jones. (anawfulmess) wrote in bloodburn, @ 2011-03-29 22:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: evan rosier, character: hestia jones, location: norfolk |
WHO. Hestia Jones & Evan Rosier
WHAT. A typical breakfast
WHERE. The Rosier home
WHEN. Wednesday morning
RATING. Eh. We'll give it a Mature rating.
STATUS. Thread; Incomplete
She couldn't remember how long things had been this way, now. All she knew was that every day, she was awake before the sun was able to make an appearance. Every morning she would have to make the trek across the dew soaked grass all the way to the Rosier manor. She would then have to quietly navigate around the house, something she could do with her eyes closed now, until she arrived in the kitchen. Hestia Jones was not a chef by any means. The results of her cooking were either classified as "disastrous," or "fatal." Still, she found herself silently preparing breakfast for Evan Rosier. The man she had hated since Hogwarts. She couldn't even remember what spurred on the animosity between them (something he had obviously done to slight her), but it had escalated immensely during their time there. Ever since the regime change took place, Hestia found herself forced to bite her tongue when around him. As the sun was rising, she could hear the rest of the Rosier household moving around. Just as she did every morning, she placed each dish on a long silver tray, complete with beverages in the finest china she had ever seen. The tray that she carried was specifically for Evan; the rest of his family cared not for her, considering she was his special play thing. The thought made her sick. Still, she had managed it this far without many outbursts. As Hestia approached the dining room, she paused to compose herself. This was yet another ritual that she had to perform everyday. Only, this wasn't by the order of her new master. No, this was purely to help herself detach from the world. She had to keep her mind at bay, or she'd revolt. She'd end up attacking him and ruining every chance she had to reclaim her mother's business. She pushed through the door to see the Rosier family sitting around a long dining table. The linen was crisp and white, like it was too clean. That was something she had yet to get accustomed to - the outright cleanliness of the Rosier manor. She hadn't expected him to live in filth or anything, but it was still odd to her. She placed the tray on a small side table and began to serve Evan the food, carefully placing each fragile dish upon the table. The least little slip up and she would have to start completely over. When she had finished dressing his end of the table, she took her place behind him, head bowed and hands behind her back. |