I have a lot of audacity, thank you. She flashed him a shit-eating grin, though he might miss it, as she was just behind him. But he'd no doubt hear it in her voice.
Old days is more fun. False charges is... intriguing but lengthy. And this is kind of a boring party... The fact no-one had stopped the party because of the man that had died, amused her. People were truly apathetic these days.
He didn’t need to see her face to know she was grinning like the imp she was. Carefully Novella, the wind might change and then you’ll be stuck wearing that expression for good.
Yes. This party was incredibly dull, no one was even commenting on his fine art piece outside, pity. He’d just have to deny their host of the candied treats. Like two shadows the pair would weave their way through the various corridors following the scents of pastries, salted meats and an array of various milder ones that had they the time Mal would spend time dissecting. Alas, they had a cook to procure.
Few servants who noticed them gave them anything but a passing glance, focusing on their tasks and work than pay attention to the business of the Eyes, else they find themselves involved and detained later. It amused him how they seemed to scatter at the very sight of one of the black garbed and masked footmen. With this in mind, Mal paused at the kitchen’s double doorway, flashing his progeny a wink before straightening. With a few adjustments of his sleeves, the Chancellor pushed open the doors with force, swaggering in tall and imposing.
A wave of entropic force rolled out across the room, cooks, chef’s and assistants dropping to their knees in sudden exhaustion, all energy gone that they could no longer support themselves.
You all have enough energy to speak. So, which one of you is the Tart Maker?
She snorted, rather than respond with her voice. He knew her too well; and like a father, could anticipate the look on her face from her tone. She trailed after him in silence, blending into the shadows and following the scents of the kitchen.
Ella stayed in the doorway, quietly clocking an exit to the back and another to the left; servant's quarters, it'd seem. After a moment of examining the many cooks that fell to their knees, she moved around the parameter of the room, slowly. Heeled shoes clicking against the floor, to check one exit and then another. Any movement from the vermin on the ground earned a glare, and her steps only paused as she reached the side exit, taking a moment to firmly shut the door and bolt it.
And then, she resumed to the back exit, to do the same. We would like to talk to the Tart Maker. His tarts are delicious and we must provide accolades to his face. She called, from the back of the kitchen.
Gods he missed the good old days where they’d sweep in, cause a ruckus, make someone piss themselves and then depart the stage of their meddling with a flourishing escape. Alas, no more blood could technically be spilled since he had enjoyed tossing the whelp off the roof… he couldn’t quite dispatch the entire staff.
Ella provided security while he scanned the wilted faces of the staff, waiting for the Tart Maker to reveal themselves. A quaking hand rose among the crowded kitchen, the young looking lad cautiously looking up in terror, flinching as Mal’s hands clapped together, echoing around the room. Splendid! Up you get, lad, up, up.
A skip entered the Chancellor’s steps while moving forward, that childish glee slipping escaping as a shrill giggle. Landing in front of the lad he pulled him up, taking him by the hands and forcing him to dance across the kitchen, meandering around the bodies towards Ella. The rest of you know and saw nothing, do you understand? Else my dearest over there will return and take your tongues and eyes.
Darling, shall we make our exit? Or is there a dish you wish to try before we take our Tark Maker for a most interesting chat?
Novella's eyes wandered the bowed bodies, people hoping to be forgotten. Forget, and you won't see us again. Your friend will be safe, simply... promoted. Her voice was smooth, reassuring. And while she didn't know about her magic; this was one instance where she'd sooth a crowd before their departure.
But perhaps that could also be attributed to one's willingness to avoid seeing her again.
Mmm, let's take the dear boy. These folks needs to return to their cooking. She smiled warmly to the young man, offering her hand. Come with us, we've got an offer you want to hear. She promised.
Preoccupied by the cowering Tart Maker trembling in his hold, Mal only paid attention to not stepping on any hands. It would be rude given how compliant they had all been, pitiful sheep. And Ella kept them so beautifully docile, reinforcing his orders without the cooks daring to take a breath until they had all departed. It stroked Pride's ego far more easily than Mal would normally allow.
With a final turn and giving the young lad an awkward spin, Mal’s head tilted, Mmm. The footwork needs work… but I suppose I’m only interested in your hands and palette. Letting him go, Mal nodded for him to take Ella’s hand expectantly.
When he took it, Mal walked past them both towards the door, rescinding his magic only once the trio had vacated the space. They began walking down a corridor, light from the gardens streaming in from one side. About half-way, he’d spin around, towering over the lad and clasping his hands together. How would you enjoy a change of scene, Mr Tar- His head tilted, eyes narrowed slightly. It was better to check thoroughly what and who he was bringing home, Mal’s estate was his sanctuary afterall. What is your name? Full name. Tart-Boy is unseemly and I won’t lower myself so dismally.
Ella slipped her fingers through the tart maker's, like they were old friends or a couple. She chatted, idly with him, though he said nothing back. He did relax, the longer he walked alongside the chatting woman.
"Oh! Uhm, Gustav. Lesley Maxim Gustav." He clarified, glancing nervously to Novella, who only smiled encouragingly. The name meant nothing to her, but she committed it to memory as she studied the young man beside of her.
You can change clothes in here, a little closet of a bathroom. She'd grabbed a new uniform for him, and stepped in behind of him to examine the small room. The window was much too small for an escape, and the man was much too scared.
We'll be right outside, Mister Gustav. She smiled brightly, and handed the clean clothing to him.
He dressed, relatively quick. And she noted, as she reclaimed the man's hand, that he'd took a moment to clean himself up at the sink. Quite sorry for the scare. She added, as they resumed walking just behind of Malachai.
"Th... that's okay, miss...?"
Miss is just fine. She responded, with a shrug of one shoulder. She wouldn't tell the man a name to call her by until she was certain he'd suit her father's needs.
Malachai’s stride slowed as he turned his head, glancing back at Novella and Gustav. A soft chuckle escaped him as he noticed how the Tart Maker seemed to cling to her like a frightened child finding safety. His grin sharpened, his eyes glittering with an edge of mischief.
My, Novella, you have quite the gift for soothing the skittish, he remarked, his tone dripping with amusement as they waited on the lad. He's so sweet and precious, isn't he? Like a frightened little rabbit. It’s probably for the best that we’re sweeping him away from this dreadful place. They’d positively beat that out of him if we left him to linger too long.
Malachai let the thought hang in the air a moment, his expression flickering with mock pity before it shifted back to amusement. He paused in his steps, turning fully to regard Gustav, his imposing figure somehow both inviting and intimidating.
Now, Gustav, Mal said, clasping his hands behind his back as he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone, I have something of a penchant for… fostering talent. More aptly, acquiring it for his own means. A sanctuary for those with extraordinary gifts, if you will. He straightened, a flourish of his hand accompanying his next words. You’ll have a space of your very own to weave your pastry magic. Supplies, tools—anything your little heart desires.
His eyes narrowed just slightly, a calculating gleam within them as he added, But that sweetness of yours? Hold on to it. It’s a rare thing in a world as… crude as this one. I don’t want it affecting the tarts you’ll create for me.
He glanced at Novella, his grin broadening. See, darling? I can be quite generous when I’m inspired. He gestured for them to continue walking, his voice lilting with satisfaction. Now, let’s get this little treasure home, shall we?
