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ᗩ ᕼIᑎT Oᖴ ᗰᗩGIᑕ— ᒍᑌᗰᗷᒪEᗪ & ᐯIᑎᗩEIᑎ
- Thread starter Jumbled
- Start date
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2020
"Seek that which is not bidden, that which cannot be lost,
That which is hidden, that can never be taken
Yet comes with the greatest of cost."
When he opened his eyes to return to the world about, he nearly jolted on his feet at the return to the material plane, breathing in as he stared into the ink-black depths of the mirror before them. He straightened dismissing the connection, before he extended a hand to the table alongside him. The tiny decanter of wine lifted itself, flying into his bidding hand and he wrapped his fingers about it, taking several sits of sweet, cool red liquid to quench his thirst. Such matters did tend to work up a thirst, the lord of the manor thought. The encroaching footsteps did little to startle him from his reverie, Damian barely glancing back over as he heard the door open.
"Damian," the gruff voice was calm, relaxed, albeit tinged full with a shred of worry. "Stanley sent word, he- "
"The pale woman with the red hair," Damian turned to the bearded countenance of his brother. The younger Lascar flashed his teeth in a knowing smile, but Damian's face remained implacable as stone, exhaustion flooding into his limbs as he remained upright, determined to display no weakness. "I am lord of these lands, Sebastian. What occurs to anyone here that has not yet reached my notice?" The lord of Lascar gave the hint of a smile upon his handsome face. Damian's skin was slightly tanned from years in the sun, a light scar upon his left cheek. His features were high, aristocratic, smooth shaven with defined cheekbones, his lips full and his eyes a deep blue. His black hair was worn short, slightly askew now from hours of deep concentration.
"If I didn't know any better, I would imagine you set this up, Damian," Sebastian returned, his hands folded behind his back. The two were, Damian reflected, quite close. Not only in lessons and training, but they had fought through conflict after conflict together.The war against the Hellkites, the conflicts that had sealed back the veil, the encroachment of the Draconic Brethren upon the Lascar lands...Sebastian had been there each time, with scars to show for it. It was almost enough to make one forget the grim history of the Lascar lands and the even grimmer history of the Lascar family.
Almost, Damian thought as he turned from the mirror, locking his eyes upon Sebastian's. The resemblance was unmistakable between them, Damian's eyes narrowed softly. "It's said she's magic, but has no magic ability. Quite the contradiction, don't you think?"
"I assure you, that occurred to me," Sebastian said. "Stanley said the rest of the council said it was just what you might have been looking for."
"I've had to look through enough potential keys here," Damian replied in turn, his hands flexing before him as tiny Azure lights danced between them. "A living contradiction is what they said, and a living contradiction she is. A baker who might well possess magic within her very bones, so I hear tell."
"What a shame it's Lascar that's her final destination," Sebastian shook his head, glancing up at the manor about them. At one time, the manor had seemed a living beast caging its inhabitants. Now it seemed to be the skeletal remains, a living cage of bone to enshroud its occupants within the great pits of its stomach. "I don't suppose you'll want to greet her first off?"
"I would observe her, without making much an impression, brother," Damian said in turn with a dismissive wave. "Pretend to be me."
"To be you?" Sebastian grinned with the quirk of an eyebrow. "Come now, Damian, surely Vicente would be more suited of our family to- "
"She doesn't know me, save maybe by reputation. You, Julian, Vicente, it makes little difference to me. You are here, do as I say. Glean her mettle. I will speak to her soon after, if you must know." He turned to the mirror. "I have received enough portents of calamity. We must be certain what this is in order to glean what it might be, Sebastian."
He saw his brother sigh heavily, his brows knitting together. The younger Lascar sighed deeply at last. "I will, Damian," he said. He glanced at the mirror closely. "You think the council had this in mind when they sent her?"
"It is entirely possible," Damian said with a gruff cast to his voice. He drummed his fingers against the nearest table, setting aside the decanter. The ancient home of their family was waiting to receive its new visitor. Damian held in the troubled visions he had received, the possible 'key' this Baker might be towards them, the secrets she may hold. The trickery or even coercion he may have to use to unlock them. "After all...
"Lascar has many ghosts within its walls. Let us see if she can avoid joining them."
Many magical houses could get very hungry at night. Lascar Manor was no exception.
It was why Lord Damian Lascar, if in the event he had to travel, moved only between the walls, gliding effortlessly in the spaces between. There were things that lurked within the material corridors, his mother had taught him when he had been a boy; things that hid without the walls and the corridors, things that feasted upon secrets. They came with the house, Sebastian had been wont to joke. Or perhaps it was the house itself. These ancient walls had witnessed so many murders, so much darkness, so many furtive and secretive acts that even in their decay, they still hungered for the taste when they could get them.
Even an effective and battle-hardened mage such as Damian Lascar dared not face the full might of such an ancient and ravenous place. Any of the magic-bearing beings within the halls were trained well on how to travel safely after the hours fell upon them. Damian simply glided in the Spaces Between. He had lingered long in his study, seeking what could not be found within the mirror, leafing through prophecies and grimoires.
What was more, he had not even glimpsed hide nor hair of the visitor. Not in the flesh, at any rate. He had left it to Sebastian; his brother had done a passable impression as Lord of Lascar, but there was hardly much a need to fool such a baker. In fact, when Damian had scryed in upon the meeting, he had confessed to a measure of disappointment in the woman he had seen. She was ordinary to almost startling degrees, with not a single trace of magical knowledge to her. He could scarcely sense the pulse of power from her, not from his position, and this was supposed to be a being containing magic within her?
By all the gods of sorcery and shadow, why had his studies led him to her? Why did Lascar Manor's fortunes center upon her? Why did these ancient tomes point to her, why did the Council-
he stopped himself, a frown deepening upon his features. Of course, he decided, the simplest solution was likely the most obvious here; she was lying. She knew more of Lascar, of his family, of everything about here than she let on. She had ti know something. Why was someone of her importance, someone like her prancing about making cupcakes?!
He was of a mind to spy on her when he glanced about, sensing a settling of the house, a satisfaction to it. His eyes narrowed as he focused upon the place that had been both home and prison. His mother had ever warned him that the manor had a will of its own, not a will that any human being could truly understand. It was neither cruel nor kind, it simply was.
He damn well hoped someone had explained to this Alice the importance of wearing enchanted cloth. Because if they hadn't... well, it would be no problem as long as she remained within her room. Wouldn't it? Wouldn't-
Mist was beginning to swirl about in the material plane. Damian stopped short for a moment. "...Ah." He said, all his exasperation, frustration and exhaustion in that one singular syllable. He hovered along the floor from the spaces In-Between, following the mist. He flew, arms outstretched, racing headlong towards his target, hoping he would be in time. It would not do for this strange visitor to have her story ended. It would not do to have Lascar Manor claim her and her secrets before he could have at least the latter.
He returned to the material plane, the cold settling about him as he stomped through the manor. His eyes flared with an unnatural, argent light as he raised a hand, murmuring words of power. The cold was centering in on a person, Damian realized. He quickened his pace, rushing forwar, and then-
The cold receded, hurled back. Misty tendrils beckoned for his face, a low and haunting voice chuckling, as if forced through a thin layer of ice grown upon a grave: "Tell us your secrets, Damian!
"Every.
"Single.
"ONE."
He flared to life, banishing it from them as he made his way down the hall, bringing warmth and power as he beheld her there, shivering and huddled before him. His hands folded across his muscled chest, his eyes narrowed. "I see you have made the acquaintance of the house as well," he said in a gelid tone, chin tilted upward. "It is not safe to be outside a room, unprotected, at this hour. The House grows hungry then." He flicked his eyes to the side, seeing the mist creeping expectantly from around the corridors. He raised a hand, the light coming off from him. The mist receded as if struck, an enraged hiss sounding in his ears.
Damian turned to her again. "Alice Stone," he knew her name already. "You are safe now," he said, his voice almost gentle, even if his face and eyes were not. "Though wear that cloak tight...we should get behind a door quickly now. And then I am going to have questions for you...." The touch of the mist had clearly left her legs like ice, he thought. He reached a hand out and with a gesture, he magically lifted her into the air, bringing her closer to hold her in his arms. "Feeling will return to your legs in a short while." He murmured a spell, warming his hands, intending to transfer the heat into her, to chase away the numbing, hungering cold. He began to walk, holding her as he made for one of the rooms.
"You may call me Damian Lascar, Lord of this House. What you are...has yet to be determined."
That which is hidden, that can never be taken
Yet comes with the greatest of cost."
When he opened his eyes to return to the world about, he nearly jolted on his feet at the return to the material plane, breathing in as he stared into the ink-black depths of the mirror before them. He straightened dismissing the connection, before he extended a hand to the table alongside him. The tiny decanter of wine lifted itself, flying into his bidding hand and he wrapped his fingers about it, taking several sits of sweet, cool red liquid to quench his thirst. Such matters did tend to work up a thirst, the lord of the manor thought. The encroaching footsteps did little to startle him from his reverie, Damian barely glancing back over as he heard the door open.
"Damian," the gruff voice was calm, relaxed, albeit tinged full with a shred of worry. "Stanley sent word, he- "
"The pale woman with the red hair," Damian turned to the bearded countenance of his brother. The younger Lascar flashed his teeth in a knowing smile, but Damian's face remained implacable as stone, exhaustion flooding into his limbs as he remained upright, determined to display no weakness. "I am lord of these lands, Sebastian. What occurs to anyone here that has not yet reached my notice?" The lord of Lascar gave the hint of a smile upon his handsome face. Damian's skin was slightly tanned from years in the sun, a light scar upon his left cheek. His features were high, aristocratic, smooth shaven with defined cheekbones, his lips full and his eyes a deep blue. His black hair was worn short, slightly askew now from hours of deep concentration.
"If I didn't know any better, I would imagine you set this up, Damian," Sebastian returned, his hands folded behind his back. The two were, Damian reflected, quite close. Not only in lessons and training, but they had fought through conflict after conflict together.The war against the Hellkites, the conflicts that had sealed back the veil, the encroachment of the Draconic Brethren upon the Lascar lands...Sebastian had been there each time, with scars to show for it. It was almost enough to make one forget the grim history of the Lascar lands and the even grimmer history of the Lascar family.
Almost, Damian thought as he turned from the mirror, locking his eyes upon Sebastian's. The resemblance was unmistakable between them, Damian's eyes narrowed softly. "It's said she's magic, but has no magic ability. Quite the contradiction, don't you think?"
"I assure you, that occurred to me," Sebastian said. "Stanley said the rest of the council said it was just what you might have been looking for."
"I've had to look through enough potential keys here," Damian replied in turn, his hands flexing before him as tiny Azure lights danced between them. "A living contradiction is what they said, and a living contradiction she is. A baker who might well possess magic within her very bones, so I hear tell."
"What a shame it's Lascar that's her final destination," Sebastian shook his head, glancing up at the manor about them. At one time, the manor had seemed a living beast caging its inhabitants. Now it seemed to be the skeletal remains, a living cage of bone to enshroud its occupants within the great pits of its stomach. "I don't suppose you'll want to greet her first off?"
"I would observe her, without making much an impression, brother," Damian said in turn with a dismissive wave. "Pretend to be me."
"To be you?" Sebastian grinned with the quirk of an eyebrow. "Come now, Damian, surely Vicente would be more suited of our family to- "
"She doesn't know me, save maybe by reputation. You, Julian, Vicente, it makes little difference to me. You are here, do as I say. Glean her mettle. I will speak to her soon after, if you must know." He turned to the mirror. "I have received enough portents of calamity. We must be certain what this is in order to glean what it might be, Sebastian."
He saw his brother sigh heavily, his brows knitting together. The younger Lascar sighed deeply at last. "I will, Damian," he said. He glanced at the mirror closely. "You think the council had this in mind when they sent her?"
"It is entirely possible," Damian said with a gruff cast to his voice. He drummed his fingers against the nearest table, setting aside the decanter. The ancient home of their family was waiting to receive its new visitor. Damian held in the troubled visions he had received, the possible 'key' this Baker might be towards them, the secrets she may hold. The trickery or even coercion he may have to use to unlock them. "After all...
"Lascar has many ghosts within its walls. Let us see if she can avoid joining them."
Many magical houses could get very hungry at night. Lascar Manor was no exception.
It was why Lord Damian Lascar, if in the event he had to travel, moved only between the walls, gliding effortlessly in the spaces between. There were things that lurked within the material corridors, his mother had taught him when he had been a boy; things that hid without the walls and the corridors, things that feasted upon secrets. They came with the house, Sebastian had been wont to joke. Or perhaps it was the house itself. These ancient walls had witnessed so many murders, so much darkness, so many furtive and secretive acts that even in their decay, they still hungered for the taste when they could get them.
Even an effective and battle-hardened mage such as Damian Lascar dared not face the full might of such an ancient and ravenous place. Any of the magic-bearing beings within the halls were trained well on how to travel safely after the hours fell upon them. Damian simply glided in the Spaces Between. He had lingered long in his study, seeking what could not be found within the mirror, leafing through prophecies and grimoires.
What was more, he had not even glimpsed hide nor hair of the visitor. Not in the flesh, at any rate. He had left it to Sebastian; his brother had done a passable impression as Lord of Lascar, but there was hardly much a need to fool such a baker. In fact, when Damian had scryed in upon the meeting, he had confessed to a measure of disappointment in the woman he had seen. She was ordinary to almost startling degrees, with not a single trace of magical knowledge to her. He could scarcely sense the pulse of power from her, not from his position, and this was supposed to be a being containing magic within her?
By all the gods of sorcery and shadow, why had his studies led him to her? Why did Lascar Manor's fortunes center upon her? Why did these ancient tomes point to her, why did the Council-
he stopped himself, a frown deepening upon his features. Of course, he decided, the simplest solution was likely the most obvious here; she was lying. She knew more of Lascar, of his family, of everything about here than she let on. She had ti know something. Why was someone of her importance, someone like her prancing about making cupcakes?!
He was of a mind to spy on her when he glanced about, sensing a settling of the house, a satisfaction to it. His eyes narrowed as he focused upon the place that had been both home and prison. His mother had ever warned him that the manor had a will of its own, not a will that any human being could truly understand. It was neither cruel nor kind, it simply was.
He damn well hoped someone had explained to this Alice the importance of wearing enchanted cloth. Because if they hadn't... well, it would be no problem as long as she remained within her room. Wouldn't it? Wouldn't-
Mist was beginning to swirl about in the material plane. Damian stopped short for a moment. "...Ah." He said, all his exasperation, frustration and exhaustion in that one singular syllable. He hovered along the floor from the spaces In-Between, following the mist. He flew, arms outstretched, racing headlong towards his target, hoping he would be in time. It would not do for this strange visitor to have her story ended. It would not do to have Lascar Manor claim her and her secrets before he could have at least the latter.
He returned to the material plane, the cold settling about him as he stomped through the manor. His eyes flared with an unnatural, argent light as he raised a hand, murmuring words of power. The cold was centering in on a person, Damian realized. He quickened his pace, rushing forwar, and then-
The cold receded, hurled back. Misty tendrils beckoned for his face, a low and haunting voice chuckling, as if forced through a thin layer of ice grown upon a grave: "Tell us your secrets, Damian!
"Every.
"Single.
"ONE."
He flared to life, banishing it from them as he made his way down the hall, bringing warmth and power as he beheld her there, shivering and huddled before him. His hands folded across his muscled chest, his eyes narrowed. "I see you have made the acquaintance of the house as well," he said in a gelid tone, chin tilted upward. "It is not safe to be outside a room, unprotected, at this hour. The House grows hungry then." He flicked his eyes to the side, seeing the mist creeping expectantly from around the corridors. He raised a hand, the light coming off from him. The mist receded as if struck, an enraged hiss sounding in his ears.
Damian turned to her again. "Alice Stone," he knew her name already. "You are safe now," he said, his voice almost gentle, even if his face and eyes were not. "Though wear that cloak tight...we should get behind a door quickly now. And then I am going to have questions for you...." The touch of the mist had clearly left her legs like ice, he thought. He reached a hand out and with a gesture, he magically lifted her into the air, bringing her closer to hold her in his arms. "Feeling will return to your legs in a short while." He murmured a spell, warming his hands, intending to transfer the heat into her, to chase away the numbing, hungering cold. He began to walk, holding her as he made for one of the rooms.
"You may call me Damian Lascar, Lord of this House. What you are...has yet to be determined."
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
☾✩☽
It seemed as though months had gone by while Alice hid underneath the protection of some dusty cloak she’d randomly grabbed on her way out of her assigned room. With each huff of breath, she felt the piercing cold from her legs crying out for attention, for relief. She had nothing to offer her body or mind. The smell of the floor filled her nostrils as it mixed itself into the scents of the cloak. Alice tried to focus on it. She needed to concentrate with purpose in hopes of distracting herself from the discomfort.
Perhaps she was nearing her end. The hallway was growing warmer around her though she was certain her legs had been frozen stiff. Men told tales of a cold-death— something about feeling warmer just before the end was near. Dealing with a hex for the rest of her life would have been a far better option, she thought, than going to the Council of Magics just to end up losing her life only days later. If only she had the insight to leave it alone. It seemed so problematic at that time. Her workplace was on the fritz because of some mage playing a prank. Alice knew of a group in her town that enjoyed bullying her, they had since primary school before all of them broke off to chase after their magical careers while Alice stayed to learn her father’s trade. Oh, how she wished in those moments she’d open her eyes from the nightmare she was in only to smell her father baking his pastries.
A voice cut through her pitiful moments of regret. Her forehead crinkled, followed by her nose, as she tilted her head to allow her ear better access. Maybe the room really was warmer, but it seemed far more likely to be another trick. She hadn’t heard a single footstep down the corridor to indicate human life was near, but if she was off in her own little world, she rarely heard most things happening around her. Even so, the next sentence made her curious enough to at least take a peek. Her fingers gripped at the fabric draped around her form, carefully pulling it away from the floor. A warm light pooled in, almost like liquid trying to cover any surface it could touch. Hopeful, she lifted the veil between her and the true master of the murder house. “The house— it grows hungry?” she repeated him in disbelief. She hadn’t pieced together much of anything yet, especially not the identity of the man before her being different from the one she’d met the prior day.
He moved his arm and lifted the soothing light up, scaring off the ravenous mists back to the edges of the walls where they struggled to retreat further. He said her name, and as he did, she noted his tone wasn’t one of disgust. He seemed almost like a different man in a way, but as he stood above her, the light making it difficult to really see or focus, she dismissed any developing thoughts that had begun to blossom in her mind. Alice tugged at the cloak protectively as he suggested she keep it tightly around her, almost nervous he’d decide to snatch it away shortly after his instructions.
He moved his arm and lifted the soothing light up, scaring off the ravenous mists back to the edges of the walls where they struggled to retreat further. He said her name, and as he did, she noted his tone wasn’t one of disgust. He seemed almost like a different man in a way, but as he stood above her, the light making it difficult to really see or focus, she dismissed any developing thoughts that had begun to blossom in her mind. Alice tugged at the cloak protectively as he suggested she keep it tightly around her, almost nervous he’d decide to snatch it away shortly after his instructions.
Assuming those “questions” he had for her were related to why she decided to wander the halls, she sighed quietly to herself, pushing herself up with one arm while clinging to the cloak tightly with her opposite hand. Alice looked stumped, though, and still in pain as she concluded that her legs were still useless for sets of limbs. Perfect for chilling a bowl of punch, though. “I ca— aaa-aaahh—!” Alice cried as her communications were interrupted by fright when her body started to rise faster than any dough she’d ever made. She stiffened with her arms wrapped around herself, hands clinging to the sides of her own shoulders. She closed her green eyes with lids clamped down so tightly she was somehow seeing white. Her body sank against muscle as the weightlessness of floating turned into being carried. The hard lines that lay at the corners of her eyes softened as she opened them once more, finding her body in the capable arms of the man with the warm light.
The muttering under her breath were words Alice couldn’t understand. She regarded him with both confusion and curiosity. Her legs were already starting to feel better from whatever he’d done, but as he introduced himself— she panicked. She’d already met the lord of the house; one Damian Lascar. Shallow breaths caused her chest to rise and fall quickly as she processed. “You cannot be, I met Damian Lascar yesterday.” she said as she watched him nervously, careful not to overstep— not that she could literally step at all. This man— this imposter was still holding her. Alice glanced up at him, soaking in his features. Maybe he could have shaved that night? But even still— or was this more magic?
With a head spinning full of conflicting ideas, Alice felt defeated. His last choice of words left her apprehensive. “I’m just Alice.” she mumbled quietly. She didn’t attempt to argue more with him, as he was her ticket out of the wicked hallway.
[TᑌᑎEƧ]
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2020
Being in proximity with Alice did little to confirm or deny a single suspicion that lingered within the mind of the Master of Lascar Manor. Master, he thought, and yet the Manor had almost taken upon itself to attack and devour the recent arrival, his 'guest' as some might have called it. The very thought kindled a burning flame of rage within Damian Lascar- many traditions of the ancient magical families had been long abandoned but Lascar still held to guest-right as something most sacred. With the woman before him nearly devoured by the whispering walls, Damian found himself wondering quite a bit just who their mysterious new visitor was. He had watched as she had spoken with Sebasian, spoken with Vicente disguised as a servant. He had observed it all...
Hoping to glean something that made this Alice so unique. Alas, he had come away with nothing. The thought was simply vexing, the eldest of the Lascar siblings thought to himself. When Lady Stone, Alice, he reminded himself, wriggled within his arms and repeated his words, he glanced down the hallway with a haunted expression. He betrayed neither concern nor remorse for her as he made sure the red cloak wrapped her tight, clutching her within his arms. "Did nobody think to warn you?" He asked, even though he knew deep down he would have been most intrigued in seeing how she might have reacted to a genuine danger.
"It is unwise to walk the halls of Lascar Manor at night unprotected. Magic and secrets bleed into the very walls of ancient manors and Lascar has drunk more than most. They tend to get a taste of such things, as a Manticore might harbor a taste for blood should it up too long upon the flesh of man. You are fortunate you reacted in time. Though I see you did not escape entirely unscathed." His tone was admonishing, almost as cold as the starving mist summoned by the manor itself. He stared firmly at her, trying to take her in.
He was certain she was not simply ordinary, no. She looked it, the only interesting thing about her pale body was the mess of deep red hair, a match for the red robes she now wore about her body. She did not seem to be carrying much by way of affects, nothing to explain anything intrigue, yet there was something he could detect within the traces of her aura. There was something odd there; if magic were a flowing current, hers was static and placid as a frozen pond. And yet...
And yet, underneath it, he could detect something different about the "waters." It was light, imperceptible. He could barely piece it together, barely even notice. A more skilled practitioner might not have garnered even a hint of it. But Damian could, even if he could not understand nor explain it. His brows knitted as he stared at Alice. "If nobody thought to warn you," he said while ignoring her queries for the moment, "those robes are to protect you from the house. Specifically enchanted to do so. You shall recover soon enough, but do not be so foolish as to offer yourself to its rapacity." He glared down the halls, staring into the very bowels of Lascar manor.
"You would not be the first hapless visitor to fall into the belly of the beast and fail to emerge ever again," he added as his gaze flicked to the nearest door. He recalled it as a guest room. "And to be exact, you encountered my brother Sebastian. I had him don my name to test your mettle while you could speak unburdened by the truth. My brother Vicente was on hand to greet you earlier, the one you knew as 'Vinn.' If deception offends you, girl, then I suggest you get over it quickly. You shall need thicker skin to survive in the world of mages."
He gestured to the door and the knob turned, twisted by an invisible hand. he marched there carrying Alice in his arms, gentle even if there was no affection in word or soul. He walked in and kicked the door shut behind him. "If you are finished offering yourself to the hungers of my home tonight, perhaps you will attempt to satisfy another need. I refer to my curiosity, baker." Once within, he levitated her away from him, letting her hover over the bed, before he dropped her there. "Remain there while feeling returns to your limbs. I have cast a spell...it attempted to drain the life from your body, the chill of death is not so easily forgotten."
He folded his hands behind his back. "Take a moment, Alice the Baker," he said as he watched her with a chill gaze. "Then you are going to answer...what did the Council see in you? I would know how you came to know yourself as so special."
Hoping to glean something that made this Alice so unique. Alas, he had come away with nothing. The thought was simply vexing, the eldest of the Lascar siblings thought to himself. When Lady Stone, Alice, he reminded himself, wriggled within his arms and repeated his words, he glanced down the hallway with a haunted expression. He betrayed neither concern nor remorse for her as he made sure the red cloak wrapped her tight, clutching her within his arms. "Did nobody think to warn you?" He asked, even though he knew deep down he would have been most intrigued in seeing how she might have reacted to a genuine danger.
"It is unwise to walk the halls of Lascar Manor at night unprotected. Magic and secrets bleed into the very walls of ancient manors and Lascar has drunk more than most. They tend to get a taste of such things, as a Manticore might harbor a taste for blood should it up too long upon the flesh of man. You are fortunate you reacted in time. Though I see you did not escape entirely unscathed." His tone was admonishing, almost as cold as the starving mist summoned by the manor itself. He stared firmly at her, trying to take her in.
He was certain she was not simply ordinary, no. She looked it, the only interesting thing about her pale body was the mess of deep red hair, a match for the red robes she now wore about her body. She did not seem to be carrying much by way of affects, nothing to explain anything intrigue, yet there was something he could detect within the traces of her aura. There was something odd there; if magic were a flowing current, hers was static and placid as a frozen pond. And yet...
And yet, underneath it, he could detect something different about the "waters." It was light, imperceptible. He could barely piece it together, barely even notice. A more skilled practitioner might not have garnered even a hint of it. But Damian could, even if he could not understand nor explain it. His brows knitted as he stared at Alice. "If nobody thought to warn you," he said while ignoring her queries for the moment, "those robes are to protect you from the house. Specifically enchanted to do so. You shall recover soon enough, but do not be so foolish as to offer yourself to its rapacity." He glared down the halls, staring into the very bowels of Lascar manor.
"You would not be the first hapless visitor to fall into the belly of the beast and fail to emerge ever again," he added as his gaze flicked to the nearest door. He recalled it as a guest room. "And to be exact, you encountered my brother Sebastian. I had him don my name to test your mettle while you could speak unburdened by the truth. My brother Vicente was on hand to greet you earlier, the one you knew as 'Vinn.' If deception offends you, girl, then I suggest you get over it quickly. You shall need thicker skin to survive in the world of mages."
He gestured to the door and the knob turned, twisted by an invisible hand. he marched there carrying Alice in his arms, gentle even if there was no affection in word or soul. He walked in and kicked the door shut behind him. "If you are finished offering yourself to the hungers of my home tonight, perhaps you will attempt to satisfy another need. I refer to my curiosity, baker." Once within, he levitated her away from him, letting her hover over the bed, before he dropped her there. "Remain there while feeling returns to your limbs. I have cast a spell...it attempted to drain the life from your body, the chill of death is not so easily forgotten."
He folded his hands behind his back. "Take a moment, Alice the Baker," he said as he watched her with a chill gaze. "Then you are going to answer...what did the Council see in you? I would know how you came to know yourself as so special."
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
☾✩☽
It was unsettling how closely the man— claiming to be Damian Lascar— held her without portraying any indication of real sympathy for Alice. He looked more concerned for the hallway and what lay within the walls, with its chipping paints and cracks that accented the dark wood panels along the floor and ceiling. How could one even categorize a dangerous mist? Was it truly a monster if it had no real form or body— or maybe it did and that was just a preview of the main attack against her very life. Alice shivered, not from her legs, or the rush of heat that crawled up to her knees, but from the idea of dangers she had never thought to imagine before. “I wasn’t—” she answered him, and still, Alice couldn’t discern whether or not Damian actually wanted her to speak or if he was simply speaking in rhetoricals. He moved with instinct, at least, that’s what it felt like, as he adjusted the cloth around her body, his arms clamping firmer than before as he held her.
His lectures were taken as seriously as the ordinary, imaginative Alice could comprehend. She wasn’t well versed on magical creatures, having no idea what a Manticore even was. She didn’t suppose it was a dragon, and although she found the word reminding her of unicorns, she supposed that wasn’t correct either. Regardless of her ignorance, Alice was certain this man— her teacher?— wasn’t willing to go into details over such things at that time. “The mist held onto my legs as though it were a rope binding me— I’m not familiar with magical dangers like that.” her voice was smaller as her gaze settled onto her covered knees. She wasn’t sure why he was scolding her, or being so critical of her actions. She was up before the sun rose every morning to start the fires in the bakery. She had to do that by hand, not magically. Her home had never attacked her for being up and active in the dark.
“Even your magical house lacks proper manners, then.” The words left her before she could reconsider whether or not to speak again. “I mean— thank you. For informing me about the robes. And— and for saving me.” she said quietly. This was horribly awkward. Damian continued to carry the lame Alice and she hoped to keep her tongue in place long enough to convince him not to throw her back down onto the ground so that his home might finish her off for her bluntness. It had been a long while since Alice had answered to any man, the last being her father while he still ran her bakery.
She could feel the steely gaze that penetrated into her soul, and cautiously, she turned her head just enough to meet blue with green. Alice’s nose was near his neck, and as she breathed, it was possible Damian could feel the small, warm exhales of breath that left her. She defensively clenched her teeth, her jaw tightening as the pale skin of her cheeks grew warm with mixed feelings of embarrassment and tension. What was he looking for? She had already told him— well, no, not him— Alice shifted against Damian, her shoulder lightly brushing against his pectoral as her fingertips clung to the cloak.
A brother.
No, two.
Alice was ready to object; to protest such tricks and games. Damian must have read her face— or could he read her mind? That was a whole new topic Alice wasn’t ready for her mind to tackle. If he was in her head it didn’t matter how many insults she held back. And still, he carried her off to a room, safe from the evils of the manor. That was the hope, at least. “I didn’t ask to be here.” she told him. She didn’t want to live in a world with mages. She didn’t want to get thicker skin than she already had. Mundane people could be cruel, and Alice wasn’t afraid of a bully most days, but this was a world in which she didn’t belong.
The walk to the room took forever, but it wasn’t due to the corridor stretching and warping to an infinite path in which one could never escape. It was just… awkward. Alice’s eyes pulled away from his and resumed their staring at anything other than Damian. But as the master of the home suggested she satisfy a need, her ears and face flushed instantly. She was in a room alone with him, wearing a thin dress of a gown beneath the cover of the red cloak and he was strong— magic. Panic jolted her heart into a fast paced beat before Damian even clarified his words. Had he— did he do that to her on purpose? She dared draw her eyes up to meet his again, but her body pulled away from his arms and the warmth that came with them.
Waves of her auburn hair lifted and danced around her with the spell that carried her over to the bed before being dropped a foot or so above it. She bounced, her hair then flying every direction, causing her to coax it back into place. The bed was eager to welcome her in with plush blankets and pillows filled with down feathers. She sighed, allowing herself to relax— just a little.
“I suppose I have no choice if you cannot control your own house. What am I supposed to do while I wait for the rest of your household to awaken from slumber? Sit in the dark? My luggage is gone— I suppose that was your brother that took my things. And— a candle. I need commonplace items that non-magical folk require to survive. I cannot do what you can.” She was sure he was exaggerating about it draining her life, she didn’t feel like she was dying. Another trick, perhaps.
The mage stared at her and Alice felt as though she were shrinking. It wasn’t everyday someone was able to make her feel so small. “I don’t know what you mean. I do not act as though I am special. I’ve literally told every person I’ve come across I have no magical powers. No one is listening to me. They could not explain the circumstances I am experiencing. The Council was sure I wasn’t hexed by someone, but I think they are wrong. From what I understand, you’re the guy they get to help when nothing makes sense, though I don’t get the feeling they trust you anyway. For that matter, the way those men were cast out of the manor, I’m not sure anyone is civil with one another.”
“Even your magical house lacks proper manners, then.” The words left her before she could reconsider whether or not to speak again. “I mean— thank you. For informing me about the robes. And— and for saving me.” she said quietly. This was horribly awkward. Damian continued to carry the lame Alice and she hoped to keep her tongue in place long enough to convince him not to throw her back down onto the ground so that his home might finish her off for her bluntness. It had been a long while since Alice had answered to any man, the last being her father while he still ran her bakery.
She could feel the steely gaze that penetrated into her soul, and cautiously, she turned her head just enough to meet blue with green. Alice’s nose was near his neck, and as she breathed, it was possible Damian could feel the small, warm exhales of breath that left her. She defensively clenched her teeth, her jaw tightening as the pale skin of her cheeks grew warm with mixed feelings of embarrassment and tension. What was he looking for? She had already told him— well, no, not him— Alice shifted against Damian, her shoulder lightly brushing against his pectoral as her fingertips clung to the cloak.
A brother.
No, two.
Alice was ready to object; to protest such tricks and games. Damian must have read her face— or could he read her mind? That was a whole new topic Alice wasn’t ready for her mind to tackle. If he was in her head it didn’t matter how many insults she held back. And still, he carried her off to a room, safe from the evils of the manor. That was the hope, at least. “I didn’t ask to be here.” she told him. She didn’t want to live in a world with mages. She didn’t want to get thicker skin than she already had. Mundane people could be cruel, and Alice wasn’t afraid of a bully most days, but this was a world in which she didn’t belong.
The walk to the room took forever, but it wasn’t due to the corridor stretching and warping to an infinite path in which one could never escape. It was just… awkward. Alice’s eyes pulled away from his and resumed their staring at anything other than Damian. But as the master of the home suggested she satisfy a need, her ears and face flushed instantly. She was in a room alone with him, wearing a thin dress of a gown beneath the cover of the red cloak and he was strong— magic. Panic jolted her heart into a fast paced beat before Damian even clarified his words. Had he— did he do that to her on purpose? She dared draw her eyes up to meet his again, but her body pulled away from his arms and the warmth that came with them.
Waves of her auburn hair lifted and danced around her with the spell that carried her over to the bed before being dropped a foot or so above it. She bounced, her hair then flying every direction, causing her to coax it back into place. The bed was eager to welcome her in with plush blankets and pillows filled with down feathers. She sighed, allowing herself to relax— just a little.
“I suppose I have no choice if you cannot control your own house. What am I supposed to do while I wait for the rest of your household to awaken from slumber? Sit in the dark? My luggage is gone— I suppose that was your brother that took my things. And— a candle. I need commonplace items that non-magical folk require to survive. I cannot do what you can.” She was sure he was exaggerating about it draining her life, she didn’t feel like she was dying. Another trick, perhaps.
The mage stared at her and Alice felt as though she were shrinking. It wasn’t everyday someone was able to make her feel so small. “I don’t know what you mean. I do not act as though I am special. I’ve literally told every person I’ve come across I have no magical powers. No one is listening to me. They could not explain the circumstances I am experiencing. The Council was sure I wasn’t hexed by someone, but I think they are wrong. From what I understand, you’re the guy they get to help when nothing makes sense, though I don’t get the feeling they trust you anyway. For that matter, the way those men were cast out of the manor, I’m not sure anyone is civil with one another.”
[TᑌᑎEƧ]
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2020
Damian was wondering just how much sense this woman lacked in her pretty, red head just now. As he carried her down the dim corridor his lips seemed to be creased within a permanent frown. Had nobody ever warned her of this? Why had she not simply donned the blasted robes? It was what they were there for. Yet despite that, he knew there was another reason he was so frustrated that he found difficulty in admitting to himself: if she was so special, enough to be seen by the Council and sent here, why had she needed his help? Why had not she not been able to deal with this upon her own power? "You weren't? Were not what? Thinking? That is abundantly clear."
"Not familiar with magic dangers of that variety?" He couldn't keep the scorn from his voice. "Did you think this was akin to a bakery where the greatest danger is a spot of bad yeast? That it might be a hotel where you might lodge for the night without fear or hardship? You are so ignorant of our ways, of the dangers in the magical realm? And you were sent here to be instructed by me?" Perhaps not only instructed; the lord of Lascar had been most intrigued at the notion that he get to the bottom of just what the hell made this woman so special.
...and then he heard the words "your magical house lacks manners then." He almost misheard it was 'manors' and was certain she was making light of the situation. He stared, more than a touch perturbed, his face grave and without expression. Then a low rumble built in his throat when he heard I mean— thank you. For informing me about the robes. And— and for saving me.” He began to chuckle, then he laughed softly, actually laughing at her words.
"You might say the house lacks a great deal of manners, baker. It is not an entity used to abstaining from its desires. You are fortunate you bore the robe with you as you left the room. Had you not, I doubt I would have been able to assist you, truly." When he laid her down and worked his spell, he moved to examine her leg, calmly and scientifically like he was glancing at a microbe beneath a scope. He pressed his lips together in appraisal while he ran his gaze across the milky flesh. "You are fortunate. The limb won't be harmed, quite salvageable with just a short time of rest. It is good you attached the robe when you did, Baker Alice Stone...you might have lost feeling and use in the limb had the Manor been able to attack further. It was quite apparent to him that Alice was unprepared for that.
It was also self-evident she was markedly unprepared for the cut-throat nature of the magical world. No head for tricks, no head for intrigue. She would be eaten alive left to her own devices. Probably literally, his mind added as he gave a shake of his head, almost despairing in how helpless she was. It was like watching a bird with a broken wing flop about outside the nest. He was almost beginning to believe she truly had no answers. Unless she was cleverer than she appeared, as his divinations might have indicated, he reminded himself.
When he settled her upon the bed, he ensured she was comfortable, drawing sheets about her. "Remain there, keep the robe on. You will need warmth of the conventional variety as well as the magical I had lit within you. As for what you can do in the dark?" Now he did smile, a brief half-smirk that quirked up one of his lips. "I hear there is a thing called 'sleep' that mages do every so often. It's quite popular, actually. Unless you have the ability to avoid needing rest? I hope that is not your only talent. As for the Manor, it is not a matter of keeping it under control. Think of houses as beasts unto themselves. They have minds of their own, wills of their own. As long as magic remains to the Lascar name, even as dilapidated as the place may be, its will persists. You had best adjust quickly. As for deceiving you, I make no apology, nor excuse. You will need to get used to that as well. Your luggage is not 'gone,' it is merely being inspected. It will be returned to you in time. As for candles...I shall ensure you are given a lantern. Make certain you are in those robes when sun sets if you attempt to traverse the halls."
The next words brought him to her bedside, his hands behind his back. "I am what you might call a specialist, someone they do indeed obtain to appraise and handle unique situations. And you are a unique situation. There is a difference in your aura, Baker Alice....and civility is a luxury, be pleased if you can afford it." He rubbed his fingers upon his shaven chin.
"I suppose I would query as to your life...I do not recommend lying- I will be able to tell. What unusual events have filled it? What unexplained happenings? What has made you who you are...?" He added then, in almost wry amusement, "Baker Alice indeed...perhaps we might get tot he bottom of it together. I, for one, am most interested at what you might have to say. If nothing makes sense, then perhaps we'll find our answers in the nonsense of it all."
"Not familiar with magic dangers of that variety?" He couldn't keep the scorn from his voice. "Did you think this was akin to a bakery where the greatest danger is a spot of bad yeast? That it might be a hotel where you might lodge for the night without fear or hardship? You are so ignorant of our ways, of the dangers in the magical realm? And you were sent here to be instructed by me?" Perhaps not only instructed; the lord of Lascar had been most intrigued at the notion that he get to the bottom of just what the hell made this woman so special.
...and then he heard the words "your magical house lacks manners then." He almost misheard it was 'manors' and was certain she was making light of the situation. He stared, more than a touch perturbed, his face grave and without expression. Then a low rumble built in his throat when he heard I mean— thank you. For informing me about the robes. And— and for saving me.” He began to chuckle, then he laughed softly, actually laughing at her words.
"You might say the house lacks a great deal of manners, baker. It is not an entity used to abstaining from its desires. You are fortunate you bore the robe with you as you left the room. Had you not, I doubt I would have been able to assist you, truly." When he laid her down and worked his spell, he moved to examine her leg, calmly and scientifically like he was glancing at a microbe beneath a scope. He pressed his lips together in appraisal while he ran his gaze across the milky flesh. "You are fortunate. The limb won't be harmed, quite salvageable with just a short time of rest. It is good you attached the robe when you did, Baker Alice Stone...you might have lost feeling and use in the limb had the Manor been able to attack further. It was quite apparent to him that Alice was unprepared for that.
It was also self-evident she was markedly unprepared for the cut-throat nature of the magical world. No head for tricks, no head for intrigue. She would be eaten alive left to her own devices. Probably literally, his mind added as he gave a shake of his head, almost despairing in how helpless she was. It was like watching a bird with a broken wing flop about outside the nest. He was almost beginning to believe she truly had no answers. Unless she was cleverer than she appeared, as his divinations might have indicated, he reminded himself.
When he settled her upon the bed, he ensured she was comfortable, drawing sheets about her. "Remain there, keep the robe on. You will need warmth of the conventional variety as well as the magical I had lit within you. As for what you can do in the dark?" Now he did smile, a brief half-smirk that quirked up one of his lips. "I hear there is a thing called 'sleep' that mages do every so often. It's quite popular, actually. Unless you have the ability to avoid needing rest? I hope that is not your only talent. As for the Manor, it is not a matter of keeping it under control. Think of houses as beasts unto themselves. They have minds of their own, wills of their own. As long as magic remains to the Lascar name, even as dilapidated as the place may be, its will persists. You had best adjust quickly. As for deceiving you, I make no apology, nor excuse. You will need to get used to that as well. Your luggage is not 'gone,' it is merely being inspected. It will be returned to you in time. As for candles...I shall ensure you are given a lantern. Make certain you are in those robes when sun sets if you attempt to traverse the halls."
The next words brought him to her bedside, his hands behind his back. "I am what you might call a specialist, someone they do indeed obtain to appraise and handle unique situations. And you are a unique situation. There is a difference in your aura, Baker Alice....and civility is a luxury, be pleased if you can afford it." He rubbed his fingers upon his shaven chin.
"I suppose I would query as to your life...I do not recommend lying- I will be able to tell. What unusual events have filled it? What unexplained happenings? What has made you who you are...?" He added then, in almost wry amusement, "Baker Alice indeed...perhaps we might get tot he bottom of it together. I, for one, am most interested at what you might have to say. If nothing makes sense, then perhaps we'll find our answers in the nonsense of it all."
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
☾✩☽
Taking offense to Damian’s lack of compassion was as natural as inhaling her next breath of air. Why did he think she was prepared for his magical house? Why did he assumeanything regarding the baker? The Arch Mage couldn’t even be bothered to greet her properly upon her arrival. There was no real welcome; no instructions or syllabus for her to follow.
“Why would I expect to be sent off to a place that might kill me for trying to find a kitchen? I’d hate my fate if I had needed the washroom. I wasn’t informed of you— of your home. Nothing. Don’t treat me as though I’m being idiotic. Your culture is not mine. And I didn’t want to come.” she added angrily. Alice felt as though she was talking in circles about the same things. Why weren’t these men listening to her? Sure, there was the obvious answer: because she was a woman. But, was it really that simplistic? “I don’t understand what other reason I would be sent to you, if not to learn.” her voice grew quiet as she neared the end of her sentence. Alice was not ready to hear that she was some kind of science experiment where its only purpose was human discovery of new magics. She didn’t want to be tossed aside, shriveled and weak at the end of her life at a young age, because the mad mages were done with her.
With a soft, sunken expression that hid her eyes from him, she turned away staring off into the void of her own thoughts. She wasn’t entirely certain why she continued to speak with him; Damian appeared annoyed with each new thing she said, he didn’t even look remotely amused with her comment about the home— or was she wrong? After a moment, rumbles of gentle laughter rolled against her side and caused the woman to turn back to the mage, watching him laugh for the first time— and possibly the last. That was unexpected. At least she now knew that he could smile.
“Well, the note never said, ‘Wear this so you don’t die,’ or anything. The answer is easy enough. I want my own garments back— well, that and— I hate the color red.” The statement seemed trivial when it came to cloth that was supposed to keep her alive, but she truly wasn’t informed until it was far too late. Still, she felt silly just saying it as her leg suffered the consequences. The spot on the bed away from Damian was quickly invaded by warm hands and nosy eyes as he examined her without thought of her personal space. Her torso instinctively leaned away from his direction, and Alice’s body tensed as he drew nearer still. Her jaw clenched as she looked down to the exposed skin of her leg, then to the mage as he assured her she’d be fine. “Thank you.” she responded hesitantly. She wasn’t sure what more to say. Would she really have died if left alone long enough? Such a fate hadn’t fully processed in her mind. Alice didn’t feel like she was near death.
Chills traveled from her toes up toward her knees. Alice curled her body closer together, the soft flesh of her skin touching as her thighs pulled up while Damian moved the sheets around her form. She wiggled and began to pull her arms away from the cloak, feeling tangled up, but he firmly suggested, that she keep wearing it. Her mouth settled as a thin line as she stared up at Damian, adjusting herself back into the red fabric she wasn’t pleased to wear. “Okay.” she responded. At least it was warm, as he said. There was no point in arguing with him and his expertise when it came to magical wounds in the murder house.
Damian’s voice had a hint of mischief in it as he spoke of what she might do in the dark. Her mind wandered to a far more sensual, embarrassing idea that brightened her face and broke her eye contact. Then he said “sleep.” Of course he said sleep. He didn’t mean sleep originally, did he? Alice peered up at him, catching the last of the smirk before it faded once more from his features. ’What a shame,’ she thought. His face looked better with a grin. “I’ve already rested. I’d been stuck in a carriage for 3 days, and slept soon after eating last night. How much more do I need? This is hardly productive— just loafing about in bed.” The mage was right, however. In her current state, she couldn’t even walk properly, so what more could she do?
He might have caught the light flare of her nostrils, or the agitation in her gaze before she looked off to the wall insead. So he wasn’t sorry, not even a little? He was stronger than her, magical and powerful. Of course he wasn’t sorry. When someone had status, they didn’t have to be apologetic to anyone unless they were even more entitled . Alice preferred being kind to all, but it wasn’t a commonality in the world as a whole. Magic or not. She frowned and stretched back out in the bed, the sheet hugged her form and outlined her shape underneath it. He was accommodating her in the minimalist of ways, but at least it was something until she could get away from the manor and find herself back in her bakery. She was certain that was her new plan. Escape and go back home— somehow.
Icy blue eyes stared at her, colder than the mists that clutched her earlier. Why wasn’t he leaving? She inhaled nervously, watching as he positioned himself beside her, puzzling over what secrets she was hiding. He wanted her to talk? To better know her life? She arched a brow, her face could have had the words “You’re crazy” written across it because her expression was all but screaming it aloud.
“This— you want me to— no. Sorry, but I’m not in the mood to entertain you with my life story. There’s nothing relevant for you to know that you don’t already. You can go. I’ll stay in bed all day if that’s what you’d prefer.” Was he really going to push for more? She hoped not. Alice knew her life to be unremarkable.
“Why would I expect to be sent off to a place that might kill me for trying to find a kitchen? I’d hate my fate if I had needed the washroom. I wasn’t informed of you— of your home. Nothing. Don’t treat me as though I’m being idiotic. Your culture is not mine. And I didn’t want to come.” she added angrily. Alice felt as though she was talking in circles about the same things. Why weren’t these men listening to her? Sure, there was the obvious answer: because she was a woman. But, was it really that simplistic? “I don’t understand what other reason I would be sent to you, if not to learn.” her voice grew quiet as she neared the end of her sentence. Alice was not ready to hear that she was some kind of science experiment where its only purpose was human discovery of new magics. She didn’t want to be tossed aside, shriveled and weak at the end of her life at a young age, because the mad mages were done with her.
With a soft, sunken expression that hid her eyes from him, she turned away staring off into the void of her own thoughts. She wasn’t entirely certain why she continued to speak with him; Damian appeared annoyed with each new thing she said, he didn’t even look remotely amused with her comment about the home— or was she wrong? After a moment, rumbles of gentle laughter rolled against her side and caused the woman to turn back to the mage, watching him laugh for the first time— and possibly the last. That was unexpected. At least she now knew that he could smile.
“Well, the note never said, ‘Wear this so you don’t die,’ or anything. The answer is easy enough. I want my own garments back— well, that and— I hate the color red.” The statement seemed trivial when it came to cloth that was supposed to keep her alive, but she truly wasn’t informed until it was far too late. Still, she felt silly just saying it as her leg suffered the consequences. The spot on the bed away from Damian was quickly invaded by warm hands and nosy eyes as he examined her without thought of her personal space. Her torso instinctively leaned away from his direction, and Alice’s body tensed as he drew nearer still. Her jaw clenched as she looked down to the exposed skin of her leg, then to the mage as he assured her she’d be fine. “Thank you.” she responded hesitantly. She wasn’t sure what more to say. Would she really have died if left alone long enough? Such a fate hadn’t fully processed in her mind. Alice didn’t feel like she was near death.
Chills traveled from her toes up toward her knees. Alice curled her body closer together, the soft flesh of her skin touching as her thighs pulled up while Damian moved the sheets around her form. She wiggled and began to pull her arms away from the cloak, feeling tangled up, but he firmly suggested, that she keep wearing it. Her mouth settled as a thin line as she stared up at Damian, adjusting herself back into the red fabric she wasn’t pleased to wear. “Okay.” she responded. At least it was warm, as he said. There was no point in arguing with him and his expertise when it came to magical wounds in the murder house.
Damian’s voice had a hint of mischief in it as he spoke of what she might do in the dark. Her mind wandered to a far more sensual, embarrassing idea that brightened her face and broke her eye contact. Then he said “sleep.” Of course he said sleep. He didn’t mean sleep originally, did he? Alice peered up at him, catching the last of the smirk before it faded once more from his features. ’What a shame,’ she thought. His face looked better with a grin. “I’ve already rested. I’d been stuck in a carriage for 3 days, and slept soon after eating last night. How much more do I need? This is hardly productive— just loafing about in bed.” The mage was right, however. In her current state, she couldn’t even walk properly, so what more could she do?
He might have caught the light flare of her nostrils, or the agitation in her gaze before she looked off to the wall insead. So he wasn’t sorry, not even a little? He was stronger than her, magical and powerful. Of course he wasn’t sorry. When someone had status, they didn’t have to be apologetic to anyone unless they were even more entitled . Alice preferred being kind to all, but it wasn’t a commonality in the world as a whole. Magic or not. She frowned and stretched back out in the bed, the sheet hugged her form and outlined her shape underneath it. He was accommodating her in the minimalist of ways, but at least it was something until she could get away from the manor and find herself back in her bakery. She was certain that was her new plan. Escape and go back home— somehow.
Icy blue eyes stared at her, colder than the mists that clutched her earlier. Why wasn’t he leaving? She inhaled nervously, watching as he positioned himself beside her, puzzling over what secrets she was hiding. He wanted her to talk? To better know her life? She arched a brow, her face could have had the words “You’re crazy” written across it because her expression was all but screaming it aloud.
“This— you want me to— no. Sorry, but I’m not in the mood to entertain you with my life story. There’s nothing relevant for you to know that you don’t already. You can go. I’ll stay in bed all day if that’s what you’d prefer.” Was he really going to push for more? She hoped not. Alice knew her life to be unremarkable.
[TᑌᑎEƧ]
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2020
The fact that this woman seemed to take umbrage with his tone did not impress Damian Lascar. This was his own home, dammit, he thought, and some baker devoid of magic would not dare to offer offense at his words. The Arch Mage kept his arms folded behind his back, allowing her to expel the fire in her words, as blazing and heated as the fires with which she must have worked in her bakery. "And for what point and purpose did you have to stalk through my home at night like a thief? Trying to find a kitchen- " he stopped short with a shake of his head. "You cannot be serious," he said through clenched teeth. "I cannot possibly be hearing you right. A kitchen?"
He managed to quiet himself, his lips pursed as he studied her face. "...That flame is a good start. I had feared you were little but a meek and submissive lamb. This, however, shows I was at least partially wrong about you. I am pleased for that, at least." He gave a complimentary nod, rubbing his chin. "I suppose there has been some undue harshness. I shan't apologize for it, not the suspicion. You have been sent here because I am often the last resort in the magical world. I have fought, I have killed, I have mentored and very much more when the situation call for it. I have attempted to divine your purpose, should you even have one, with little success to date." He paused to rub his forehead with two fingers, exhaling firmly. As much as it galled him to admit it, Alice had an inkling of a point, even as his pride refused to allow for the admission. "Apparently you lack any hint of survival instinct within our world. Ergo, we have work to do on this. I remain convinced you know more than you are letting on, baker girl, but perhaps it is not consciously known."
He looked to the robe, then back to her with another despairing sigh. "I would be stunned if you lasted a single week," he grunted to himself. The Lascar lord looked to her, fixing her with his eyes. "I am the barrier of last resort, but I am not a miracle worker. Even I have my limits!" He hated to admit she may have a point, even if he knew there was so much to learn. "It would take time and effort to enchant your garments. But I suppose I can have it done. Provided you demonstrate that you are worth the effort, baker girl." When he examined her, appraising to note she was safe, he gave a small sound of approval and even perhaps relief.
He felt her skin gently, focusing his power further to seep warmness, vitality into her drained limbs. "There we are. You will be fine," he assured her. "I had expected you would be tired. Carriage or not. I had hoped you would be sensible in the night. Evidently, I provided you with too much credit....you shoud be fine with rest, in a few more hours. Your first lesson: do not wander about as night. If you dislike red so much, here is your second lesson: what you want is sometimes immaterial. It will take time to enchant your garments which I do for you only as the vaguest of courtesies to a guest. For the rest, this should be eminently obvious: trust is a precious and valuable commodity. Do not parse it out like you would fresh bread at your former establishment. I required a neutral observation to glean something of you. I took the chance as a result."
He looked to her, the smile growing on his face. "But for the purpose of guest right, I admit I am pleased to see you well. Let us not make a habit of seeing you in mortal danger from hereon. I would see us plumb the depths of your mysteries when we are able to, Baker Alice Stone." The look she gave him told him she doubted his sanity, which he found amusing. "Come, why don't- " he paused at her next words.
"For starters, woman, I truly doubt your life story is as entertaining as you fancy it!" he snapped softly. I ask only to gain an understanding deeper than what you yourself may know! I know you spoke with that Stanley, but I cannot be aware what others know. The name Lascar carries a great deal of prestige, or used to, in the magic world, but that did not come without cost or rivalry, I can assure you of that. I ask for your safety as much as my own education! And you should not need to remain in bed all day!" He stormed up, but rather than lash out, he took the blankets and slid them up, adjusting her until she was comfortable. "You should only need a few hours," his voice grew gentle. Now he did smile, a put-upon gesture meant to relax her.
"It would look poorly upon me if I let harm come to you. I intend to ensure you are well first. If you enjoy the kitchens so much, we might dine together tomorrow and you may tell me more then. I would prefer doing this the easy way." He knew Alice may not appreciate the other methods at his disposal.
"....It is customary to want to know one's guests, is it not?"
He managed to quiet himself, his lips pursed as he studied her face. "...That flame is a good start. I had feared you were little but a meek and submissive lamb. This, however, shows I was at least partially wrong about you. I am pleased for that, at least." He gave a complimentary nod, rubbing his chin. "I suppose there has been some undue harshness. I shan't apologize for it, not the suspicion. You have been sent here because I am often the last resort in the magical world. I have fought, I have killed, I have mentored and very much more when the situation call for it. I have attempted to divine your purpose, should you even have one, with little success to date." He paused to rub his forehead with two fingers, exhaling firmly. As much as it galled him to admit it, Alice had an inkling of a point, even as his pride refused to allow for the admission. "Apparently you lack any hint of survival instinct within our world. Ergo, we have work to do on this. I remain convinced you know more than you are letting on, baker girl, but perhaps it is not consciously known."
He looked to the robe, then back to her with another despairing sigh. "I would be stunned if you lasted a single week," he grunted to himself. The Lascar lord looked to her, fixing her with his eyes. "I am the barrier of last resort, but I am not a miracle worker. Even I have my limits!" He hated to admit she may have a point, even if he knew there was so much to learn. "It would take time and effort to enchant your garments. But I suppose I can have it done. Provided you demonstrate that you are worth the effort, baker girl." When he examined her, appraising to note she was safe, he gave a small sound of approval and even perhaps relief.
He felt her skin gently, focusing his power further to seep warmness, vitality into her drained limbs. "There we are. You will be fine," he assured her. "I had expected you would be tired. Carriage or not. I had hoped you would be sensible in the night. Evidently, I provided you with too much credit....you shoud be fine with rest, in a few more hours. Your first lesson: do not wander about as night. If you dislike red so much, here is your second lesson: what you want is sometimes immaterial. It will take time to enchant your garments which I do for you only as the vaguest of courtesies to a guest. For the rest, this should be eminently obvious: trust is a precious and valuable commodity. Do not parse it out like you would fresh bread at your former establishment. I required a neutral observation to glean something of you. I took the chance as a result."
He looked to her, the smile growing on his face. "But for the purpose of guest right, I admit I am pleased to see you well. Let us not make a habit of seeing you in mortal danger from hereon. I would see us plumb the depths of your mysteries when we are able to, Baker Alice Stone." The look she gave him told him she doubted his sanity, which he found amusing. "Come, why don't- " he paused at her next words.
"For starters, woman, I truly doubt your life story is as entertaining as you fancy it!" he snapped softly. I ask only to gain an understanding deeper than what you yourself may know! I know you spoke with that Stanley, but I cannot be aware what others know. The name Lascar carries a great deal of prestige, or used to, in the magic world, but that did not come without cost or rivalry, I can assure you of that. I ask for your safety as much as my own education! And you should not need to remain in bed all day!" He stormed up, but rather than lash out, he took the blankets and slid them up, adjusting her until she was comfortable. "You should only need a few hours," his voice grew gentle. Now he did smile, a put-upon gesture meant to relax her.
"It would look poorly upon me if I let harm come to you. I intend to ensure you are well first. If you enjoy the kitchens so much, we might dine together tomorrow and you may tell me more then. I would prefer doing this the easy way." He knew Alice may not appreciate the other methods at his disposal.
"....It is customary to want to know one's guests, is it not?"
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
☾✩☽
“You’re probably more wrong about me than you know, considering you only just met me. I could say you seem slightly less aloof and dangerous than your brother you subjected me to last night, but who am I to know? You could be worse.” Her arms folded over her chest as though they were a shield to her soul somehow. As he mentioned killing for the sake of his specialty, Alice squirmed more.
“Me? My purpose?” All of this talk was exhausting. If he kept up this game of pretending she was special, maybe she really could get back to sleep. How many times did she have to tell these people she wasn’t anything special? She felt like screaming, but even then, they’d probably mistake it for the living manor that liked to eat its occupants. Alice’s head flopped back against the pillow and her head sank into the plush, feathered cloud. “The only thing you have right so far is that I don’t know how to survive here. I’m not anything magical, and I don’t know more things. I have nothing to hide. I didn’t have anything different to say to the Council, and yet they were convinced.”
Damian sounded as though he was about to open a magical boot camp for Alice, complete with mud and ropes to climb. She wondered what real magical school was like; it couldn’t be this. This was ridiculous. “I’m stunned you think I’ll be here an entire week.” she reciprocated. This time she was the one with a smirk on her face. Alice was certain she’d be sent right back out of the door with her bakery key in hand after being looked over by this Lascar fellow. And yet, there she was, first night, already nearly killing herself in the halls.
Alice tilted her head. She had imagined magic to be easy for these people. Like, with a snap of his finger, the color red would turn purple. But if it really was a process, and he was going out of his way to give her those minimal comforts of being able to wear her own garments, maybe he did have a soft side. His hands gliding along the soft flesh of her leg certainly helped her imagine such a side of him. “That depends on how you measure the worth of a person, I suppose. I might not be. But nevertheless, I’d prefer not to be devoured by your home.” she added lightly.
The warmth extending from his fingertips pushed beyond her skin and into the depths of her muscles. Her body was willingly consuming his spell, wanting more of what he offered. Within the woman, an tendril of energy pushed forward, invisible to any normal eye, coiling around Damian’s fingertip. Although such a motion could be interpreted as hostile, it was quite the opposite. As if something within her was happy for his healing, it gave back to him, making the spell spike in intensity, though only in his one finger. Alice jerked as though she’d been shocked by static electricity. Puzzled, she looked at Damian’s hands, then back to his eyes. “Magic is weird.” she said. Freezing, Alice realized those words weren’t just spoken in her head like they usually were. She chuckled nervously, glancing away. “I mean— that was weird.” She barely put effort into covering up what she’d said. He knew when she was lying, right? Alice was pretty sure he’d said something like that a little while ago, not that she was sure she could believe that. She’d want to test out that theory more at a different time— a different day perhaps— if she truly did last that long in Lascar Manor.
“I’ll just sit here in the silence for hours waiting for the rest of you to wake. That’s fine.” she told him with a hint of snark. She had nothing to say about the rest of his advice. More and more, Alice was certain talking was getting her absolutely nowhere. The energy that had raveled around his finger had already retracted, leaving him just as he was before, its effects quickly fading away.
“I’ll do my best to stay alive.” she muttered. She was starting to feel like a child. “But I really don’t know what mysteries you think you’ll uncover. I’m quite ordinary.” she admitted with a shrug of her shoulder. “And I didn’t tell Stanley anything. He seemed more like a hired babysitter that just sat across the way, jotting down notes in his little book. I’ve had better conversations with bread.”
Damian was practically throwing a fit now. She wasn’t sure what to think of his temper, though she was sure she was still more fearful of his wild brother. Perhaps his entire family was very high strung. If they worked to have such a name, as Damian was going on about, maybe that was the cost. He grew restless and began to move toward her aggressively, though his frustrations were directed to blankets that he used to tuck her in like a new babe being swaddled. Alice’s eyes went wide with surprise, then she smiled softly as he explained she’d only need a few hours of rest. She wished his was more genuine, but it was the thought that counted.
“Okay.” she said quietly. His offer was a kind one, at least. Perhaps a tour of some sort— with a guide that could win against a murder house— was the more ideal way to travel. Alice wasn’t sure what ways were the difficult ones, but she hoped he was bluffing. “I’ll try to rest then.” she told him.
'Rest and try to figure out what I can tell you that will satisfy your need to pick apart my life.’
[TᑌᑎEƧ]
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2020
The fact that this woman seemed to take this so lightly was not ceasing to frustrate the lord of the manor. Taking a moment to compose himself, Damian shook his head with a despairing sigh. "You wanted to see the kitchens, of all places? I assure you, it looks no different in the dark. There is an oven, a boiler. I can assure you, I have spent a fair bit of time there." It was true, Damian did enjoy cooking. Lord of the manor or no, the eldest of the Lascar family had a preference for looking after himself and preparing food at times when he was a mind to. He had always enjoyed such things. "If you desired a pumpkin or blackberry tart, you couldn't have waited until breakfast?" He sighed and put a hand to his head, shaking it all the further. "If you believe my household would benefit from pastries, I would happily take your suggestions..." He let that hang there for implication. "Of course, I suppose you are an effective baker. I would hear your suggestions sometimes."
The notion of being compared to Sebastian in such a way did bring a rueful chuckle from his mouth "Disabuse yourself of the notion I may be worse than Sebastan, Alive Stone. I am." He said it without boast, the simple statement of fact now. His eyes studied her calmly. "I did not rise to the head of this family solely by virtue of birth order. I do not maintain it without having earned it. The magical world is a very dangerous place, as you have no doubt surmised from your near consumption at the hands of my manor. But homes are not the only danger here, my dear baker, oh no. Blades in the dark and honeyed smiles often go hand in hand with one another. Those you might despise can turn out to be your fine allies and more. Those you begin trusting might well turn out to be the most dangerous of all." His voice carried a sudden tone of bitterness, the distinct flavor of over-dark chocolate.
But he could see Alice was growing stressed, nothing changing in her aura. "The possibility exists you don't know anything. Consciously," he admitted. "But that, dear baker, only worries me all the more. You may yet know more than you might possibly fathom. But if the council simply sent you, they must have taken this on some faith." Why send her into obvious danger, Damian thought. It didn't make sense why she wouldn't even be slightly warned, how she didn't have the barest hint of how to survive. It made, he thought again, not a trade of sense unless her ignorance was part of the story. Yes, he thought to himself, that bore consideration now.
He snapped his fingers, the robe around her shifting from red, to blue, to green. "Red is traditional, but if you have another color, I suppose I shall entertain your own personal preferences. For the moment," he added. "Since for right now at least, I would also prefer you not be eaten by my house. Before we get to your mysteries. You will have new clothes prepared, that will take time to enchant. I will," he added with a touch of sarcasm, "ensure they are not in shades of red if that is your preference, Baker Stone." He then laughed again, his lips spread up into a smile. Not cold or cruel, but for a moment genuinely warm, erasing the old coldness on his face as surely as the dawn sun would chase away the last chill vestiges of midnight.
"Magic is indeed weird," he admitted. "As 'weird' perhaps as a mysterious baker girl thrown into my home who goes snooping for my kitchen to greet me with bread in the morning and nearly gets consumed by my house. I will not be easy on you to start, Baker Alice Stone, but I will say this much: I will have the intent to remain up front with you. You seem almost suicidally incapable of guile in this manner...and what is more..." he lifted his finger, having felt...something. The way she had taken his energy and given it back stronger made him stare close, debating what to reveal or what not to say. "As you say...magic is strange. But so are you. And then so am I, so we are a very strnage pair together, girl with mysteries not even she knows." He paced by the bed. "...Rest without fear of queries for the moment. I can be most difficult later, but it is evident you are in no position to answer anything right now, Alice Stone. I am many things and I can be cruel, but not without purposes. Right now to be cruel to you would be like plucking the wings off a tired butterfly. So I instead invite you to rest....it also almost dawn, so I might..." he considered it for a moment before he snapped his fingers.
The room fell away and they were suddenly in a different region of the manor, passing so rapidly through the very walls that they snapped back suddenly to reality. "You wanted to see the kitchen?" Damian asked as he gestured about them, to the pantries and the cupboards, along with the meat lockers, the stoves and the ovens. Alice was still in bed there, the bed having traveled with them. "Your first wish of me is granted without much cost. The next may not be so simple. Would you like some fresh bread then? Or a tart? You are, after all, a guest." his smile bore traces of wry, cool humor as he waited to judge her reaction.
The notion of being compared to Sebastian in such a way did bring a rueful chuckle from his mouth "Disabuse yourself of the notion I may be worse than Sebastan, Alive Stone. I am." He said it without boast, the simple statement of fact now. His eyes studied her calmly. "I did not rise to the head of this family solely by virtue of birth order. I do not maintain it without having earned it. The magical world is a very dangerous place, as you have no doubt surmised from your near consumption at the hands of my manor. But homes are not the only danger here, my dear baker, oh no. Blades in the dark and honeyed smiles often go hand in hand with one another. Those you might despise can turn out to be your fine allies and more. Those you begin trusting might well turn out to be the most dangerous of all." His voice carried a sudden tone of bitterness, the distinct flavor of over-dark chocolate.
But he could see Alice was growing stressed, nothing changing in her aura. "The possibility exists you don't know anything. Consciously," he admitted. "But that, dear baker, only worries me all the more. You may yet know more than you might possibly fathom. But if the council simply sent you, they must have taken this on some faith." Why send her into obvious danger, Damian thought. It didn't make sense why she wouldn't even be slightly warned, how she didn't have the barest hint of how to survive. It made, he thought again, not a trade of sense unless her ignorance was part of the story. Yes, he thought to himself, that bore consideration now.
He snapped his fingers, the robe around her shifting from red, to blue, to green. "Red is traditional, but if you have another color, I suppose I shall entertain your own personal preferences. For the moment," he added. "Since for right now at least, I would also prefer you not be eaten by my house. Before we get to your mysteries. You will have new clothes prepared, that will take time to enchant. I will," he added with a touch of sarcasm, "ensure they are not in shades of red if that is your preference, Baker Stone." He then laughed again, his lips spread up into a smile. Not cold or cruel, but for a moment genuinely warm, erasing the old coldness on his face as surely as the dawn sun would chase away the last chill vestiges of midnight.
"Magic is indeed weird," he admitted. "As 'weird' perhaps as a mysterious baker girl thrown into my home who goes snooping for my kitchen to greet me with bread in the morning and nearly gets consumed by my house. I will not be easy on you to start, Baker Alice Stone, but I will say this much: I will have the intent to remain up front with you. You seem almost suicidally incapable of guile in this manner...and what is more..." he lifted his finger, having felt...something. The way she had taken his energy and given it back stronger made him stare close, debating what to reveal or what not to say. "As you say...magic is strange. But so are you. And then so am I, so we are a very strnage pair together, girl with mysteries not even she knows." He paced by the bed. "...Rest without fear of queries for the moment. I can be most difficult later, but it is evident you are in no position to answer anything right now, Alice Stone. I am many things and I can be cruel, but not without purposes. Right now to be cruel to you would be like plucking the wings off a tired butterfly. So I instead invite you to rest....it also almost dawn, so I might..." he considered it for a moment before he snapped his fingers.
The room fell away and they were suddenly in a different region of the manor, passing so rapidly through the very walls that they snapped back suddenly to reality. "You wanted to see the kitchen?" Damian asked as he gestured about them, to the pantries and the cupboards, along with the meat lockers, the stoves and the ovens. Alice was still in bed there, the bed having traveled with them. "Your first wish of me is granted without much cost. The next may not be so simple. Would you like some fresh bread then? Or a tart? You are, after all, a guest." his smile bore traces of wry, cool humor as he waited to judge her reaction.
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
☾✩☽
“Honestly, I just thought if I was to stay here, then I would contribute by doing what I’m good at.” she mumbled quietly, her mood shifting to a more docile nature. Alice didn’t expect a free ride to stay in such a place, run down or not. She supposed she could try to clean, but heading into the kitchens felt far more natural and instinctual. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Damian. Uh, Arch Mage— Sir Lascar.” she fumbled over the right formalities for a moment before landing on the last. Why did she use his name? She felt as though a nervous sweat was beading against the back of her neck, threatening to give her away.
When the mage bluntly stated he was worse than Sebastian, Alice could feel her body become rigid, as though her insides were freezing over in fractals of ice. Or maybe she was finally feeling the damage of her leg, but everywhere. No, this was a direct reaction to his statement. She was trapped in a house full of mad men. No— mad mages. Sebastian, posing as Damian, looked as though he was about to filet her where she stood. If he was posing as his brother, was it an act to seem more convincing? Alice struggled to relate to Damian’s rise to leadership and power. The most she ever did was work the system to run her own business and own her house— though everything was signed off under her brother’s name. As he continued to speak to her, she noted how he called her “dear baker” more than once. Was he simply patronizing her? Why did hearing it make those frozen nerves start to thaw? The lessons he was trying to teach her early on were likely some of the most important words he could offer her, but was Alice ready to hear them? Was he telling her not to trust him— or anyone at all? A life like that sounded lonely, but the woman had been on her own for long enough previously. Either way, it sounded as though, with the shift in his tone and expression, Damian had been deceived, or perhaps jilted in the past.
“I genuinely wish I had more to tell you. I do. Then the two of us could go back to our own lives. It’s not an ideal situation. Certainly not for me. And you’re clearly unhappy. From the chatter I could hear, it sounded more like the Council felt it was time for you to do your part— fulfill a duty. I don’t know. Although most tend not to notice a woman in a room, eventually doors are shut on my face.” The rumors about the Lascar Arch Mage were fairly basic: He refused to take on apprentices and the Council struggled to get him to cooperate with most things unless they threw things into his lap. But Alice was not familiar with such things, living in a non-magical community.
The woman was going to struggle from recurring fears of Damian being a mind-reader. As though she had spoken her thoughts aloud, he literally snapped his fingers and the robes that hugged her form began to bleed into new colors. Her mouth set slightly agape, in pure awe of the ease in which he altered the reality around them. The best and brightest article of clothing she had ever owned was a faded blue dress with lace cuffs and neckline that looked far more dated than anything the proper women wore. The fine colors that rushed over her body were like being given new eyes with better focus. “That’s amazing.” she whispered, her eyes fixed on the material. “It’s not that red is awful or anything. It just feels so harsh against my skin and hair. It’s far too powerful and strong. Something cooler, or even more muted—” it was possible this was Alice’s way of asking to fade away into the background. She didn’t much care to be noticed. “But yes, I would appreciate your efforts, truly.” she said gratefully. His teasing coaxed a true smile that touched the corners of his lips and eyes. Alice tilted her head and looked at him with soft eyes. Finally they had found something to agree upon.
Another flare of her nostril hinted at how quickly Damian was able to strike another nerve— even if he had a point. Alice was headstrong. It was a trait that occasionally led her down the path of trouble and misfortune. Curiosity was in her nature, and Alice wanted to see all that she could when the mood struck. The mage paused, staring at his finger as though he had a fingernail that needed clipping. Alice knew that look, so she thought. But as he regurgitated the same sentence as before, she suddenly had her doubts. What was on his mind?
A strange pair, indeed.
Something had halted Damian’s inquiries as he visibly shifted in thoughts he dared not share. Alice watched on, trying to fathom what it could be without a clue as to where she should start. With another snap of his fingers, Alice glanced down, first, at the robe to see if he had changed the color again, but soon met a feeling of vertigo as the room around her shifted and faded away like a piece of paper sitting in water, fading and tearing away until its image is distorted and washed away. “Wha—?” Alice placed a hand against her forehead as if to steady herself. Her stomach threatened to travel up her throat and Alice swallowed hard, forcing herself to settle. With labored breathing that took several moments to steady, Alice looked around the room, lit by the same lights that Damian used around them.
Her eyes needed a moment— no two— as she blinked hard, adjusting to the new scene. Did people always travel that way? She supposed it made it more difficult for the manor to eat a person that could snap their fingers and arrive somewhere new. He even took care to keep her in bed. It was an absurd sight— a large tree looking bed in the center of a grand kitchen. And it was grand as she hoped. In ways it reminded her of home, but on a grander scale and with nicer finishes. She smiled as the luxuries of his prep areas made the woman forget how nauseous she felt seconds before.
“You intend to make something?” she asked him in disbelief. Did mages actually learn trades, too? How were normal people supposed to compete against that? “I wouldn’t want to have you go out of your way,” she said slowly as she shifted her eyes down to the bed. He was clearly already doing so. “I could—” she began as she attempted to move, soon remembering her legs weren’t her friends. Right.
[TᑌᑎEƧ]
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2020
"Magically conjured- " Damian folded his arms now, staring at her. "What has put such ideas into that ginger-burnt skull of yours!?" He shot back with a weary groan. "Magic does not work that way! Magic can alter properties, magic can affect the world, it cannot simply conjure things! I can assist in the making of it, it can help to prepare but I cannot snap my fingers and craft a pie from empty air! I swear, there is none more vexing than you, baker!" He rolled his eyes. "Beverly has worked here for quite some time. She, at least, well knows to steer clear of the halls at night....but I will show you that my baking is far from rubbish. You should feel lucky enough to even sample it!"
....maybe Alice was getting to him a bit, Damian thought. He cocked his head. "Contribute to something you are good at...do you believe this is transactional?" He asked. "That you must provide to stay here?" He gave a shake of his head there. "No, you must do nothing save learn and perhaps educate. An since you have already demonstrate you have no mind for formalities, you may choose to to refer to me as "Damian" from this point on. "Lord Lascar, my mentor and master" shall also be somewhat acceptable." He was making a joke, but he didn't quite know if she would appreciate it. Alice didn't understand and there was an almost enviable simplicity in that.
Damian was ruthless, hard when he needed to be. Alice had no capacity to understand what he'd had to do to remain in control. Strength only respected strength in the end. He had to be hard, even cruel. He had to be strong that way. He had to be powerful. He had to make his heart ice when ice was needed. He needed to remain inexorable, even when the opponent might be his own brother. There was something in Alice's eyes he wasn't certain of, emotions he could not quite place. Was that...pity? Compassion?
The notion made him recoil, as if a baker could understand this. His frown deepened until he managed to adopt an expression of neutrality. "Shut on your face. Is that literal...?" He asked. Damian's refusal to take on apprentices had never been a personal affair. Point in fact, he didn't like being responsible for the lives of others, avoiding it when he could. He didn't even care for military commands when it came right down to it. And the council? Arrogant, dusty old fools at the best of times or power hungry malcontents. He wondered how to tell Alice this, but eventually decided it might be best to let her form more opinions herself. After all, he considered, it might be for the best not to bias her more than she already was even if some of those biases were debatably right.
He looked amused at Alice's shock at such simple parlor tricks as changing colors of her clothes. "You find red harsh? I'm rather fond of it. And your hair is quite red. Should I change it as well?" He lifted his hand, thumb to finger as her offered a sudden grin. "I jest, dear baker. I like you with such tresses, unless you prefer to change it. It's a reflection of yourself well enough...this headstrong nature that you utilize to stretch forth and speak equally even to those who might prove dangerous. Truthfully, I find it refreshing," he said before he lifted a hand.
Once they were in the kitche, he took note of Alice's expression and burst out laughing. The stove roared to life, the pantry opened. "You, dear baker, should see the look on your face!" He folded his arms smugly. "I am an Archmage, my dear. Such travel in my own home is easy. It also avoids the attention of the house. He glanced about as he waved a hand so that the kitchens roared to life. "Of course I intend to make something. If only to still your wicked tongue that I simply 'magic' such things in to being. Well, I shall do you the favor of allowing for requests. What strikes your fancy, baker? Fresh bread? sausage rolls? A pasty? Perhaps a pie so early?" He glanced smugly at her. "Do you think me without culture or skill, dear baker? And if you desire to assist..."
He shifted over, beginning to empty the pantry, the pans and trays ready as he began to gather ingredients, beginning to mold them together for a yeast, for both break and breakfast tarts. Oh, he'd show her now, he thought...
"You have suggestions, dear baker? I would love to hear them." His eyebrow lifted, a smile on his face again, with his eyes seeming to dance and the words "challenge accepted" in his mind.
....maybe Alice was getting to him a bit, Damian thought. He cocked his head. "Contribute to something you are good at...do you believe this is transactional?" He asked. "That you must provide to stay here?" He gave a shake of his head there. "No, you must do nothing save learn and perhaps educate. An since you have already demonstrate you have no mind for formalities, you may choose to to refer to me as "Damian" from this point on. "Lord Lascar, my mentor and master" shall also be somewhat acceptable." He was making a joke, but he didn't quite know if she would appreciate it. Alice didn't understand and there was an almost enviable simplicity in that.
Damian was ruthless, hard when he needed to be. Alice had no capacity to understand what he'd had to do to remain in control. Strength only respected strength in the end. He had to be hard, even cruel. He had to be strong that way. He had to be powerful. He had to make his heart ice when ice was needed. He needed to remain inexorable, even when the opponent might be his own brother. There was something in Alice's eyes he wasn't certain of, emotions he could not quite place. Was that...pity? Compassion?
The notion made him recoil, as if a baker could understand this. His frown deepened until he managed to adopt an expression of neutrality. "Shut on your face. Is that literal...?" He asked. Damian's refusal to take on apprentices had never been a personal affair. Point in fact, he didn't like being responsible for the lives of others, avoiding it when he could. He didn't even care for military commands when it came right down to it. And the council? Arrogant, dusty old fools at the best of times or power hungry malcontents. He wondered how to tell Alice this, but eventually decided it might be best to let her form more opinions herself. After all, he considered, it might be for the best not to bias her more than she already was even if some of those biases were debatably right.
He looked amused at Alice's shock at such simple parlor tricks as changing colors of her clothes. "You find red harsh? I'm rather fond of it. And your hair is quite red. Should I change it as well?" He lifted his hand, thumb to finger as her offered a sudden grin. "I jest, dear baker. I like you with such tresses, unless you prefer to change it. It's a reflection of yourself well enough...this headstrong nature that you utilize to stretch forth and speak equally even to those who might prove dangerous. Truthfully, I find it refreshing," he said before he lifted a hand.
Once they were in the kitche, he took note of Alice's expression and burst out laughing. The stove roared to life, the pantry opened. "You, dear baker, should see the look on your face!" He folded his arms smugly. "I am an Archmage, my dear. Such travel in my own home is easy. It also avoids the attention of the house. He glanced about as he waved a hand so that the kitchens roared to life. "Of course I intend to make something. If only to still your wicked tongue that I simply 'magic' such things in to being. Well, I shall do you the favor of allowing for requests. What strikes your fancy, baker? Fresh bread? sausage rolls? A pasty? Perhaps a pie so early?" He glanced smugly at her. "Do you think me without culture or skill, dear baker? And if you desire to assist..."
He shifted over, beginning to empty the pantry, the pans and trays ready as he began to gather ingredients, beginning to mold them together for a yeast, for both break and breakfast tarts. Oh, he'd show her now, he thought...
"You have suggestions, dear baker? I would love to hear them." His eyebrow lifted, a smile on his face again, with his eyes seeming to dance and the words "challenge accepted" in his mind.
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
☾✩☽
“Sure, magic works how you say it does, and I have no room to disagree with you. But where I’m from, I’ve heard of such things. Mages passing through to my shop, appreciative of my skill; going on about being better than magical foods. Maybe it’s a trade off, and that’s why it tastes like garbage. I don’t know. As we have thoroughly determined, I’m dense when it comes to your world,” Alice was speaking more freely. She didn’t mind being treated like she was a young or naive girl, but she wasn’t a stupid person. “But, if I am the most vexing thing in your life, then I suppose you should count yourself lucky. You haven’t even made it into my top three.” she retorted genuinely. “And I’m glad that your help of ’quite some time’ knows the rules of your home. It’s really a shame you didn’t train her to be more hospitable to your guests and maybe clue them in as well. I don’t see how any of this puts me completely at fault. The Council forced me out of my home. Stanley forced me here. Your family forced me to give more blood and to stay. None of these choices were mine. The only choice I did make was to get to know this place, to attempt to find some normalcy. I see there won’t be any of that here, not even if we had the proper recipe card. But, yes. Of course. Let me see your baking. I’m sure you must be better than me in all things.”
“I’ve never been one to not contribute. That’s not how I was raised. You’re asking me to turn away from the last pieces of my former life I have left. Why strip me of that?” Alice was genuinely struggling with this new reality. Everything she’d fought so hard for was yanked away so easily. A woman in her field of work; her home. “Yes, well, forgive me, Lord Lascar. I didn’t mean to slip into formalities. I’m not sure why I did. I apologize.” the woman muttered softly, the life slowly fading from her voice. She hadn’t even realized he hadn’t meant what he said.
Regarding the Council and their utter nonsense, Alice considered her experience once more. “It was literal enough. I didn’t get a black eye or splinters in my teeth. But, they did shut the door once they realized I could hear them. It just— it took them a while to notice I suppose.” Their methods seemed rather intrusive. Just like in common school, before the children were separated— magical and non-magical being placed in their appropriate directions— the Council would send their units in with that special eye piece that allowed them to view the natural ebb and flow of essence within each child. Alice was one of the two children in her class that had magic so low they weren’t assigned into mage-hood. Alice was apparently so mundane, she remembered the man seeming puzzled with her. It was a fuzzy memory at best, but she could still recall a time they pulled her aside and asked her a small series of questions, as well as asking her to perform a handful of simple spells that she couldn’t do at all. She assumed the men had seen nothing. Maybe she had been mistaken the entire time. Considering her position— it was safe to assume something was off from her childhood conclusions.
Why was she sent to this place— to him?
Alice glanced down at the fabric she’d bunched up in her hands idly. It was heavy and soft like velvet. She’d settled for white, which was less of a color choice and more like the void where all of the colors hide. Perhaps Alice was like that. The bright, clean white against her skin made her seem less pale in comparison. In the light, the gentle freckles that painted her shoulders and chest would almost make her look like a normal person. Her hair though— the fabric also did wonders for deepening the red waves that fell around it. She bit her lip, reconsidering his words of changing her hair color, too. She’s been teased and mocked for so long, just for being different. It was odd to make fun of someone for something they were born with. She might have asked for average hair, but something about the way Damian admitted he appreciated the color made her hold her tongue.
The bed finally felt like it had steadied— not that it was ever rocking. But the way the branches swayed like a tree in the wind and the mattress swayed as though you were lying on a cloud, it might as well have been spinning for her. Her fingers slowly uncurled from the cloth as the baker blinked slowly, steadying her body with arms posted up on either side of her, holding the weight of her torso up. “That was—” Alice had to stop talking in fear she might be sick. Her stomach lurched in the slightest then settled again. “Goodness. How are you not phased by that?” she asked. Why was he laughing at her? His laugh was brilliant, and under different circumstances, she might have enjoyed it. Instead, she grabbed one of the pillows to her side and chucked it in his direction.
The kitchen burst to life. Fires erupted, flashy as if to show off, then settled down into their proper place. Cupboards opened and dishes began to float around the room. It was chaotic. Alice sunk down into her bed and pulled the blanket up toward her face, covering her mouth and the tip of her nose as she watched in what was either awe, horror, or perhaps both. This man had no idea how clumsy she was. This was a disaster area just waiting to land Alice into her next bed: a hospital one. “I— uh,”
Alice decided not to answer Damian, finding it the safer option. It sounded like a rhetorical enough question. Of course she considered him skillful— with magic. Alice couldn’t wrap her head around the idea of a man with magic performing at the same level as a person with no help from floating tools and ingredients. And still, Damian walked himself to the pantry to gather things by hand. The notion caused her to sit up properly once more, curious about him and what he actually intended to do.
“Proper bread will take hours. Which you are free to make, of course. But if we wish to feed the house, biscuits would be much more time effective, obviously. Do you have fresh jams? What are the markets like around here? Where does your produce come from—?” Alice quickly got carried away as her mind meticulously went into work mode, ready to take mental notes of everything he had to say.
Alice pushed herself up as much as she could, her chin lifting in such a way that highlighted her jawline back to her ear and that mess of hair. Her eyes focused on the way his larger fingers mashed into a mess on the countertop. Her brows lowered as her mouth thinned into a wincing motion, as if she were witnessing something being hurt and felt a sense of empathy for it. There was so much to say, and yet, she sensed he wasn’t going to hear her even if she tried. “Let’s just see how far you get. I’ll just— watch you.” she said hesitantly as she fixed her sights on his fingers. It was hard to swallow that he was even doing this much as far as physical labor went. The magic users she’d known in the past had always used it whenever it was possible. It was like life’s little way of making it easier on them. Meanwhile people like her struggled hard for everything they did.
A frown settled as her mind battled itself. For so long she clung to the ideas that mages were arrogant and lazy, self-serving people. Being a baker; accomplishing all that she had— those things were the only reasons she felt remotely special, ordinary or not. But as Damian stood before her, correcting her misconceptions without knowing it, she felt even more defeated than before. The world didn’t need a person like Alice Stone at all, it seemed. She was meaningless.
Still—
The stove flared up randomly with spits of fire that licked the air before settling back down. Alice jumped, noticing the sparks. Somehow, with how calm Damian had been, working with the dough, she doubted it was from him. She swallowed hard, looking down, though soon after glancing up at him to see if he’d noticed.
“Maybe I do need your help. Or, at least, someone’s. If it’s really not a hex. Can you tell me if there’s magic in me? Can you see it? No one will tell me what’s happening.”
[TᑌᑎEƧ]
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2020
"Oh, mages pass through your shop now?" Damian sounded almost amused with the prospect, cracking his knuckles before him. The archmage was striding along the room now, hearing Alice's own irritation heavy within each word, a sigh escaping his lips as he had to admit something incredibly frustrating: she had the vaguest measures of a point in all this. "Some mages never learn when not to use magic!" He said with a touch of professional disdain to his voice. "They rely on it to do everything for them. They focus on it until it becomes their entire world. Magic is as much a tool as it is part of it, but it can also be an addiction and you should carefully learn that before too long. Those who seek to control magic and group it into a single, neat package are where the problem lies, Baker Alice Stone. You do not fit that system," his gaze swept over her with an appraising look. "You, despite your protests to the contrary, are rather out of the typical nordinary. You cannot be neatly packaged. It is no wonder why they are attempting to control you. And I can assure you, having you here was not my decision or choice either...." He halted at the lip on her, the snap of...
"My, you are an insolent one," he said with a rough growl to his voice and a shake of his head. "If you wish me to treat you with pastries, just ask. Maybe invoke sacred guest right instead of playing the martyr, which incidentally does not suit you. If you wish to contribute....then contribute." He kept his voice even, but Alice's words had struck a cord into him. He could have punished her for insolence, but instead an odd sort of sentimentality beat within the Lascar Arch Mage's chest.
"You...evidently, are both tired and frightened. In an unfamiliar place. No, I will not strip you of that...have you family, Baker Alice Stone?" He turned to her without a hint of malice, his hands neatly folded across his chest. "Since I suppose we might as well begin a measure of collaboration through this here and now...you do not need to apologize now...it is true I have...harsh." He chose his words carefully.
"If you have been raised one way, Baker Alice Stone, as have I. It was a different manner from your own upbringing. But when I err, it is not simply a lost batch of bread put out, lives themselves hang in the balance for my decisions and it is nothing to envy. If you do not wish to be here, I assure you that having you placed here was not my first decision and..." he stopped talking abruptly, realizing he may have been saying too much on the spot as his mouth pursed into a line.
"If you insist upon presenting your comfort as such a challenge, I shall respond in kind and meet it!" He all but snapped. "We shall see how that sharpness proceeds when you are comfortable." By the eight great halls of magical discovery, how could this woman vex him so? Nearly getting herself killed and troubling him before she spun that around to somehow be his fault? The irritated Lascar lord was clenching his fists at his sides after they uncoiled from about his chest. He decided to focus upon the ovens about...even as he considered the difficult Alice must have been through.
"Those blasted tests can be...intrusive. But rest assured, I do not plan to put you through any others at such here. You have been sent to me because I am the last resort, the gateway, the last of the barricades. You baffle them enough to get me involved....and yes, I have tested you and will test you more. We proceed from there...but if you wish to grant this morning as something of a truce?" He had animated the kitchen to life, having it roar to a vitality with fires and more,, Alice pulling back with a blanket up about her face. "You are quite safe, I control all of this here. You should do well to divest yourself of any hesitation or fear around magic, my dear Baker Stone." He walked about for the cupboard, taking out flour and then summoning water into a bowl. "Proper bread would take hours indeed...and biscuits." He considered her suggestion. "Yes, that has merit. There is a village not far off, with a market....farms and orchards we do our purchasing from. Do you favor cherry or blackberry jam? That seems to be what is in season." He stopped to consider: were they collaborating now? Was he speaking to her like an equal? Well...what the hell?
He gathered up the ingredients, one at a time as he began to prepare a batch to set for the fires. With Alice working, he set the dough, got it to rise, prepared the jam, stoked the flames and readied a host of butter to combine with honey, suddenly animated as if he meant to convince Alice he COULD do this himself.
"...There is something to you, Baker," he admitted a moment later, not facing her. "I felt it when I healed you, Alice. It's nothing that Iv'e felt before. You may not be able to properly control it yourself, but there is something quite unique to you, something that drew upon my own power when I touched it. More than that, I cannot say without study...now, do you prefer your biscuits with or without butter for a start?"
"My, you are an insolent one," he said with a rough growl to his voice and a shake of his head. "If you wish me to treat you with pastries, just ask. Maybe invoke sacred guest right instead of playing the martyr, which incidentally does not suit you. If you wish to contribute....then contribute." He kept his voice even, but Alice's words had struck a cord into him. He could have punished her for insolence, but instead an odd sort of sentimentality beat within the Lascar Arch Mage's chest.
"You...evidently, are both tired and frightened. In an unfamiliar place. No, I will not strip you of that...have you family, Baker Alice Stone?" He turned to her without a hint of malice, his hands neatly folded across his chest. "Since I suppose we might as well begin a measure of collaboration through this here and now...you do not need to apologize now...it is true I have...harsh." He chose his words carefully.
"If you have been raised one way, Baker Alice Stone, as have I. It was a different manner from your own upbringing. But when I err, it is not simply a lost batch of bread put out, lives themselves hang in the balance for my decisions and it is nothing to envy. If you do not wish to be here, I assure you that having you placed here was not my first decision and..." he stopped talking abruptly, realizing he may have been saying too much on the spot as his mouth pursed into a line.
"If you insist upon presenting your comfort as such a challenge, I shall respond in kind and meet it!" He all but snapped. "We shall see how that sharpness proceeds when you are comfortable." By the eight great halls of magical discovery, how could this woman vex him so? Nearly getting herself killed and troubling him before she spun that around to somehow be his fault? The irritated Lascar lord was clenching his fists at his sides after they uncoiled from about his chest. He decided to focus upon the ovens about...even as he considered the difficult Alice must have been through.
"Those blasted tests can be...intrusive. But rest assured, I do not plan to put you through any others at such here. You have been sent to me because I am the last resort, the gateway, the last of the barricades. You baffle them enough to get me involved....and yes, I have tested you and will test you more. We proceed from there...but if you wish to grant this morning as something of a truce?" He had animated the kitchen to life, having it roar to a vitality with fires and more,, Alice pulling back with a blanket up about her face. "You are quite safe, I control all of this here. You should do well to divest yourself of any hesitation or fear around magic, my dear Baker Stone." He walked about for the cupboard, taking out flour and then summoning water into a bowl. "Proper bread would take hours indeed...and biscuits." He considered her suggestion. "Yes, that has merit. There is a village not far off, with a market....farms and orchards we do our purchasing from. Do you favor cherry or blackberry jam? That seems to be what is in season." He stopped to consider: were they collaborating now? Was he speaking to her like an equal? Well...what the hell?
He gathered up the ingredients, one at a time as he began to prepare a batch to set for the fires. With Alice working, he set the dough, got it to rise, prepared the jam, stoked the flames and readied a host of butter to combine with honey, suddenly animated as if he meant to convince Alice he COULD do this himself.
"...There is something to you, Baker," he admitted a moment later, not facing her. "I felt it when I healed you, Alice. It's nothing that Iv'e felt before. You may not be able to properly control it yourself, but there is something quite unique to you, something that drew upon my own power when I touched it. More than that, I cannot say without study...now, do you prefer your biscuits with or without butter for a start?"
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OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
| MagicalThings | ╚═════ ∘◦ 
| MagicalThings |
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☾ ⋆⋅✩⋅⋆ ☽ If there was a way to impress Damian Lascar, Miss Stone was oblivious to it. Even as she spoke simple truths, the man mocked or jested on her behalf. She chose not to defend her livelihood or the folk that traveled through her small town to gather supplies for their journeys. Why would she fib about mages coming to her shop? His long legs made quick time on the kitchen floor, his steps soft, though not completely silent as he moved from one station to the next. “W— Well, yes. I agree with you.” The young woman sounded surprised as her claim left her lips. Never did the commonplace baker expect to form the same opinions about the overuse of magic with a mage. Certainly not an Arch Mage. Alice didn’t tend to pay attention to magical statuses, admittedly, but the title sounded far more profound than “mage” did, and from the look of his holdings, and the way Damian had already gone on about the struggles of earning and maintaining all that he had in the Lascar manner, she could surmise he was considered impressive in his community. She could also wager he wasn’t a popular man from the rundown interior of his property, or even the gloomy, colorless skies that all but screamed “Turn away!” at the carriage when she first arrived. “I don’t fit?” she questioned his words, but seemed to follow him well enough. She was a mystery, or some unknown factor. The Council had their ways— they had to. What was stopping a group of angry magic-casters from tearing down their establishment otherwise? To have an understanding of how things worked also gave one an advantage, especially if they chose how to educate and what parts of a trade were too advanced to share with underlings. If Alice had some undiscovered magic, theoretically, they wouldn’t know how to stop her. Or, at least, that’s what she concluded, though the thought of that being true nearly made her scoff. Damian was getting a first-hand taste of her sass and stubborn nature. She certainly didn’t want him to make her anything, be it tart, pie or cookie. That was the whole point of her getting up to scout out the kitchen. Alice wanted— no, she needed— to busy her hands. She needed to work to clear her mind of all this life-altering nonsense. His growing outrage with her defiant tone and headstrong words didn’t cause the woman pause. She might have pressed him further, had she truly known the man. She was certainly lashing out, but it wasn’t Damian’s fault. Her mind was still struggling to process what was happening to her. Alice Stone was actually starting to believe that there was magic hiding deep within her veins. Three days prior, she would have laughed at such a sentiment. But, now— Was she really that transparent? She was frightened. Terrified. And although she had slept, her mind was exhausted. Yet, the woman couldn’t sleep anymore. The rooms were unfamiliar. There were screams that emanated from somewhere deep inside the building and all she wanted to do was cry, or shout, or possibly both. But more than anything, Alice wanted to return to her life. “My family? Not really. My parents have both passed. I have an older brother, but he’d been recruited years ago for militia work. I don’t even know if he lives.” Her voice was nearly solemn until she saw how the mage folded his arms over his chest. His stance suddenly gave strong and noticeable definition to his arms and shoulders as he stood there. Was she only just realizing what he looked like? Alice often clung to personalities first and looks as a strong second. She tried to force her lips back into a neutral position, holding onto her bottom lip with her teeth. It was evident he didn’t want her there at all. Even as he held himself back from speaking his full mind, she could sense he wished she had never stepped foot into his home. They were both trapped with one another. “A truce, you say? I wasn’t aware we were at war with one another.” she said. Her features had grown softer and her voice lighter. “Yes, well, I’ve seen magic used against me before. I’m not exactly fond of it, or at least, I’m not accustomed to being around it in such a way that projectiles weren’t lunging at me.” She hoped he didn’t want to press further into that matter, seeing as she barely knew him, and the nature of a school girl being bullied by a group of young and up-coming mages back in the day didn’t lend itself well to breakfast conversations. “Those both sound lovely. Shame there isn’t raspberry, but in lieu of that, blackberry sounds delicious.” The baker’s legs began to stir and feel restless. As though hundreds of dull needles were pressing along her skin in waves of sensation, she opted to sit up right in the bed and let her feet hang off of the side. Did he genuinely expect her not to try to get up? There was a counter not far from the bed, and Alice stood slowly with her goal in sight. She used the tall post of the bed to hold herself steady, though, fearful to take a step. With an awkward hobble forward of about two paces, Alice clung to the surface of the station the mage had set with his dough. With a good deal of her weight being held from her leaning, she was able to reach for pieces of his dough, feeling for consistency and quality. Meanwhile the mage seemed to enchant the entire room to aid him in his mission. His words settled in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t something she expected to hear at all. They weighed her down like she’d been filled with lead. Her will to remain standing wavered until Damian suddenly brought her attention back to the food. “With,” she said, sounding almost hurt that such a question even be proposed. Who would eat a biscuit without butter? That was just shameful. |
[TᑌᑎEƧ]
Last edited:
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2020
Damian was trying to hide it, but a part of Miss Alice Stone was actually managing to impress him. How strange it seemed to admit to this, he thought to himself with a slight gnawing of his own lip while he made sure she couldnt see him. But the way she spoken, the forcefulness of it, the way she refused to buckle under. Other mages might have been annoyed, angered even by the impertinence but Damian could not help but find it somewhat refreshing, even admirable. He had not been spoken to like this for some time...maybe not since ever, he thought. Perhaps not ever.
"Of course you agree with me. I am correct," he said quickly, trying to mask the earlier feelings he had been struggling with. He simply put up the barricades, the old walls. "Even if you are not very educated on these matters, it is quite clear you can form the proper opinions without much trouble. That certainly bodes well, Baker Alice Stone." He folded his fingers before him, then turned to face her. "Proper arrogant fools, aren't they? Thinking magic can solve...every problem..." He walked over to her. "It's not the most welcoming of worlds for outsiders, Alice....but there are wonders to it as well. Enough to make it all worth it, or so I tell myself sometimes. I hope you will come to see it in time. At least for some of them..." He sighed heavily, contemplating for a moment. "...Perhaps I should show you more of the gardens later, Baker Alice. Show you the kinder places of this household...
"And As for you, of course you have difficulty fitting. It is only with difficult that I can discern even the slightest bit of you. The traces of magic in your being are strange things, imperceptible to me in how they differ from others. There is an oddness to it, but nothing I can yet determine." He rubbed at his chin. "With time perhaps. But it will take time indeed. Clearly the Council is befuddled or they'd never have sent you to me in this process....unless they meant to unload you onto me for that acerbic tongue of yours!" He was getting the notion not much could frighten her...and even if it could, little could actually make her yield. It was both a frustrating and admirable thing he decided again as he felt her staring at him close, still sighting deeply. "...You should still rest. You are good to nobody, least of all yourself exhausted."
He turned and strode back to her by her bed. "Baker. Alice. Despite the unpleasantness so far, I have no designs on harming you. There is much that has been forced upon me as well in my life through the expectation of others. I fully intend on seeing my role through but I can understand how this might be disconcerting. Frightening....we must take care through it all to ensure your safety and your education. The only way out of this is forward..." He heard her family, on the militia... "...Not even any contact with your brother?" He shook his head, frowning at that. "...I am sorry for your parents. That is something we both share, Alice Stone." He was perhaps not warming to her, but growing less hostile as they were speaking. He pitied her, he was surprised to find.
Indeed, pity was the emotion, but buried under it was the spark of something imperceptible. "Not at war? Hm, perhaps a CIVIL war, very civil...but a war nonetheless. Nevertheless, I propose an armistice at the moment. You don't wish to be here, but here you are and so we must both make it work. Perhaps one must work harder than the other, though it be yet to determined whose role that is....and who said there was not raspberry?" He gave a sudden, roguish grin. "I did not mention there wasn't. If it would help you relax to have raspberry, you shall indeed have it."
He did not notice her stand, before he turned to see it...and with a surprising gentleness, Damian walked to her. "Careful," his voice was tender. "Steady now..." he murmured as she reached the dough, Damian hiding that he was impressed at her determination. "Yes, well done even so," he murmured while he waved his hands to have the room continue. "Magic, as I said...is a tool. That is its foremost application. We must be careful how it becomes applied, Baker Alice. But if you are a baker, it would seem a pity to waste your considerable skill....now, shall we commence the first day of the rest of both our lives? I shall ensure that you obtain more knowledge for basic survival and.." He glanced to where her legs met the ground. "Take it slow even so. We shall indeed have biscuits with butter," he added as he saw to his own dough. "Honestly, this is refreshing in a way. I've not had an assistant at it for sometimes. Come then, dear baker, let us see your mettle. I hope you are more knowledgeable at this than you are with magic."
Damian felt an emotion that seemed even stranger to him than the earlier cold irritation....was he...
enjoying this?
"Of course you agree with me. I am correct," he said quickly, trying to mask the earlier feelings he had been struggling with. He simply put up the barricades, the old walls. "Even if you are not very educated on these matters, it is quite clear you can form the proper opinions without much trouble. That certainly bodes well, Baker Alice Stone." He folded his fingers before him, then turned to face her. "Proper arrogant fools, aren't they? Thinking magic can solve...every problem..." He walked over to her. "It's not the most welcoming of worlds for outsiders, Alice....but there are wonders to it as well. Enough to make it all worth it, or so I tell myself sometimes. I hope you will come to see it in time. At least for some of them..." He sighed heavily, contemplating for a moment. "...Perhaps I should show you more of the gardens later, Baker Alice. Show you the kinder places of this household...
"And As for you, of course you have difficulty fitting. It is only with difficult that I can discern even the slightest bit of you. The traces of magic in your being are strange things, imperceptible to me in how they differ from others. There is an oddness to it, but nothing I can yet determine." He rubbed at his chin. "With time perhaps. But it will take time indeed. Clearly the Council is befuddled or they'd never have sent you to me in this process....unless they meant to unload you onto me for that acerbic tongue of yours!" He was getting the notion not much could frighten her...and even if it could, little could actually make her yield. It was both a frustrating and admirable thing he decided again as he felt her staring at him close, still sighting deeply. "...You should still rest. You are good to nobody, least of all yourself exhausted."
He turned and strode back to her by her bed. "Baker. Alice. Despite the unpleasantness so far, I have no designs on harming you. There is much that has been forced upon me as well in my life through the expectation of others. I fully intend on seeing my role through but I can understand how this might be disconcerting. Frightening....we must take care through it all to ensure your safety and your education. The only way out of this is forward..." He heard her family, on the militia... "...Not even any contact with your brother?" He shook his head, frowning at that. "...I am sorry for your parents. That is something we both share, Alice Stone." He was perhaps not warming to her, but growing less hostile as they were speaking. He pitied her, he was surprised to find.
Indeed, pity was the emotion, but buried under it was the spark of something imperceptible. "Not at war? Hm, perhaps a CIVIL war, very civil...but a war nonetheless. Nevertheless, I propose an armistice at the moment. You don't wish to be here, but here you are and so we must both make it work. Perhaps one must work harder than the other, though it be yet to determined whose role that is....and who said there was not raspberry?" He gave a sudden, roguish grin. "I did not mention there wasn't. If it would help you relax to have raspberry, you shall indeed have it."
He did not notice her stand, before he turned to see it...and with a surprising gentleness, Damian walked to her. "Careful," his voice was tender. "Steady now..." he murmured as she reached the dough, Damian hiding that he was impressed at her determination. "Yes, well done even so," he murmured while he waved his hands to have the room continue. "Magic, as I said...is a tool. That is its foremost application. We must be careful how it becomes applied, Baker Alice. But if you are a baker, it would seem a pity to waste your considerable skill....now, shall we commence the first day of the rest of both our lives? I shall ensure that you obtain more knowledge for basic survival and.." He glanced to where her legs met the ground. "Take it slow even so. We shall indeed have biscuits with butter," he added as he saw to his own dough. "Honestly, this is refreshing in a way. I've not had an assistant at it for sometimes. Come then, dear baker, let us see your mettle. I hope you are more knowledgeable at this than you are with magic."
Damian felt an emotion that seemed even stranger to him than the earlier cold irritation....was he...
enjoying this?
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
☾ ⋆⋅✩⋅⋆ ☽
And just like that, Alice’s eyes shifted into a squint as she stared after the mage. —Of course she agreed with him? Was he serious? It wasn’t necessarily what he said, but how he said it, she thought. It was proving difficult to find common ground with Damian when he flaunted his arrogance around the room so strongly, that if it had been a fragrance her sinuses would leave her in tears. That, however, would be the only hypothetical way she’d allow this man to ever make her cry. The mage continued on, walking around the room in that air of confidence that rode far too close to the line of being cocky. Was too much confidence a bad thing? In cases such as these, Alice struggled with her emotions, only wanting to harbor ill feelings toward a man such as him. If he suddenly rammed his foot into a chair leg and found himself in pain, would she feel sorry for him? No, not likely.
His movements brought him to the side of the bed. Why was he standing there, reassuring her as his trousers hung loosely around his hips and his shirt ties remained undone, like he was about to turn into bed? Perhaps that was his plan before rescuing the curious baker from his ravenous dwelling. It was probably better that he’d rushed to save her rather than take the time to look presentable.
However—
If he was capable of snapping his fingers to change her clothing, she couldn’t imagine he’d need to exhaust any further effort into making himself look more presentable. This was hardly appropriate. Her hands gripped the counter as she found herself blushing from his appearance. With great resolution, Alice’s eyes glided up his form, finally landing on his chiseled features and frosty stare. “Fools indeed.” she responded as found herself trapped in his gaze. Her delicate butterfly wings were quickly becoming tangled in the webs of Damian Lascar and she couldn’t even see it happening around her. “Gardens sound potentially pleasant if it’s not homicidal like the manor.”
Alice couldn’t distinguish whether her knees felt weak from the physical attack of the house or the heat that slowly emanated from the stance he took before her. He was a cold man, but his aura was that of a warm summer day with the fresh scent of flour that rested on his palms and arms, dusting his shirt that held no secrets about the form that rested below. “I don’t have time.” she said quietly. Her voice was hushed, almost a whisper as she dare not break the locked stare they shared. His insults soon broke her free— free from the silken weaves that he’d spun around her spirit, brief as it was. She stepped back, nose wrinkled and expression stern. “Well, perhaps you’re in need of a proper tongue lashing,” she hissed. Alice, of course, was unaware of how easily misconstrued that sentence could be. “And I’m fine.” she said. It was as though the words themselves dared bring her to the floor with the buckle of her knee. Her hands instinctively rushed forward, whacking Damian against the bottom of his chin as she quickly lost her balance. “Oh— sorry!” she exclaimed as her body now lay flush against his and her other hand clung to his arm. “My leg.” she said quietly as though the underlying tone was more along the lines of “Don’t turn me into a newt, please.”
“Rest, yes. I suppose you are right. And don’t say of course you are—!” she interjected before he could voice himself. She didn’t want to hear it. He had to stop that. And she had to get off of him. Her fingers clung to tones of muscle in his upper arm she hadn’t expected to find. Since she’d already hit him, and used him as a landing pad, there was no shame in the next set of actions she’d chosen, which were to use him as a source of stability as she hobbled back to the side of the bed.
“Fine. If moving forward with this is the only way, I’ll do as you say.” she thought about demanding terms of her own, but what man would truly listen and give in? She leaned against the bed, her hips pressing into the mattress. Her clumsy episode had caused her to send the cloak in disarray, revealing the smaller white gown she had been given to sleep in— certainly not her own clothing at all! The material was light, almost to the point of being see-through, but thank the Gods it wasn’t. Lace trimming trailed around her neck, plunging down toward her chest where more lace wrapped around the waist like a belt, accentuating how her frame curved back outward in that hourglass shape. The gown— if one could even call it that— stopped mid-thigh and might have been more suited to be a shirt for Damian than a dress for herself. She might have suspected it was his shirt, had the frills not looked so very feminine. Alice attempted to correct the cloak before any eyes could stare for long.
“There’s not much I can do when I’m incapable of even the magic most trades people can muster. Even my father could create a Witch’s Light. I hardly possess the means to track down or contact my brother.” Damian spoke more civilly with her, revealing that he, too, lost his parents. She hoped it hadn’t been the evil house— Why not just move away?
“Fine, then see it your way, Lord Lascar. A Civil War you shall have, if that’s what you wish. And you gave two options, neither of which were raspberry. Therefore, you did, by omission.” His grin invited her smirk and she eyed him, far too happy to admit there was, indeed, the jam that she wanted to push him too hard. If the man was going to feed her properly, she wasn’t about to completely screw it up. By that time she’d stood again, stubborn if nothing else, she’d damn well be helping with the baking, if anything just to prove herself.
Alice couldn’t be sure if Damian was moved by her sheer will or something deeper she simply wouldn’t understand, but his tone had shifted to a much gentler version she hadn’t yet experienced. And as she began to surmise just have badly he’d botched the batch of dough, she began to take bits of water and flour in her hands, altering what she did have before looking more satisfied with what she held.
“The first day of the rest of our lives, you say? If that’s the case, you’d better just marry me too, seeing as I’m signing my life away to you regardless of what I want. Don’t worry, Arch Mage Lascar. Before you know it, I’ll be out of your hair and you’ll be back to your dusty, quiet home.” she said, sounding rather reassuringly.
“I am no man’s assistant.” she said flatly. The woman didn’t even look up from her work; she didn’t need to give him a glare or a warning glance. It was very matter-of-fact and he wouldn’t be changing her mind on the subject. Her hands rounded the dough with ease, both working in tandem as she easily cut and finished her portion of dough before he’d finished with his. “But maybe someday if you’re good enough, I’ll let you be mine.” she said with a genuine smile turning the corner of her lips upward. “I’ll finish baking these if you wish to gather up whatever else you intend to get. You’re obviously more mobile than I.”
[TᑌᑎEƧ]
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2020
"Your face will stay that way if you make that face," Damian didn't even have to look up to see the narrowed eyes and squinting countenance of Alice. He was beginning to think Alice just plain did not care for him. Admittedly, there was a point to that; he had given her very little reason to love or care for him. She had some legitimate points. Not that he planned to admit it anytime soon. No, she would not get that satisfaction, he would not display weakness. Yes, Damian thought as he counted to ten before himself....this arrogant, too-attractive baker thought she might make him yield? She would have another thing coming or his name was not Damian Lascar....
He glanced at Alice within the bed, dressed in casual clothing; loose trousers and an open robe, that showed off his well-muscled body. Damian had a well-defined figure, chiseled and built, with rippling, sinuous muscle from tempering his body just as surely as he had tempered his mind. He had not even thought of his appearance, let alone while seeing Alice in her shift. His eyes roamed across her without any lust, just vague irritation once again.
"And what are you staring at?" He asked as he faced her, arms behind his back. His abdomen was displayed prominently, Alice growing....red?? Was she in pain? He cocked his head curiously. "And is there something else upon your mind except for my gardens? Of all the places in the house, they are the least dangerous. Unless you forget to water the plants. They may then decide to feast upon the nearest source of nutrition and moisture. We do not forget to water them, I promise you that.
He looked back across the bakery. "Now then, do you see anything you like?" He let that hang in the air for a positively agonizing beat of time. His mouth opened slightly as he began to contemplate his own choices. "...In the kitchens. I mean," he said. "Are you- " he turned to see Alice slip. She was sliding towards him. "You- " he choked off as she...struck him. She landed upon him, her body against his, having hit him. Upon the chin. His eyes widened in shock at the presumption, Alice upon him as he had stumbled him. "You...struck me," he said in a calm tone. "I cannot remember...the last time that happened."
He should have been enraged, but he was strangely calm. His arm snaked about her waist, holding her body close to him, her chest pressed to his bare one as he felt her, instinctively through the shift. "...If you wished to express reservations about my baking ability, Miss Stone, there were more civilized ways to do so...now. Up." He gently slid them up, body pressed to hers as her fingers pushed against his arm. He bore her up with surprising tenderness, helping her stand. "Easy...the manor has taken a lot out of you. I'm not speaking metaphorically..." He brushed her hair from her face, suddenly marveling at her pale skin, the touch of fire, the loveliness there...
He caught himself, smiling delicately. "First rule, Baker...best not to strike someone who can strike harder..." He was suddenly wondering how she might react if he slapped her bottom like he was disciplining her, for the insult...but he let it go. Instead, he helped her back against the bed, nearly leaning upon her there. "...Would it make you feel more at ease, Alice? If I was to send for your clothes? Your things? Would that help you grow more comfortable?" His voice was soft now, the brief spike at humiliation forgotten. "Or shall you hit me again until you get your way?" There was a merriment dancing in his eyes now. "I should be quite concerned over your ferocious temperament, I expect...as for my jams, this is your first lesson: omission is not absence. I did not mention it...it doesn't mean it is not there," he said as he accepted her help from the dough, watching her work...
The woman was a fucking artist at the kitchens, he thought. They'd certainly deprived the land of quite the baker, and he was wondering if it was even worth the loss. "My home is hardly that dusty. Hungry it might be, but I keep it very well satisfied and contained!" He said. "No, I don't feed it orphans or anything of the sort." He folded his arms, suddenly enjoying bandying words.
"...YOUR assistant, now? I think you have misunderstand this..." But he brought her hands up, taking in the scent. "...The scent of flour is pleasant upon you. Perhaps that would not be so bad, to learn the mystical arts of baking from you..." He summoned over more ingredients in the blink of an eye. "I think biscuits call for bacon, which call for eggs, unless..." He squeezed her hands, very gently.
"Tell me, Baker Alice Stone, what might you request for breakfast? You are the guest, after all. Even if you are hardly dressed for a good meal....we shall eat, then I shall show you the rest of the house. And it will behave if it knows what's good for it."
He glanced at Alice within the bed, dressed in casual clothing; loose trousers and an open robe, that showed off his well-muscled body. Damian had a well-defined figure, chiseled and built, with rippling, sinuous muscle from tempering his body just as surely as he had tempered his mind. He had not even thought of his appearance, let alone while seeing Alice in her shift. His eyes roamed across her without any lust, just vague irritation once again.
"And what are you staring at?" He asked as he faced her, arms behind his back. His abdomen was displayed prominently, Alice growing....red?? Was she in pain? He cocked his head curiously. "And is there something else upon your mind except for my gardens? Of all the places in the house, they are the least dangerous. Unless you forget to water the plants. They may then decide to feast upon the nearest source of nutrition and moisture. We do not forget to water them, I promise you that.
He looked back across the bakery. "Now then, do you see anything you like?" He let that hang in the air for a positively agonizing beat of time. His mouth opened slightly as he began to contemplate his own choices. "...In the kitchens. I mean," he said. "Are you- " he turned to see Alice slip. She was sliding towards him. "You- " he choked off as she...struck him. She landed upon him, her body against his, having hit him. Upon the chin. His eyes widened in shock at the presumption, Alice upon him as he had stumbled him. "You...struck me," he said in a calm tone. "I cannot remember...the last time that happened."
He should have been enraged, but he was strangely calm. His arm snaked about her waist, holding her body close to him, her chest pressed to his bare one as he felt her, instinctively through the shift. "...If you wished to express reservations about my baking ability, Miss Stone, there were more civilized ways to do so...now. Up." He gently slid them up, body pressed to hers as her fingers pushed against his arm. He bore her up with surprising tenderness, helping her stand. "Easy...the manor has taken a lot out of you. I'm not speaking metaphorically..." He brushed her hair from her face, suddenly marveling at her pale skin, the touch of fire, the loveliness there...
He caught himself, smiling delicately. "First rule, Baker...best not to strike someone who can strike harder..." He was suddenly wondering how she might react if he slapped her bottom like he was disciplining her, for the insult...but he let it go. Instead, he helped her back against the bed, nearly leaning upon her there. "...Would it make you feel more at ease, Alice? If I was to send for your clothes? Your things? Would that help you grow more comfortable?" His voice was soft now, the brief spike at humiliation forgotten. "Or shall you hit me again until you get your way?" There was a merriment dancing in his eyes now. "I should be quite concerned over your ferocious temperament, I expect...as for my jams, this is your first lesson: omission is not absence. I did not mention it...it doesn't mean it is not there," he said as he accepted her help from the dough, watching her work...
The woman was a fucking artist at the kitchens, he thought. They'd certainly deprived the land of quite the baker, and he was wondering if it was even worth the loss. "My home is hardly that dusty. Hungry it might be, but I keep it very well satisfied and contained!" He said. "No, I don't feed it orphans or anything of the sort." He folded his arms, suddenly enjoying bandying words.
"...YOUR assistant, now? I think you have misunderstand this..." But he brought her hands up, taking in the scent. "...The scent of flour is pleasant upon you. Perhaps that would not be so bad, to learn the mystical arts of baking from you..." He summoned over more ingredients in the blink of an eye. "I think biscuits call for bacon, which call for eggs, unless..." He squeezed her hands, very gently.
"Tell me, Baker Alice Stone, what might you request for breakfast? You are the guest, after all. Even if you are hardly dressed for a good meal....we shall eat, then I shall show you the rest of the house. And it will behave if it knows what's good for it."
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
☾ ⋆⋅✩⋅⋆ ☽
For as intellectual as this Arch Mage claimed to be, and what the size of the manor and property he owned suggested, Alice had her doubts about a few things regarding that skull of his and what lay inside. Was he really so unaware of why she’d been staring? The look in his eyes— not lustful or even interested— suggested he was staring at any other fixture in his home he’d passed by a hundred times before. Meanwhile, Alice had not seen such a display of a man in ages. It was true she came from lands where there were more mundane people; farmers, blacksmiths, and any other type that might wander about with grime or soot covering their form with muscles poking out from their sleeves or patched up tunics. It was pleasant to see a man with magic spilling from his fingertips also care for his body. Of course, if he didn’t dress himself properly for lessons she wasn’t sure how she was expected to ever hear a work from his mouth over the screaming of his pectorals and shoulders.
“...Do you see anything you like,” he asked. Alice’s eyes went wide, the heat on her face threatening to burn her flesh away. Was he teasing her? Her eyes were wide with horror. He didn’t expect her to respond to that question, did he? Damian’s mouth shifted and she watched him pause before he finished his true thought. The kitchen, of course! It was difficult to know why she wasn’t more attentive to the room when it was clearly the more fascinating subject.
And curse her leg and the manor for making her fall into him. The whack in his face, though purely accidental, did bring her an ounce of satisfaction, if she was honest with herself. If she hadn’t heard Damian lose his temper more than once with their talking thus far, she might have suspected him lacking any emotion at all. The way his eyes were fixed on her but never seemed to actually see her, the way his voice spoke without any changes in volume or pitch— still, Damian seemed almost confused by what happened. The answer was simple enough: Alice was clumsier than a drunk walking home on ice. She had her graceful moments now and then, but more often than not, she was bonking her head, slamming an elbow into a wall, or bashing her foot into the leg of a table. It was baffling, though, that he hadn’t started shouting like he had over the handful of other topics they’d barely scratched the surface of.
Alice clung to his arm, trying to force her legs to hold her own weight again. Damian’s hands glided across her waist and held her snug against him as he supported what her legs could not manage on their own. It was absurdly inappropriate to be this close to a man— a barely dressed man at that— both unwed, in the center of a kitchen with a bed there only suggesting Gods knew what. If that Beverly woman walked in, Alice thought she might die of horror. She didn’t need a reputation in a giant house that only had four occupants inside. His words, teasing in nature, left his lips like sweet honey, softly finding her ear. A knot formed in her throat as her body stiffened. "I'll try to remember that for the next time, then." she struggled to say.
His fingers found her mess of hair and in doing so, found the gentle curves of her cheekbones. "Yes, I think I remember that one from common school." she replied softly. Did he really think she hit him on purpose? She dreaded the thought, but the idea of correcting or explaining further sounded like a good way to dig a deeper hole for herself. She was at least halfway to a decent sized grave already, she had no doubts. Well, she didn't, until Damian held her there like he did, and tucked that sun-fire hair behind her ear. Then there was that smile. A good, genuine smile from a man that nearly left her falling into him all over again. She was all but a slab of dough spilling down onto the ground. She stayed on her feet this time, though. He stood with her, his body not as close as it had been, but still so dangerously near as she was trapped between the bed and the mage. She could reach forward and grab him, pull him close if she dared to try. She didn't, of course, because that would have been crazy.
He seemed so concerned about her comfort and Alice couldn't discern what was fabrication and what was sincere. He was creating tension in her shoulders and she wished she could guess his true intentions. The mage joked again at her fierceness, or was the joke really that she was hardly fierce at all? Still, his sense of humor left her with a grin as she slowly shook her head. What was she to do? "A first rule and a first lesson. I should be so lucky."
Alice was focused in the beginning, only because Damian made her increasingly nervous, but soon after having her hands in the dough, she worked as though she was doing it in her sleep. She looked around the kitchen, then to Damian, just taking in the environment as she found her small comforts in creating those biscuits. She mouthed off, and she expected many objections from the hot-headed mage, but to her surprise, he was most offended from her calling the manor dusty. She hadn't really intended to sound serious about marriage at all, but when he didn't even so much as humor it with a response, she hoped her joking hadn't gone too far. Perhaps he was kinder than she first imagined, and instead of spitting venom at her for how unsuitable she would be for someone such as himself, he glossed over the subject entirely. Somehow that only made Alice more uncomfortable. She needed to stop saying such idiotic things. What must he think of her? Desperate for a husband? Surely not. The woman was all but running out the door to get back to her old life. Hopefully he understood it was just a joke. She refrained from slapping herself on the forehead. Bad, Alice. Stop saying such daft things.
Fortunately, he was then fixated on her next jab at him, which she did know would irk him at least a little. She grinned as they moved further away from the previous subjects and onto more pleasant things. "Yes my ass—" she stopped short as his dough covered hands grabbed hers, taking her away from her work and back into the complete distraction that was Damian Lascar.
"—istant." she mumbled. Was she winning this mage over with her baking skills? Just one look down at their work station and it was clear her products were superior to his. Alice lifted those mossy green eyes to his, staring timidly back at him. Why did he hold such a high standards when it came to guests? It seemed far more over the top than what Alice had ever experienced before. Maybe that was another mage-ism she just couldn't comprehend— yet.
"That does sound appetizing. Runny yolks with the biscuits, of course. Jam on half, egg on half. You can enjoy it both sweet and savory. We actually have enough of these to make breakfast sandwiches, as well." she suggested, wondering if the man had ever experienced such a creation before. "If you have any cheese stored somewhere, we can really make it shine."
Alice carefully pulled her hands away to tend to the food. "These look ready," she began, nearly chuckling at the lumpy, misshapen ones that lay beside hers. In comparison, his were definitely going to be a bit more on the dry side. "I think... yours will be best suited for the jams." she cautiously said without outright saying what was going through her head. "And, as you already know, these are not even my clothes!" she hissed as she pulled her cloak tighter around her body to cover up the thin gown they'd provided for her. "I'm not sure which one of you decided this was what I should wear to sleep, but it's certainly not my normal attire. And I didn't want to walk around in that red, servant's uniform, either. I'm no servant." she reminded him. "Are we expecting the rest of your household for food— or— I suppose they're all supposed to be sleeping at this hour?" It would take a lot of convincing to keep Alice in bed beyond dawn, even with the threat of a house that might eat her. So long as she wore the right clothes, that shouldn't matter, according to Damian.
[TᑌᑎEƧ]
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2020
Damian did indeed fancy himself an intellectual. Alice Stone, to his frustration, remained an enigma. Damian knew countless people in his life. He had known artisans, soldiers, chefs, farmers, smiths, warriors, politicians, millers and more....he had even known a baker or ten, but Alice...for all her pretense of knowing so little of magic, Alice seemed to harbor mysteries in herself. Besides, he thought, she was...she was what?
What did he think suddenly? That sullen glower in her eyes, that pout to her lips, the way her fiery hair flowed down her back...the paleness of her skin, it made him...what? Made him what? It made him stare, certainly. It made him frown, it made his eyes stick to her face and body while she wore that blasted shift in such a free capacity. Damian considered, intellectually, how long it had been since he had knwon the charms of another body,
Damn it, WHY was he thinking of this NOW? He scoffed to himself, shaking his head with a frustrated grunt. It had been, he considered, a very long while, since he had known the taste of another's lips, the feel of hot skin to his own...but no, there was no reason to even consider such a thing with this...with this ignorant, insolent baker. He purged it from his mind as he asked her the question...
Why was she staring at him with an expression like he had set her dog on fire? He was growing weary with the way she handled things. He lifted an eyebrow, opening his mouth when Alice toppled upon him. "Clumsy thing..." he admonished her as he held her in his own strong arms. The Lord of Lascar stared at the woman he he held, the smile turning almost fond. "Here only a day and already turning my life and home upside down. I mean it as a compliment when I say you are a bewitching woman, Alice. Fulfilling a touch of a stereotype about the color of your hair...but bewitching." He leaned in to press his lips against her ear. "Not many could strike me and live to tell the tale. You are in distinguished company," he said.
And now he was grinning. He was smiling with a faint sense of joy as he assisted her across the kitchen. He didn't much care for reputations or proprieties. This was his mansion, his home...everything within the walls remained there. He was Damian Lascar, dammit, and that meant a damn sight. "I have a feeling you remember many things," he added as he combed his fingers into her hair, feeling the warmth of her skin. Perhaps it had been too long, he was feeling an odd heat from this baker-
No. It was the ovens. Definitely the ovens, Damian decide after a moment of contemplation. He held Alice against him, ensuring she would not fall as he cleared his throat. "Clumsy tonight. I will assume it's because my house tried to eat you. Well, we shall consider that understandable, won't we? you strike me as the type to retain information....just like you retained a right hook, apparently..." He whispered as he gazed at her. His smile was bright as the rising sun, his gaze gentle now, holding Alice upright. "Now...is that a smile?" He reached and brushed a finger delicately to her upturned lips. "I'll be damned, it is," he added with a soft laugh. "You do not have to smile, but...I like the expression upon you." He actually winked at her for that, losing himself to the moment temporarily. "I trust you are a fact learner..."
He began to work the dough with her, kneading it and observing her. Alice's talents were indeed at the bakery; she had an exceptional way with that dough, as if she had been born to feeling and move it about...before lifting his eyebrow at her obvious dodge. "Assistant....indeed," he said quietly. "Assistant Baker Lascar. It has its ring, does it not?" He asked as he stared into those soft, emerald-colored eyes, brushing his hand over hers as he reached for the dough without meaning to. "....You enjoy runny yolks?" He asked with a wry humor. "Hm, how pedestrian....you're perfectly entitled, of course...and wht is...jam with eggs? What barbarian suggestion is this?!" ....But very well, I have a collection of cheeses." He moved to the cupboard to take them out.
"I know full well that your clothes are unsuited for this normally! We of course shall deliver the food to the others magically...they will awaken soon enough, everyone has their place, even my brothers...perhaps then, I shall give you the tour of the place? Properly?" He paused to consider his words carefully, his hands folding before him as he set out the cheese and eggs to let alice do her own magic.
"...I would like you to feel somewhat welcome today."
What did he think suddenly? That sullen glower in her eyes, that pout to her lips, the way her fiery hair flowed down her back...the paleness of her skin, it made him...what? Made him what? It made him stare, certainly. It made him frown, it made his eyes stick to her face and body while she wore that blasted shift in such a free capacity. Damian considered, intellectually, how long it had been since he had knwon the charms of another body,
Damn it, WHY was he thinking of this NOW? He scoffed to himself, shaking his head with a frustrated grunt. It had been, he considered, a very long while, since he had known the taste of another's lips, the feel of hot skin to his own...but no, there was no reason to even consider such a thing with this...with this ignorant, insolent baker. He purged it from his mind as he asked her the question...
Why was she staring at him with an expression like he had set her dog on fire? He was growing weary with the way she handled things. He lifted an eyebrow, opening his mouth when Alice toppled upon him. "Clumsy thing..." he admonished her as he held her in his own strong arms. The Lord of Lascar stared at the woman he he held, the smile turning almost fond. "Here only a day and already turning my life and home upside down. I mean it as a compliment when I say you are a bewitching woman, Alice. Fulfilling a touch of a stereotype about the color of your hair...but bewitching." He leaned in to press his lips against her ear. "Not many could strike me and live to tell the tale. You are in distinguished company," he said.
And now he was grinning. He was smiling with a faint sense of joy as he assisted her across the kitchen. He didn't much care for reputations or proprieties. This was his mansion, his home...everything within the walls remained there. He was Damian Lascar, dammit, and that meant a damn sight. "I have a feeling you remember many things," he added as he combed his fingers into her hair, feeling the warmth of her skin. Perhaps it had been too long, he was feeling an odd heat from this baker-
No. It was the ovens. Definitely the ovens, Damian decide after a moment of contemplation. He held Alice against him, ensuring she would not fall as he cleared his throat. "Clumsy tonight. I will assume it's because my house tried to eat you. Well, we shall consider that understandable, won't we? you strike me as the type to retain information....just like you retained a right hook, apparently..." He whispered as he gazed at her. His smile was bright as the rising sun, his gaze gentle now, holding Alice upright. "Now...is that a smile?" He reached and brushed a finger delicately to her upturned lips. "I'll be damned, it is," he added with a soft laugh. "You do not have to smile, but...I like the expression upon you." He actually winked at her for that, losing himself to the moment temporarily. "I trust you are a fact learner..."
He began to work the dough with her, kneading it and observing her. Alice's talents were indeed at the bakery; she had an exceptional way with that dough, as if she had been born to feeling and move it about...before lifting his eyebrow at her obvious dodge. "Assistant....indeed," he said quietly. "Assistant Baker Lascar. It has its ring, does it not?" He asked as he stared into those soft, emerald-colored eyes, brushing his hand over hers as he reached for the dough without meaning to. "....You enjoy runny yolks?" He asked with a wry humor. "Hm, how pedestrian....you're perfectly entitled, of course...and wht is...jam with eggs? What barbarian suggestion is this?!" ....But very well, I have a collection of cheeses." He moved to the cupboard to take them out.
"I know full well that your clothes are unsuited for this normally! We of course shall deliver the food to the others magically...they will awaken soon enough, everyone has their place, even my brothers...perhaps then, I shall give you the tour of the place? Properly?" He paused to consider his words carefully, his hands folding before him as he set out the cheese and eggs to let alice do her own magic.
"...I would like you to feel somewhat welcome today."
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
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It wasn’t particularly easy to bake with a cloak covering her arms the way it did. Trying to maneuver around without making too much of a mess, while having free arms, and also trying to keep that forsaken gown covered up was just a headache. There was certain to be flour on the cloak, hopefully not dried dough, though. Alice, as skillful as she was with her trade, was clumsy and at times down right messy. But, in this early morning, she was certain she’d kept fairly clean. She really didn’t need Damian staring or judging her, especially when it was his own staff that gave her such a small shift in the first place. Had she been able to explore on her own, she might have searched for her suitcase, too, then changed into her own shabby dresses that suited her well enough.
Her mind wandered back to their exchange, the bulk of Damian's arms, his grip on her back, his whispering into her ear as he touched her hair. She turned away from him at the thoughts, finding her simple recollections threatening to make her face hotter than the oven fires. She wasn’t sure the response he was hoping to get from her, but it left her frozen in place with lips barely parted as if the woman was in shock. She bit her lip as she glanced into the oven, turning the pans around with a wooden paddle she’d found hanging off to the side. They were nearly golden. Yet the mixture of beautiful and beastly biscuits weren’t enough to pull Alice’s mind from thinking about Damian. He seemed playful, somehow. But there wasn’t a good reason the baker could surmise she was correct in thinking such.
Why had he called her bewitching? And to be fair, his house had turned her upside down first, so if that really was the case, could she really feel bad about it? Alice didn’t feel any guilt or concern in that aspect, of that she was sure. He was right in his assumption. Alice was struggling to forget anything that’d happened since she arrived. It hadn’t even been a complete day. But their interactions were spinning on a loop in her mind. His whispering; he continued with those softly spoken words that made her feel just a little too warm in places she didn’t need to feel heat. His pokes at her smile and his awful conclusion that the house made her clumsy made her laugh. She’d explained she was most certainly clumsy on any good day, and twice as much on a bad one. Considering her fate so far, Alice was struggling to distinguish whether that meant the current day was technically good or bad.
Alice had to scramble, backtracking enough to explain that some of the biscuits were for jam, while the others were for the eggs, and that she didn’t intend for them to cross paths. “And please, I am not the barbarian here. That’s the rest of your household, or likely at least your siblings.” Alice was trying her damndest to understand why runny yolks was pedestrian, as he put it. Then again, she was also very pedestrian, so maybe he was just making fun of her instead. If only his jabs could fester in her mind longer than the brush of his hand against her own, and how it almost felt like there was some sort of charge between them. Alice was accustomed to people making fun of her for being powerless, or being in the working class with her father. Children were cruel— that was something Alice had to learn at a young age.
The trays were out and cooling as their warm scent wafted lazily into the still kitchen air, filling the room. Meanwhile, Alice watched as ingredients floated through the air like they were flying without wings to show for it. It wasn’t like she’d never seen magic before. Many of the local mages were eager to show off their skills. In the past magic had been used to tease and taunt her, somewhat similar to how the bacon slithered through the air. A local ruffian in her village would enjoy playing “keep-away” when she was trying to work, study, or anything else, really. It was a game of humiliation as she was forced to jump for her things. “Jump higher, peasant. Look at the mundane! Use magic, mundane. Get your things back!” The teasing was relentless at times. But would this Arch Mage be just as bad, or did he actually have an ounce of maturity to him?
As ingredients were provided to her, Alice began to build the sandwiches, leaving the nicer biscuits off to the side of the plates. She cut a slit down the middle, and added, what looked like a much richer type of butter than what she’d ever had the pleasure of using or tasting before, right on the inside to melt down for a more enjoyable flavor. As she focused on her plating, she glanced at Damian curiously. “A tour other than the gardens?” It sounded like a nice enough idea. So far he wasn’t triggering any red flags.
“But you might like me to feel less welcome tomorrow?” she asked him, only half teasing. Perhaps this is where it all fell into place and her confirmed that he intended to make her life there miserable on day two.
“These plates are ready if you want to magic them away, or, whatever it is you do. Though they won’t be as good if they’ve cooled, so your brothers will be missing out if they like to sleep as much as I suspect they do.” The dishes were displayed with the buttered rolls, stacked neatly with bacon draping across the sides, cheese melting along it from the heat of the meat and egg with the star of the show sitting on top, yolk currently intact. The top of the sandwich lay beside it as a slight incline. A ramekin of jam off to the side with the spare biscuit beside it. It was definitely a lot of bread to start the day, but his staff was small and Damian had made so much dough.
“I just hope you’ve learned well enough not to let me carry all of this by myself, unless you want me mopping up your floors soon after. I’d rather not, especially not like this.” she said as she looked down at herself, cloak wrapped around her body like a blanket as she no longer needed to use her hands.
[TᑌᑎEƧ]
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2020
Damian hated to admit it, but with his current assistant, this might have been the easiest time he'd ever have baking. Stained with flour from fingertip to elbow, the Lord of Lascar was working quickly, also using his magic to stoke the ovens and keep everything hot while he began to trade looks at Alice, attempting to figure out just what he thought of her. It was not easy feat, after all, with Alice the way she was. She was defiant, fiery, frustrating, obnoxious and insolent and those were the qualities he was already enjoying the most about this newly arrived and bizarre little baker with the even more bizarre aura.
Well...hmph. He wished he could banish the way she fit into his arms or the gentle timbre of her voice. Exhaling steadily, avoiding any look at Alice while she went red, he checked on her reaction for the biscuits. "I can tell they are nearly ready, thus we will have a satisfying breakfast. Are your legs feeling better now? I had been...hoping you could not fall. You might strike me again and I fear I am ever so delicate at this point in the morning." His voice adopted another playful tone, his grin widening while he remembered the feel of Alice's soft body, the thickness of her hair, the delicacy of her skin...he gave a soft and steady sigh....she seemed serious, but who could blame her now?
She had been dragged from her home into a stew of toxicity in a world she was unprepared for. What could he expect, save for fear and hesitation? His frown deepened, before he turned back at her, remembered her laughter, her clumsiness. Interesting was perhaps not the right word. Beguiling might well have been closer. So he focused on baking with her, such an odd display with everything else going on. He focused on baking, their first act together as teacher and student. "Ah, you consider us barbarians?" He asked dryly. "As for my siblings....hm, you might be more corret than you realize, Alice." He barely realized he had just used her first name now...Damian was many things, but he was neither careless, nor was he cruel without reason.
He set down the jam with spoons for Alice to decorate, the eggs frying in bacon fat and butter, Damian wiping his hands. "I retract my statements of you being a barbarian, fair baker," he said as he tried to simply guess at what might have befallen her, watching her dedication to...
Sandwiches. She had an eye for detail, focusing expertly, decorating, preparing...he sneaked one biscuit, biting into it while it was hot, golden, flaky and delicious when laced with a touch of jam, trying to eat quickly before she looked up and saw it...he tried his best not to be impressed and failed. "...The household will appreciate this. Such as it is. Thank you. For your efforts, Baker Alice Stone." A gracious offering before he finished with a tray for breakfast. "The fruits of your labor," he said as he gestured to the plates, several vanishing on the spot to be transported to the rooms of staff and family. He provided that quick explanation to the baker. "It will save some trouble. Take some for us, I shall show you the manor...a tour. With the sun up, we are in no further danger from Lascar or its secrets. But remain close to me even so. I will show you the gardens and the rest of course-" He paused, before he smiled, lifting an eye up at her. "I would like you to feel welcome from hereon, oh baker of biscuits," he murmured before he brushed her hair from her face. "Who would keep me on my toes by insolence and physical harm should I refuse?" He was enjoying...jesting with her he realized as he glanced out.
"Would you like to see more? Are you able to walk?" He offered his arm to her...and with that, he was leading her into the manor, with lush carpeting, even among the dilapidated walls and high ceilings. "The house lies still for now...during the night is when one must be wary. I shall ensure your safety, however," he promised it gently as they walked outside. "This is the north wing...it used to be more populated. Once. Long ago," his voice bore the traces of melancholy as he sighed deeply. "Sebastian and I used to play games around here...hiding and seeking. Mother was incensed, said it was poor form when we were boys, that it was unsafe." Damian still had not fully adopted the practice of wearing a full shirt, he thought as he walked down with Alice, pale sunlight streaming through the windows as he began to show Alice about. "This room was where my parents once stayed, before they died..." he said quietly. "My brother's room is in the other wing...servant quarters...and the garden is through here..."
He paused suddenly, as if feeling something, a troubled expression coming over his face, an oppressive feeling coming through the manor.
"....Alice," he said suddenly. "...Remain behind her. Wait here. You will be safe...in the garden. Something I must....tend to."
Well...hmph. He wished he could banish the way she fit into his arms or the gentle timbre of her voice. Exhaling steadily, avoiding any look at Alice while she went red, he checked on her reaction for the biscuits. "I can tell they are nearly ready, thus we will have a satisfying breakfast. Are your legs feeling better now? I had been...hoping you could not fall. You might strike me again and I fear I am ever so delicate at this point in the morning." His voice adopted another playful tone, his grin widening while he remembered the feel of Alice's soft body, the thickness of her hair, the delicacy of her skin...he gave a soft and steady sigh....she seemed serious, but who could blame her now?
She had been dragged from her home into a stew of toxicity in a world she was unprepared for. What could he expect, save for fear and hesitation? His frown deepened, before he turned back at her, remembered her laughter, her clumsiness. Interesting was perhaps not the right word. Beguiling might well have been closer. So he focused on baking with her, such an odd display with everything else going on. He focused on baking, their first act together as teacher and student. "Ah, you consider us barbarians?" He asked dryly. "As for my siblings....hm, you might be more corret than you realize, Alice." He barely realized he had just used her first name now...Damian was many things, but he was neither careless, nor was he cruel without reason.
He set down the jam with spoons for Alice to decorate, the eggs frying in bacon fat and butter, Damian wiping his hands. "I retract my statements of you being a barbarian, fair baker," he said as he tried to simply guess at what might have befallen her, watching her dedication to...
Sandwiches. She had an eye for detail, focusing expertly, decorating, preparing...he sneaked one biscuit, biting into it while it was hot, golden, flaky and delicious when laced with a touch of jam, trying to eat quickly before she looked up and saw it...he tried his best not to be impressed and failed. "...The household will appreciate this. Such as it is. Thank you. For your efforts, Baker Alice Stone." A gracious offering before he finished with a tray for breakfast. "The fruits of your labor," he said as he gestured to the plates, several vanishing on the spot to be transported to the rooms of staff and family. He provided that quick explanation to the baker. "It will save some trouble. Take some for us, I shall show you the manor...a tour. With the sun up, we are in no further danger from Lascar or its secrets. But remain close to me even so. I will show you the gardens and the rest of course-" He paused, before he smiled, lifting an eye up at her. "I would like you to feel welcome from hereon, oh baker of biscuits," he murmured before he brushed her hair from her face. "Who would keep me on my toes by insolence and physical harm should I refuse?" He was enjoying...jesting with her he realized as he glanced out.
"Would you like to see more? Are you able to walk?" He offered his arm to her...and with that, he was leading her into the manor, with lush carpeting, even among the dilapidated walls and high ceilings. "The house lies still for now...during the night is when one must be wary. I shall ensure your safety, however," he promised it gently as they walked outside. "This is the north wing...it used to be more populated. Once. Long ago," his voice bore the traces of melancholy as he sighed deeply. "Sebastian and I used to play games around here...hiding and seeking. Mother was incensed, said it was poor form when we were boys, that it was unsafe." Damian still had not fully adopted the practice of wearing a full shirt, he thought as he walked down with Alice, pale sunlight streaming through the windows as he began to show Alice about. "This room was where my parents once stayed, before they died..." he said quietly. "My brother's room is in the other wing...servant quarters...and the garden is through here..."
He paused suddenly, as if feeling something, a troubled expression coming over his face, an oppressive feeling coming through the manor.
"....Alice," he said suddenly. "...Remain behind her. Wait here. You will be safe...in the garden. Something I must....tend to."
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
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Alice had glanced over to where Damian worked a few times, trying to do so while he wasn’t looking at her. She kept her eye level lower, with the smallest tilt of her head to take note of his arms and how he moved them as he worked. His movements weren't necessarily in good form, and she found that there were several ways she could teach him to move his hands to get better results, but she kept to herself. Instead, she soaked up the tightening muscles that flexed as they moved and the patches of flour that dusted his skin in larger contrast than it would on her own. She found it commendable that he was trying so hard to impress her— or at least, that’s how she took it. But, the baker’s daughter-turned-baker, herself, was never outdone by the Arch Mage of the manor. He made more jokes; jabbing at her with his insistent jesting of her hitting him again. If he didn’t let it die soon, she might just have to strike him again and on purpose. There was a rolling pin somewhere nearby that she’d had her eye on—
“I imagine you and your siblings are quite fierce, actually,” she began. Her tone was calm and serious without hints of playful banter or sarcasm. Though she hadn’t fully realized that Damian had called her by her name, it must have impacted her enough to cause her to speak genuinely. “I’ve met many mages, they’re a dime a dozen really. Some of them still live in squalor, despite their skills. My bakery, and our home above it, is far nicer than many other homesteads in my town. Though I fear what’s going to become of it now.” Alice realized she’d stumbled into a sad thought and pushed her way back to Damian and his family. “Your home is impressive, beastly or not, and your magic as well as theirs, are complex and sophisticated. Becoming a whole other person to fool a guest is something else. You’ve already mentioned having to do things to keep your hold over this place, so I can only imagine how it’s left you men in your own minds.” she was referring to their mental status, specifically. When one had to do many bad things, it took its toll on the heart, body and mind.
"I retract my statements of you being a barbarian, fair baker," he said.
“Good,” she said as the woman lifted her eyes to the mage.
Alice loved when people enjoyed her food. So, when Damian failed in his attempt to sneak a biscuit without her noticing, she couldn’t even scold him for it as she saw his expression shift. It was enough for her to realize that she’d won some small battle between the two of them. A small feat, but a win nevertheless. “I would feel the most comfortable if I was able to keep up with the work I love to do. It’s early enough that it won’t cut into the time you would spend trying to teach me, or whatever it is you’re supposing you might do. If I wear the right attire, I should be safe enough, you’ve said so.” she insisted. The woman was stubborn. It was still a little unnerving to watch the food vanish from the spots they once were. Alice hoped the magic used to transport them didn’t affect their taste.
The two of them ate in the kitchen at a smaller sized table that seated five chairs. It looked as though there should have been a sixth one, but there wasn’t one in sight. Alice sat to eat, which didn’t take terribly long. The two of them were so focused on the taste of the food and warmth of the breads that talking just didn’t fit into the picture. The silence wasn’t even awkward, but almost pleasant somehow. But, as the breakfast vanished from her plate— all her own doing— Damian had already been done and moving about. Her plate lifted from the table as the mage approached her, once more touching her hair. Alice watched him curiously, trying to understand his intentions as the clarity of their relationship became murky at best. “I think I can walk, yes.” she responded. She’d actually forgotten about her leg which was a good indication that it was back to normal. Her toes wiggled against the ground inside of her slippers, finding the pressure of everything perfectly normal. “Thank goodness,” she said with a small sigh of relief.
The man before her, dangerous yet hospitable, offered an arm to her, and with noticeable hesitation, Alice did reach out to take it, standing beside him before starting their walk through parts of the manor. Some rooms Damian even provided small details about, though there was a distinct tone to his voice that trailed off, sounding almost haunted. She supposed it could be unsafe to hide within a home that could drain the life from your limbs and leave you dead. Or did something else create the fear in his mother to not want young boys to play as boys do? Maybe mages weren’t allowed to just play. Alice wasn’t entirely sure what her reasons might have been. The smells in the home were different, ranging from a subtle musk to fresh plants and flowers, as well as other scents that were likely used to create potions.
Alice's footfalls were quiet as each slipper found a new placement in the carpeting along the halls. Such rooms were things she’d never seen in person. She wasn’t even sure if she had heard stories of such places either, but she liked that this was an experience she could lock into her memories. It was an odd realization to Alice that she was actually a guest in such a place. Hopefully the men were honest in not expecting her to pay or earn her way there, because just breathing the air in the room might cost her a small fortune she’d never have in the first place.
They slowly weaved their way through the halls and Alice realized she was never going to navigate her way back from where she’d started. Even if she began in the foyer where she’d first arrived, Alice was unlikely to know which way to turn. The gardens seemed to be the end of the tour, which was actually the first place Damian had suggested they go in the first place. She stepped outside, her eyes squinting as they adjusted to an unnatural grey sky above. It was almost like the colors had been stolen— or it might have seemed so if the gardens weren’t so vibrant. It was counterintuitive. Alice puzzled over it, nearly asking about the sky and if it was a trick of the mind done up by a talented mage, but just before she had the chance, she noticed the look on his face. Had he not realized the sky was that way either? Or was it something else?
His sentences were choppy and direct. She looked at him with a concerned look in her eye, hinting at a fear of what might be happening. He told her to hide. To hide? She looked at the bushes, full of life and leafy green branches. She turned back to Damian, to ask him what was happening, but he was gone. Alice shifted nervously. He did say she’d be safe there, but safe from what? If one of his brothers popped up pretending to be him, she very much doubted she’d be safe from such an illusion. Fortunately she would be careful to remember the hints of flour that dusted his skin and tunic. Alice considered the bush again, finding it a foolish notion to hunch down behind the thing, but she couldn’t know what was happening. She chewed on her lip as she wandered behind it. Alice would definitely need to move faster if she expected to survive a real threat on her life.
[TᑌᑎEƧ]
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2020
Alice's dutiful work was, to be honest, a bit of an inspiration for Damian Lascar. So humble, yet dedicated. So limited, yet so...damnation, what was the word for it? Focused? For the first time, when at work in the Lascar kitchens, he found her at ease and enjoying herself. The baker was dusted in flour soon enough and he caught her glancing at him-no doubt to ensure he found his own work going as smoothly as her own. Surely that was her motive, like he was her assistnat and she needed to ensure that for the moment he could handle himself. Well played, Alice Stone, well played, the Arch Mage thought ruefully
"My siblings and I can be. In fact, they are fearsome in of themselves, Baker Alice Stone. Sebastian is a born warrior, one I have often sparred with in our affairs," he said "As for mages...it varies. Some are gifted by birth. Some are gifted by intense study. No gift remains honed for long unless it is exercised, like any muscle." He produced a spray of colored lights to dance about the room. "i, for one....train. Quite regularly. In both body and magic. Julian has his talents in subterfuge, Vicente in diplomacy. Sebastian is more the warrior of our family..." At the mention of her homestead, he turned to Alice suddenly.
"Baker," he said delicately. "Tell me of your homestead. Is it where you grew up? Is anyone left to manage it?" He floated close. "As for...tolls upon hearts and minds...I suppose. No need for you to trouble yourself about this and that in Lascar...the home is a difficult thing. But we manage it, for what it is worth..." He reached for the biscuit to try it, feeling watched. Feeling like Alice was enjoying him taking a biscuit for reasons best only known to her.
Hmph. Well, then...he showed her to a small table at the kitchen, his arms behind his back as he sampled the biscuits with her. "Bake,r" he began. "Would it help you, then, to allow time for baking? Work you are fmiliar with, that you enjoy, while we get to the bottom of your magic, or lack thereof?" He ate largely in silence, trying not to show Alice how much he loved her food....damn it. She was right. The eggs and bacon, the jam...
This was good. This was damn good, he thought as he sent off the plates, taking Alice along with him to help her walk. She may have said she was fine, but he was not quite ready to buy that just yet. His job now was to also keep her safe and he intended to treat that with seriousness it was due. It had been a long time since he'd had anyone to protect away from this dark and hungry manor...loathe as he was to admit it, he was enjoying Alice's presence.
As he guided her down the halls, he was pointing things...there were a number of portraits on the wall, of past Lords and Ladies of Lascar who trended towards hair of coal and piercing eyes that glared down. Damian sighed. "Yes, these always seem to be here to remind me of...predecessors...what came before..." He glanced at Alice quickly. "Would you be in requirement of a map?" He asked with a slight tilt of his eyebrow. "...It's a confusing place. I'd not have you lost, Alice..." he said while they reached the glass door that led to the garden. The sky was beautiful today, the tendrils of dawn shining down as the sun rose. And the gardens...
Flowers of every color known to man, extensive grounds outside the manor with sculptures formed of golden leaves and adorned with flowers of fire-red and deep sea-blue. There were sculptures of ice that glittered like umelted diamond, facets pulsing all through the sun...as Damian felt something there.
"Alice," he said, gentle but firm. "I shall handle this." He stepped forward, eyes flicking back and forth as the manor seemed to rumble with all the intensity of an earthquake. Hungry and fast, it seemed to reach out, Damian extending a hand to silence the manor...there was something strange about it...like it was attached to Alice, enjoying her taste.
No, it was more than that. It had to do with what he had felt in her. But what that meant, he had no idea anymore. His brow only furrowed before he detected the source of his discontent. "Come out, brother..." he said and lifted a hand to deflected a burst of power.
"Ah, so you have let your guard down..." From the hedge maze a man emerged, a younger version of Damian with a cocksure swagger to him, his arms folded over his narrow chest. "The biscuits weren't bad. My thanks to you, Dame."
"And a good morning to you, Julian," Damian said in a frosty voice. "I trust you have greeted the dawn well."
"Not upset I made the house shake a bit? What would mother say to see you mismanaging it so?" Julian grinned icily. "...And where's the new little arrival?" He gazed about. "She must be interesting for you to hide her so."
"Enough," Damian said. "Civil tongue in your head, brother...be courteous to my guest."
"Guest seems a rather kind word...oh, is she...there?" Julian's eyes fixed where Alice was hiding. "Oh, come out....you might as well be considered part of our household by now!
"My siblings and I can be. In fact, they are fearsome in of themselves, Baker Alice Stone. Sebastian is a born warrior, one I have often sparred with in our affairs," he said "As for mages...it varies. Some are gifted by birth. Some are gifted by intense study. No gift remains honed for long unless it is exercised, like any muscle." He produced a spray of colored lights to dance about the room. "i, for one....train. Quite regularly. In both body and magic. Julian has his talents in subterfuge, Vicente in diplomacy. Sebastian is more the warrior of our family..." At the mention of her homestead, he turned to Alice suddenly.
"Baker," he said delicately. "Tell me of your homestead. Is it where you grew up? Is anyone left to manage it?" He floated close. "As for...tolls upon hearts and minds...I suppose. No need for you to trouble yourself about this and that in Lascar...the home is a difficult thing. But we manage it, for what it is worth..." He reached for the biscuit to try it, feeling watched. Feeling like Alice was enjoying him taking a biscuit for reasons best only known to her.
Hmph. Well, then...he showed her to a small table at the kitchen, his arms behind his back as he sampled the biscuits with her. "Bake,r" he began. "Would it help you, then, to allow time for baking? Work you are fmiliar with, that you enjoy, while we get to the bottom of your magic, or lack thereof?" He ate largely in silence, trying not to show Alice how much he loved her food....damn it. She was right. The eggs and bacon, the jam...
This was good. This was damn good, he thought as he sent off the plates, taking Alice along with him to help her walk. She may have said she was fine, but he was not quite ready to buy that just yet. His job now was to also keep her safe and he intended to treat that with seriousness it was due. It had been a long time since he'd had anyone to protect away from this dark and hungry manor...loathe as he was to admit it, he was enjoying Alice's presence.
As he guided her down the halls, he was pointing things...there were a number of portraits on the wall, of past Lords and Ladies of Lascar who trended towards hair of coal and piercing eyes that glared down. Damian sighed. "Yes, these always seem to be here to remind me of...predecessors...what came before..." He glanced at Alice quickly. "Would you be in requirement of a map?" He asked with a slight tilt of his eyebrow. "...It's a confusing place. I'd not have you lost, Alice..." he said while they reached the glass door that led to the garden. The sky was beautiful today, the tendrils of dawn shining down as the sun rose. And the gardens...
Flowers of every color known to man, extensive grounds outside the manor with sculptures formed of golden leaves and adorned with flowers of fire-red and deep sea-blue. There were sculptures of ice that glittered like umelted diamond, facets pulsing all through the sun...as Damian felt something there.
"Alice," he said, gentle but firm. "I shall handle this." He stepped forward, eyes flicking back and forth as the manor seemed to rumble with all the intensity of an earthquake. Hungry and fast, it seemed to reach out, Damian extending a hand to silence the manor...there was something strange about it...like it was attached to Alice, enjoying her taste.
No, it was more than that. It had to do with what he had felt in her. But what that meant, he had no idea anymore. His brow only furrowed before he detected the source of his discontent. "Come out, brother..." he said and lifted a hand to deflected a burst of power.
"Ah, so you have let your guard down..." From the hedge maze a man emerged, a younger version of Damian with a cocksure swagger to him, his arms folded over his narrow chest. "The biscuits weren't bad. My thanks to you, Dame."
"And a good morning to you, Julian," Damian said in a frosty voice. "I trust you have greeted the dawn well."
"Not upset I made the house shake a bit? What would mother say to see you mismanaging it so?" Julian grinned icily. "...And where's the new little arrival?" He gazed about. "She must be interesting for you to hide her so."
"Enough," Damian said. "Civil tongue in your head, brother...be courteous to my guest."
"Guest seems a rather kind word...oh, is she...there?" Julian's eyes fixed where Alice was hiding. "Oh, come out....you might as well be considered part of our household by now!
OP
OP
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
☾ ⋆⋅✩⋅⋆ ☽
Alice had never known enough about magic to really understand what it took to become a master of it. Some men were lucky enough to simply be born with their powers while others needed to work hard at it. That seemed logical enough, it was just like any other trade or skill in that way. She wasn’t sure if his display of colorful lights was meant to impress her. Alice had already watched him animate the whole kitchen; not that she didn’t appreciate the prismatic effect he was creating before her eyes.
He became distracted with her own home, and as much as she wanted him to care earlier, she waved her hand at him. From what she could tell, Damian was quick to jump from subject to subject. Maybe he was just hyper, but she didn’t want to waste her voice for a second time. “Let’s save that as a story for later. The day is young and we have things to do, right?” she said, reminding him of that tour he wanted to give her. She needed a mental map of the place. Alice had to get her bearings in the Murder house if she was ever going to navigate it, or possibly escape it. She wasn’t sure why the idea had so suddenly presented itself.
As she sat at the table and he continued to quiz her with what would make her comfortable, she nearly gritted her teeth. Why was it always that question? It was already established that they were a crazed, controlling bunch of mages that lied and cheated their way to any goal they had. What game was he playing? Maybe the entire Lascar family was in on it and she was just a toy to them. A little mouse trapped in the maze of their home with no cheese in sight. Well, he had cheese. The baker took her last bite of food and wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin. “It was good. Thank you for that,” she told him. She supposed he did a good majority of the work, afterall. She couldn’t tell if he was impressed enough with her food to allow her to participate in more meal preparations. His face wasn’t the easiest for Alice to read.
A firm arm held her up, and she was thankful, to an extent, since there were likely many other alternatives in which he could have chosen to walk with her. His concern for her leg made him more human, and his features could be confused for kindness, but Alice had to keep reminding herself he was a snake. He’d basically told her that much before, in her given room. As they walked, Alice attempted to memorize each turn and doorway; every room a new place to add to her confusing, mental map. As though he was reading her mind, Damian asked if she needed a map. “Does such a thing exist? I’ve never been in a place that required a map just to find my way around.” she said carefully.
The Gardens.
Well, they were lovely. Alice hid behind that bush, practically holding her breath as she took it all in better. She’d never seen such a place before. Alice wasn’t even convinced all of the flowers were real. How could they be? The woman had easily forgotten Damian telling her to hide. There were flowers everywhere, sculptures not of marble, but ice. Despite the grey sky, the warm beams of sun pushed through the drab and flowed down in a soft yellow light, giving even more life to the plants that surrounded her. Who could possibly tend to such a place? They must have a gardener. A shimmer of gold caught her eye then. Alice turned to her right, finding a sculpture knitted together by golden leaves, offset by the deep hues of blues and reds like glittering gems that’d been turned into flowers. Curiously, Alice took a step closer to it.
The manor rumbled and caused her to turn her gaze back to it. Was it an earthquake? She squinted at the manor suspiciously as her feet remained firmly on the ground. The ground wasn’t shaking, just the building. Why would it do that? Damian said the house was asleep but it didn’t look like it was. Was it hungry again? Damian’s voice cut through her thoughts. As much as she wanted to look at the garden, she found the Arch Mage a distracting sight. His hand raised and seemed to repel something and the— blast? — caused his open tunic to flutter away from his chest even more than it already was. Brother? Alice needed a moment to come back to the present situation and away from—
Alice swallowed hard as she pulled her eyes off of the mage only to find— a twin? She couldn’t tell. He had subtle differences. He was thinner, scrawnier. His face lacked the subtle lines from age. Dame? Alice pursed her lips as she folded her own arms across her chest, mirroring his stance. The baker could handle disrespect, but to talk about her food so offhandedly was a proper insult.
“Shouldn’t you pesky crows be back in your nest? It’s early for squawking birds such as yourself. Did you have something you needed from us or shall you be taking your leave?”
Julian. That was the deceitful one, if she remembered correctly. It was too hard to remember everything. “I assure you, I am not hiding. But, you were not invited. Perhaps you could try coming back after you learn some proper manners.” she suggested.
✴