Baking Prospects.

[Vasilis Gaspar]

The gentle hum of servants filled the hallways in the morning. Outside of the castle windows, white light shimmered through, broken up by the odd smudge as it was buffed out by a maid. Butlers adjusted their ties roughly, grabbed platters, and brought them out to the dining hall with the same gentle spring in their step. The plump cook whittled away at the morning's chicken, the bucket of feathers in the garbage and the bloody knife in the sink speaking of the murder an hour ago, which had yet to be picked up after. Breakfast in the king's palace was a grand affair, filling the halls with the scent of glazed biscuits and warm meats.

The king himself worked tirelessly in the library, having been up for hours without the knowledge of his servants, guarded by the tall bookcases and thick walls of the aforementioned hall. A guard stood at the door, his eyes focused and emotionless as he stared straight ahead, barring entrance to the library without proper searching. The odd servant scurrying by was met by his narrow, accusing stare, but they simply rolled their eyes and continued on.

The king, had he known that his guard was behaving so garishly, would have had his head on the breakfast table that morning if he had witnessed it. As it were, he was absorbed in a book labeled "War Tactics of the Old Kingdom," taking student-like notes on several rolls of parchment scattered across the table. The book sat on his plump stomach, sinking into the softness of fat and silk. There hadn't been a message from the high constable or his second hand in quite some time... at least not positive news... and the king was starting to get a bit worried. He was not skilled in direction of war, but the least he could do was provide his military with some hope of a strategy. While breakfast cooked below, Vasilis slaved away at his books, biting the end of a quill and catching the stray ink droplet in his beard.

[Galiene Odessa Caithan]

The light had been strong all day. Galiene had been outside since the milky dawn had plastered the sky. Errands, life's most tedious bore, and she was stuck doing them for most of the morning.

Her thin shoes beat rhythmically on the uneven cobblestone street, her pace a determined walk of someone who has little to loose. At this time the market streets were packed with people doing similar errands as her, meaning food. The large wicker basket, grasped firmly in her arms, dug hard against her chest to the point where her scar burned. The basket made traversing the crowd difficult and far more awkward than she would have liked, but it was manageable. She couldn't tell what time it was but she could tell that she must have been late.

'Guess I should take a shortcut.' She mused to herself, skirting to the edge of the crowd and down into the alley system. The alleys were dank and muddy, the shadows of the buildings around it dulled the sunlight to a perpetual dawn. Galiene slowed her jog to a fast paced walk, making a note of every detail of the alley in case they suddenly changed. She knew this system well, and she knew just how dangerous it was for a girl, looking like herself and carrying expensive food, to be walking around in them. The thieves here had the rather nasty habit of disguising themselves eerily well into the walls and crevices of the alley just for the sheer joy of pouncing on their unexpected prey. She should know, for months, no, years she had been just like them. Taking joy in leading a rich-man into an alleyway just so he could be robbed of all his belongings and, if he was a rather loudmouthed one, killed. But killings did not happen much, food and money was the primary objective because without it no one could live. Killing random people was done for sport, and all of the notable downworlders knew not to do so and often took it as a great offense to kill someone on their territory.

A blur of movement passed through the periphery of her vision. She knew it was someone and picking up her pace would only add to the lust of the chase, the pure joyful adrenaline of the primal chase. So she slowed, only enough as to not trigger the chase but fast enough that she still might make it back in time. Placing the basket on her hip, she pulled a single glove off with her teeth and stretched her arm out to the side, flaring her fingers apart. Her best mode, and only mode, of protection was her alchemy, seeing as she never wore daggers or blades on her person while she was playing her role unless someone should find them and begin to wonder. As she continued through the alley the movement she saw seemed to have vanished, as if it had lost interest in her as a target, lucky for her.

She returned to her swift pace, quickly coming to the mouth of the alleyway and returning to the cobbled streets, closing in on the castle itself.The servants entrance was not far from where she had exited, easing the rest of her journey back to the kitchens. Reaching the kitchens, she entered into a flurry of activity. Maids were carrying hampers of laundry to and fro, butlers carrying various household objects, some of which Galiene had no clue as to what they were. The cook blocked her view of the continuing rush and snatched the wicker basket out of her hands. "It's about damn time you showed up. Nearly had a heart attack, I did. Can't think of anything worse than not having a meal ready for the king!" Galiene backed up slightly, the feverish air around everyone was not abnormal but she could never get used to it. The cook took a double take at her inactivity, "Can't just stand there all day and gawk at us Gal!" The cook took a gilded tray from the counter that was loaded with silver tea pots, canisters containing an assortment of teas and spices, boats filled with cream and smaller bowls of sugar, along with a beautiful tea cup. "Least you could do is take this tea up to the King." Galiene's eyes widened, she was never given this task before.

"I, I know a lot is going on but I don't do this normally!" She nervously spouted, the assortment of vessels hitting each other, giving off a delicate chime.

"I know you haven't done this before but you do now and will until I say so. Seeing as the last girl quit, something about family or life or something. But it doesn't matter what does matter is that this gets to the King and it get's there now, so get a move on Gal!" Galiene did not argue any further, for fear of loosing more than just her sanity. She should technically be happy to have received this job, it got her closer to the King and closer to the information on the war, rather than passed down rumors through the servants, but sometimes the stress got to her as in any demanding job.

Galiene took various tunnels and servants passages to reach the room where the King sat. She had to ask a few other servants where to go, and where the King even was as the cook failed to give her proper directions. But she got there in one piece, with the casualty of a single sugar cube who's demise was met when she got a little too close to a wall and rammed the tray into it. She was surprised nothing else was spilled, but was grateful that nothing was spilled anyway. She pushed aside her final door, cleverly hidden as to look like the wall, and wound up in the room where the King sat not ten feet in front of her. She held her breath, but hesitated and let it out not wanting to seem nervous. Striding over to his side she said awkwardly, "Sir, tea for you." She placed the tray lightly on an clear spot on the table. It was scattered with documents and papers, all dictating some news or message of various subjects, Galiene hoped some were of the war.

[Vasilis Gaspar]

The sound of a door opening disturbed him, and Vasilis quickly covered the various documents on his desk with a frantic sweep of his hands to mess the papers as the figure approached, placed the bookmarking ribbon in his reading, and closed it. He looked up, squinting at the young, pallid face as it offered him tea.

It took the aging king quite a long moment to process the three words which had interrupted his study. His eyes had been so long upon the dark paper lit only by the thin stream of yellow light through the window, his mind so twisted in thoughts of war and strategy, that he had somehow forgotten words could be spoken rather than just written. He stroked his beard and adjusted his robe, contemplating those simple words which seemed far more complicated than just a simple "sir, tea for you," the arrangement of which could mean so many things in relation to war, metaphorically speaking. In some regions, he had heard, the words "sir, tea for you," were meaningless on their own, and the true art of tea lay in the delicate mixing and pouring of intricate brews of the finest caliber and organization.

However, in this region, tea was taken at morning, often before breakfast to cleanse the palate and wet it as well, so the words "sir, tea for you" were nothing more than a ceremony of their own in which he-- the sir in this situation-- was offered tea from the kitchen. Of course, the words were more often "my lord, tea for you," or "my king, tea for you," rather than sir, but "sir" was compliment enough. Shaking his head to clear his mind of cloudy thoughts, Vasilis watched the procession of the tray from hands to table with an odd stillness. "Oh yes, thank you," he mumbled politely, quickly taking his pick of the assortment of teas by label and pouring his favorite into the little silver cup. It took him only a moment, and without cooling it with his breath, Vasilis took a strong sip.

The tea proved acceptably hot, and the aging king nearly dropped the cup as he exhaled painfully, his eyes watering. He set the cup down and fanned his mouth. "Ah yes, scalding as always," he commented conversationally towards his deliverer this morning. Now properly woken, he turned his eyes to the girl. "You're not the usual girl, are you?" He grumbled, squinting almost accusingly. "What happened to the other? She's alright, I hope?"