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Speaking: #E56717thinking





She hadn’t planned on killing today. She was doing so well. Only one person thus far had been expunged from the earth under the weight of her signature since arriving to the school. Of course, their bodies were donated to science, for better use than their lives had provided, surely. Yet the incessant help this school supplied on a daily basis was itching to increase that number. They were no longer walking the tight rope of stupidity, but using it as a ******** jump rope. Thirty minutes had passed since she requested her breakfast. Eight new articles of jewelry had been crafted, two treaties drafted and weighed, and six trade routes for the undercity reworked. Yet, in all she had managed to accomplish in this time, the help had neglected to return with the damn tray of blueberry muffins she had requested.

Pandora’s arm, heated and heavy, slipped over Gwendolyn’s clavicle, her head tilting to accommodate the phantom weight while her golden gaze stayed glued on the scribbled notes beneath her pen. “What– Pray tell, is the <********> point of letting our pet make a fool out of herself in the kitchens if we aren’t gaining any benefits from it?” The weight of that entirely valid point curled Gwen’s lips downward, her grip tightening till the metal on her quill pen groaned beneath the pressure of her hold. The only reason she hadn’t jumped down Izzie’s throat about such peasant displays in the first place was so that she could have an unending supply of her favorite treats. Pandora’s fingers splayed in a dramatic sweeping motion over the desk. “Then where are they?” Grinding her jaw, Gwendolyn stood, her long braid uncoiling from the loose knot atop her head to dance down along her silk-veiled spine as she stormed out the door and cut a pathway to the kitchens.

Someone would pay for this. Izzie for failing to supply an adequate amount, the help for failing to provide her needs promptly, and then whoever else managed to stumble into her path for being coerced into emerging from the confines of her workshop. She wasn’t even dressed nearly as extravagantly as she preferred; she predicted her day would be submerged in work, yet here she was, doing the ground work of the poor to hunt down a damn snack. If only they weren’t so ******** good.

During her excursion, Gwendolyn and her sisters found that the kitchen staff was just as incompetent. Informing the coiling queen that her pet's delectable creation had been shuffled off to the dining hall by mistake. Names were taken, and calming ideas filled her mind with imagery over how she would torture the staff member who, oh so royally ******** up, during her travel to the dining hall.

Cutting through the threshold, her gaze snapped to the only remaining muffin left on the tray. Long, confident strides carried her to it, but just as her claws reached to claim her prize, some massive <********> Thug shoved his meaty sausage fingers beneath hers and snatched it away. Gwendolyn hadn’t even had a second to react to Pandora’s rage bubbling up her throat, not before the treat disappeared into the gaping void that was that man's massive mouth, and then promptly slammed into her. A lesser woman would have been knocked off their feet, but Gwendolyn Tonnerre never tripped up that way. Her chest pressed firmly against his, unmovable as golden daggers stabbed through icy blue.

Then the slovenly creature didn’t even have the decency to enjoy what he stole from her! Spitting the warm, fluffy treat within his maw as he babbles something close to words into the air, a sopping blueberry chunk landed atop her cheek. Gwendolyn’s jaw tightened, lip curling back to snarl at the pathetic puppy dog eyes washing over her in apology as though that could fix anything.

A hand shot out, catching his jaw and forcing it closed with an audible snap. “ Why are you slobbering all over me while trying to talk, and what can I do to make sure it never happens again?” A voice as cold as ice slipped past her teeth. Her gaze flicked downward, catching the plate balanced so nicely in the palm of his other hand.

Well. If he had the audacity to ruin her meal, why not ruin his in return? Her unpreoccupied hand flung up, knocking the full plate from his fingers to send all its gluttonous contents crashing to the floor. Good. He could stand to shrink a bit. “There–” She snapped, releasing his scruffy jaw from her bruising grip to wipe away the remnants of her morning endeavor from her cheek. “Go fetch yourself a new plate, Dog.”


OOC: Let me know if you need moreeeeeee