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Outside, but far away from existing action cos I'm trying not to be intrusive here
A piercing shriek--a howl of shock--shatters the chatter-rustled quiet of a path. It is immediately followed by the unmistakable sounds of a young man, out of bounds, being taken to task by the object of his unwanted attentions. No shrill lecture sounds quite like that one. It is punctuated by an echoing slap--ah, the sound of an open palm on an unsuspecting cheek.
"And you ought to have another too!" Bathilde's normally calm, well-modulated voice is thick with disgust. "What--I--my bottom is not here for your amusement! What made you think that was an appropriate action? And in public," she adds, sounding scandalized. Even red-faced and puffed up with indignation, it is easy to see why the temptation existed for the poor young man being harangued mercilessly: all freckled curves even in her modest household servant attire, Bathilde invites pinching in the same way that an unattended pie on a windowsill invites nibbling. And to a person like Sawyer, who cannot be left alone with a cake without the owner returning to find a fingerswipe in the frosting and a "who me" look on the Lord's red-nosed face, temptation may as well be permission.
It is Sawyer's unfortunate position to be merely the wrong type, and in the wrong place. In the privacy of the stables it wouldn't be unheard-of for Bathilde to exchange a few flirtatious words--or a bit more--with a strapping young groom. Sawyer, knowing this from general eavesdropping (an activity to which, for various reasons, he is particularly well-suited), had decided boldly to venture forth, pinching. But Sawyer is not strapping, and a garden path is not a dimly-lit hayloft. He is suffering for it now, a hand clapped to his stinging cheek and a look of bemused and amused fascination on his face. It is not a position he is unfamiliar with. Rather than being too much abashed, he contents himself with watching the rise and fall of Bathilde's outraged bosom. For inexplicable reasons the view induces a craving for a warm cinnamon bun.
A piercing shriek--a howl of shock--shatters the chatter-rustled quiet of a path. It is immediately followed by the unmistakable sounds of a young man, out of bounds, being taken to task by the object of his unwanted attentions. No shrill lecture sounds quite like that one. It is punctuated by an echoing slap--ah, the sound of an open palm on an unsuspecting cheek.
"And you ought to have another too!" Bathilde's normally calm, well-modulated voice is thick with disgust. "What--I--my bottom is not here for your amusement! What made you think that was an appropriate action? And in public," she adds, sounding scandalized. Even red-faced and puffed up with indignation, it is easy to see why the temptation existed for the poor young man being harangued mercilessly: all freckled curves even in her modest household servant attire, Bathilde invites pinching in the same way that an unattended pie on a windowsill invites nibbling. And to a person like Sawyer, who cannot be left alone with a cake without the owner returning to find a fingerswipe in the frosting and a "who me" look on the Lord's red-nosed face, temptation may as well be permission.
It is Sawyer's unfortunate position to be merely the wrong type, and in the wrong place. In the privacy of the stables it wouldn't be unheard-of for Bathilde to exchange a few flirtatious words--or a bit more--with a strapping young groom. Sawyer, knowing this from general eavesdropping (an activity to which, for various reasons, he is particularly well-suited), had decided boldly to venture forth, pinching. But Sawyer is not strapping, and a garden path is not a dimly-lit hayloft. He is suffering for it now, a hand clapped to his stinging cheek and a look of bemused and amused fascination on his face. It is not a position he is unfamiliar with. Rather than being too much abashed, he contents himself with watching the rise and fall of Bathilde's outraged bosom. For inexplicable reasons the view induces a craving for a warm cinnamon bun.
An unusual reversal has Safiye coming to the aid of one of her own servants!
After accompanying Aria to the Academy, the Lady had not gone in with her child to the lesson, knowing full well the added pressure of a demanding mother's presence might make things yet more difficult on a child already grappling with newness. Let them finish the introductions at least before she peeked inside.
And so it was that she was not inside, but instead on a garden path when the tranquil chirping of birds was punctuated by the sharp crack of a slap.
Soft steps carried her swiftly, stealthy under the cover of agitated ranting from her hand maid, and when she is close enough to spot poor Sawyer as the object of this onslaught! Oh, then she can't but help a wicked grin, her eyes glittering like a cat that has just spotted a mouse. The expression is very nearly wiped clean from her face by the time she has taken her final, smooth step to join the two, only the barest hints of smugness still lurking in her gracious smile as she puts a hand on Sawyer's shoulder in a gesture of friendly greeting -- but fingers will curl and keep a tight hold on his jacket should he try to pull away, warm smile never breaking. "Why Lord Sawyer! It has indeed been a very long time. I wondered when you might finally gift us with your presence -- the last few apprentices you directed our way were quite good."
After accompanying Aria to the Academy, the Lady had not gone in with her child to the lesson, knowing full well the added pressure of a demanding mother's presence might make things yet more difficult on a child already grappling with newness. Let them finish the introductions at least before she peeked inside.
And so it was that she was not inside, but instead on a garden path when the tranquil chirping of birds was punctuated by the sharp crack of a slap.
Soft steps carried her swiftly, stealthy under the cover of agitated ranting from her hand maid, and when she is close enough to spot poor Sawyer as the object of this onslaught! Oh, then she can't but help a wicked grin, her eyes glittering like a cat that has just spotted a mouse. The expression is very nearly wiped clean from her face by the time she has taken her final, smooth step to join the two, only the barest hints of smugness still lurking in her gracious smile as she puts a hand on Sawyer's shoulder in a gesture of friendly greeting -- but fingers will curl and keep a tight hold on his jacket should he try to pull away, warm smile never breaking. "Why Lord Sawyer! It has indeed been a very long time. I wondered when you might finally gift us with your presence -- the last few apprentices you directed our way were quite good."