XXI

rove-bogge​:

Rove looked up at the question. “I’m ok at potions…it’s not my strongest subject.” He murmured while writing notes on the reaction to the liquid being added. Raising a brow at Lilia’s last question.

“Seems so…” He grumbled before working on mixing the next reagent after flicking through the pages to look up multiple different types of growth potions they could use. He mused over them for a moment before deciding on which one to use and started mixing.

Locke curled up on his head seemingly watching the pair work with an attention span past a normal bug’s level. his atenie seemed to flick along with Rove’s reactions to the potion.

“I wonder if worms wart will help with the speed of the growth…it normally is a good reagent for speeding up reactions. And it does help make the potion more palatable for sentient beings.” He mumbled half to himself more than Lilia.

He looked at Lilia tapping his magic pen against his cheek boredly while waiting for the others’ opinion.

his disinterest in the task at hand seems to be all the permission that lilia needs. the directions were laid out plain as day, though it was left to the two of them to intuit what it was that they needed to produce the results asked of him. he’d combined a handful of materials that he thought would benefit the mixture already, though a single glance at any other table would suggest that others had taken a sufficiently different path. he supposes it’s only to be expected.

up to this point in term, they’d been walked through a short list of species but had barely begun to scrape even the depth of lilia’s personal knowledge.

there were materials now that he knows of that have been banned in at least a handful of countries, though they were but commonplace before, and he’d already hastily shoved them into the mouth of the flask.

he fiddles with the bubbling mixture, swishing it about in the glass while rove turned his attention to the next reagent to combine with his. he quite liked this purple color, though he doesn’t expect it is sufficient enough to produce the results asked of them. “worm’s wart?” lilia parrots back, carnelian gaze sweeping in the other’s direction for a beat as he picked up on his mumbling. yes, he made a good point. it could speed up the reaction, but what they had ... “that would be an excellent idea, but i’ll do you one better.” 

clapping a hand onto rove’s shoulder ( but mindful to not inadvertently crush locke ), lilia idly dug his fingers into one of the adjacent containers to produce a handful of dried herb and stuck his finger into the mouth of the flask to force them in. "there is an herb called supri sebeich; it’s blue with red thorns and grows in a section of the gardens that is largely left unoccupied. it’s parasitic and somewhat sentient, so i’ll need you to work it out with this.” he hands over a shovel.

not a trowel, but a shovel. 

WINTER THEMED SENTENCE STARTERS.

what was in a name? it was said among the mortal ken that they should never share their names with a fairy, for those waspish and distrustful beings wield them as deftly as any blade. the best defense against this, they say, is to give a pseudonym, but not one that is a complete lie as it is in the better interests of humans to not lie to a fairy for fairies, in all their familiarity with mischief and trickery, knew when a lie was a lie.

a nickname or just their given name should suffice, though he has heard tale of younger fae, foolish and angry, that have been slighted by humans that called themselves myself; "it was myself who harmed me!" "it was myself who wronged me!"

these were, once, the rules of the old world.

he still hears whispers of them by the children familiar with their kind. stories that they learned from parents and grandparents that are weighed in equal parts superstition and cynicism, for there is little that remains in this world that is unknown and still so much more that is. unfortunately, he has no use for human names now in his old age.

so, none come to mind as he stands here, gloved hand cradling the rounded-out cheek of a snowman whilst sitting on the shoulders of his heartiest charge: sebek.

he feels as if though they'd made a snowman every year since their paths converged, but it was alarming to realize that it had been some five or six years since sebek and silver were children and they'd done this last. the snow that fell on sage's island these last few days was insult to injury, given the situation that forced everyone into the ramshackle house, but it was an inadvertent blessing in this and other ways. lilia strokes his chin silently as he considered his answer, humming the tune of frosty the snowman to himself. and after a beat, he answers plainly: "snowy."

troisfleur:

where:  heartslabyul dormitory, rose maze. when:  time unknown, against the setting sun. who:  @brawlrog. ♣️

IT STARTS LIKE THIS:  Trey’s got notes sprawled out against one of the common room tables and a textbook balanced on his lap, off the heels of a relatively quiet day. The metaphorical Vice Housewarden hat’s been hung in his room, untouched all day with nothing needing his attention, and the literal cap on his head is off-center, tipped forward to hide his furrowed brow as he’s lost in thought. There’s more room and peace to be had in his dorm—an inarguable fact—but there’s a certain feeling in his gut when things have gone a little too well. This is a better spot to watch his peers come and go.

It’s rarely an unfounded gut feeling, either, but no one pays him much mind other than polite greetings as he’s working through equations. This type of math’s never come naturally, and although it’s cumbersome by hand, it’s easier to check if he shows all his work—

“Um, Trey?”

There it is. That tone freshmen take with his name in their mouths, equal parts desperation and fear when need something and anticipate punishment. He holds his breath. He closes his eyes while his expression’s hidden from view.

He looks up with a smile, pushing the brim up with a flick before pushing his glasses up his nose with a smile. “What’s up?”

The freshman’s sorry state says it all, pink shirt streaked with mud and a few new holes and bruises surely smarting from ornery beaks.

The flamingos.

It’s how Trey ends up with a pocket full of seed and ears to the wind, jacket shrugged off with his things and shirt temporarily magicked a lovely pink to match the colors of the setting sun. (There’s no rule against corralling flamingos in white, but feeding them makes the birds far more willing to listen, and Trey would rather be safe than sorry.)

He’s stepping lightly, knowing if they’re in a particular mood, unless he starts with an offering they’ll easily hoist themselves over the hedges. It’s poor form to simply cut through the shrubbery, too—mostly because they’re thick, beloved and well-maintained by decades of students before him, which means in the matters of herding them, it pays to check around every corner. Trey can’t say he knows the maze by heart, but he can leave seeds out at every corner, and it’s but a simple flick of his wrist, magic pen in hand, to have Paint the Roses change clusters of leaves to a temporary stark-white.

He’s got an hour before it becomes too cumbersome to see, and about that long until the arrows fade, and ten minutes of walking finally has his ears perking up at the haughty honks of their beloved dormitory mascots.

One corner rounded to meet a dead end. The blue mass of feathers is unmistakable, sitting now that it’s had its fill of running freshmen ragged and escaping. Trey keeps his back to the corner, fishing out seed and scattering it around said corner.

And then he waits, and can only hope for a little cooperation from his feathered friend.

flamingos are herd animals. flock animals, if semantics are to be involved. though they have their downturned beaks and long, spindly legs, they are creatures that find safety in numbers and gather together to dissuade predators from nearing them lest they wanted to face a veritable onslaught of beaks and feathers. it is pleasantly appropriate then, lilia thinks, to compare the students of heartslabyul and the flamingos they so shelter in equal terms.

careful observation over these last few months has confirmed that comparison true. there are few times that he’s ever really truly seen any member of that house by itself, save for the occasional stray chicklet that’d gone off its course.

kalen, he subscribes this role to with little remorse, in addition to the dorm’s precious first years and spirited troublemakers, trappola and spade.

he understands it, of course, as the dormitory itself could be seen as prey when compared to the others. where savanaclaw had brute strength and where octavinelle boasted of its ingenuity, heartslabyul had its infinite rules and absurd kangaroo court. what should he expect of a bird of prey than to run at the sight of those cleverer, stronger than they? 

( he knows they too have strengths of their own, but he knows that there are no masters of their craft—only jacks-of-all-trades. )

the freshmen make haste to report in to their superiors when the flamingos tromp around the dormitory’s rose gardens with little hesitation. it appeared that their previous dwelling had been temporarily disrupted and the birds were startled enough to flee outright. he’d thought it entertaining, watching those children run around for fear of meeting a temporary execution, though he thought it a great deal funnier that he is certain that they will not blame themselves but each other. “oh, to be young,” lilia hums, idly chewing on a cherry and pushing out the pit with little effort.

this observation is no less true to the house’s upperclassmen too.

though, he has watched them less than he has watched the others. lilia only sought that which amused him and he cannot be amused by children too used to being kept on a tight leash. vice housewarden clover is dreadfully good at it. he is no flamingo. but, to call him a predator that bares his fangs in the same way that riddle rosehearts does—that wouldn’t be fair. tea cup is errantly flung to the side as he watches from on-high as trey entered the rose maze, fae humming idly to himself as seed is thrown and one blue-feathered flamingo is cornered.

“hm, hm, hm! ♪” he plucks the pit from his mouth, examines it for a moment, then aims at the bird’s feet: thwick! a flick of the finger and a newly formed crater is formed in the grass, sending the startled avian newly aloft on wing.

SEND 👥 FOR A HEADCANON RELATING TO BOTH OF OUR MUSES.

lilia is fond of long sleeves. his lab coat's sleeves are excessively long as is his coat, which he claims heightens his adorableness. upon meeting jamil, he can't say that he really understands the rationale behind having a sleeveless jacket. he initially thought it was a vest, but realized belatedly that it was a hoodie. sincerely curious what the appeal was, he once tore the sleeves off of one of his own coats. he doesn't understand the appeal and proceeded to foist aforementioned coat onto jamil. he did not ever, at any point, explain why he did any of these things and evades jamil at every opportunity when the topic is mentioned or the jacket is attempted to be returned.

THE TAPESTRY OF MEMORY.

silver tells him to not cook anymore. he does not tremble when he asks, those bright violet-blue eyes of his as clear as the day he'd found that child in the forest all alone. there is a part of him that thought to ask, indignantly, what was so wrong with his cooking? he has never allowed silver or sebek to be hungry and abided by the strict rule that all children should eat a veritable cornucopia of colors and flavors for their wellbeing. but, silver stresses that it is a matter of independence, that it is because he is not still that swaddled baby whose small hands grasped so tightly to his fingers in the cradle. vegetables and meat hiss when they meet oil in the pan.

the flames are carefully cultivated beneath the stove, but they are not his.

his cheek rests in his hand as he watches from their kitchen counter, half-lidded and uncertain as the flames briefly flare then fall again. silver is learning to control his magic better and better these days. sebek too, he thinks, though that child could not be asked to stand still in a kitchen for anything. pointed ears twitch slightly as he strains for the sound of his laughter in the forests that border the valley. ruby disappears behind closed eyelids and he smiles. children grow up so quickly, he thinks with muted amusement. how much time has he already lost? he remembers when malleus first hatched and the briar queen entrusted with him her child.

he'd nearly set everything on fire with just a breath.

he remembers too when sebek needed his help reaching for something on a shelf, trying to clumsily sneak a midnight snack after dinner.

silver—lilia watches mutely as that child attempts to make stir fry even as he's half-dozing off when he does. humans grew even faster than the fae, the half-fae: he'd known this when they took him into their care. they were so much more fragile, he thinks, that he'd thought he nearly broke him when he'd started training the two of them to protect the young dragon king. he hadn't feared it then. the consequences of what he could do, their fierce independence in service to the crown.

the knowledge that he set them on the same path of which he had been burdened.

it was the truth of things. but at the dawn of this new world where there is no fighting between human and fae, their prejudices aside—he knows that none of them will see none of what he had. he was not afraid that this burden would come before them again and so, to him in the end, they are just children. his, he claims most erroneously, that he wanted the best for. he reaches out for that child's face, lightly swiping away a stray bit of sauce that'd gotten onto his cheek. he laughs as child acts indignant. he is not afraid of knowing, of loving in the uniquely fae way the timeless way they do love.

"you do not need to grow up so quickly," he advises, as sebek and malleus come through the door. he is their guardian only in name.

only a father because silver insists on calling him that.

in this world, this new and wonderful world: the valley has no need for a soldier like him. in this world, this beautiful and peaceful world: they only needed lilia.

zigvoltage·:

THE CANDY IS HIS FIRST INDICATION OF MASTER LILIA’S PRESENCE,    the next part of the plan being:  he was off to fetch their  unknowing comrade.     when instructed to dig a hole in the  walkway  of their dormitory,   one would  generally  follow up with a  handful  of questions  —  looking for a purpose for such an off - putting request.   though there is no question of the  matters  of phase  one.   he takes the shovel dutifully,  and  without complaint,   gets to work.   if it  must be twenty feet,   then twenty feet it shall be;   not an inch more or less.   deep enough to  muffle voices,    the only indication of their arrival  following  the candy would be  fearful shrieks,   &  metallic tumbling.    

crouching to retrieve the treat,   his  reaction  to ember’s plight has a  slight  delay to it.    straightening himself,   sebek unwraps his reward for a  job well done  —  placing it in his mouth;    crushing  the entirety of the hard candy with one bite.   for someone who has  just  manually cleared a  few  hundred pounds of dirt,   he does not look worn.    the sleeves of his uniform rolled up,    caution  not to  tarnish  his bleached button - up in the process.   by now,   the shovel is   impaled  the ground at an angle  —  finished with his work.  

the circumstance  perhaps  not ideal  —  they should have been  accustomed  to meeting in strange manners.   his  place  was often at the foot of his lord,   or those adjacent;    to catch sebek alone was a  rarity  in itself.   “  you  would  say,  that was exactly twenty - feet,  correct?  ”    there  was no ruler for measurement,   but he was confident that it  must  be close.   to someone who had  just  fallen down it,   they may have had a better  idea  of whether or not it was of  perfect depth  as intended.   curiously enough,  it was not to  bring  harm to anyone  —  a  scare,   he supposed.   phase one from his  understanding  would be to carry out the manual labor asked of him;  easy enough,   &  it made for good exercise.  

“  MASTER LILIA,   he is ready for the next step.   ”   there is no trouble for him to project his  voice  from the bottom of the pit,   much to ember’s  hearing.   explanations in their dorm  often  were pointless to ask for;   in the rare occurrence that one was given. 

his descent, by comparison, is graceful. the toe of his shoe touches the bottom of the pit first, the tails of his coat following as he dusts himself off as if though he himself had fallen. lilia looks up at the surrounding walls and approaches one to lightly rap his knuckles against to ensure the stability of it whilst sebek goes to retrieve ember, whose voice is equal parts sharp and indignant as he accuses—and would be correct in saying so—him of kicking him into the pit.

“it would have taken too long to carry you down and sebek does not have a contractor’s license to build stairs,” he offers in way of explanation, but not clarification as lilia lightly taps the wall again.

ember was never truly in any danger.

he would have caught him if he had felt that there was any real threat to his life, but it was no small relief to know that the fall had been blunted as he’d hoped would happen. research suggested that a fall of greater than twenty feet would’ve outright snapped a human’s neck in half, so he’d walked back his initial thought to make the hole any deeper. ember’s survival suggested that this was just enough to frighten those of a weaker constitution, but not enough to shock and terrify. removing a glove, he scratches at the wall again with his nail before placing the flat of palm of his hand against it. magical pen in hand.

“close your mouth and look down.”

the walls of the pit rupture, dirt and gravel clearing in a cloud of dust as the sky disappears temporarily as a panel slides shut overhead. a snap of his fingers and flame finds its shape at his fingertips as fae gestures toward a newly formed extension to the pit. “shall we?” but, lilia doesn’t really wait before he starts walking into the makeshift labyrinth, his fingers lightly tapping at his chin before he inspects the path a second time. quickly and hastily done, but the ground was solid enough to hold its shape given to the depth that sebek had dug to. “heartslabyul has a labyrinth of its own, but it is delicate. pretty,” lilia begins. “but, halloween is not pretty, isn’t that right, my boy?”

he waves his hand dismissively, “so, the idea came to me: a labyrinth, deep underground.” he turns, a gleeful chuckle ripping through the path as he walks still. “falling twenty feet into absolutely darkness,” flame is extinguished. “then having to crawl and find your way out while at its center, the fairy of thorns lays in wait,” he yanks on ember’s arm. whacks sebek at the small of his back. “you wander and wander, but begin to wonder if there is any way out.” he urges them on into another room.

the only thing that lies there are two scarecrows that burn, photos eaten away by the flame that changes red hot and a ghoulish green. they are unrecognizable, but are—the smiles look the same, even if the people don’t.

a snake-like shadow creeps along the wall, the spine of it stretching unnaturally as a low and drawn-out cackle rips through the flickering light and he screams.

the lights flicker on. 

it was impressive work. really, it was. shovel swings idly, the weighty metal spade slicing through the air as deft fingers handle the handle. he hears tell of machinery that can dig up earth by the ton. the large, hulking things—lilia doesn’t care for them nor their operators. briar valley was somewhat lacking in electricity and technology, all things that the children in this place deign impossible when it was merely inconvenient.

no, he thinks with muted amusement; there are some things in this world that only human ingenuity and grit could accomplish. truly, he does not think he could have entrusted such an important responsibility to anyone else but sebek—that diligent and trustworthy child. always did take his words to heart, he did, and all the motivation he needed was the approval of their dragon king.

for him: no briars were too sharp, no task was too sisyphean.

it is kept private that malleus did not ask this task of the half-fae, who digs now so fervently in the great and vast pit that lies now before him at the mouth of their dormitory. the spikes that lay out at the gates are absent now, the terraces cleared of their natural fauna for them instead to be placed at the base of the pit. he hums gleefully, entirely too cheerfully as the toe of his boot finds a pebble at the edge of the hole. it falls harmlessly over the edge, a steep, vertical drop.

“only twenty feet, you’ll note,” lilia hums, digging through the pockets of his coat to produce a butterscotch candy. he places one in ember’s hand, then unwraps another for his own indulgence. crouching down at the edge, lilia tosses another for sebek down at the base of it. twenty feet—not steep enough to kill, but steep enough to terrify! “hehehe, now you see why we didn’t tell you what the first phase was?” he says, absently searching the pit for any signs of that familiar seafoam green and finding none in its inky depths. “do you think that you would’ve been able to keep up with sebek?” fangs peek out in a cheshire grin. the spade of his shovel smacks against the wall of the hole as fae rises up to his feet.

“it’s important for our student lives to collaborate, though, so i’ve saved a special responsibility for you, ember.” he hums, circling behind the other’s chair. it is improper etiquette to simply grab hold of a person’s wheelchair, he reminds himself, before taking a few steps back. so, he won’t. resting the sole of his shoe against the back of the frame, lilia draws his leg back and gives it one solid kick. the wheels turn.

“i will see you at the bottom!” 

and here’s a shrug, perhaps a little smirk of victory against small hint of stupor in unseelie orbs –perhaps because he was surprised himself, pyroxene’s lovely starlet, of those very words leaving his mouth at once, of their veridicity hitting perhaps a little bit too close to home.

he’ll wonder always, what he did wrong to deserve such boxing from great heads of entertainment, what kind of hand above adored seven themselves had hereby decided his own fate to be ode to humiliation of all efforts –he’ll always ask from time to time, looking at his father or lonely room’s mirror, letting thoughts simmer and sink deep until restlessness would take over tiredness of a day spent working hard with little to no result.

but he knew, dear vil, that giving up was not an option –not when world outside was oh so cruel and wouldn’t hesitate in dragging him down further if he ever dared staggering even for a split second.

not when acting was what he loved, more than an industry devoted to nothing that was passion.

“ but it’s also true that it’s not exactly advised to blatantly lie in front of the fae. so, an admission of mere human flaw surely doesn’t deny my efforts and achievements whilst keeping myself true. ” and to be fair, some of his so - called ‘colleagues’ were much more worthy of lies by omission than an upperclassman who never he’s seen disregarding even most trivial of needs voiced by fellow diasomnia housemates.

a trickster with good intentions, he’ll have to describe him.

with that laugh he felt tension melting away from all - too tense shoulders and queen of pomefiore finally allowed himself to chuckle along –verdant sound giving back some glimmer of tranquility to tired amethysts, back resting against rough bark of old tree ; it was nice, sometimes, to just feel like a young man of his age, something oh so rare when loved passion and work matched with ruthlessness of showbiz. “ i am pretty positive you will be able to tell i’ve found out my response. you’ve always been very observant of others, after all –and i’ll give you the exclusive on that, how does it sound ? ”

“well played,” lilia admits. there is something to be said here of the worthiness of the fair queen’s plight. he has never understood it, but tries to make sense of it here and now: the utterly too human desire to outlast even yourself, a legacy that the world can marvel at once you and yours are gone from this earth. the utterly too human desire to prove that you, yourself, are worthy of their attention. but what then is there to speak of this life? the one that he shares by virtue of living, the one that he shares with lilia now: alone, singing wistfully and laboriously into the late hours of the night still only likely half-certain that trying is enough. is that what motivates him?

is that what drives him? or is it the denial of that which he feels is rightfully his?

the question of if:

                             of what, when he fails again and again—

                                                                    “i will work hard and prove my worth.”

he does not claim to understand the trappings of the gossamer world that the schoenheits lay their claim to. but, he wonders, be it of his own curiosity or his private, but budding affection for vil: what graceless fall awaits pyroxene’s queen if he finds that all this effort amounts to nothing? ( lilia was a child once; he sought glory, approval for his talents. ) he thinks that this too might be beautiful.

but, in the end, lilia says nothing of this.

it is late, after all—much too late to be considering anything more than this, their conversation having veered from polite discussion into something weightier than he believes either party intended. a commonplace occurrence, he’s realizing, the more and more he talks to those outside of his children and their child prince.

to his final words, lilia says nothing but digs through the pockets of his weighty coat for a butterscotch candy and a throat lozenge to drop in starlet’s hand.

“it is nearly midnight; maybe you ought to get some rest,” he continues without waiting and lilia turns his back to him. he stops only to look over his shoulder, offering a cheeky grin in way of a goodbye before making for the room that houses the mirrors so that he could return before silver finds him out of the dorm. “after all, you don’t wish to sing so prettily at this hour. the fairies will make you sing and dance all night.” he laughs, his head tipping backward as he looks to the moon that hangs high overhead like a prop on a stage.

crossedtheline:

It’s hard to keep himself from snapping suddenly, watching Lilia laugh at him. He feels his cheeks starting to burn red with embarrassment as it grows more and more difficult to maintain his dignity. Trying to go through his usual strategies for mitigating anger is becoming more and more difficult with every passing insult. He has nothing to prove. He has to keep it together right now, because Lilia’s just being a jerk on purpose.

“Come on. Did you just wake up today and decide you wanted to be a dick?” He sighs and tries to tamp down his anger. It was going to do him no good to get flustered by this, and he knows it. 

But Lilia was being so annoying. It’s like it’s his job to go around irritating unsuspecting students just trying to make it to class. Maybe it was his job if Rook was anything to go by. When they took the job as vice housewarden, they both must have signed some clause that said they had to be as annoying as possible to everyone around them. This was the only explanation. Either that, or it was just his bad luck that those two went to school at the very same time as him. 

He had stopped listening and now Lilia was pinching his cheeks. He grits his teeth and tries to stop himself, but fails miserably.

“Adorable? You look like a vampire. You look like a child, and sound like a grown man, and act like a grandpa!” He smacked Lilia’s hands away, “You’re like the answer to some weird riddle. Adorable? Is that what you think of yourself? Well, it’s good to be confident, but I’m inclined to disagree.” 

He huffs and realizes he was goaded into a reaction, which only makes him angrier.

“And hey, who even pinches someone’s cheeks anyways?!”

so quick to anger. lilia smiles a little wider, releasing his hands from the other’s cheeks when he’s swatted away. he takes no offense. the situation would be quite amenable if the same was true of jinx, but he lashes out instead by instinct as if though to protect himself from the indignities visited upon him. is there some small part of him that believes it then? that he is, as he had noted, as truly unremarkable as he says he is? the instinct to be sarcastic is ever present and it takes outright restraint to not combat jinx’s thorny remarks with something equally as petty.

he says nothing, even as he is called a vampire.

he laughs here, not nearly as maliciously as before.

of the great many things that do exist in this world, vampires are not one of them. in that same breath, he is called child, man and grandfather and lilia snorts now, his arms crossing over his stomach as fae pitches forward with delight. self-satisfied, he wipes a tear from the corners of his eye with a manicured nail. “aha!” an answer to a confusing riddle, too! he supposes he is all these things and more, but to have it be told to him so plainly and without restraint! “your housewarden could learn from you, anluan.”

once he gets his laughter out, he slips a hand into one of his pockets and digs out a wrapped butterscotch candy to place in the student’s hand.

a sign of approval, if there was one to be found from the fae.

rove-bogge:

Rove felt a bit more relaxed when Lilia started to show affection to his bugs. Though weary he lowered his guard slightly. Carefully returning Locke to his hair to burrow itself into, he reached into his bag pulling out a small sewing kit.

“Give me a moment…” He pulled out some safety pins and carefully rolled up Lilia’s sleeves neatly squaring them off and using a pin to hold them in place at the others elbows similar to his own lab coat leaving the stitch like birth marks on his arms at full display. “It would be hard to explain how you set yourself on fire if you left them down…” He chuckled slightly. “It would be very awkward to explain to your dorm that their vice warden is lost to burning sleeves…especially with the cheap flammable fabric…"  He smirked slightly Locke peeking out from his den of course dirty blonde hair to wiggle his feelers playfully at Lilia.

Rove looked down to the fly trap once he had secured Lilia’s sleeves.  “So what was the experiment again?” He asked.

lilia marvels with a near-silent curiosity. it strikes him as curious: he does not seem like the type to keep a sewing kit on hand. it does quite seem like the kind of thing that the likes of ignihyde students would’ve simply delegated to machines or something similarly tacit. hand-sewing was a relic of a foregone past in most countries, save briar valley. the pins neatly tuck his sleeves into place and, another quick glance at his sleeves, tells him that perhaps it is not in his best interests to inquire as to the reasoning for such sloppy stitch work.

( it would be amateurish to think such large, wide stitches were the product of an unpracticed hand if it is something to be seen. ) 

“oh, fire would not kill me,” he hums in reply, though lilia offers no additional explanation as he waves at locke once sleeves are pinned into place. fae turns his attention to the burner next, humming idly to himself as he places beaker into place before lackadaisically glancing at the liquids availed to them. he never did learn their names. “how familiar with potion work are you?” he asks. it is partially a way to fill the silence as he’d volunteered to do the work, after all, but it is also partially to determine if he’d stay his hand. 

rove has proven himself cautious. wary enough to know that the likes of diasomnia’s vice housewarden ought to be treated a little more carefully than those of his own house. it would be ill-advised to try and make him think that he is here to mock him too when they’ve already so acclimated to one another.

the crueler part of him thinks to feed locke to the plant once it’s grown.

mostrum:

The sound of glass shattering upon the ground leaves Azul speechless. It echoes infinitely in Azul’s ears, an unending resonance. He watches as the jars’ contents ooze from the shards, as raspberry jam trickles into hazelnut. The merman blinks downwards at the nauseating concoction beginning to form and he finds himself stupefied. There’s dissonance in the nerve that connects his sight to his brain, as if instinct itself forbade Azul to develop comprehension. He merely stands there aghast, mouth agape. Before him, Lilia kneels down to scoop the monstrosity. 

That’s his limit. That’s his limit. 

It’s as if the world unpauses itself. 

Sound implodes back to Azul’s senses— He hears the sickening squelch of condiments, Lilia’s condescending jeer about his origins, the scraping of a butterknife against bread, the pounding of his heart. For a moment, the world doses itself in blue. For a moment, he sees underwater trenches and the silvery glitter of bioflourescence. 

“That’s ENOUGH!”  Louder than the fracturing of glass is the shriek of an indignant mer, his gaze sharpened into a vile glower. Azul bristles with newfound hostility towards the fae, towards the mockery that his upperclassman had sought to make of him. “I won’t stand by and tolerate this ridiculement!” Yes, he could swallow down being spoken to as if he were an adolescent fry— Lilia does so towards everyone, as he finds. It’s non-bias. It’s the sheer audacity that the fae had exhibited, of putting his origins of being a restaurateur’s son into question, and then implying that he should eat off the floor that sets Azul off the edge. 

Even Floyd, with his notoriously capricious personality, would never be so blatantly disrespectful. 

“I may not be fae like you, but I haven’t done anything to receive such flagrant acts of incivility! You understood what I meant when I asked you to put those jars down, Lilia.” His hands ball into quivering fists, teeth nearly bared. “You understood my concern, my desire to share a civil conversation, and yet go trampling all upon my efforts— For what purpose, exactly? Is it my presence itself that you find so abhorrently repulsive? Do you think of me as a man so pathetic that I would be eager to eat your filth off the floor?” His scowl deepens.

“I could alert the cafeteria ghosts of your behavior,” Azul reminds, “But you wouldn’t dare harm Diasomnia’s reputation with a vandalism report, now would you? I heard it could– and will– reflect poorly upon Mr. Malleus’ leadership. That’s not something you can afford, now is it?” 

head bows involuntarily at the sudden and abrupt shrieking that leaves merman’s lungs, a surprising revelation if nothing else from this one-off encounter. he supposes the magic that allows the students of octavinelle to tread land is a powerful magic indeed. powerful enough, at least—to grant them a volume at which he’s almost certain only dogs can hear. what magic, he thinks with quiet amusement as he picks out the shards of glass from the assortment of dips and spreads and pastes.

it smells awful, but he does not allow his attention to leave the baguette as azul berates him and he laughs.

taking a bite out of the baguette, lilia hums to himself.

it’s sour and sweet. a textural nightmare, he thinks, and something he most certainly can’t share with silver, though his dear son roils at the mere thought of his cooking at every mention. finishing it, he turns and picks up another half-finished baguette before kneeling down with the same butter knife and combining a new, equally unappetizing spread to sate his own curiosity. azul was quicker to anger than he’d thought, fairy thinks to himself, and here he thought the child would play the part of a much beleaguered gentleman a while longer. it appears he’s caused offense.

“hm?” he answers, standing once more with a newly decorated baguette in hand. a chocolate ganache paired with pickled radishes—“i don’t recall saying anything uncivil, azul,” he murmurs, eying the way that the juice slides slimily against the side of his hand. maybe he should’ve taken off his gloves before he’d gone ahead and made this monstrosity. “i have heard of your family’s heritage in the culinary arts and i only mentioned that would be a reflection of your own refined tastes.”

slit pupils sharpen in the darkness.

“what’s more, you said it yourself: we shouldn’t waste the headmage’s resources. i only followed your direction.” lilia picks out another piece of glass, eying it in the dim light of the kitchen before considering the implications. in less than a few seconds, he tosses the shard into his mouth and crunches. “hm? oh, that boy.” he waves off the threat, takes a bite of the baguette and chews.

this one is less offensive than the former. 

the tartness of the radishes goes some ways, though the chocolate ganache makes it inexplicably dry. “go on, then, if that's all you have to say. report me.”

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