90th of Spring, 520
Madeira patted down the heavy skirt over her hips and smoothed the fraying edged of her coiled braid as she paused just outside her classroom door. It was a necessary little ritual for her, like clasping ones hands before entering a temple. It was something she did without conscious thought anymore. There was nothing more important to the social climber than a good presentation. Impeccable was the name of the game here. This was the Dusk's tower, but it was her classroom, and she had to be a dignified ruler here.
Spooks peaked out from behind her skirt, his pointed ears swiveling on his armored head. "Sounds like kids", he spoke for the first time since leaving the house as he listened to the chatter from behind the door.
"That's because they are kids", Madeira confirmed. "One of the novice teachers is sick, so I'm filling in." Typically she taught the Alumni class, which consisted of Dusks and potential teachers. It was rare that she was sent novices, though she stepped in for remedial lessons from time to time. Usually as a punishment the other teachers inflicted on underachieving students.
She was aware she had a reputation among the students of the prestigious Tower. They said she was the best Spiritist Lhavit had ever seen, they also said she was the most brutal teacher the Tower had ever hired. She taught the same way she was raised, collected and stern, where perfection was required and cuts and bruises and the occasional possession fueled dissociative episode were all part of the process. She didn't mind. In truth she liked the infamy. If one didn't scare people at least a little bit, what was the point?
Judging herself to be suitably flawless, Madeira threw open the door and breezed into the room, smiling like encroaching doom.
But her grand entrance was thrown somewhat, as she almost walked straight into what she saw as a wall of flowers. The smell hit her first, the heady scent of roses and fresh cut stalks, before her eyes were assaulted by a sea of bloody red blooms. They were on her desk, lined against the walls, on the bookcase and every windowsill. Roses in full bloom, with bright red petals and glossy thorns, in ceramic pots and expensive glass vases. In the middle of the veritable jungle a classroom full of nervous rich teenagers just out of the Alluvion Academy and poor twenty somethings who had passed Dusk's enigmatic proving process immediately simmered down into hushed silence.
"Good morning, class!" Madeira sang sweetly, catching herself after missing a beat. "Does anybody know what... this... is about?" she motioned vaguely over the choking floral arrangement with a flick of her glittering glove.
The class devolved into glances and shrugged shoulders, some seemed to miss the question entirely as the enormous cat creature prowled in behind her. Until one young woman at the back piped up. "There's a note on the desk!"
Sure enough, folded on the desk was a creamy white card with Madeira Minervea Craven in bold red ink on the front. Flipping it open, it read one last dance in hard, spiked cursive. It wasn't signed.
"Is it from your boyfriend?" that same bold girl piped up from the back. And from the corner of her eye she saw smirking glances thrown around the room.
"None of your business", Madeira tucked the note away into the pocket of her skirt. It was a romantic gesture of some sort, she assumed. Since her participation in the Hearts Festival it was hard to miss the significance of red flowers. And she knew who she wanted the flowers to be from, but... Thoughts of the masked stranger flitted briefly through her mind. The way they danced, she was sure she felt something between them, no matter how vehemently her mind was telling her otherwise.
Shaking off the feeling, she turned on the class, her skirt whipping around her legs. "Books out! Today we're going to talk about what it means to be a Spiritist."
WC=679
Spooks peaked out from behind her skirt, his pointed ears swiveling on his armored head. "Sounds like kids", he spoke for the first time since leaving the house as he listened to the chatter from behind the door.
"That's because they are kids", Madeira confirmed. "One of the novice teachers is sick, so I'm filling in." Typically she taught the Alumni class, which consisted of Dusks and potential teachers. It was rare that she was sent novices, though she stepped in for remedial lessons from time to time. Usually as a punishment the other teachers inflicted on underachieving students.
She was aware she had a reputation among the students of the prestigious Tower. They said she was the best Spiritist Lhavit had ever seen, they also said she was the most brutal teacher the Tower had ever hired. She taught the same way she was raised, collected and stern, where perfection was required and cuts and bruises and the occasional possession fueled dissociative episode were all part of the process. She didn't mind. In truth she liked the infamy. If one didn't scare people at least a little bit, what was the point?
Judging herself to be suitably flawless, Madeira threw open the door and breezed into the room, smiling like encroaching doom.
But her grand entrance was thrown somewhat, as she almost walked straight into what she saw as a wall of flowers. The smell hit her first, the heady scent of roses and fresh cut stalks, before her eyes were assaulted by a sea of bloody red blooms. They were on her desk, lined against the walls, on the bookcase and every windowsill. Roses in full bloom, with bright red petals and glossy thorns, in ceramic pots and expensive glass vases. In the middle of the veritable jungle a classroom full of nervous rich teenagers just out of the Alluvion Academy and poor twenty somethings who had passed Dusk's enigmatic proving process immediately simmered down into hushed silence.
"Good morning, class!" Madeira sang sweetly, catching herself after missing a beat. "Does anybody know what... this... is about?" she motioned vaguely over the choking floral arrangement with a flick of her glittering glove.
The class devolved into glances and shrugged shoulders, some seemed to miss the question entirely as the enormous cat creature prowled in behind her. Until one young woman at the back piped up. "There's a note on the desk!"
Sure enough, folded on the desk was a creamy white card with Madeira Minervea Craven in bold red ink on the front. Flipping it open, it read one last dance in hard, spiked cursive. It wasn't signed.
"Is it from your boyfriend?" that same bold girl piped up from the back. And from the corner of her eye she saw smirking glances thrown around the room.
"None of your business", Madeira tucked the note away into the pocket of her skirt. It was a romantic gesture of some sort, she assumed. Since her participation in the Hearts Festival it was hard to miss the significance of red flowers. And she knew who she wanted the flowers to be from, but... Thoughts of the masked stranger flitted briefly through her mind. The way they danced, she was sure she felt something between them, no matter how vehemently her mind was telling her otherwise.
Shaking off the feeling, she turned on the class, her skirt whipping around her legs. "Books out! Today we're going to talk about what it means to be a Spiritist."
WC=679
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