Welcome to Gaia! ::

Maeve's dimly candlelit study is as cramped as ever, overrun with books, with maps pinned to the wall and paintings of Chosen and their Guardians, with the various ledgers piled on the desk: everywhere a state of carefully-controlled chaos. She gestures Jessica to a chair, and as Maeve sits she runs a hand thoughtlessly over the wood carving on the corner of her desk: the buck striking the wolf. She does it as though it's a habit, or a good-luck ritual.

"I've been an acquaintance of your older brother for some time. He takes his responsibilities very seriously, does he not?"

Perhaps she'd only brought Jessica in to interrogate her about Talbot; perhaps she is simply avoiding a personal inquisition right off.

Maeve takes up a cup and opens a heavy ledger on her desk--one of three. She begins flipping the pages with her free hand as she speaks.

"And what of you? How seriously does the influence of your father cause you to take your own responsibilities?"

"You need to abandon that apology habit," Maeve says severely, absently scanning a page of signatures. "In any case, it is good that it is not his influence that sways you one way or another, but the question then is: how seriously do you take your responsibilities? This time on your own merits." The way she stresses the word responsibilities suggests that her definition of the word is not the same as Jessica's father's.

At Jessica's sudden fervor she smiles approvingly; then she hesitates, fingers tightening around the handle of her cup, but does not pursue the topic--Talbot's "unique" views--that had apparently caused the momentary distraction.

"And what," Maeve asks, leaning forward slightly, "would you say those responsibilities are?"

It's a shame she's Chosen. With enough rouge and some curl to her hair--and something lower-cut--Maeve could offer her a spot in the front windows of an evening. She'd earn her keep. The thought--as habitual as breathing--comes and goes. She leans back, gently brushing her fingers over the antlers of the carving on her desk,

"You can feel free to give him this information or withhold it, but I think on the whole you have a clearer and more noble view of your responsibilities than your brother has. Although I believe he is coming around." She steeples her fingers absently against her chin, regarding Jessica with a keen eye and paying no heed to the sudden muffled, distant shriek of Finnavair below.

"For what it is worth though, I believe that happiness is less of a concern for us than fitness for our given tasks. What those tasks might be..." she waves a hand vaguely. "What do you think Iskierka's skills are? And what are yours?" And the first question, surely, must have been amply answered outside, but she asks it anyway.