some dark secret. None of it is particularly mysterious in the end, anyway, and it's quite a strange transition from student to post-Brunnhold life as it is. Might as well be inclusive about it, if you ask me."

He'd never left academia, however. He'd just hunkered down and stayed within the comfortable realm of what he considered familiar. He could hardly operate outside of Brunnhold, had he felt like revealing himself, and it was probably one of the many reasons his trips to his actual home in Muffey were few and far between. He didn't know what was out there for him—if anything—and he certainly didn't want to go looking alone. Theories and research he knew and understood. Politics and economics and society he knew of but didn't always want to understand.

"Distracted—by? Are you expecting someone this evening? I'll admit if they hadn't made this whole thing mandatory for all faculty, I'd certainly have stayed in the lab. I don't particularly understand this whole Saint Grumbles business, anyway. Never have, and—oh—"

A dark eyebrow arched, Harper in his own self-deprecating ignorance, looked around their immediate vicinity in the decorated banquet hall as if he half-expected someone to be looking back at them, to be looking back at Niamh Madden in her glorious dress looking less like just another student and more like—

"—a drink. Well, that is a simple remedy." Professor Moore didn't shy away from changing the subject, noting the young redhead's apparent nervousness. If he'd heard any rumors, he'd kept them to himself, for the young woman was more than capable of making her own announcements and telling him things on her own time. Not his.

Clock's Eve.

Yes.

He smirked, resigned to not making a fool of himself in reacting, either, and waved a hand in the direction of the tables set up with drinks for the evening and the passives assigned to staffing them all, some of whom he knew personally now. His expression warmed into a gentler smile,

"It's never been any of my business, Miss Madden, but I do believe you worry too much about what others think of you. I know—I know some of it is tied into future success as a woman interested in a career and longing to be seen as an accomplished galdor instead of some accomplished galdor's wife, but, still. You're no more foolish or a fool than I—at least you're simply assisting with my research for graduation credit. It's not as though you have to defend your reasoning in front of the Board—"

Harper led them past other faculty and staff, not taking note of whether or not they noticed that he was having an animated conversation with a student, hands moving, tone of voice hardly kept low. A pair of students might have blinked at him,

"—you don't even have to subscribe to any of it—the theoretical implications of all our research, that is—though, you do, in your own way."

He frowned, usually better at separating his actual emotions about how he was viewed among his peers from conversation about his work. Whether it was because he was speaking to Niamh or because he'd already had a couple of drinks, well, the monic theorist wasn't going to bother with pretense in this moment,

"And I appreciate that, especially considering I am called far worse things than merely a fool."
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Wed Feb 19, 2020 1:28 pm

Loshis 3, 2719 | Evening
St Grumble’s Red Tie, Brunnhold
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This was shaping up to be an interesting sort of evening and it was early yet! It was peculiar for her to be discussing anything sexual, especially with a man but this wasn’t the first time that she’d discussed such things with Harper. She hadn’t simply mentioned it the last time either, the young woman having inadvertently started something of an awkward—extremely embarrassing actually—conversation on his birthday that had broken far too much ice between them. They weren’t likely to get into that sort of thing this time, especially as there were certain things they already knew about each other. For instance, Harper knew that Niamh was rather interested in him and she had at least some indication that that attraction wasn’t entirely one-sided — difficult though that was to believe!

The last time, it hadn’t been academic sexual talk and that’s what this was. Quite different obviously. Possibly. Honestly, she really didn’t know.

The fact that he mentioned that a woman was needed to make the conversation enjoyable for his colleagues did make her wonder if there was more to his words, namely that he wasn’t really talking about just conversation. There felt like another layer here, an additional meaning in the undercurrents of his statement that made her feel painfully young and innocent. Perhaps he simply meant that a woman added an additional element to such conversation and given that she couldn’t be certain of his meaning either way — without asking him, of course — Niamh was left feeling rather stupid. Her awareness of the age gap between them was suddenly quite acute. He’d had far longer to navigate this sort of thing than she had. It wasn’t simply that he was a man and thus, had fewer things closed off to him; the professor had accumulated experience that she lacked.

The redhead worried that she’d say the wrong thing and expose her own naivety, although he couldn’t be under any illusions of just how innocent she was. Miss Madden who had no real friends and seemed to be ready to take on work at the lab at a moment’s notice because she didn’t have plans after class or on weekends or anything. Why on Vita would she have plans?

“Innocuous, mmhm?” she commented, the smallest smirk creeping along her lips, a thin red brow arching sceptically. Niamh didn’t intend to come across as if she didn’t believe him because she did, or at least that’s what she told herself consciously. In fact, she couldn’t help but believe that bored academics forced to come together like this would attempt to inject a bit of spice into their discussions. After all, it might be the rainy season now but the bite of Bethas still lingered and they needed something to keep them warm.

Still, she listened to the man provide his justification, feeling that it was unnecessary. The young woman didn’t need the monic theorist to justify anything he did or said and certainly didn’t need him to speak on the behalf of others for whom she cared none at all. But his academic talk elicited an honest response from her, things coming out in a very matter-of-fact way because they came into her mind, she considered them perfectly sensible but never reached the point where she realised that she didn’t want to open them up to the man’s consumption — leastwise, not before the words left her mouth.

“Oh well, yes, the physical response is what I meant. I just meant that I have a greater awareness of what responses can be evoked because of being a Living Conversationalist. The body is something I’m familiar with, especially as I have a people focus and have medical experience. I’m well aware that Living Conversation can offer some applications that are rather stimulating. I have explored a number, which is probably why my casting is as advanced as it is for my age,” the youth explained, her face warming before her brain actually realised that she had reason to be embarrassed. Really, her brain seemed to be the last thing to catch on in these things!

“When I-I-I say that I’ve explored some stimulating applications, I d-d-don’t mean that I’ve been purposely uh- I haven’t tried to produce- I just- I meant to s-s-say that it isn’t a m-m-mystery to me. Not entirely unmysterious, o-o-of course, I don’t know everything but- Hm, I- Yes.”

Did she really need alcohol to make a fool of herself? Did she really believe that she needed it to make a larger fool of herself than she could if she was sober? Probably she needed alcohol to be a fool around other people — she tried not to think of some of the unforgivably foolish things she’d done while sober — but with Harper Moore, she didn’t believe that anything beyond the man himself was necessary to alter her behaviour towards the ridiculous side of things.

A drink might soothe her nerves a bit though. Especially as her near mention of Caleb had set them jangling and she barely suppressed a wince, albeit her field flashed with something quick and dismayed. Her companion seemed oblivious to who she might expect to meet here and that pained her. Her engagement was a new one but she had no illusions about how quickly news spread in Brunnhold and just among the student body. Of course, she hadn’t told anyone — not even her passive brother — but she doubted that it could be entirely unknown; Caleb Darcy himself had no doubt been crowing with delight to anyone who would listen.

The professor would find out obviously but she hadn’t wanted to break the news just yet. Ideally, she would have preferred to never have to approach the subject at all because she would rather it wasn’t something that was in the offing at all. Still, his cluelessness took her by surprise and so she could only murmur that she expected no one without providing any further elaboration.

The redhead trailed beside the monic theorist, doing her best not to catch anybody’s eye, simply allowing her gaze to roll over people if she bothered to look their way. In the main, she kept her focus on Harper, who was actually a surprisingly good distraction at the moment and not for the usual reasons. His lack of concern for what people thought of him was really quite admirable. Even now, he seemed wholly unperturbed by the attention they garnered, the whispers behind hands, the pointed looks that others shared with companions. Honestly, it hardly seemed like he noticed them at all and while the eldest Madden could understand how necessary such a disposition must be in the work he’d chosen to pursue, it was still utterly admirable. She didn’t even think that her father could have been this way and he had had to develop a thick skin as a politician.

She wondered if the monic theorist had any inkling of how much about him could be envied.

It was why she couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up when he pointed out that she cared too much, a bite of irony to the sound because it was all too easy for him to say, unconcerned as he seemed. However, as he continued, some feeling entered his words, the man revealing that yes, there was plenty to bother him and while to all appearances, it might seem to slide off, he wasn’t as impermeable as he seemed.

The final year student fell silent, the mirth evaporating from her face to be replaced with a gravity that bent her brows downwards as she reached for a drink. She was unable to muster a smile for the passive who served her, which was quite unlike her, because she was incapable of doing that with her mouth right now. She brought the rim of it to her lips, taking an eager mouthful while she considered what he’d said.

Once she’d let the alcohol slide down her throat, feeling its slight bite on the way down, she turned her attention back to him. Unthinkingly, she reached out to take his elbow, to steer him away from the drinks table. If he didn’t protest then she’d lead them back in the direction they’d come but also towards a gap at one of the tables, her tone low.

“I’m the daughter of a politician, sir. I’ve been raised to think first about what people think of me and then how I can raise myself in their estimation. Everything else is meant to come after that. Needless to say, I’ve mastered the former but I’ve never succeeded in the latter because much to my father’s exasperation, I’m far too honest and far too at odds with what he expects of him,” she explained softly, a surprising degree of confidence in her tone because she wasn’t actually thinking about how others viewed her right now. Except for Harper of course.

She wanted Harper to listen to her and she wanted him to hear the earnestness in her words.

“You know that I’m honest, Harper and so you should know that I’m not trying to be kind when I say that you’re no fool. I regard you um… I regard you favourably, quite uh, favourably as you might have gathered but I’m not uh, trying to um… I’m not simply saying this because of that. I agreed to work with you and Professor Devlin in the first place because I didn’t believe either of you were fools. And I admit that you in particular, um… that I viewed you as particularly admirable, especially as you seemed so much less concerned with politics a-a-and position, which cannot be said for the Magister — and that’s understandable.”

Her face was definitely crimson and there was some stutter now, some shyness on account of her own honesty but it needed to be said and for once, she didn’t lapse into silence.

“I know he’s your colleague and that he’s a Magister and I’m just- I should show more respect but I also- I don’t mean any disrespect. I just mean to say that I… I’ve never viewed you as a fool and I never- I didn’t agree to work with you for the credit, although that is what I tell my father.”

The redhead smiled warmly, hazel eyes moving to catch Harper’s own in a conspiratorial glance.

“I suppose that I can be dishonest in some things — when they’re for a good cause.”

She looked away, her eyes inadvertently finding her brother and her fiancé engaging in a conference involving furious whispering although Caleb’s eyes never left her. In fact, she wasn’t sure if they’d left her at all since she’d gone to talk to Harper in the first place. It was a wonder that Niamh hadn’t felt the burning regard of his attention. She looked back to Harper, her expression having lost its mirth again and her field carrying the weight of her emotions, shifted in tune with them to something morose.

The young woman tugged her field in a bit tighter, attempted to exert some control over it so that it wouldn’t disturb others as she prepared to make her way to a suitable seat. She took another sip from her glass, half-lowered it before returning it to her lips for a healthier mouthful, steeling herself.

“You asked before if I… I was expecting someone. I’m not here with anyone but just before I approached you, I-I-I was talking with Caleb Darcy,” she admitted, her voice sinking to a whisper, already shying away from the words she was going to say, detesting what she was going to have to listen to herself say aloud. “I only say it n-n-now because he’s gl-glaring and I s-s-suppose that he believes h-h-he has the right. As of… a week ago, I- he- my father had us betrothed.”

The redhead inhaled sharply, her field swelling ever so slightly in parallel with her inflating lungs as something pained throbbed through it.

“He’s my fiancé.”
Last edited by Niamh Madden on Sat Jul 18, 2020 5:38 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Mon Jul 06, 2020 2:48 pm

3rd of Loshis, 2719
Formal Dining Hall | Evening

"Listen, if you get any number of Brunnhold faculty even mildly inebriated enough, and eventually everyone forgets how damn repressive Anaxi social norms have become over the centuries. So, innocuous or not, some things eventually drift elsewhere, it's true." The dark-haired professor blurted, more flustered than humorous, perhaps wanting to cover for his colleagues as much as he wanted to pretend he wasn't entirely affected by Niamh's somewhat mischievous smirk. It was not an expression he knew what to do with, and it only led to Harper saying far more than was asked of him.

The young woman continued in unexpected detail with her riposte, and if by the time she was quite finished with backpedaling they were perhaps both blushing for different reasons, well, who was Professor Moore to say anything? No one. Precisely. He chuckled instead, but it wasn't chiding so much as almost conspiratory, empathetic. There was no real room for him to make any particular comment in response, so instead, he busied himself recentering his spectacles and pretending the need to navigate through the crowd of fields and bodies gathered for this most laborious of formal holiday events.

"I never much cared for politics." Was his simple, blunt retort to Miss Madden's otherwise very heartfelt and honest admission, "Which is probably why I never bothered seeking a Magister position. I can't imagine myself as a Chair, and while I certainly couldn't accomplish all that I have without political support and funding—I'm also aware on what side of things I stand. I do empathize with your place as a daughter first and a free adult second, especially before graduation, but I do hope that you're able to fully appreciate that sort of much-needed honesty in time."

If it felt at all strange in this moment to recall Niamh's age, Harper did his best not to stumble over it. He was aware, of course, that she was still a student and his assistant—not a peer in any sense of the word—and yet it'd been difficult for the monic theorist to ever get too tangled up in such concerns when engaging with someone who could actually keep up with him in conversation at all. He'd had a handful of students who'd impressed him over the years and a handful of colleagues, but other than that, he found the open field of academia dry and wanting when it came to the kind of rich soil he'd expected to be waiting for him while still a student himself.

Professor Moore couldn't help but smile almost bashfully as the young redhead continued, her very direct and awkward compliments waved off with the waggling of fingers as if to dismiss the color that had now grown much more obvious on her cheeks,

"I appreciate the small audience of approval that I have, yourself included, Miss Madden." He managed, chewing the inside of his cheek for a moment in thought, "Professor Devlin—Magister Devlin, I should say—has far more on his personal and political, not to mention academic, plate than I do. I don't mean it as an insult when I say we are cut from very different swaths of cloth, but I don't envy him as much as I'm thankful for his support. He's often put in very difficult positions to keep all of this going—it's both our passion projects but for unrelated reasons, I believe."

Harper smiled again, wanting to uplift his friend without pointing out what he understood he might have implied as deep differences in who they were and why both men made the choices they had despite so much of Anaxi society stacked like the ancient red stones of Brunnhold's walls against them.

They'd made their way to a table and in proper fashion, the monic theorist offered his younger assistant a seat first, unable to help but follow the flicker of her gaze once she caught his hazel eyes with her own. He glanced across the room while smoothly pushing in her seat, arching a dark brow in curiosity at her tone of voice. He thought to reach for his own chair, but instead fussed unnecessarily with his cravat, with the buttons of his suitcoat, palms smoothing over fabric once his fingers didn't find anything resembling work to keep him busy. If he stared at the men talking for a moment longer than was necessary, it wasn't because he wasn't listening.

Leaning with both hands on the back of his chair before moving to sit in it at all, Harper steadily looked to Niamh without a hint of surprise or intimidation, dropping his voice to meet the volume she'd lowered hers to. It felt and sounded as mischievous and conspiratory as it was honestly meant to be, and he didn't flinch or look away when he said the words very slowly, quite purposefully after the redhead admitted to being engaged,

"Yes, well. I'm quite aware of your arrangements—"

Professor Moore sat himself then, there next to her as if he hadn't a concern in the world who saw, Quantitative-laden field as sigiled and confident as ever when he glanced one more time across the room, smiling and meeting the rather angry-looking gazes at the younger men that were, indeed, staring at the pair. Whether he meant the expression as an actual flex or as a warm, unseen pat on the shoulder, Harper didn't say, but there was a comfortable sensation in the movement of monic particles in his field, silent and invisible but still so very tangible,

"—and I can't entirely say I am at all in agreement with your family's vision for your future, Niamh."
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Mon Jul 20, 2020 7:21 pm

Loshis 3, 2719 | Evening
St Grumble’s Red Tie, Brunnhold
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Niamh couldn’t help being struck with the similarities they shared and not for the first time. She understood his disinterest in politics, her attitude towards it having been shaped early by her close proximity to her Incumbent father. While Oísin was merely apathetic towards it, she had often positioned herself in opposition to anything that would have involved her in her father’s political machinations. Oh, it couldn’t be avoided entirely of course, but she had always strived to keep as much distance between herself and her father’s world as possible. It was something that he wanted to be involved in and she’d never turn her nose up at him doing as he wished in that regard but she had always known in her heart that it wasn’t her world — and had tried to make that clear.

If she’d been in Harper’s position, she wouldn’t have pursued a Magister position either, even if she had carried out the necessary academic work, not that she thought that she had an aptitude for spell writing. If she did, she could understand the appeal of wanting such work to be acknowledged but at the same time, she didn’t think that she could truly stomach the fuss. She believed that the professor was of the same mind and he’d certainly given plenty of indication that he preferred to work in the quiet obscurity of Laboratory Beta rather than being out front and centre like Professor Devlin.

Niamh thought they were very much on the same plane of thought here but she hadn’t expected him to mention her honesty, something that made pink bloom intensely in her cheeks.

“I don’t have any issues with being honest. Well, except when it makes me embarrass myself, which I- that’s rather frequent, I’m afraid,” she admitted with a wry laugh, attempting to tease hair to one side to shield her face from view but it was too sparse to provide her with any true protection. The fact that her words had made him bashful did nothing to diminish her own feelings, and simply meant that they had both grown shy, albeit for different reasons. Probably.

It should have been a good moment for her — for them both — especially when he offered her a seat but her awareness of her fiancé and her deep shame — as if she had done something wrong — concerning him detracted from what should have been exceptional bliss. She seated herself, too tense and cautious to be truly graceful, and couldn’t appreciate her companion’s exceptionally gentlemanly actions because her attention had drifted uneasily to Caleb, even as she tried — and no doubt failed — to be inconspicuous about it.

Maybe it was for the best that her fiancé’s glare distracted her because otherwise she might have visibly swooned in front of everybody when Harper pushed her chair in. She didn’t feel faint but she did feel a bit nauseous and for reasons that were far from pleasant. Niamh felt caught between them: Oísin with his disapproving glances and fierce whispering; Caleb with his glaring and the almost hungry way he watched her; and Harper with his quiet, polite manner whose response she awaited with trepidation.

His admittance that he’d already known startled her, the politician’s daughter turning her attention to him at once, her shock writ so boldly on her person that not only would watchers identify it immediately, but it was probably damn near tangible. They could probably imagine the way the mona in her field seemed to collide, sending a violent reverberation through the politely dampened aura. The monic theorist wouldn’t have to imagine anything because unfortunately, he was within its range.

The redhead’s thoughts whirled, the student almost growing dizzy with the speed and intensity of it.

He’d known and yet he’d-

None of his behaviour had suggested that he-

Even in their present company, he hadn’t attempted to hide-

And he was so nonplussed! As far as he was concerned, it was idiotic and didn’t reflect on her at all! The mona around him showed that he was perfectly comfortable in her presence and that his regard for her hadn’t altered in the slightest, not even in the sense that she was somehow tainted by association. The dread that had dug its claws into her heart let go, freeing her instantly.

Something heady and strange surged within her, the Living Conversationalist growing a little lightheaded as if she might faint, feeling abruptly as if she was experiencing the run-off from a particularly complex spell. It was quite like the sort of effects that Harper and his academic colleagues had been discussing before her appearance.

Heat prickled across her skin and it took everything in her not to allow that to transfer to the mona around her. She couldn’t keep all trace of the attraction — romantic as well as sexual — from her field but she could only pray to the Lady that he couldn’t interpret the giddy flutter that went through it as it became pink with accents of gold, faintly warm although that could have been physically radiating from her body.

“Oh I- Ah- Um, yes. I- hmm,” she managed, unable to articulate anything sensible, especially given that she absolutely didn’t want to convey anything carnal right now. Then again, she wasn’t sure that she could manage to convey that with speech. The best she could manage was an inarticulate flap or two of her hand in his direction as if fending away any more words that might threaten to set her off.

It was suddenly easier to look at her fiancé rather than trying to keep her attention on Harper.

She’d seen the way the academic looked at the boys directly, his smile one that could easily have been accompanied by a waggle of his fingers, a gesture of which he was rather fond. It was difficult not to interpret it as him thumbing his nose at the teenagers either to show that their anger was inconsequential to him, or to be patronising towards them as the children they obviously were compared to him. Regardless of his intent, it was evident that it had had a powerful effect on its recipients.

Caleb’s face had gone blotchy, his gaze darting furiously between the pair of them. Oísin hissed something at him and Caleb clearly shrugged him off, spitting some remark at her brother that made him flinch away. Something about his expression and the crazy teetering of her own emotions made the whole thing funny, hysterically funny.

Yes, she could feel the violent force of emotion burbling up her throat but it might have been a scream or a sob or laughter, possibly all three at once. Being less burdened than she had been and delighting in some part in her fiance’s fury, it was easier to veer towards laughter. However, the student also knew instantly that if she started then she wouldn’t be able to stop.

She curled a hand into a fist and pressed the ridge of knuckles against her lips. Her lower torso began to seize and spasm, creeping quickly higher as her body tried to convince her to open her mouth and take a breath; obviously it was a trap. She resisted it as best as she could, huffing air in through her nostrils even as her shoulders began to shake, tears prickling in her eyes. The redhead tried to sneak a word or two out through the corner of her mouth, intending to ask the professor why he had done that but she couldn’t manage it. Instead, she was lucky to be able to stifle herself before more than a snorting gasp escaped her.

Her nearest dinner companion flicked a startled glance Niamh’s way, brows raised but she didn’t see it, even though she felt the edge of a query in their field. Her focus was on young Master Darcy and he’d so obviously interpreted her response as laughter provoked on his account. She knew little about her fiancé and cared to discover even less but she did know that he hated to be laughed at and little wonder given that he was a prideful little prick.

Oh gods, he was getting up! Her brother’s hand fell on his shoulder in an attempt to stop him but was dislodged. The youth was clearly trying to rein himself in emotionally, attempting to gain some control over his temper as he straightened and took the time to fuss at his cravat, fluffing it out in a manner reminiscent of a male moa’s neck feathers when it spotted a female. The fact that he lifted his chin so that the scarlet protuberance protruded prominently only strengthened the analogy, as did his oddly wooden expression that leaned towards sullenness. He began to strut over, an air of fake nonchalance hanging about him, that almost made her breakdown entirely.

Despite being faced with such a ludicrous display of masculine dominance — in Caleb’s mind at least — the Living Conversationalist was doing her utmost to calm herself. She did her best to make use of a technique suited to dealing with hyperventilation but which seemed applicable given the chaos that threatened to come pouring out of her airways. She breathed in, counting off seconds to measure the duration of her inhalation, forcing air in even though it was more inclined to come sniggering out. She forced herself to hold it, despite her lungs’ protests that they were going to explode, that she needed to expel the stale breath and pull in a new one but she persisted, focusing on the new count in her mind.

By the time the young woman exhaled, expelling breath for another set duration, she couldn’t manage much more than a wheeze rather than laughter. She repeated the exercise, feeling the hysteria within her slither back down to whatever pit from which it had emerged and she could breathe a little more levelly. That being said, she could feel a weakness within her, some leaning towards another explosion of feeling not unlike how easily she could be set off anew once she’d cried. However, this wasn’t an occasion for tears, even though she had to carefully wipe some away from her vision as her fiancé’s field encroached on her space, Static mona flexing far from subtly into her predominantly Living aura.

The young man cleared his throat, spots of scarlet still dappling his face.

“Good evening, Niamh and Professor… Moore, isn’t it? I’m sorry to say that I’m not largely familiar with you, sir, given that our areas of… interest don’t overlap a great deal,” the Darcy scion commented smoothly, favouring the academic with a cool but polite smile, his eyes sliding to the eldest Madden at the word ‘interest’.

Her hazel eyes narrowed slightly, tinged with more green than normal as she registered multiple layers in his words that snubbed her employer and current companion. She was confident that he knew precisely who Moore was, especially with Oísin having been whispering so intently in his ear.

“I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion but I… well, I imagine that there aren’t any rules against students and faculty mixing at this sort of event but I thought you might prefer to sit with myself and your brother. For the sake of appearances, you understand. I’m sure that your father would be pleased to learn that you chose to invest in a prosperous future now that we’re betrothed,” he added, a note of smugness having entered his voice and a curl of self-satisfaction had worked its way onto his lips. It might have been her imagination but his eyes seemed to dip to a point lower than her face, setting her skin crawling. “I’m sure Professor Moore wouldn’t mind. No doubt he has colleagues with whom he’d like to discuss his uh… his research.”

It was subtle and he tried to hide it but there was the barest trace of sneer on ‘research’.

Niamh didn’t know if Harper was going to attempt to come to her rescue or if he was going to make any attempt to address the underhanded remarks about himself but the young woman couldn’t hold her tongue — or her field.

Her magical aura had altered since she’d gotten some control over herself and while it was nowhere near as comfortable as her companion’s, it no longer bore the traces of her previous feelings, nor did it betray the irritation and disgust that simmered beneath the surface. It had a certain indectal sharpness to it without the bite of hostility that she felt towards him but it was cold. She chose to flex her field beyond the bounds of what would have been considered strictly polite in this setting. The Living mona slid lightly against his own, offering it a brief, almost dismissive caprise.

“Hello again, Mister Darcy,” she responded coolly, a delicate emphasis placed on ‘Mister’; she had no intention of allowing him to be so familiar with her. “Thank you for your invitation but… no, I’m perfectly fine where I am. I don’t think that there’s anything improper with me mixing with a colleague and mentor, do you, Professor?”

She turned to Harper as she spoke, one corner of her mouth curving up in the mischievous smirk of earlier although it wasn’t the side that Caleb could see.

“After all, we’re all adults here so it seems silly to be so partitioned. Oh, well. Not all of us,” she added, turning back to her fiancé with a smile that was quite genuine, the girl unable to hide the amusement that glittered in her gaze and danced in her gradually dampening field.

“Thank you for thinking of me though, Mister Darcy. And my father. I’m sure he knows my commitment to my future and that I’ll have many more opportunities to demonstrate its importance.”

Her heart was beating too fast, she could feel whatever surge of dislike that had fuelled her so far beginning to ebb. If he lingered, the redhead didn’t know that she’d be able to handle him so, well… politically. Her father would almost have been proud — if she hadn’t been using her skills for no good!

“I think the meal is uh… about ready to begin and I wouldn’t want you to um… miss it. By being here,” the student finished a little lamely, taking a drink in an attempt to steady her nerves.

Her hands were trembling and she felt as if she might vomit the alcohol back into the glass. It felt as if all eyes were on her and she felt prepared to slide under the table and dampen her field completely so that nobody would be aware of her at all.
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Fri Feb 11, 2022 11:32 pm


"Honesty's one of those things, though—" The professor thought to offer some kind of encouragement, but he lost his train of thought when pushing in Niamh's chair for a moment. His hazel gaze drifted almost involuntarily from the young woman's carefully styled hair and the way the stray strands drew his attention to her neck, and—

Gods, he should definitely not have another drink. That was highly inappropriate considering he respected the woman.

Blinking, Harper brought himself back into focus in time for her betrothal comment and his own response was almost a knee-jerk reaction. Too forceful. Too honest, speaking of honesty. He understood the kind of pressure the eldest Madden was under, but he also simply had to assume her parents were vapid and uncaring with the sort of choices they made as a pairing for someone more than capable of choosing their own life partner from a far deeper, superiorly stocked lake than their own selfish cesspool.

Oh, maybe he was a bit biased.

Maybe he shouldn't have ever thought about these things, self-aware that he'd lingered on his fondness for the student first as his assistant and then as a friend and now—well, he cared about what happened to her not merely because it affected how they would work together in the future—Caleb Darcey was an idiot as far as he could tell—but also because it would simply affect the intelligent young woman's future.

She deserved better.

N-not that he was in any place to volunteer—not his opinion, nor himself.

N-not that he would.

Or—

Gods. He'd lost himself in some strange internal debate and as soon as he noticed there was Niamh's fiancée with his eddle of a field posturing in front of the monic theorist as if somehow a promise made for socioeconomic reasons had miraculously created Caleb Darcy as a new man before the nuptial ceremony solidified the concept. He smirked. Harper Moore couldn't even bring himself to smile politely so he smirked instead,

"Nor do our educations, Mister Darcy. Overlap, that is." The dark-haired galdor offered by way of greeting, "Perhaps it's understandably difficult to be familiar with what's above your head, so I don't blame you for your lack of familiarity with someone of my position here in our esteemed institution of Brunnhold."

He leaned a little, lightheaded in the rush of adrenaline laced with alcohol, palm against his chair while his other hand slid smoothly into the well-tailored pocket of his stark white slacks.

"This is an open holiday function last time I checked and there are several other examples of faculty and students intermingling—" Professor Moore tipped his half-full, half-empty third glass of wine around the room, indicating a table where several upper form students were actively involved in what appeared to be a conversation with a pair of professors. He shook his head, giving Caleb plenty of time to look around himself.

"For the sake of appearances, I understand why you might want to be seen with your fiancé, mostly to solidify your position in the arranged relationship and to parade your prize for the approval of your peers. Most likely there are reasons she has chosen not to, but I most certainly won't presume to put any words in the mouth of your intelligent, astute future spouse—mostly because some of those words might end up too complicated for you, sir, considering the obscure nature of the research she has skillfully assisted myself and Magister Devlin with these past few months." Honestly, Harper could go on. He made sure the Darcy scion could feel it in his tone and with a flex of his powerful field, he straightened and let Niamh further refuse for herself.

He felt the surge of humor that wafted through her field like a perfume, the eldest Madden clearly in her element speaking her own mind (as was her right as a person regardless of her sex, let alone her birthright as a galdor), and even as her aura dampened and her tone found a more even timbre, it was a fascinating experience for the too-analytical-for-his-own-good monic theorist.

A bell rang to indicate that it was, indeed, time for everyone to sit down at their places for the food service part of this formal event and Harper looked to Caleb,

"Seeing as your table also doesn't have any spare chairs, you're welcome to reconvene with us after our dinner, Mister Darcy. I wouldn't want to delay the blessing of our evening's shared meal over misconstrued envy."

Was it entirely misdirected, though? His breath caught, waiting for Caleb to hopefully stalk away so he could once again offer Niamh her seat, so he could finally take his own seat, and he realized that perhaps he felt a bit more conflicted than he expected to.

He stood his ground and waited, wanting to appear aloof about things but suddenly far more involved than he actually knew he had any right to be as if Caleb's sharp-edged and not-so-subtle accusations had cut him far more deeply than he'd wanted to give them permission to, considering his position, his age, and his status in this entire situation. Maybe he shouldn't be seen in the eldest Madden's company. Maybe he was harming her reputation. Maybe he was harming his, but—well, how much more damage could the man who worked alongside passives willingly really do to his own social acceptance levels, anyway?

Once the other man actually stalked away, the professor sighed.

He hadn't been paying attention and now he felt as though he were staring into a mirror. Maybe he needed more to drink, after all.

Finally, he sat also. If his hand brushed Niamh's leg under the table as he straightened out the tablecloth and arranged his napkin, well, it was totally accidental. Yes. Accidental because he was far too busy sifting through everything he’d just said and telling himself he should be thoroughly embarrassed.

"Gods, I am so sorry. I didn't realize—I just, uh, I just made a scene, I’m afraid."
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Sat Feb 12, 2022 5:56 pm

Loshis 3, 2719 | Evening
St Grumble’s Red Tie, Brunnhold
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It shouldn’t have been possible to love the man any more and yet…

Not that she should even think- To presume that her silly, girlish infatuation was anywhere near as serious as-

Whatever word she dared to use to describe how she felt about Harper, the eldest Madden found herself sinking further into it, nigh on drowning in it as he spoke to Caleb Darcy as the childish, intellectual inferior that he was. For the young man himself, it was undeniably humiliating, the exchange loud enough for it to be heard by more than just themselves and yet, it was entirely his own fault. The professor had met him on his own terms, speaking to him from behind the same facade of politeness, but with a greater command of rhetoric and without the undercurrent of infantile possessiveness.

It wasn’t without emotion or pride, which surprised and thrilled her, the monic theorist displaying a touch of machismo himself while also seeming to suggest that her fiancé was beneath her. He didn’t presume to speak for her, but he had chosen to speak in support of her, his speech concerning her complimentary without bearing the stink of flattery. This was by no means an attempt to woo her—inadvertently successful though it might be—but rather to add to the boy’s humiliation—all rather politely, of course.

She could certainly speak for herself and she did so, struggling to maintain her frigidity in light of the fact that she wanted to laugh in the teenager’s face. It would have been difficult to take him seriously at the best of times, but any anger he might have otherwise elicited had evaporated; he failed to be worth it. However, the redhead didn’t have the same surety as her companion, and couldn't inject the same finality of dismissal into her parting words as Harper had. Still, there was nothing that her betrothed could do without deepening his humiliation. Young Darcy couldn’t muster the wits for an effective rebuttal and he could hardly challenge a faculty member, even one of Harper’s uneven and precarious standing, without making himself look like an utter fool.

The youth had no choice but to smile and acquiesce, making the appropriate sounds of agreement and a promise to see her later, before he retreated red-faced. His field spoke volumes until he dampened it abruptly so that it was pulled violently beyond her ken, the pure unbridled rage shocking in its intensity—and his poor attempt to hide it. Even without being able to feel his emotions, they were plain for all to see as he stalked back to his friend who had paled alarmingly. Oísin caught her eye for the briefest moment before he seemed to focus entirely on his newly returned companion, but it was enough to make her feel as if she’d just been doused with ice water.

This was going to have consequences.

She bit her lip, feeling the sharp ridges of her teeth threatening to puncture the flesh beneath. The Living Conversationalist couldn’t manage to look at her companion just yet and she didn’t dare allow her gaze to stray to her fiancé for fear of what she’d see there. The Darcy scion was surely proud enough to make Harper suffer for this, and it wouldn’t be in an open setting like this, but would undoubtedly be underhanded. The man had enough antagonism with which to contend without earning more for her sake. She wasn’t ungrateful and worse, she was more than a little bit glad that he’d done it. No doubt it was a wildly ridiculous bit of daydreaming on her part but it had certainly felt as if he’d been drawing a comparison between himself and Caleb Darcy, showing that when it came to Niamh, he was far more deserving of her attention than her arranged fiancé.

It hadn’t been like that though, it wasn’t as if they’d both actually been fighting over her, even if her interest in the monic theorist didn’t appear to be entirely one-sided.

The brush of his hand on the outside of her thigh shocked her from her thoughts, wide eyes finding the professor at last though he seemed preoccupied with readying himself for the impending meal. Her own appetite was nowhere to be found but she made a show of readying herself in any case though she ended up twisting her napkin into various crumpled arrangements.

“You… you did, yes,” the girl whispered, wondering where her voice had gone, the confidence that had allowed her to speak her mind; now she could scarcely be heard. “I’m not sorry for it though.”

The heat high on her cheeks told her that the heat of her embarrassment had concentrated there, no doubt as a result of the rest of her face draining of colour. She felt feverish, fighting the urge to shiver even as heat threatened to cook her eyeballs.

“He started it.”

She winced, hating how childish she sounded.

“What I mean to say is, he’s the one who wanted to make it into something. It’s hardly your fault that he got what he wanted. Besides… it wasn’t undeserved,” she murmured, hazel eyes sliding to her employer as the corner of her twitched up, amusement dancing in her gaze. The mirth wavered and died as the final year heaved a sigh.

“Nothing you said about him was incorrect, but he won’t stand for it. He’s a brat and he’ll probably try to get at you through his father. The Darcys have some powerful friends and- I’m the one who should apologise, Harper. I shouldn’t have put you in such a position, but for what it’s worth… you were fantastic. I really shouldn’t be surprised by how much you continue to impress me but…”

She broke off, realising that she’d allowed far too much honesty to enter her words and scandalised by how very close she’d come to revealing the full extent of her regard for him. The mona in her field veritably writhed.

Her eyes closed briefly, the young woman offering a silent prayer to Alioe as if the goddess would take pity and reverse the sands of time just a little bit for her sake. She downed the rest of her drink and hiccupped softly.

“How about we pretend that the last couple of minutes didn’t happen? Especially the parts where I opened my mouth and said… things,” she suggested with a nervous laugh, her voice approaching a more typical tone though an uneasy ripple went through her aura.
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Sat Feb 12, 2022 8:28 pm


"F-fantastic? Me? No, I—" Harper tilted his head to stare, wide-eyed and near slack-jawed even as his hands mechanically went through the motions of placing his napkin carefully in his lap with muscle memory. He realized that maybe he was also blushing now, having not expected the compliment at the end of Niamh's words, especially since he'd definitely been concerned she would be admonishing his totally embarrassing outburst instead of praising it,

"I—I impress you? That's a bit too kind, really, Miss Madden. Possibly scandalously so, but, well. Thank you." He blurted, just barely at the edge of a whisper, hazel gaze searching the young woman's face as if he was noticing for the first time that perhaps the eldest Madden didn't just look at him as a professor, as a colleague, as a man in position of leadership, but also as a friend. Possibly more than a friend but that very thought was so out of place and more than theoretically off-limits, and lingering on some of those sorts of emotions and scenarios both flustered him and thrilled him at the same time—

—no.

One didn't feel this way about their students or co-workers. Or, at least, one shouldn't. Even if those students were near graduation. Even if those co-workers were functional people able to make their own decisions regardless of social convention saying otherwise.

He opened his mouth to speak some sort of deference but realized that to do so would be speaking out of turn. One of the Everine in attendance had stood, raising their hands, and everyone was expected to bow their heads at the blessing that was sung over their meal on this St. Grumbles Eve.

The dark-haired galdor didn't hear a lyrical, haunting word of it, thoughts churning. Gods, there would probably be consequences. People of status and that Darcy's level of idiocy combined usually were petty, cruel creatures. Normally, Professor Moore hardly cared about such social affairs, but his research had made his position and approval among the Magisters so tenuous as it was (and Devlin as his Chair Liaison and research assistant didn't help, not one bit).

Any further malignment may just about get his current studies shut down indefinitely. He really didn't need to be brought before the Magisters to justify himself, and he knew he was always carefully treading between the lines of Arcane Law.

Once the blessing had faded and while Ophelia herself stood and said a few words, Harper whispered from behind his glass as he took a sip,

"I don't think any of it should be forgotten, Niamh. I just didn't realize that you, uh, saw me in such a way. I meant what I said and everyone should know that you're an intelligent young woman, that such insight and studiousness isn't wasted on your sex." Harper knew what he meant by that word and it wasn't where his brain went, distracted now, caught up in the runoff of adrenaline and the warm floating sensation of the buzz of just enough alcohol. A little looser, a little more free-flowing in thoughts without his usual analytical filter (limited though that was already), Harper even smirked a little at his own distracted but lame sort of joke.

Recovering quickly with a titter of a chuckle, he continued, "I'd much rather forget the burden of knowing you're engaged to that ersehat, if you'll excuse me saying such a thing about your intended, Miss Madden." Thankfully, he hadn't spoken loud enough to draw the attention of everyone else at their table, but the small and admittedly intimately acquainted Quantitative department that Harper served alongside and a few ancient literature professors who'd sat with them slowly brought their own gazes toward the pair who had sat with quite a bit of interest once the Gated passives began to bring out their meals and serve them.

The monic theorist cleared his throat, letting the sensation of her field somewhat force him back into focus even if something in his chest ached with the realization that he didn't merely care about Niamh's fate—he also cared very much about the young woman herself.

To what end?

It would never matter, anyway.

What a foolish thought that somehow he could shelter someone else from the cruel machinations of parental expectation. It wasn't his right, nor was he at all an eligible option at nearly thirty-seven. She admired him—surely she didn't have any actual feelings of affection for the professor, for—

"Please continue to say things, Miss Madden. Don't let anyone tell you you shouldn't speak your mind, especially here in Brunnhold, let alone in your—future—your house."

Gods, truly. Harper sighed at himself, vaguely aware beyond the heat that crawled from the base of his skull down his spine that he'd have to make conversation with the rest of their table instead of solely with his assistant, lovely or not as she was this evening.
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