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The door to the lounge opened, the young man who entered spinning in and then halfway out again with the words, "Sorry, didn't realize anyone was in-- oh, Ms. Darnell." Percival Prowley, Assistant Principal, was not in the habit of dining with others, which was why he had chosen to take his lunch early, ahead of the crowd. He had not realized his timing coincided with Beatrix Darnell's off period for the day.

With an ease borne of years working as a servant in a noble household, Percival balanced a platter of pheasant and baby red potatoes in one hand and a bottle of red wine and a glass in the other. the plate, and the food, were from the cafeteria. He normally would have brought something from home as Beatrix did -- he was quite picky about the materials used in food preparation -- but Reginald had talked him into trying the cafeteria. "It's fully-staffed and stocked to Corporation's standards, and free to bone," said Reginald, employing a regional colloquialism. "You may as well try it because Mol isn't going to make you lunches much longer." Molly, Reginald's wife, was pregnant and cutting back on the housework. Making lunch for Percival was top at the list of things that needed to be done with.

Percival hovered in the door, not quite sure if he should make the trek up to his office on the fifth floor after all. The pheasant would probably go cold. Beatrix seemed harmlessly respectable from her job interview, but one could never tell. He was not bothered by her blindfold or her actual blindness (his years in the Imperium had taught him to be accepting of far stranger oddities), he was simply reluctant to sit down with anyone he still counted as a stranger.

If there was one thing Percival could not resist, it was a cup of tea, same as any other Englishman. "I don't mind if I do," he said, and abandoned all thought of returning to his office. The door swung closed behind him and he tucked it into place with his shoe. "If it's not any trouble." But he had already very much decided and was setting down his wine and his plate and arranging a ridiculous number of forks and knives for what was, despite the extremely high quality, a cafeteria lunch.

"One lump, if you please," said Percival, stating clearly he was not presuming to be a member of the upper class, but he firmly did not belong in the lower. That, and he liked his tea a tad less bitter than black. He added almost in afterthought, "Vice Principal." Stating he also did not presume himself to be in charge of the Liberty Center any more than he actually was. His tone was gently polite, the same voice he might have used to correct his former master James from taking a knife to the salad in the middle of a fine dinner.

Percival sat down straight after, a little upset he had not managed to hold out her chair, but Beatrix was so efficient and authoritative he did not dare contradict her -- at least not where her own self-reliance was concerned. He had seen many times how people could get upset or even angry if they thought you were helping them because of a disability, even if it was completely untrue. Sometimes people had to overcompensate for their shortcomings. Even Percival was guilty of doing it. "Would you mind if I said grace?" He also know that sometimes even that could be offensive. Oh, the hidden trials of traveling so far afield from his native Victorian England.

"For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful, amen," said Percy in a surprising rush, as if he did not truly mean it but had been raised to say the words at each and every meal with unfailing obedience and would be shamed by not doing so. He barely so much as batted his eyes and nodded. It was a strange dichotomy, first asking for permission to display his faith and then doing it shoddily.

Percival cut into his lunch with delicacy and using all the right utensils, asking as he did, "Have you so far been satisfied with your posting?" He would never presume as to show enthusiasm like an American colleague or Sadanobu Iijima. No, this was true British tradition of making the best of the worst and the worst of the best and ending up with decency in all matters.

"I wouldn't presume to know," said Percival, torn between cattiness and despair at the fact there was so much going on he had absolutely no idea about. "This isn't really my main job, I took the position on as a favor. They needed someone to handle all the paperwork. I don't really like children." He scrunched up his face with distaste, remembering all too well the many torments of his own childhood. Children could be cruel, and he did not think he would ever be able to forgive them for it.