Welcome to Gaia! ::

"God damn it. Feckin'... Jesus CHRI-" The man fell flat on his face, and scrambling to stand, he gave the root he'd tripped over a sharp kick- which of course just brought another string of choice words pouring from his lips. Furiously, he wiped the dead leaves and dust from his clothing, and checked his bag to make sure he hadn't dropped anything. Satisfied that his run of bad luck was over for now, he continued on- his eyes on the ground.

This of course is why he failed to notice the low hanging branch he knocked his head on, but after another angry fit, he finally found an end to the trees, and towering a good ten feet above him stood the walls of Lenora's prison. Patrick gave a relieved sigh and a smile worked it's way onto his features as he made his way along the wall looking for the section of loose stones. Running his hands lightly over the wall in the dim light, he finally found the spot he was searching for. Carefully, he pulled the rocks out of their places and piled them neatly next to the hole- Which was now just big enough for him to squeeze through.

There was a smug smile on his face as he reached through the opening to drop his bag on the other side, before squeezing through after it with little effort, "Times like these I'm glad I'm not a hulking giant of a man..." Not that it wouldn't be nice... He thought bitterly, still feeling a bruise on his back where he'd been hit with a fairly heavy bar stool the night before.

Finally through the gap in the wall, he slung the bag back over his shoulder, and started toward the kitchen, where the cooks were busy loading carts with every sort of delicacy. As soon as he stepped into the room, the chaos of dinner preparation turned into panic. One of the cooks ran to watch the dining room door, while a group of men chopping carrots and potatoes stopped to hiss angry commands at him. Another cook grabbed Patrick by the arm, and dragged him into a less busy and secluded corner of the kitchen, "What the hell are you doing here, Pat?! Dinner's not over yet!" The smuggler was still slightly stunned by the panic his appearance had caused, and his reply came slowly, "I'm.. Early, then?"

The cook looked at him like he was mad, and hurriedly ran to grab an apron before tossing it at the irishman, "That's a ********' understatement! Here! Put this on- hopefully Lenora or her staff won't recognize you when they plan on inspectin' the kitchen- Will you hurry it up! Go help Marcus and Connor peel those potatoes! And for god's sake, wash those grimy paws! Next time you dig a grave, maybe you'll have the sense to use a shovel instead of yer hands!"

Patrick quickly tied the apron, and set to work following the man's orders as quickly as he could in his suddenly dazed state. Everything was going along a bit too quickly, and before he really realized what was happening, a well dressed man with sharp, cold eyes stepped in from the dining room. Patrick tried his best to keep his head down, but he found himself watching the man carefully as he moved his way around the suddenly tense kitchen.

Most of the eyes in the room, the smuggler knew, were on him, and Patrick held his breath as he continued slowly peeling the potato in his hands. After a long moment, the man seemed satisfied with the state of the kitchen, and moved back through the door into the dining room. There was a collective sigh of a relief, a few comforting pats on the back, and suddenly the kitchen was chaotic again. Thank god.

Dropping the massacred spud in his hand, he took off his apron and tossed it to the cook who had originally thrown it at him, "Sorry, but that was a bit too close. I think I'll just hide out in the gardens until it's time for the party to start, alright?"
The man looked down at the apron, and then the single potato Patrick had managed to peel, before giving a resigned sigh, "What a shame- I was looking forward to an evening teaching a drunken criminal how to cook dinner for a school of wealthy, refined young ladies."

Patrick gave a short laugh, before making his way to the exit, "Some other time- we'll make a night of it. Now if you'll excuse me- I'll be preparing for a long night of tedious work." He heard a few groans and muttered curses as he stepped outside, and he was unable to keep a smirk off of his face as he made his way into the gardens.

The night was getting steadily darker, and while Patrick would have loved to spend the time before the White Feather meeting stumbling around the gardens like the "drunken criminal" he was, he decided instead to pay a visit to the groundskeeper. He was whistling a nameless tune as he walked, until he came to realize he wasn't alone. The tune died quickly, and he turned to look over his shoulder nervously for the one following him. It was a bit too dark to see the face clearly- although it was easy to make out the girl's dress and petite figure. He let out a slight breath of relief.

Better a student than anyone else, he supposed, though how the girl had slipped away during dinner was beyond him, "Evening there, lass. I don't suppose you realize what time it is?" He stepped back toward her a few paces, reaching into his back to pull out a lighter and flip it open. The light from the lighter was enough to illuminate the girl's features briefly, and a small smile formed on his lips as he got a good look at her face before closing the lighter again, "Or maybe- maybe you realize what time it is, and you're just a bit sick of waiting around in that fancy prison of yours?"

He turned around again, setting off toward the groundskeeper's shed once more, "In which case- you're more than welcome to join me for a walk. I was just on my way to visit a friend." He slowed to glance back briefly at the school- a building that although normally quite beautiful, looked a bit sad and disheveled in the darkness, "Or I suppose you can hurry back for the rest of dinner before things get too exciting. Wouldn't want to miss those delicacies the cooks prepare for young, refined ladies such as yourself, now would you?"

That ought to have been invitation enough, and Patrick left it at that as he continued on, searching through his bag to find a flask of whiskey- only to find that he hadn't brought it along, "Oh for ******** sake. You've got to be kidding me." Thankfully, the night wasn't a complete disaster. He'd still get paid for bringing what the Feathers had asked for, although he felt a bit uncomfortable with handing over the items Abigail had requested. It was pretty obvious what she intended to do with them, and he already felt partially responsible for what would happen to tonight's initiate. He certainly regretted telling Abigail about it in the first place.

The thought almost made him want to watch- as if that would somehow provide comfort. But he'd seen enough of those twisted trials to stay away from them. Letting out a sigh, he glanced back to find his company still accompanying him, and as he neared the entrance to the groundskeeper's shed, he ventured a friendly question, at the same time lightly knocking on the door, "I don't suppose you have a name, miss?"

As Adelaide was enduring her lecture, she saw Joan walk past her and give her a smile. "Smug b***h." Adelaide breathed as Joan walked past perfectly. "See?" Mr Jones roared at Adelaide, as he noticed her concentration slipping "Why can't you be more like Miss Frances? A well behaved girl like her will last a lot longer than you in this academy!" Adelaide bit down on her lip and held back the urge to laugh. Joan? Perfect? For all Mr Jones knew, she was probably just as, and if not worse, than Adelaide with her rebelious nature.

Adelaide sat in the corridors for the rest of dinner. She wasn't allowed to eat dinner after being caught sneaking by Mr Jones, but it's not like she really minded. Adelaide could hardly bear sitting at those tables when the only conversation present was about the weather. Her stomach growled, but on the bright side, at least this would work well for her weight. Adelaide had been growing rather self conscious and skipping meals worked wonders on her stomach. The only problem here was the cold. It was freezing in the corridors and Adelaide was left shivering in the freezing cold until the end of dinner.

As the doors opened and the girls flooded out, Adelaide jumped to her feet and made her way into the crowds. Adelaide had to blend in to make sure Mr Jones wouldn't spot her and issue her another detention for leaving without his permission. Adelaide walked swiftly to her room and locked herself inside. She changed into a lighter dress quickly and let her hair down. She looked different when she dressed simply, without the make-up and the hair pins.

Adleaide snuck out of her room quickly and quitely and began a light jog down the corridors towards the grounds. Adelaide had been caught sneaking out numerous times and knew the corridors that staff almost never checked. It was longer, sure, but she couldn't afford another detention this week. She reached the grounds and began to run as fast as she could towards the chapel, she couldn't bear the academy restraints for much longer.

Victoria had been told off no less than six times tonight at dinner. Three times her cutlery had touched the fine china plates with a quiet clang, twice her glass had made too much noise touching the table and once she had coughed. Although she had covered her mouth, it was inappropriate to cough at dinner. She ought to have excused herself, she was informed. Yet she found herself on even ground with her peers though. Each of the others was told off in equal or higher amounts than herself, but for one girl, who had clearly been there somewhat longer and was due to move to one of the more sophisticated tables in less than a month.

This table, Victoria was informed as dinner drew to a close, was the table they sat the inexperienced at to be watched over, and to learn as they ate. A mistake would mean more time spent here, where the rules were by far stricter than those placed upon the girls at every other table in the hall. It was not a good place to be seated, and on more than one occasion this clattering little table of misfits in the corner was used as punishment for some of the older girls. Victoria frowned.

"Clattering little table of misfits?" She repeated, indignation showing boldly through her proper accent.
"Yes." The other girl said quietly, motioning subtly for Victoria to keep both her voice and her tone lowered.
"They sometimes call us that, especially when they're mad. Excuse me, when they are-"
"Ms. Brittel, you would do well to remember both your place and your English. Sit up straight, girl!. You will remain behing for a full minute after the other girls are excused."
The prim teached turned her attention to Victoria.
"Well, Miss Gladstone? What do you make of Miss Brittels' misdemeanour?"
Victoria felt the table hold its breath. One wrong answer could see them all punished to the servants tasks for the night.
"With all due respect miss," Victoria began, "Are you asking for my opinion of her treatment by you or of my opinion on her words? Because my opinion of her punishment is that it is fair, or perhaps even a little light, given what she was saying. An extra two minutes or more would do her little harm. And my opinion of her words is that I had best work hard in order to remove myself from such a table, if what she is saying is true."
The teacher smirked in some semblance of approval, and the girls at the table did little to diguise their disgust. It was clear she was one of them. One of those girls that chose to come.
"I was asking after both, Miss Gladstone. Please be sure to never start a sentence with 'and' in the future, especially should you change the subject or pause in even the smallest way. It is noticable, Miss Gladstone."
"Yes miss." Victoria had responded, and dinner had ended without any further dramas.

With the venemous glares and glances she recieved as the girls stood and began to file out of the hall, Victoria decided it was probably best not to stay. She made her way back to her room, where she carefully undressed, checked her clothes for any marks and packed them away carefully. She had stripped down to her bloomers and pulled on her nighty, which was white with light blue lace trim and a small bow. The sleeves fell to her elbows and her neck was quite open, which was surprisingly comfortable at night. She had sat down in front of the mirror, which is where she found herself now, and as she brushed her hair, contemplated her evening. She had been told off six times.

She carefully plaited her hair over her shoulder so it wouldn't get in the way while she slept and tied it at the end with a beautiful small blue ribbon - making it into a bow, of course.

This done she turned down the covers on her bed and slipped into it gratefully. She blew out the candle, laid back, closed her eyes and heard someone giggle.

She frowned when a whisper warned the giggler to hush, and with a reluctant sigh, got out of her bed and krept to the door.

Victoria had intended to dob them in. She merely wanted to see who it was, and then she would go back to bed and sleep. She would tell the teachers in the morning, to tell them now would get her into troube, as well, just for being awake. But as she peered out the door she realised that they were going somewhere, and she couldn't make out their faces anyway.

Curiousity wormed its way into her mind and before she really knew what she was doing she had stuffed her pillows under her blankets so she wouldn't be discovered missing and was sneaking through the school behind the girls. They led her to the Chapel, and she hid in the gardens, barely surpressing gasps as the older and younger girls alike snuck out of the school through a hole in the wall. One girl stayed at the hole, her face hidden by the branches of the shrubbery she was hiding behind. Another girl came up and talked to her for a moment, their words to quiet for Victoria to hear, and then she went through the wall, too.

Victoria tried desperatly to see a face, but she couldn't do it without being discovered.

Joan was rather startled when a third member became privy to their conversation. The door of the groundskeeper’s hut opened, and from within the entry way came a cool reply to her question.

Although directed at the stranger beside her, the answer was nonetheless an answer. When Max turned to the stranger and spoke to him, voice lowering to a whisper as to indicate a more private conversation, Joan’s hairs stood on end. They spoke a foreign language, and although the words did not unnerve her, the sudden realization that her situation was, perhaps, not the most desirable, caused her unwavering resolution to falter.

She looked between Max and the stranger, her discontent growing. Messing with the White Feather was one thing, but right now that looked highly unlikely. It seemed more likely, however, that seeing as the groundskeeper and this stranger were apparently in kahootz with Abigail, that she might be in a world of trouble should words pass between max and other members of the faculty. After all, she didn’t know the full extent of Max’s involvement in the White Feather, and rumours were not enough for her to remain confident. The stranger would not be able to rat her out to staff, but Max was certainly capable of such a move, especially if he was dealing with Abigail and she demanded it of him…

Joan’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. She was brave and cunning, and stupidity was not a forte she’d like to dabble in. The wisest move would be to excuse herself from this undesirable predicament and return to her rooms. That way she would be able to thwart the White Feather free of punishment for this unsavoury escapade. Besides, she was already going to be severely punished for leaving dinner tonight. It was inexcusable for a lady to remove herself from the dining room without appropriate excuse, and the punishment would no doubt be laborious and boring, restricting her freedom considerably in what was already deemed by most as a prison.

Joan smiled, eyes glittering in the light thrown over Max’s threshold. She interrupted the foreign conversation before the strange could answer Max.

“I’m with your friend through an unhappy coincidence,” she replied stiffly, cutting short their dialogue. “One I am not keen to continue.” She sniffed disdainfully, flicking her silver blonde hair over her shoulder, eyeing the groundskeeper warily. “I was merely out for a stroll in the gardens when I chanced upon him. Why should the White Feather have all the fun?” The concession was a dangerous one, but Joan’s suspicious eyes never left Max. She hoped for a dismissal, a sign that the groundskeeper would not be letting others know about her night time wanderings. Hopefully, her careful probe would discourage him.

Perhaps the light threat was a bad decision, but Joan’s sharp tongue had ways of securing its owner trouble.