Welcome to Gaia! ::

Jessie gently touched Evelyn's arm before she could leave, even as she kept her face averted. "Get some sleep. I expect to see you up for exercises at five tomorrow morning, along with everyone else. We have to begin strengthening your body."

Jessie watched her go, followed at a short distance by her entourage, before turning to begin dismantling the display once she was out of sight. It was practically dark. All but the last rays of sunlight had faded, transforming the atmosphere of the island from the warm amber of the sunset to the cold grey of evening. Gloria sat some distance away on the sand, knees tucked up to her chest, staring towards the remnants of the horizon. It seemed appropriate for how she was feeling.

He came and sat beside her. She might not have even noticed, he moved so quietly, but she was used to the gentle, barely-there shifting sound the sand made when he moved. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful. But I don't want to talk to you, so leave me alone."

"You're speaking Womanspeak. In Common, that translates to 'I hate you right now, you insensitive jerk.' What did I do this time, Gloria?"

"You KNOW what you did," she replied, burying her face in her arms.

"You mean Evelyn," he said. Gloria looked up at him directly, her eyes wide and questioning.

"Why HER?" she asked. She wasn't tearful or upset, or even angry. She just wanted to know. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know," Jessie replied, not sounding particularly serious. That alone made Gloria feel better. "She's a sweet girl, she's very pretty... you make it sound as if I'm planning this."

She could feel herself relaxing. She took a few moments to compose and calm herself before coming up with a reply.

"Well, that kiss earlier was the kind of impromptu Hollywood moment no mere mortal would dare to attempt. So yeah, I guess you're not planning anything. But she might be."

Jessie didn't know what she meant. She explained. "She's a naive little rich girl whose father sends out bodyguards to follow her every second of the day," she told him, as if it were obvious... which it was, really. "You think she's ever had a boyfriend before? You think daddy would allow it? You think she might not be expecting the guy who kisses her to be the one she ends up growing old with?"

"Ah," he said - and that single syllable alone conveyed several levels of 'Oh dear.' "I see. No, I hadn't thought about any of that."

"Of course you haven't thought about it. That's the problem with men," she said, giving a little gesture of annoyance. "Look at you, you're the most perfect guy in the world, and yet your brain is still hardwired to lose half of its blood when it sees a pretty girl."

"...I will admit, now that you've pointed all of this out to me, that I've probably jumped the gun."

"It's okay," she said, giving him a little smile, "Everyone makes mistakes."

"I wouldn't call it a mistake," he replied, "That would be doing a disservice to Evelyn. She's a lovely young lady. But yes... she deserves someone who's willing and ready to commit to her, not a near-stranger blinded by lust."

Gloria was silent for a few moments. Cressa's words were in her head again. But she couldn't stop herself. She moved a little closer to him. "Some of us are a little more open to near-strangers blinded by lust."

"I'm not a stranger to you. You know more about me than any of the others here, save Cressa."

His answer made her flare up with anger again. She knew that tone - that carefully placating tone. She wouldn't allow herself to be soothed this time, by that 'I'm-keeping-you-at-arm's-length' tone. "Don't dodge the topic, Jessie. Can't you see that I love you, and I want you, and I don't even care if I have to share you with Cressa? I know she came first. I know I'm like a third wheel on your relationship..."

Just like that, her feelings came pouring out. And just like always, Jessie's immediate response was to avoid the real topic. "You're not a third wheel," he said firmly. Which was true, and nice enough by itself, of course. But it didn't address the real problem, and he knew it - and all at once, he gave up trying. It was obvious, because his posture drooped a little. The guard came down. "You can't say that you love me."

"Why not?"

Jessie tried to come up with a reason that wasn't totally unfair, hypocritical, or compromising of her autonomy. In the time it took, she continued. "I know that I can't love anyone else now that I've met you."

"I'm seventy one years old, Gloria," he said, shaking his head, "And in my seventy one years, I've only been in love... before Cressa... twice. Each time, I thought I could never love again. Now, I have an amazing woman in my life I'd quite happily spend the rest of my days with to the exclusion of all others, if there's a god, and if they're willing. There's always a future, though you never know what it'll bring to you."

She sniffed. "Was that supposed to comfort me, or shut me down?"

A long silence passed.

"Cressa isn't the only amazing woman I know. I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about the possibilities between us, Gloria. You've forced me to confront them continuously, for some time now."

He'd said this all so quietly, with his face turned away from her, that she was ready to convince herself that he hadn't said anything at all.

"You're joking," she breathed. He looked at her, with the strange, deep look on his face that Gloria had thought was reserved for Cressa. It was as if he spent his life dodging bullets... and then at these moments, invited them in.

"I didn't want to give you hope," he said, with more than a pinch of rue. He definitely wasn't joking. "But it does pain me to see you so unhappy. The truth is, I do admire you very much. But can't you see? There are too many problems. I'm far too old for you. I can't commit to you as fully as you deserve-"

"Didn't I already say I don't care about commitment?" she jumped in, snappishly.

"Today you said to Cressa that you didn't feel like a non-monogamous relationship felt like commitment."

"Yeah, well, I've done a lot of thinkin' since then." She sighed. "Too much thinking. I've had enough for one day."

"It's been a long day," he agreed. Gloria began to get to her feet, and so he stood himself, like a shadow, and helped her the last few feet. And then she found herself in his arms, as he wrapped them around her and tightly held her there. "I'm so sorry for making you suffer. You deserve to be happy."

"What can I say?" she whispered, an unpleasant lump in her throat. "I owe everything I have to you. Even if nothing becomes of it, I'll... I'll still be your friend. Forever."

"And I'll always be yours," he said.

It sounded as if there was more on his mind. Gloria looked up at him. "What's up...?"

"Oh... nothing. I just... remember what it was like to be your age," he sighed. "So many dreams. You're still a child, Gloria. You don't see danger or disappointment until it hits you and breaks you in two. When you've lived, you start to see it everywhere."

She held on to him a little bit tighter... for as long as she possibly could.

"We should get inside."

Just a little longer, please...

Finally, she nodded, and slackened her grip. "...Yes... let's go."

Xei was ready to dismiss Evelyn's reassurances, but then she said that word.

"Adventure? But...so it would be. Who would keep Cressa and Deylin from blowing up the library though? Then again...they haven't blown much up recently, maybe it would be easy enough to spend a weekend searching... he mused.

"Yes, I'll do that! If you or anyone else wants to tag along, someone should know where to find me. I need to go figure out where this island could be" he said hurriedly, darting off for the library before his friend could reply. Over his shoulder, he shouted "Thanks, Evelyn!"

Slavery was not an occupation in the underworld. For the oppressed, it was a state of existence - and unfortunately for male dark elves, you couldn't get much more oppressed than "male dark elf."

Jessie was a slave by nature rather than circumstance, just like all the others. As he grew up and passed the rites of adulthood, however, his problems proved to be worse than many. Women desired him. He couldn't pass ignored through a crowded street, no matter how invisible he tried to convince the world he was. He didn't always manage to evade the keen eye for a good sale of a professional slaver, either.

"You, male. Come with me," a woman said to him one day, as they often did. He said nothing and followed, as he was expected to do in unspoken exchange for his life. How frustrating. He was going to be late returning home. Aunmysklyr would be worried. And this woman looked like she meant business, so he was certainly going to be waylaid for a few hours at least.

Things were not playing out so differently from a regular encounter, until, after some walking down unfamiliar streets, she led him into a shop, and then into a back room, where she and a woman she addressed as her daughter expertly stripped him of all his clothes and belongings and proceeded to take his measurements. All of his measurements. Suddenly, being a few short hours late didn't seem to matter. He didn't know whether he would ever see his home again.

I'm going to be sold, he thought, pushing back the biting jaws of fear. His future was never certain, but now it seemed less certain than ever.

There was nothing he could do, so panicking about it wouldn't make any difference.

They pushed him into a room crammed with about twenty other men, all of them dressed like him in a simple, threadbare loincloth made from cheap material. The metal door closed behind him with a loud clank, and the handful of men nearest to the door shuffled around to make a space for him to sit. He murmured his thanks and sat down.

"Be prepared for a long wait," one of them said to him, "The Mistress doesn't get much trade."

"I think he'll get lucky," said another, "The pretty ones always go quick."

They were a real mix, this collection the slaver had picked up over time; most were old and mature, but there were a few even younger than Jessie. One had been caught whilst playing outside a few short weeks after his ceremony - just fourteen. He cried quite a bit - not necessarily because he was young, but because he had more to cry about. It was unlikely anyone would want to buy him, as soon out of boyhood as he was. His chances of seeing the city again were more slim than anyone else's.

The older men took their imprisonment in their stride. Some of them had been bought many times. There was one other man Jessie's age - a little bit older at nineteen. He complained bitterly of growing up on the streets. Oh yes, he'd been sold more times than he could count. One of the older men was in an unusual situation. He was a poor farmer, bonded to a wife. They had two small children, and another on the way. He fretted and fretted, having been stuck in there for weeks now. He and his wife depended on each other to survive. She couldn't take care of their home or do any herding, heavy with child as she was. And the children would be missing their father. He had to get home as soon as possible. He prayed harder than anyone to be chosen, and the others prayed for him, too.

The Mistress of the shop would, from time to time, come in and choose a selection to display to a customer. Sometimes one or two would not come back. Sometimes, the transaction would be unsuccessful, and they'd all come back. Once a day, she threw in meat and bread for them to share. The men divided it fairly amongst themselves, but Jessie gave most of his shares up to the others. He was new and strong and well-fed; they needed it more. But as the days wore on, he started to wonder if he'd slowly waste away.

It had been about four days when he was finally chosen for display. He honestly didn't understand the logic behind the selection process, but then again, there was very little logic in their world anyway. He must have fitted the needs of the customer, and so he lined up on the cold, stone floor of the shop with two others, including the man just a little bit older than him. In front of them, a wealthy-looking woman wrapped in a black fur cloak, wearing ornate earrings and an ebony crown, eyed them all up and down.

"Those two - no," she said, sounding haughty and bored, "This one, perhaps."

The Mistress shoved a cane into his back, forcing him to step forwards, where his potential buyer examined him. She didn't take very long. When she spoke, she sounded impressed. "Very nice. My daughter could not have found a better one at any ball. Is he large?"

She stated his measurement. "Hmm. A little too large for her first time. Male, you will be certain to prepare her adequately before entering her."

Or you shall be punished went unspoken.

"I take it that you wish to buy him?"

"Most certainly. Your price?"

"Thirty gold pieces."

"Ridiculous! Twenty."

"I am offering you a very good deal, my lady. Such a specimen could easily go for fifty... in a more affluent area."

"Very well. Thirty."

"I have changed my mind - he will go for no less than forty."

Jessie's heart was hammering. Please, please let her stretch to the slaver's mark. He didn't care what happened to him. He just wanted a chance of going home.

Her nostrils flared for a moment. "Thirty five. No more."

"Thirty nine?"

"Thirty five."

"Thirty seven?"

"...Very well. You are lucky he is so beautiful, and my daughter's deflowering such an occassion, or I would not have budged from twenty."

They slapped him in manacles and the matriarch dragged him out of the shop. He followed her around unfamiliar marketplaces, trailing by his chains like a living bag of shopping - which, essentially, was what he was. He couldn't help but feel a little relieved. A deflowering was not so bad. Though it did, if he didn't distract himself, bring back the awful memories of his own. He tried to think of happier things, like finally returning home after this ordeal. But, surrounded by people in this unfamiliar part of town, he might as well have been a million miles from home.

The matriarch said nothing further to or about him, and left him in the hands of five other women when they returned to her attractive-looking manor. They scrubbed him, perfumed his hair and dressed him in fine ceremonial garb, which consisted of a long, silk loicloth held in place by a fine golden chain that hugged his hips, a golden collar bearing the family's insignia, a golden circlet and two heavy golden armlets. He was ritually purified in front of an altar, and then led to the bedroom.

"You will stand and wait here," the head maid told him, before leaving him utterly alone. He stood and waited, not daring to move. He just wanted it to be over.

The matriarch's daughter was not her heir - this girl must have been fifth or sixth in line. She was around seventeen, and not particularly attractive: she was short, skinny and too flat-chested, miles away from the amazonian drow ideal. She was also obviously nervous, and rather embarrassed that she hadn't been able to find her own mate. Jessie felt sorry for her, and he treated her very slowly, gently and sympathetically. She seemed to feel much better afterwards.

Then, it was finally time for his escape. No one stopped him from wandering the halls in search of the exit, though he did get lost, and eventually asked another male servant for the way out. Once outside, his elation was short-lived. He had no idea where he was. Dressed still in his revealing ceremonial outfit, he had no desire to get picked up again, but was even more at risk, so he kept to the dangerous back alleys and ended up on a reef overlooking the endless, still sea.

He sat there for some time, staring at the water and contemplating. At one point, he found himself pushing back a sudden onset of tears. Tears wouldn't help him find his way back. Tears wouldn't change what had happened, and all the things that had been done to him. Before he left the smooth, stony outcrop, he pulled off all of his fine gold accessories and threw them into the water's vast maw. Hopefully he would stand out a little less without them.

Navigating alleyways was a chancy business. The streets were full of rogues and antitribu: clanless drow, criminals, those who had committed unspeakable crimes and withdrawn from normal society. But they also didn't obey the normal rules of society, so he was safer there... marginally... in one sense. Groups of men and women gathered together around small fires. Some had made homes, decorating their small space of street with tapestries and sculptures. Eventually, he ran into what seemed to be a kind of black market, run by a man and a woman, who did their business whilst shooing off the nimble fingers of thieves. Jessie approached the man.

"Excuse me..." he said, "Do you have any cloaks in stock?"

"We have some in the back," he replied, gesturing back towards a partitioned area. He eyed Jessie up and down, wearing a nasty little smile. "I can't see how you could be carrying any money on that gorgeous person of yours, though."

Sigh. He could see where this was going, and could feel his mind walling itself off in preparation for what was to come. "You're right. I have no money."

"We accept other forms of payment. Please, come inside."

In exchange for his integrity, Jessie got a cloak. It was nothing special, but it was large, black, and hooded, and could cover him from top to toe, hiding his face and bare body from eyes who wanted more than he wished to give. This was how life went, for him, and for others. One thing in exchange for another. Your body in exchange for your life. Slowly, you give away so much of yourself that it loses its meaning. At eighteen, Jessie was still young, and the sting had not quite left... though it grew less day by day.

He wandered for hours, but his surroundings didn't grow any more familiar. He could have just asked someone. He could have asked them the way to House del Lo'Roud. Everybody would know. But he didn't know anyone. He didn't want to risk anything. He preferred to wander alone than to face giving a little bit more away in exchange for something so small.

A fountain in a square - music. A man was dancing there, but he wasn't drawing much attention from the passersby. All at once, Jessie could have cried with joy. He knew this man - he had been the consort of his Mistress, for several years before him. At first, he'd thought the man was strange, or vengeful towards him for taking his place from the strange way he regarded him, but he had helped him now more than once. Could he dare hope the man, who had been reduced to a prostitute because Jessie took his place, would help him again?

He came right up to his dancing space before he pulled down his hood. The man stopped dancing, but his musicians continued. "It's you! You frightened me for a moment. How have you come to wander so far from home?"

Jessie tried to speak, but instead he began to cry. He wasn't sure why the tears overwhelmed him at that moment. Perhaps it was because when he looked at the man, he had the strange impression that he was looking into a mirror. Hushing him, the other man ushered him back into his small resting tent and gave him a cup of hot, spicy tea. Outside, the minstrels kept playing. They had to make money too, after all.

The older dancer watched him drink with sadness in his eyes, set like rubies in his fine face, so like Jessie's own. "I'm sorry, child."

This made the tears overtake Jessie again. This time, it was from this man's generosity - his kindness. He was apologising for the cruelty of people and the world, when it was not his burden. He had no reason to apologise to Jessie, after all the kindness he showed him. It was not his business to care, and yet he did.

He gave Jessie his directions, and a slightly more substantial skirt to wear, and Jessie arrived home sooner than he could have prayed for. Aunmysklyr was upon him the moment he walked in through the door.

"Where have you been?!" she cried, in tears herself, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He hugged her back with equal vigour, grateful to whatever being that watched over them for this.

"I was sold..." he said quietly, when they'd both calmed down a little. She looked at him with her eyes full of pity.

"Oh, my darling..." she whispered. There was not much more she could say. And he was late returning to Lo'Roud - by two days, in fact. Tsabyl must be worried, too. And his Mistress... he didn't want to think about her.

After a bath and a meal, and finally wearing some proper clothes again, he made the fastest sprint to the House he ever had. First on his agenda was finding Tsabyl, shortly followed by apologising to each of his masters in turn. But almost immediately as he stepped inside the soldiers' gate, he was stopped by the two guards on duty. He knew them both - they were not in his regiment, but they'd met.

"Drisdril, there you are," one said. "Your Mistress commanded that you be brought to her as soon as you arrived."

His heart dropped like a stone.

"Am I allowed to walk?" he asked, feeling utterly hollow.

"No."

And so, the two other soldiers seized him under each arm, one either side, and carried him off into the house, through the familiar passages, and up into the heiress' quarters, where she was having tea with two of her sisters. When they entered, however, she immediately abandoned her meal and stormed up to them, stalking across the room as if going in for the kill. Jessie had always thought, from the moment they met, that she resembled a wolf. She had bright, pale lilac eyes, and a way of contorting her face when she was angry that resembled a growling beast. Today, she was furious.

"Where have you been?!" she demanded, but unlike Aunmysklyr, she didn't really care. She brought back her hand and smacked him, and then did it again, and again, as the two men held him in place. Jessie accepted it, eyes closed.

They released him, and he felt her take his burning face in both of her hands. "Well?! Where have you been!"

She hit him again, holding his face in place with her other hand. And then, in her rage, she grabbed his hair and pulled it as hard as she could, utterly vicious, yanking his head back so far he felt like his neck would break. He might have answered sooner if he didn't know her better. She wanted this beating badly. It had to get out of the way before anything else. Down on the floor, she kicked him and scratched him. When she had finally calmed down a little, he replied. "I fell foul of a slaver, my lady..."

This gave her pause. Her lupine eyes narrowed. "A slaver. A slaver?! Which slaver? Where?" He described the location. "I know of the place. Everh'vrae, send soldiers to raid the establishment."

Still seething, she headed back to the table and up-ended it, sending food and china flying all over the room. Then she sat down, arms folded. "They were unfortunate to try and make a profit off my pet," she said, "It shall be their undoing. Take him to the bedroom."

They hauled him back to his feet, carried him in and dumped him there on the bed, where he sat and waited, feeling utterly numb - inside, at least. His face and his body still ached from their abuse. At length, when she didn't appear, he shuffled back and made himself more comfortable on the bed, and removed his shoes, leggings and shirt in preparation for what was to come. Finally, after what felt like hours, she came in through the door, hunched like a stalking animal, and shut it behind her. She came and sat on the edge of the bed, folding her arms again. This alone was enough to tell him she was still angry as a furnace, if it didn't exude off her like armour covered in spikes.

He had to say something. "Are you unhappy, Mistress?"

"I am utterly unhappy," she replied, "You missed a very important dinner I was supposed to attend. Who else was I supposed to bring? None of them are as good as you. You made me look bad."

"I would never displease you on purpose, my love," he whispered, bowing deeply from his kneeling position. She turned and clouted him around the back of the head.

"Don't make excuses!" she hissed, "Slaver or no slaver, you made me look bad. I can't do without you. You know that. Why didn't you try to come back sooner?!"

She'd never see how hard he had tried. She couldn't see how tired he was, or how unhappy, or afraid. She never did. He should have apologised and told her how much he had missed her while he was in captivity, but the lies stuck like a lump in his throat and would allow nothing else to pass. She sighed, drew closer to him and began to run her fingers through his hair. "I think it's time to get you a collar. If we'd gotten you one sooner this wouldn't have even had to happen."

"I agree with you, Mistress," he said - though he always said that, whether he agreed or not. A collar would be a mixed blessing. Women would no longer approach him, knowing what they were potentially messing with. But he would belong to her then, truly, officially, as her consort... and the thought always made him feel sick.

"You should," she said nastily, drawing back again. "Get on the floor. You haven't been punished enough for the suffering you've caused me. I'll show you what suffering is!"

Jessie made sure to scream a little for her benefit whilst she administered his well-deserved flogging. She didn't like her pet to be too quiet... and when he screamed, it was a reminder to himself that he still existed, even as his mind brought down the portcullis and shut him away from the crack of the whip.

Saturday afternoon, Evelyn was laying lazily around on her bed, with Gilroy laying at the foot, across. She had her feet propped up on his stomach, as she read a book aloud to him. Armin sat in a chair in the corner, slightly dozing.

“’And now,’ said Mr. Beaver, pushing away his empty beer mug and pulling his cup of tea towards him, ‘if you’ll just wait till I’ve got my pipe lit up and nicely – why, now we can get to business. It’s snowing again,’ he added, cocking his eye at the window. ‘That’s all the better, because it means we shan’t have any visitors; and if anyone should have been following you, why he won’t be able to find any tracks.’”

Evelyn closed the book and set it down in her lap, and rested her head back against a pillow, a soft smile on her lips.

Gilroy grabbed her uncovered foot and began tickling it. She giggled, squirming and wriggling, as he amused himself. “Who said you could stop reading, Evie? Who said?” he managed to get out inbetween laughs.

“It’s—ha ha ha ha ha—not my—ha ha ha—fault! Ha ha ha ha—the chapter ends!”

“Roy, first off, you’re disturbing my nap, and secondly, I really, don’t want to have to report to her father that she got hurt on my watch by tickle-attack,” Armin chimed in. Gilroy pulled his hands away, but the pair continued laughing, Armin joining this time around.

When the trio finally settled down, Gilroy looked at his best friend expectantly.

“What?”

“Are you not going to continue reading?”

Evelyn threw a pillow at him and the laughter began anew, this time with pillows and more tickling.

It was the usual atmosphere in the Music Room this afternoon: quiet and relaxing. Forte was once again in the room, and although she had her music book with her, for some reason she wasn't playing the piano or the organ.

She stood in the center of the room, staring at a small stereo she had found. It was on top of the table in the sitting area, the radio station playing random hits.

The musician sighed, frustrated, crossing her arms.

"Ugh, it vexes me so when uninspiring music is all they play," she said to herself as she tapped her foot impatiently. "I planned on hearing good music when I arrived here today...."

She turned on her heel and headed to the piano seat, intending on a quick rest. It was then that the next song was announced.

"And now, comin' to you in the next few seconds is Jessie J's great hit, Domino!"

Halfway through her stride, Forte turned back around to face the stereo as the first few chords of the song began to play.

Beneath my feet is carpet, she thought. But...it'll have to do.

Almost instantly, the girl began to move. She spun around in the empty space of the room, dancing freely. Her moves were executed in perfect time and rhythm with the song. At times they were so fast and quick they weren't visible to the naked eye, something that would undoubtedly test anyone watching. And indeed it did.

A boy who happened to be passing by noticed the girl dancing through the windows of the Music Room. He was transfixed by her movements and immediately knew he had to see her. Opening the door slightly, he watched the girl as she danced.

Forte was so absorbed in the music that she did not see him come in. If she had, she might have quickly shooed him away, but there was always that chance that she might have torn him limb-from-limb for disturbing and spying on her. She was unpredictable like that.

The song ended and she closed her impromptu dance routine by spinning grandly and striking a pose. The boy stood by the door and applauded quietly, startling the girl. She ran over to the stereo and switched it off.

"That was wonderful," he told her. "You're quite a talented dancer."

"I appreciate the compliment, but you should know I have half a mind to go over there and roundhouse kick you in the face," Forte said, completely serious. "Do you have any idea how rude it is to spy on someone like that? Have you no shame?"

"Of course I do," the boy said. "I...suppose I should apologize for that, seeing as how it's always been your nature. To be like that, I mean."

Forte smirked. "Are you implying that I am uncouth?" she asked.

"Not at all," he replied. "I'm surprised that you don't recognize me."

"Who's to say I don't recognize you, Mr. Anderson?"

The boy closed his eyes, smiling. "So you do remember me. I have to say I'm surprised. I only met you the one time, back in high school."

"Yes, how could I forget the young man who interrupted my practice that Spring afternoon my Junior year?" she said, walking over and sitting down at the piano seat.

The boy, Laramie, walked over, but remained careful not to get too close. He looked at her and, although she wasn't looking directly at him, the girl could feel him staring.

"Must you continue to torment me?" Forte asked, looking at Laramie with a disdainful expression on her face.

"I'm not tormenting you," Laramie said. "I'm looking at you because you fascinate me."

The musician was taken aback. For the first time in a long while, she had no idea what to say.

Jessie came back over from placing their order at the cashier, and took his seat between Cressa and Aurelien at the round dining table. "There we go. Should be around five minutes."

"I was very disappointed they didn't have any kelp," said Cressa, with an exaggerated sigh and a look of sheer unhappiness. Even her ears seemed to droop.

"...We don't eat kelp."

"Yes, but I was still disappointed! Think of all the children who must come in here, begging their mothers for some delicious weed of the sea - and they haven't got any in the whole menu!" she argued, most convincingly. "I'm thinking of the children, Jessie. The children."

Aurelien was managing to look bemused and amused at the same time. He was grinning, but his eyes had a look in them that just said '...Okay...?'

"So Cressa, I'm interested - what is it that you do?" he asked her, "Do you work at the Order too?"

"I'm a professional anthrobotanologist," she earnestly replied, "I study people who study plants."

"Yes, Cressa does work at the Order. She's the head magician."

"I'm a Professor, thank you very much. I profess things. That are true. Sometimes."

"Don't ask her to demonstrate any magic," Gloria hissed at him.

"What? Why not?"

"DID I HEAR SOMEONE CALL FOR A DEMONSTRATION?" Cressa cried, leaping out of her seat.

Both Gloria and Jessie immediately hurled themselves at her, grabbing one of her arms each and pulling her back down. "NO!"

"No."

"No."

"No. I'm not paying for fire, water, wind or ethereal slime damage to the property."

Cressa went back into her droopy droop of misery. "Nobody ever lets me have any fun..."

Their food arrived soon after. Gloria turned the conversation around, from Cressa to Jessie. "So when were you planning on telling us you started teaching ballet?"

"I wasn't. Well. Not for a few more weeks, anyway. Not until I had to request leave to go to the mainland."

"How come? How long has this even been going on?"

"Well..." he began, "It was accidental, to begin with. I was poking around the gymnasiums on my day off and came across the troupe rehearsing in a tiny, disused room."

"The theatre was being refurbished," Aurelien explained, "So they kicked us out for a few weeks."

"Initially I just sat down and watched, but I ended up joining in, and now I'm teaching alongside Miriam."

"He's on the payroll and all."

"Yes. I'm earning honest money," he said, with a look at Cressa. She returned it innocently. "Miriam's very glad to have the help."

"Yeah, she's really lost her vigour lately. She's given up. Jessie's been like our saving grace, swooping in like some kind of angelic drill sergeant."

Gloria laughed at the description. "Yeah, you're just a regular hero, aren't you? Diving in to rescue ailing organisations all over the place. Turning fates around. Championing the underdog."

It was true. First he'd turned the fortunes of the Order around, now he'd acquired a new project - turning a poor, unpopular ballet troupe into something the bigger schools wouldn't sneer at.

"I wouldn't say I've rescued anything yet," Jessie answered soberly, "We'll have to see how we do when we get to our first performances with the other troupes. I'm determined that we'll turn our poor reputation around."

"Do you think you guys can do it?" Gloria asked the slender blond dancer next to her.

He gave a little shrug. "Well, I hope we can do it. Jessie has a lot more confidence in us than we have. Then again, he hasn't met any of the other dancers. They're a pretty... ruthless bunch."

Jessie calmly continued eating. "They might be ruthless. I won't know how ruthless until I meet them. But I can be persuasive."

"Yeah, I know. But still. I can't see them opening their arms up and giving us a bit more recognition unless we really pull something impressive out of the bag."

"And we will. My students are going to be my persuasion. I have every confidence that you will impress."

"Haven't you thought about dancing yourself?"

"That would be the fast-track way to impressing everyone."

"That would be the easy way," he said firmly, "Besides, I'd stand out too much. In the corps, everyone has to be just like each other. I'll leave the dancing to you. You leave the backstage rivalry to me. I can deal with whatever they throw at me."

"Well, that's great. But you didn't say why you didn't tell us before now."

Jessie took a long drink from his glass of water before answering. "It's nobody's business whether I have a part-time job or not. It hasn't interfered with my other duties. Nobody needs to know."

"He's embarrassed," Cressa smiled.

"No I am not," he said. "I have no reason to be. Being a ballerina is not easy. It requires a lot of physical strength and power, and more stamina than a regular athlete."

He sighed. "I knew how to pirouette before I ever picked up a sword. Back home, warriors dance. Dancing is part of our training as soldiers. We have dance instructors as well as weapon instructors. But up here, it's not seen as something a warrior does. Yes, perhaps I didn't want to lose face in front of my students."

"You honestly thought we'd... think you were a nancy or something?" she asked, sounding disbelieving.

"I didn't say it was rational feeling."

"Oh god, I know how you feel, though. It's like my mom literally set me up to be a girly nancy boy ostracised from masculine society. 'YOU SHALL BE NAMED AURELIEN, EVERYONE WILL SHORTEN IT TO AURELIE, AND YOU SHALL TAKE BALLET FROM THE AGE OF FIVE. WE SHALL ALSO REFUSE TO CUT YOUR LONG BLOND HAIR UNTIL THE DAY YOU ARE OLD ENOUGH TO DEMAND IT FOR YOURSELF.'"

"Oh god," Gloria laughed, "Poor you!"

"Yeeahh, I never really had any guy friends growing up. Or now. So it's nice to have Jessie around to hang out with."

"I suppose I had a good balance growing up. Nowadays, though, I'm just surrounded by women."

"And most of them are vying for your amorous attention," Cressa smiled, giving him a wink.

"Don't remind me. But yes, I'm grateful for your company too, Aurelie."

Gloria was still thinking about why he wouldn't trust any of them with the information. "I guess I get why you wouldn't want anyone to know. I mean, there's people who're pretty sure you're gay, or at the very least AC/DC."

Jessie raised his eyebrow and looked at the others. "I'm not up on the lingo. AC/DC?"

"It means bisexual."

"Swinging both ways."

"Ah... of course," he said, slightly clipped. He picked up his glass and took another sip. Such speculation really did bother him, though if Gloria had tackled him on it he would've denied it.

"Sorry. But yeah, I can see why you wouldn't want to, you know, feed those rumours."

It was Aurelien's turn to sigh. "It's difficult not being gay when it's what everybody expects of you."