Puss in Boots
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Je pense donc je suis.
Posts: 28
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Post by Puss in Boots on Feb 3, 2012 0:00:20 GMT -5
It wasn't long after truly living by himself that Laurent came to a single conclusion: his body was simply too extraordinary to be used for doing housework. Such a thing would be comparable to putting a Secretariat or a Man o' War to work plowing a field. In other words, an utter disgrace to the dignity of a creature capable of much higher physical feats. Admittedly, it's amazing that the felid can do it at all, but even then he felt that his special condition should be utilized for less mundane purposes. This is even before taking into account that a gentleman simply did not stoop to do household chores out of necessity. Cooking and cleaning were just not within his domain (though an excuse could be made for the culinary arts).
However, allowing his living space to fall into a slovenly state of disorganization would be just as shameful as scrubbing the tiles clean himself. Fortunately for Laurent, there was no shortage of spirited young bodies in Death City, which combined with the cultural norm of enduring humiliating work while in school to save money, provided just the solution. Spreading word of such an opportunity was trivially easy, leaving only the work of determining their suitability to be allowed in his home. Those who were unwilling to submit to the numerous demands made up front naturally weeded themselves out by not bothering in the first place. Completely left off of the flyers he put up around town was any mention of his "condition," for he considered it unnecessary information. He was there to audit them, not the other way around. Seller’s market, even if what the serval had to offer was a form of domestic servitude. But in exchange for free room and board in addition to the weekly allowances from the school itself, it could hardly be an unequal deal.
The large grandfather clock in the parlor struck three: time for afternoon tea, as well as the time for interviewees to be buzzing to be let into the apartment if they had any sense of punctuality. He lived in the penthouse, or what passed as the penthouse, of one of the pricier of the Tudor Revival style apartments that resembled a charming little cottage that was somehow integrated into the upper floors of an otherwise ordinary red-brick building. The neighborhood had a noticeably more affluent air to it, and walking along the cobblestone streets one might have the feeling of suddenly being transplanted onto X European city street. Bright flowers bloomed in pots along the balconies, adding a vibrancy to the pale cream buildings that loomed on either side of the street. Mercifully absent was the sound of children's laughter or crying. He would have opted for a gated apartment, but such a luxury was impossible in a crammed city that obviously sprang up around the school, building on top of itself in every space that could be found. If nothing else, perhaps the intrepid interviewees would be intimidated into a state of quiet awe by the feeling that they were now in a community that was more likely than not to be far beyond their family’s income bracket, certainly not an ordinary student’s housing area. Laurent could not settle for any less.
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Inverno Costa
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Post by Inverno Costa on Feb 4, 2012 0:51:53 GMT -5
Days ago, the albino Italian meister was grabbing groceries as usual, when he saw the flier. It was a flier about working for someone in one of the more upper class apartments in exchange for a free room and board. Now, having been living with a bunch of ruffians for the past year had really grown old for the meister. Even though brute strength might have been enough to deal with them, they were a recurring annoyance over the year, who had never learned when they attempted to bully the short boy.
So the Italian boy had donned the nicest outfit he could find. A pair of black slacks, dress shoes, a white button up shirt with a black tie and blazer to go with it. Once he was ready, he headed over to the district where he would be interviewed by the owner of the place in question, and hopefully land himself a position as his housekeeper, provided the homeowner was tolerable. If anything, Inverno would rather not leave this current hell, only to wind up in one just as bad, or possibly worse.
The neatly dressed fifteen year-old approached the apartment complex, looking up at the cottage-like structure at the top. He then headed inside of the building, taking the elevator to the top floor, before eventually exiting and ending up at the owner’s doorstep. The albino boy gently knocked at the door three times to signify his arrival.
((If there’s a door bell, or a receptionist is in charge of this, tell me in PM or the box, then I’ll edit accordingly))
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Puss in Boots
Full Member
[P:0]}}Kishin Egg Souls{0} Human Souls{0} Witch Souls{0} Points{-185}
Je pense donc je suis.
Posts: 28
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Post by Puss in Boots on Feb 4, 2012 17:29:33 GMT -5
If 3 o'clock passed by without a knock on his door, he'd have to count it heavily against the whole crop of potentials. However, the rapping came before the minute hand could condemn Inverno, and at a much more pleasant decibel than he had expected. Perhaps a timid young man or woman prodded by peers into being the one to knock? Laurent chuckled as he made his way to the door. It was flattering that they were so cowed even before meeting him, though he hoped they weren’t so intimidated so as to be unable to speak at all.
It wasn’t exactly disappointment that the serval felt when he opened the door to reveal a lone fifteen year old boy instead of a gaggle of nervous students. It certainly wasn’t relief either, for if this one was unsuitable it meant he’d have to go through another round of advertising. By no means would he allow any sense of laziness or desperation to influence his final opinion on this encounter, however. “Well yes, come in,” he said in his usual silky baritone voice. “We shall conduct the interview in the parlor.” He turned to go without waiting for the boy to say anything; greeting the guests was another task best left to the help.
Laurent sat serene and composed in a high-back arm chair, whose size and stately heavy wooden ornamentation only served to further exaggerate his petite stature. With a sweep of his arm, he indicated the nearby couch that Inverno was to sit on. Sunlight brightened the space without creating an uncomfortable glare, making an inviting environment that was conducive to conversation, if the master of the home was to allow it. The parlor was dainty with its pastel yellow seating, cream walls, and pale mint ceiling. Small dishes of assorted pastries, fruit tarts, cakes, and neatly cut sandwiches occupied the table, along with a vase filled with freshly cut flowers. Accompanying the tantalizing display of edibles was a fine china tea set, with which the serval poured two cups of tea. “Help yourself,” he said as he took the cup and saucer and sipped his drink plain.
Eyeing the boy, Laurent was already marking up a mental list. A degree of sincerity was evident in his efforts, for Inverno had made himself respectable and presentable, dressing in an acceptably groomed suit to his own highly polished tailcoat outfit. His knock-knock-knock had been quiet enough, maybe an indication that the boy was not the rambunctious, rowdy type that so grated upon his nerves. Whether this initial, cautiously approving assumption would hold through would depend not only upon the boy’s answers, but also the way he conducted himself. Laurent was keen on finding an individual who could properly reflect the well-groomed image he wished to perpetuate, for there was only so much that he as the host could do to salvage a poor experience caused by unreliable service.
He cleared his throat with a small “ahem”. “My name is Laurent,” he said, producing a previously unpresent French accent with the way he seemed to roll the sound “Lor-ron” in his mouth before ending with a nasal “n.” How strange that a simple difference in pronunciation could immediately paint one in a far more pompous and obnoxious light, though I wasn’t a realization that would dawn upon the serval any time soon. “But you may say “Low-rent” if you wish. I don't expect anyone here to say it properly. I suppose you can begin with telling me about yourself. I'd like to have an idea of who you are if I am to consider allowing you to share my home."
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Inverno Costa
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Post by Inverno Costa on Feb 10, 2012 12:11:40 GMT -5
“Well yes, come in”, said a smooth, deep voice from the other side of the door. “We shall conduct the interview in the parlor.”, he told the boy as he himself headed to the parlor. Inverno followed him, somewhat surprised that he was a talking cat. But then, Inverno had once met a talking cat by the name of Blair, who lived with Soul and Maka. To be honest, he hoped that he was nothing like Blair.
The cat said on a rather beautiful black arm chair. He then pointed Inverno to the couch that he was to sit on. The room itself was quite beautiful, with its beauty only emphasized by the sunlight flowing in. The table contained a tray of various small foods, and a vase of fresh flowers. Among the contents was a set of tea cups, two of the cups being filled by the cat himself. "Help yourself.", he told the boy as he took a drink of his tea."Th-thank you s-sir. . .", he said to the cat thankfully as he too took a sip of his tea plain.
For a moment, the cat was sizing up his interviewee. Inverno couldn't tell what the cat was thinking. But then, he broke the momentary silence by clearing his throat. “My name is Laurent”, he introduced himself to the boy, with a French accent to it. “But you may say “Low-rent” if you wish. I don't expect anyone here to say it properly. I suppose you can begin with telling me about yourself. I'd like to have an idea of who you are if I am to consider allowing you to share my home.", he said to the boy."I-I'm Inverno C-Costa. I'm an E-EAT student as o-of r-recently. . ., he started. "As f-for my q-qualif-factions, I'm a c-capable cook, I c-can clean th-thoroughly, b-but I h-have no j-job experience. . .", he admitted. Despite his stuttering, his tone was respectable and sincere. "B-but I-I'm willing to and c-capable of l-learning. . ., he continued.
((If I need anything else, please tell me. And sorry if this was shit XDD))
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Puss in Boots
Full Member
[P:0]}}Kishin Egg Souls{0} Human Souls{0} Witch Souls{0} Points{-185}
Je pense donc je suis.
Posts: 28
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Post by Puss in Boots on Feb 11, 2012 4:08:48 GMT -5
"Th-thank you s-sir," the boy stammered, speaking with a gratitude for the offering of tea that would befit a parched desert wanderer. The serval idly marveled to himself that his hands were far steadier than the jittering words that struggled to make their way out of his mouth. There was to be no nervous clinking of china this sea service. He could force himself to overlook sloshed tea, but chipped china was something he feared he could not suppress his annoyance for.
Although Inverno continued speaking, Laurent’s attention slipped in and out. He found himself intermittently lost in the violin concerto track being played throughout the apartment. Sliding along with the sinuous violin music playing throughout the house did not involve straining his patience. It was mentally exhausting to wait for the student to slowly mold each word and painstakingly string them into full sentences, since the boy hesitated in the vocal execution of just about all of them. The felid supposed that one might find it endearing for the well-muscled plowhorse of a boy to be so withdrawn, with his stutter the crucial characteristic and perhaps even the cause of his timidity. Each time the nagging urge to tell Inverno to spit it all out came clawing at his consciousness, Laurent withdrew to the concerto, immersing his mind into the sound of the soothing string instruments that did not have the same problem with expressing themselves.
To safeguard against a dreadful faux pas, he busied himself with eating a small slice of cake; a mouthful of food couldn’t be used for spitting acid at the same time. Each motion from cutting the cake with his fork to chewing was performed with great deliberation and as slowly as possible to accommodate Inverno’s plodding pace of speech. Laurent noted that it counted for something even with his stutter, a degree of politeness was communicable through his humble tone and lack of self-embellishment. Still, there was a limit to how long he was willing to chew like he had dentures that might fall out at any second, and suck all the flavor out of the cake before swallowing down an unpleasant cud. Inverno seemed to be rounding out his sales pitch as Laurent was setting down his plate and dabbing away at his mouth with a napkin.
“I will ultimately be the judge of your cooking, but an openness to learning is always an admirable quality,” the serval replied. “I wish to impress upon you the importance that I am not only seeking out labor qualifications. If you work in my home and run errands on my behalf, then you become a representative of this household. Your conduct becomes a reflection of me. Every transgression, be it a physical or verbal altercation or even an act of rudeness, slings mud on my reputation. I don't want just any crude, common laborer shouldering that responsibility. I expect a certain caliber of personal and social conduct, one that extends to other aspects of your life in which a connection may be drawn back to myself. Your studies and interactions within Shibusen comes to mind."
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Inverno Costa
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Post by Inverno Costa on Feb 14, 2012 0:38:45 GMT -5
While Inverno was speaking, the sentient cat consumed a piece of cake. So far, this wasn't going too well in the meister's mind. No matter how much he attempted to steel himself for this interview, the Italian couldn't stop stuttering. After finishing, the cat cleaned off the outside of his mouth with a napkin, finishing up with his plate.
“I will ultimately be the judge of your cooking, but an openness to learning is always an admirable quality”, replied the feline. Of course, Inverno would be ready to prove himself whenever Laurant would like him to, if he would give him the chance. “I wish to impress upon you the importance that I am not only seeking out labor qualifications. If you work in my home and run errands on my behalf, then you become a representative of this household. Your conduct becomes a reflection of me. Every transgression, be it a physical or verbal altercation or even an act of rudeness, slings mud on my reputation. I don't want just any crude, common laborer shouldering that responsibility. I expect a certain caliber of personal and social conduct, one that extends to other aspects of your life in which a connection may be drawn back to myself. Your studies and interactions within Shibusen comes to mind.", continued Laurant.
Of course, Inverno understood where he was coming from. If he were to get this job, he would need to maintain it other than through work. He wouldn't just be a worker, but rather someone living inside of the house as well. Laurant had a reputation, and hiring a troublesome servant would do nothing more than to defame him. Luckily, Inverno's experiences at Shibusen would attest to his behavior.
The meister closed his eyes, focusing his will to not stammer on his next words. After a moment, the meister opened his red eyes. "Well, for the past year I've been attending Shibusen, my behavior has been good. Academically, I turn in my work on time, if not ahead with effort put in to achieve a top grade. The only fights I've been in were spars and some in self defense. And in classes, I show respect towards my professors and peers alike, remaining quiet and performing my work as directed. And if you need someone to attest to these behaviors, I'd recommend asking a member of the faculty. And I understand that you would need to experience my cooking to believe it. So if you would like me to prove myself as a cook to you, I'd be more than happy to demonstrate it for you. And to be honest, a position such as this would be a refreshing change from what I've experienced in the dorm house for the past year.", said the meister, closing his eyes and sighing.
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Puss in Boots
Full Member
[P:0]}}Kishin Egg Souls{0} Human Souls{0} Witch Souls{0} Points{-185}
Je pense donc je suis.
Posts: 28
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Post by Puss in Boots on Feb 24, 2012 3:12:55 GMT -5
There was just the faintest lifting of the corners of Laurent’s mouth when he saw the boy close his eyes, as though to steel himself in preparation for an arduous task. An attempt to still an angry outburst? Suppressing disgust over his standards? Unlikely, as Inverno took his speech well enough, and all but nodded a few times in wholehearted agreement. It never particularly crossed his mind that perhaps it was best to just wait for the long moment to pass while Inverno drew his breath. The petite serval was so determined to remain the dominant force in the conversation that it was impossible for him to withhold the endless scrutinizing and forecasting.
His lone large, deep amber colored eye remained trained on Inverno as the Italian boy began speaking once more. Laurent’s smile grew imperceptibly wider, not so much at the boy’s rush to proclaim his moral worthiness as his effort to tame his stutter. It would be unforgivably uncouth of him if Inverno had been able to detect his previous annoyance. His own strategies to maintain a level of sanity and tolerance were not meant to be passive-aggressive jabs at the boy’s speech impediment. They were perhaps in a way even an attempt to empathize, for all the pleasure in eating was destroyed when he was made as acutely aware of each movement of the mouth as the boy must be when speaking.
Especially striking was Inverno’s physically taxing battle against himself. The veins in his neck were raised against the skin, and the boy seemed to be too afraid to stop to breathe or swallow his saliva for fear that his momentum could not be regained. The stress was evident in his voice as well: his previously soft-spoken tone now became strained and had a hardened edge to it. Without a doubt, he was feeling a high degree of discomfort- Laurent wasn't sure yet if "excruciating" could be applied without being an exaggeration.
"More tea? Please, help yourself to a petit four. Both the chocolate and espresso cakes are exquisite. The macarons will not disappoint either," Laurent said while the boy attempted to regather his strength. This was not merely a sympathetic suggestion, but rather a command couched in the best of intentions and gentlest of speech. He was not one to be accused of abusing his guests or otherwise causing them undue distress. Perhaps more than anything else the boy could have said or done, trying to tame his stammer greatly impressed the serval. Although Laurent resisted being bought over so soon, he adopted a less haughty and mildly accusatory tone.
“Others may prefer to romanticize rebellious prodigies, but I continue to appreciate those who are less prone to arrogance but care just as much about their academic progress. A quality such as intelligence should be self-evident, and constantly parading it around would rather lead one to question whether or not it was really substantial in the first place, wouldn’t you say?” How pleasant it was to have one of the first few interactions since his recent arrival in Death City in which his “condition” was in no way an aberration that needed to be pointed out before attention was firmly turned back towards the conversation. An outside observer might find this scenario bizarre: a sentient feline lecturing to an adolescent boy, evidently enjoying the sound of his own voice, all over a dainty display of tea and pastries. But one didn’t question why the sun or moon had expressions and could leer back, so neither was this too great a stretch. Things were simply different in Death City.
Laurent waved off Inverno’s offer to prove his culinary abilities. “No, no, an immediate demonstration is not needed. I am glad to find that we share a mutual distaste for the conditions in a dormitory house. It’s all well and fine that some may struggle with leaving home so soon, but it’s no excuse to simply abandon all social standards to crawl about like early hominids. Defense against the forces of evil indeed. Some have difficulty with just day to day functioning without maternal guidance. Who but a similar offender would want to put up with an abysmal sense of hygiene and inconsiderately loud music at odd hours, to name a few vices?"
"Perhaps we jumped in too quickly into all of this. You still have not truly told me about you. You are not just a worker and a student, or I would hope that you are more than a robot. What is it that you do in your spare time? Do you have any hobbies or interests that I could accommodate?"
Laurent paused, wondering if he should allow this final generous consideration. "Is there anything you wish to know about me as well? It is only natural that you should be curious about a possible benefactor."
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