"Speech" | 'Thoughts' Winter 79, 513 AV
Arysana’s steps were hard and heavy, her presence heard and felt far faster than she was seen, black bags under her eyes detailing quite blatantly her current state of mind.
Study had been harsh, and classes worse still, a night of studying closing with half a rest lost to chore duty, and then time that she usually took to make up for it stolen by the word of another student claiming that there was reason for her to report to the Dawn Tower earlier than what was her original intention, and even with the long bath she’d opted to take, and the freshness of wearing recently washed clothes, there seemed little enough to stimulate her and ready her for a day of work, nor the classes she had to attend straight after. ‘I’ll probably fall asleep when I try to meditate,’ a tired giggle left her at the thought, rubbing her eyes as she made her way through the hall and onwards to the professor’s study, a dull light shining from an open door in the distance shaking off some of her tiredness as her mind prepared for work.
She figured that there was little use for a verbal confirmation of her arrival, instead opting to give her usual, rhythmic five knocks on the door as she passed it, a pile of blank sheets and envelopes sitting on her desk.
As usual, there was no need for an explanation to be asked for, a cuss coming from Armitican’s nook as he shifted about his pages and books, seeking whatever list of instructions he’d written for her. ‘Someone needs to teach him the difference between ‘servant’ and ‘assistant.’
Not a moment after she had seated herself comfortably in her little wooden chair, and turned to the cabinet at her flank to seek quill and ink, had Armitican shown himself and dropped a scrawled letter and lest onto the desk, hands filled with tomes and notes. “I have a class, I need you to write out thank you letters for a meeting, envelope them, and drop them at reception. The names are listed, as well as notes on what you should say.”
He gave a short nod, then, not allowing Arysana a moment of time to decline or ask for further instruction, bustling out of the room and down the hall. ‘Shouldn’t I be attending a class or two? I’m an assistant, aren’t I? Surely that extends to lessons and teaching, does it not?’
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” she mocked, ensuring not to voice her petty words of annoyance until Armitican was well and truly out of hearing range.
She was half inclined to take a short doze in her seat, two passer byes throwing her an odd look and her snap to attention, finally realising why her desk was in rather plain sight from the door; it was difficult to slack off when you ran the risk of being caught out came ridiculously regularly.
Study had been harsh, and classes worse still, a night of studying closing with half a rest lost to chore duty, and then time that she usually took to make up for it stolen by the word of another student claiming that there was reason for her to report to the Dawn Tower earlier than what was her original intention, and even with the long bath she’d opted to take, and the freshness of wearing recently washed clothes, there seemed little enough to stimulate her and ready her for a day of work, nor the classes she had to attend straight after. ‘I’ll probably fall asleep when I try to meditate,’ a tired giggle left her at the thought, rubbing her eyes as she made her way through the hall and onwards to the professor’s study, a dull light shining from an open door in the distance shaking off some of her tiredness as her mind prepared for work.
She figured that there was little use for a verbal confirmation of her arrival, instead opting to give her usual, rhythmic five knocks on the door as she passed it, a pile of blank sheets and envelopes sitting on her desk.
As usual, there was no need for an explanation to be asked for, a cuss coming from Armitican’s nook as he shifted about his pages and books, seeking whatever list of instructions he’d written for her. ‘Someone needs to teach him the difference between ‘servant’ and ‘assistant.’
Not a moment after she had seated herself comfortably in her little wooden chair, and turned to the cabinet at her flank to seek quill and ink, had Armitican shown himself and dropped a scrawled letter and lest onto the desk, hands filled with tomes and notes. “I have a class, I need you to write out thank you letters for a meeting, envelope them, and drop them at reception. The names are listed, as well as notes on what you should say.”
He gave a short nod, then, not allowing Arysana a moment of time to decline or ask for further instruction, bustling out of the room and down the hall. ‘Shouldn’t I be attending a class or two? I’m an assistant, aren’t I? Surely that extends to lessons and teaching, does it not?’
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” she mocked, ensuring not to voice her petty words of annoyance until Armitican was well and truly out of hearing range.
She was half inclined to take a short doze in her seat, two passer byes throwing her an odd look and her snap to attention, finally realising why her desk was in rather plain sight from the door; it was difficult to slack off when you ran the risk of being caught out came ridiculously regularly.
