Blythe found herself wondering what videos he watched, and what he thought of her material; like all creators. Her channel, admittedly, was something of a confusing disaster to people who liked knowing what "kind" of video maker you were. Blythe's channel had started the same way it was now; a mash of makeup tutorials, video game streaming, challenges in which most of the draw she was sure was a full-faced goth rolling her sleeves up and making slimes, making complex games with nerf guns, getting drunk and baking, playing dungeons and dragons, buying questionable things online and testing them out, or doing punishable and chaotic games with her roommates, friends or relatives.
Getting pushed into an inflatable kiddy pool full of cottage cheese with all of her makeup on became a confusingly colored bath after the fact, especially once she started the fight that ended with the camera nearly knocked over from flying condiments. It wasn't her most elegant moment, nor her most hirable material. The goth's lips pushed out a little as she envisioned the look of confusion that most likely turned into creeping horror that had crossed Mr. Bellvue's face as he had watched some of the things they had done. She was relieved to hear he had seen at least some of the good-looking pictures she posted on her instagram. Selfies with large, bright drinks and cups and pets and friends and awful puns and cryptid videos of the strange people she saw now and again.
She hummed in affirmation, nodding slowly, "[+purple Well, at least you know what you're getting into, then- mostly.]" Blythe shrugged at the end of that statement. There was no hint of animosity at his initiative, or discomfort. It wasn't like she made a tiny sum off of posting a majority of her performative life onto the internet for fun and to hopefully garner the attention of the film industry. Nothing like that. She had no reason to be shy other than potentially worrying about how it affected her hirability. This certainly wasn't the only job she had applied for.
A smile did pull up a corner of her mouth at the beginning of his suggestion, before it blossomed into a full smile. Blythe lit up at the humor behind his suggestion. "[+purple That's a great idea! Oh, what should the dead relative's name be, if I go that direction though?]"
Blythe still hesitated with the animals thing. Having more room didn't mean that too many animals was a better idea. She reached up with one lacquered hand and scritched at the back of her head for a moment, glancing back up at Sebastian to see the sheepish look on his face as he [i glanced away]. It was so vulnerable to see such a big man smile like that, it brought out another one of hers to see it. It was interesting to see the bloodless way that the scars stayed pale, drawing her gaze for a moment, making a mental note in case she ever wanted to animate facial scars, before her eyes returned to his.
"[+purple That's precious,]" she said, voice genuine in its pleasure at the admittance. "[+purple The weight of something on you feels super secure, doesn't it?]" Blythe asked, "[+purple My cats take up any unoccupied lap or square footage on a person they like. It's best to let it happen, as you know.]"
The dark haired woman took the pause in conversation to take a hearty sip of her tea again. She wasn't rushed regarding the temperature. She was a heathen who didn't mind continuing tea or coffee that had gone cold. But her lips were stayed before she took a second to lower the cup, her brows arching. He was showing her around? Wasn't that reserved for people who were getting hired? Her gaze on him was in an expression short of a finger raising to point at herself: [i me?]
Blythe set the teacup down. [i And] lunch?? She wasn't prepared to be treated to a whole first date of an introduction to her housemate/friend. "[+purple Oh,]" she ground out in a sultry tone, though the register of her voice was hardly as attractive as she scrutinized Bellvue slightly with a squish to her face in a mock glare. "[+purple You've got my number, you do. An unusual garden [i and] food. You did your research.]" It was all in play, her tone quickly hopping back up to her speaking tone.
Unfortunate that she didn't wear comfortable walking shoes. Hopefully it was more a stately, classical landscaped garden than a hike, she hoped with a little peek down at her ankle boots. "[+purple You're on, let's see if I can be tolerable company for an extended period of time.]"
"[+purple I knew there was a reason I didn't go full formal regalia today, I knew that omen was right when I saw it.]"
Oh, lord. So many questions to respond to--if he could even remember them by the time she had finished talking. She seemed very excited and kept talking after asking the questions, so he assumed she didn't really care about the answers and that most were rhetorical, or that they were precursors to questions she would ask another time. He wasn't sure.
"I took a look at a few of your pages--mostly the instagram, for the pictures of the animals, but I did watch a few videos. If any followers question the new set up, just tell them you got a high-end job for a super secret government organization you can't talk about. Conspiracies will definitely boost your views, and the more vague you are about said job or who it's with will definitely drum up some theories and conspiracies. Or say a rich distant relative died." Bastian shot her a wink and smiled, a small chuckle sticking in his chest and not quite escaping.
"If you're worried about your pets not getting along with mine, don't worry--there's plenty of room in the estate, they probably won't even run into all of them but once a month. I do like to have most of them in the theater when I watch movies, though--they're all great cuddle buddies, and when it's a horror or a particularly gory flick, it's nice to have them to comfort me," he admitted with a slight blush coloring his cheeks. One blush was mercilessly sliced in half diagonally like some weirdly cut peach, as the scar that ran across that cheek stalwartly kept its pale color, staying true to its original color. It was one thing Bastian hated about blushing--half of his face looked almost normal, and the other half would have a blush interrupted by scars that would stay the same hue and contrast in an interesting, rarely "handsome" way. It was another reason he liked to stay as anger-free as possible--he looked like a real-life monster, or so he viewed it, when his face turned red with anger. He had caught himself in a mirror once before after smashing it with a vase in a fit, and when he went to pick up one of the larger shards to smash it against the wall, he saw his reflection. It terrified him, and he hoped he never looked like that again.
Finishing his now tepid tea, Bastian asked the edgelord sitting across from him, "Would you like to see the game room, or any other room, for that matter? My kitchen staff should be almost finished with making the late lunch I ordered--we could eat that on the grounds before the mosquitos come out. I feel you might enjoy the garden--many unconventional plants that you may be interested in." He sent a gentle smile Blythe's way--the area by the fountain, deep in the heart of the garden, was surrounded by dark red roses and other dark flowers, towering high, high above even Bastian's tall head; during a sunset, it was almost like you were standingin a forest with a canopy that obstructed all light, though some rays of orang-pink light would shine through the gaps in the leaves and thorns. And when that color hit the fountain, well, it was absolutely breathtaking--to him, at least. The color of the water turned into almost an amber, a deep amber, as if it was tainted by cedar staining. It reminded him of one of the places e had gone to on a vacation as a child--some place in Michigan, here the water was surrounded by cedar trees that leeched their color into the cool, clear water. He loved being reminded of that day.
All around the base of the fountain, herbs grew. Mostly things that gave off good, calming scents, like lemon balm and lavendar, but along the path and interrupting the rose bushes were also some sage and heather. He felt that Blythe might enjoy those, if not the aesthetic of the area itself--if she was a practicing witch, wiccan, or anything f the sort, she could use sage and heather, at least, and it would be good to know where he kept them growing.
[left [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9b/9b/2e/9b9b2ec765b13b03ee53ab3c1ef17fd7.jpg]] She saw that look. There was a light in his eyes when she said cats. Oh, thank goodness he liked cats cuz there was no way she is going to be able to part from her sweet babies without some major grief and heartbreak. It might have even been a deal-breaker.
Taking this opportunity, she started on her tea, glad to have its bite on her tongue and inhaled the little curl of steam off the cup before her eyes returned to his. A chuckle came from behind lips parted in a big grin. Ghastly was a wonderful word, especially out of such a big, masculine looking guy. "[+purple I'm terrible too, but painting in itself is fun, as I recall.]"
He was prone to his eyes distancing, thinking to himself, and losing said self for a few moments in that. Painting must really be a passion of his. How nice! Potentially, at least. Her thoughts were going again to movie tropes, unfortunately. This situation seemed so impossible; finding the interview time with a money-laden, lonely man in his mysterious mansion asking you to live with him. She understood that it was silly to say so, but it [i felt] so unreal she had to liken it to film.
"[+purple What do you like to read? What kind of books?]"
Blythe was smiling still through his list of things he likes, tilting her head at boxing. "[+purple Do you just box? American boxing, or a discipline specifically?]"
Another laugh, and a waving gesture. Not to worry, child, "[+purple Mine too, but I write mostly for my own pleasure. Terrible fictions, poetry passages that go nowhere, literally just fun combinations of words... stuff like that. Shitposts and statuses online because I think I'm clever. The like.]"
Blythe's hand went up, as if reaching for a pause in the conversation so she could quickly add, "[+purple I'm internet trash, I'll warn you now. I have a channel online, and some other platforms you absolutely don't have to be a part of. I don't count that as much as leisure, however. It's mostly work, for me. Um-]" she gestured at the attendant for a moment, wondering if it was the same guy she had spoken to before. She was so bad at names, much, much better at faces. "[+purple I gave my information to your man who answered my phone call, but perhaps that didn't get passed along. Not- not that I'm expecting you to know of, or even care that that's something that I do. But I do. It's been my half hobby-side job thing, not really making enough money so I still have other jobs type of deal.]"
The chatty goth shrugged, taking a sip of her tea and gesturing at Bastion. "[+purple You can stalk me online if you want after this. See if I'm too trash to handle.]" She laughed at that. "[+purple I can give you my card.]"
"[+purple Hey, me too! That's great!]" Her energy heightened with his mention of movies. Yes, a movie buddy! Maybe if this job didn't work out they could still hang out? Blythe's dark lips turned down in an assessing, accepting frown as he spoke, brows arching as he listed his movie tastes. "[+purple Not bad, not bad. Mine vary. I will admit, as my personal aesthetic likely suggests; I love awful, vampire-filled supernatural garbage. Monster movies,]" she glanced at Bastion with that, nodding. Similar tastes, "[+purple animated films, mockumentaries, I [i love] the Hugh Jackman Van Helsing.]" Blythe was grinning wide now, shifting a little forward in her seat. "[+purple Like, I love it, but that doesn't mean I want to argue about it being better than something else, you know? Cuz I know it sucks. It [i sucks], really, but I think it's great, right? Prime feel-good garbage movie right there.]" Her gestures got a little more animated now, teacup held in one hand managing by the grace of some form of black magic not to spill, seemingly used to this motion. Meanwhile, the other twirled in florid emphasis before she pointed with her index.
Blythe blinked at him. Of course he had a massive gaming center, that seemed like such a rich single dude type of thing to own. "[+purple Well, well, hello game library. I can dig that. My followers might question my new setup, but they can handle that I think.]" she nodded her head to the side in a sort of shrug, opening her palms, multitudinously ringed fingers flexing a little from behind the heavy sleeves of her pullover.
Another sip of her tea briefly distracted Blythe from the conversation, "[+purple Hey, if you ever want to or have anything that plays multi-player, that would be so fun! I'm actually usually pretty horrible at games. I'm pretty sure that's the reason I actually have people who watch me when I post. It'll be fun!]"
Blythe's brows rose again, peeking at him from over her sunglasses lenses, "[+purple [i Several?]]" she repeated, blinking a minute, stuck between that being excited incredulity at having SO MANY animals around, and also worrying a little.
"[+purple Well, I have three. I have Lewis, Conrad the Norman and Maleficent, but I just call her Mel.]" She smiled wide at that, half ready to pull out her phone and show him right now. "[+purple Do you want to see them? I, like many, have stupid amounts of pictures.]"
A spark of excitement flitted across the man's face at the mention of cats. He listened to her speak--several similar interests, he was glad to hear-- and finished off his tea before pouring another cup and leaning back into his chair.
"I like to read," he said carefully, setting his tea aside to steep, leaning forward again to clasp his hands under his chin, elbows resting on knees. "I like to read, and I like to learn new things. I like to paint, although I'm absolutely ghastly at it. I spend most of my time in the room I use for painting."
The room he used to paint in was absolutely enchanting. High ceiling, dark oak walls, and one gigantic floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall window that looked over the back of the estate. It showed the garden, the pond, the large expanse of lawn, the trees--everything. Covering the window were two translucent white drapes which, when closed, filtered light in in the most magical way, and when opened and tied back to reveal the view, framed the whole scene more beautifully than words could describe. Though his painting skills weren't the best, that was one of his favorite rooms in the whole estate. He loved to sit and just look out that huge window, pretending he was a child again, seeing it for the fist time.
He came back to the present wit ha few rapid blinks to wipe the daydream image from his mind,looking back down to Blythe. "I enjoy music, boxing, and at least attempting to write. Rarely do any of my stories lead anywhere," he admitted somewhat sheepishly. "Movies are a pleasure of mine, although the only 'terrible' movies I like are those with awful acting and even worse scripts--think SyFy movies, or campy old horrors."
He shot her a grin. "Good thing you enjoy gaming--my little in-home 'theater' has several systems hooked up to it, and about a hundred games, which I rarely ever play. Feel free to use them--I can't play to save my life."
He wanted to tell her that he liked exploring, but he had been stuck on the estate so long, he didn't know what it was like anymore--not only that, but he was [i afraid]. Afraid to leave, afraid to be seen, afraid of not being surrounded by the known, afraid that even under the cover of darkness--because, if you're gonna explore an abandoned building, nigh time was definitely the best time to do it--that he would be seen and ridiculed. He didn't want that, not only for the embarrassment, but more for the fear he may get angry--he was terrified of becoming an angry man. He knew first hand what anger could make a man become. No, he would rather stay in his estate, where everyone inside knew him, loved him, and cared for him, and would never do anything to hurt or anger him. Frustrate him, maybe, but never hurt or anger him.
"You said you have cats--how many? I have several myself, along with other various pets. We'd be glad to have them here with you--my staff are almost all animal lovers, like myself."
Blythe could see it in his eyes, expecting her to say it. In response she felt her eyes drop, her face warm a little and her lips purse. Resolutely, she kept from saying it, feeling a little stubbornness to resist leak into her manner alongside her genuine embarrassment. Shows her for being assumptive.
Her eyes found their way back to Mr. Bellvue as he spoke, her brows slowly drifting up as she felt a release inside of her as he defined what he wanted. The part of her that thought she was silly in hoping that this was what was happening was edging out of its hidden little corner. It softened her face a little as she allowed herself to let down a little bit of her guard. Sebastion Bellvue was literally just buying a friend. And, well, if he wanted a challenge she was certainly a scrappy enough person so long as she knew she would be safe.
As much as she was taking a little bit of liking to this situation, Blythe still in all seriousness didn't know him. But a plan was formulating in her head as she listened.
She left a moment of silence for Bastion before she was about to speak. However she stopped short for a moment as she saw his face change. As he spoke a hardness entered into his eyes. There was baggage there, especially with him mentioning his scars and relationships with people. Curiosity asked if- judging on the honest lack of severity that [i she] saw with the scars, if the problem was a little more in his perception, or if it was genuine. But she didn't want to make an assumption yet. It didn't feel fair. She was just reserved about it. A woman walking into a man's house alone to live was her concern. It wasn't that she didn't think she could defend herself, it was just that she didn't want to. She didn't know these people. But. Then again, she never knew her roommates. She should be less harsh on his judgment. There was personality to see yet, and his anger.
She was studying him and his body language, curled on the corner of the couch when Bastion looked back at her. Blythe's dark brow arched as he addressed her again, plan set aside for now.
"[+purple In my free time,]" she began, glancing away. "[+purple Well, I'm not incredibly interesting on my own.]" Blythe laughed at that, almost as if there was a joke in there somewhere. "[+purple I mostly spend time at home; amusing my cats, plants, work orders, reading, online shopping, terrible movies... god, uh, video games... or sometimes I'll manage art or writing. I don't suppose the rest of my free time usually spent cleaning the house will be filled as such.]" she mused a little, biting her lip a bit.
The goth smiled again, her voice getting a little more chatty. "[+purple Other than that, I work, I play, I sleep. I do like drinking, I will tell you that, and I like exploring restaurants and those funny like themed cafes? And exploring old buildings and sites.]"
"[+purple What do you like to do?]" Blythe asked, taking the chance now to take her tea bag out. She could smell the tea from here now, so it was strong enough, and then sipped at it.
... and continued. "And what, Blythe, do you enjoy doing in your free time?"
Despite wanting to hear her use the words "sugar daddy," which was so clearly what she wanted to say, he let it go. Tilting his head thoughtfully and looking off to the side, seeming like he was lost in his own thoughts, Bastian slowly said, "To me, a companion is just that. Someone to keep another person company--the root of the word 'companion'. The last non-staff member that lived here was my sister, and she left before I was even an adult in the eyes of the law. I've filled my time with business and animals and a few interests here and there, but I haven't ever truly had someone with similar interests, around my age, to just sit and talk with me, to challenge my ideas, make me think." Of course, he had Bethany and the rest of the staff, but most of them were much older than he, and while he enjoyed their company, he wanted someone with fresher set of eyes. Someone he could relate to, someone that may be able to fix him and make him not afraid of going back into the public eye again.
"All I truly ask for," he continued humbly, "is someone genuine. Someone who is genuine, and not afraid of me or my scars and burns. Someone to be a friend to me. No sex, no romance--just... a friend." The idea of romance had been ruined for him long ago, long before his scars, even--he didn't remember an exact age, but it was when he was young. Probably 12. Of course, he still held a spark of hope and belief for romance and love up until his... noticeable scarring. After that, women were so obviously repulsed by him, so clearly disdained him, so openly spoke of how ugly and repulsive he was, that that little fire went completely out. He held no hope for a relationship of any sort, unless it ended up being one of convenience. His father always made sure to tell him he needed to produce one natural born heir before he died--Bastian figured he would probably have to pay some woman to marry him. He didn't even want to think about producing an heir the natural way--no woman would want that with him. So long as the child was a boy and tests could prove it was his, it wouldn't matter how he came to be. InVitro was somewhere far, far in the future for Mr. Bellvue.
Bastian found himself frowning--nearly scowling--with his eyes squinted, as if he was glaring at some unseen being over near the door. He shook his head to rid himself of these thoughts. All they ever did was bring his mood down and make him sulk for a few hours. Looking back to Blythe, he cleared his throat, drank some tea, and continued. "And what, Blythe, do you enjoy doing in your free time?"
Blythe's lips pursed together, pushing out as her face flushed again."[+purple Well, y'know, call me small-minded but I kind of wondered if- if this was a little more sexual. I have a dim view of male desires, if I'm honest, as a woman.]" her eyes trailed up to the ceiling, tone remaining casual. "[+purple But you know, usually my own ideas about roommate advertisements don't use the word 'companion', nor do my platonic intimacy, physical comfort, and definition of what friendship means for me- they don't necessarily match up with a whole lot of other people's ideas.]" Blythe shrugged, looking back at Mr. Bellvue.
"[+purple Also,]" she added, tilting her head, "[+purple feel free to just call me Blythe.]"
Her brows arched at his use of German, looking interested.
Blythe grinned a little more, widening as he explained. He sounded pretty cool, and it was a relief after the embarassment she just suffered. "[+purple I don't care for wine, really, anyways. You're just winning easy points,]" she laughed.
The additive explanation was interesting. Despite her misgivings, she listened intently. Tilting her head a little, her smile got a little apologetic. "[+purple I dunno, the idea kind of scares me.]" she admitted, shrugging. "[+purple I think I'll stick with my terrible for me sugar. My body knows what to do with it.]"
Blythe gazed at her tea steeping still, impatient for it, but needed to wait longer. She wanted it strong.
Blythe glanced up at Mr. Bellvue, "[+purple You look expectant.]"
"[+purple Oh! I got sidetracked.]" Her hand went behind her head, scritching a little underneath her hat. "[+purple Like I said. I'm not completely sure what I was expecting. I kind of finished my thought with that. I'm interested in more information, and when I contacted I was told I would get an interview, so here I am. I wish it was a more romantic answer, but it's really not.]"
"[+purple What does companion mean to you? What do you want from a candidate? Attractive secretary, roommate, something pretty to look at?]"
Bastian wanted to laugh. This woman was trying [i so hard] to not say what she obviosly thought thiswas. "Miss Blythe," he said with amusement in his tone. "What exactly do you think this companionship entails?" He wanted to watch her flounder for other ways to describe what she clearly thought was going to be a sugar daddy situation.
Before she could answer, he added, "I'd be glad to answer your questions afterward. And the tea is all fully stocked--some days, I feel like earl grey. Some days, pfefferminz. Not to mention I have many staff to keep this estate running as smoothly as it does, and they all have their own preferences, so I must keep them satisfied with the variety I keep. Most people have a wine cellar in estates like this. Well, I have that, too, but my Tea Pantry has more varieties of tea in it than my cellar does with wine."
He now sat, elbows on his knees, leaned forward, his hands clasped together with his chin resting on them, lips brushing his knuckled, looking up at her. This girl intrigued him. Maybe she was just looking for money, like the rest, but she was honest and blunt about it--she didn't come up with some bullshit sob story about her father being in the hospital . No, she came out and said it--without really saying it, likely to keep him from disapproving. This was probably the most fun interview he had done so far.
"The sweetener," he said, "is erythritol. Not artificial, but a substitute. One of my staff convinced me to go on a keto diet once and erythritol is just as good as sugar, without as many bad-for-you things in it. I've been using it--or, rather, my chef and his staff have been using it--as a sugar substitute in everything we make ever since. We do keep regular sugar on hand for emergencies, however." He sipped his tea, levelled a wink at Blythe with a small grin, and returned to his elbow-to-knee position, waiting for her reply to his question.
Blythe smiled at him, lacing her fingers together and shifted a little more comfortably, "[+purple Of course, go right ahead.]"
Oh boy, a notepad. That was a little intimidating if he was taking notes on her. But like- would she do any differently, advertising for a live-in companion?? Honestly, Blythe, calm down. He's [i probably] not going to stalk and murder you, that's just hard to get away with! She had to grin a little at her internal dualogue for a moment, holding back a chuckle at it. It was comforting a little.
At the first question, her lips pushed to the side a little and her brows arose in surprise. He didn't mess around, this guy. Was she not the first one he had done this with? Well, probably. "[+purple Well-]" she hummed a little, thinking about that for a second. "[+purple I mean. I'm gonna be honest for half a second- the idea of being housed and provided for was defintitely appealing. It was like a roommate advertisement, but like, way different and not like that at the same time, you know?]"
That wasn't really making any sense, not concise. Blythe spread her hands, reaching for her English skills. "[+purple I mean. I've been kind of considering taking a position like this for a little while just on my own, but I never thought I would actually like- ever see an offer to be a live-in companion, you know?]" It was [i really] hard not to just say [i sugar daddy], but that felt so rude, or crude. Something like that.
"[+purple It's so [i Pretty Woman]. I think more than anything I was really curious. And even if I didn't get this job, I would sort of see what someone would kind of want out of a setup like this? See if it was for me? If that makes sense at all.]" With that, after gesturing to try and reach her conclusion and make it relatively clear, Blythe's hands returned to her lap.
"[+purple So, if you're okay with it, after all your questions- just in case they answer any of mine- I will have a few for you, too.]"
With that a pause to conversation was drawn as the servingman Petri came back in. She smiled at him before glancing down at the spread before her.
"[+purple Oh wow,]" she cooed, eyes wide at the sheer amount of tea bags. "[+purple Do you actually drink this many kinds of tea, or is this kind of for show?]" she asked Mr. Bellevue, arching a brow a little. She thought she knew the answer, but she was curious, grinning as her finger circled around a gesture at the actual crap ton of choices. It was like restaurant or hotel proportions of choices kind of. Not that tea necessarily went bad or anything, but people usually had like all of two choices. Unlike Blythe.
She perused the choices, glancing over the herbals and the blacks and greens and then spotted an oolong. "[+purple Ooh,]" and plucked that one for herself, taking her teacup and seeing if the water in it was hot, then setting it inside. She didn't add anything else.
She had to chuckle at his offerance of the sweetener. Not that it was strange or anything, just that in her case she had in no way any intention of putting artificial sweeteners in her body. It was amusing that it so opposed her concern. But his view on it was interesting, drawing her attention, "[+purple Oh? What sort of sweetener is it?]" she asked, brow quirking up again.
Sebastian nodded to the butler when she made her choice, who nodded in return and left the room silently. "Petri will be back shortly. In the meantime, why don't we begin?" He leaned back in his chair and pulled out a pen and a small notepad with calligraphy on the front of it.
"What was the reason you responded to my ad?" he asked. He asked this as a first question so he would know before he wasted his time asking any others whether each candidate was worthy of the interview. If she said sh wanted money, he'd ask a few more questions, and based on the answers to those, possibly kick her out. If she said fame, immediately kicked out. If she said, for some reason, to spy on him and report his every day doings to gossip rags and tabloids--kicked out. The only exception to the immediate disposal would be the money answer--he felt like if she had needed the money, she would have a better reason for it than all the candidates in the past, who just wanted it for themselves.
[i Don't get too hopeful, Sebastian,] he reminded himself gruffly. [i She may look cute and innocent, but that may just be a ploy to get you to let down your guard.]
Petri returned very quickly with a small silver tray containing two cups, a sugar container, a small milk container, a bottle of honey, and a lovely silver kettle. One cup was filled with water alone and the other had a tea bag steeping in it. Next to the empty cup were about 15 different tea bag packages for her to choose from. "If you don't like anything on here, I can go get another few to choose from," Petri said softly to the young woman, smiling. He liked the look of this girl--and he loved that she wasn't afraid of his employer, not one bit. Most of the women that had come so far had been little more than girls--impolite, over dressed, standoffish or timid--and none of them had struck Petri as the type that would be a good fit for the house. This bold young lady, however, would be absolutely perfect for the stuffy Sebastian.
Bastian took his cup and added a few spoonfuls of sugar, watching the cup as the substance dissolved. "If you're on a diet or anything," he said, still watching the cup and its calming swirls, "the sugar is a sugar substitute. I find it much sweeter, and it's easier for your body to break down, so I like it more. If you would like conventional sugar, we can supply that as well." He looked back up to the woman and sipped the drink before setting it on the saucer he had placed on the nightstand beside his seat.
Blythe's smile widened a little as she saw his response to her clothing. Before the sudden terror of understanding she was underdressed potentially landing hard and heavy in her chest. It was molten, and if she didn't have so much makeup on, it was probably visible.
It was interesting that he was so polite about being shocked though, so that was promising. That was kind of half why she was still looking at other jobs was because she wasn't super sure if this wealthy white American would be comfortable with her alternativeness. But this was promising? And he didn't turn her hand and force her knuckles up like some old style, lacking a kiss on the back of the hand but same intent type of half handshake. He actually met her hand, and gave her a grip, which she returned. Excellent.
"[+purple Sure, thank you,]" she responded, glancing between her options. Couch seemed safe. She chose that, standing by it until he positioned himself and then sat at the same time with him to make sure she wasn't sitting where he wanted to be. It was his house, after all. And curling up in a spot- shown by her immediately crossing her ankles and focusing her energy on keeping those together instead of fidgeting as much- would help that.
"[+purple Oh boy,]" Blythe responded, a lacquered fingernail coming up to tap at her bottom lip. "[+purple tea would be really lovely, thank you. Please.]" She corrected herself at the end, smiling a little sheepishly.
Sebastian blinked in surprise, his eyebrows skyrocketing to his hairline. This woman was...well, she was something. And of that something, she [i wasn't afraid of him.] He saw no fear, no disgust, only mild curiosity; her smile never faltered upon seeing him; she walked [i directly] over to him and stuck out a hand bravely; she was completely under dressed for an interview, wearing Nu Goth style clothing--and it was fascinating. He wanted to tell her "you're hired" right then and there, but instead he lowered his brows, straightened the collar of his suit jacket, and gently put his much larger, gnarled hand in hers. He shook it with a firm, but not intimidating grasp.
"Please, let us sit," he said, gesturing to the sofa and his chair in the middle of the room as he released her hand. "Ladies first," he said graciously with a bow of his head. In honesty, he wanted her to sit first to see where she would choose to sit. This woman seemed very...unconventional. Would she take the couch? His chair? Remain standing to look at the books she had been studying upon his entry? The possibilities amused Bastian and he felt the beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of his lips.
"Before we begin, would you like something to drink? We have most everything, you need only ask. Water, alcohol, tea, sodas, et cetera."
[left [pic https://i.imgur.com/FdqCleM.jpg?1]] Hmm. This situation was amazing. It was so ideal. This house, this place, this sort of getting paid to exist thing. The only hesitation was. Him. Like. She loved the idea of a sort of 'sugar daddy' or a provider or something like that. Hell, she had fantasized about being one herself. But she was worried. She knew like enough about him? But not enough. She told her friend where she was going though so if she disappeared into the night forever, someone at least would know to look for her body which was a plus.
As melancholic and dramatic as withering away, a wandering ghost among the halls of this house, all Poe, [i Crimson Peak] and [i I'm the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House] and other gothic things like that. The idea of yknow actually transcending this plane of existence was. Touch and go. But ever the optimist, Blythe ran a finger along the spines of the books on one shelf, and let her eyes get caught on the items set on the shelves among them. They would be telling. What sort of things did he care to show off? What was he proud of, or wanted to surround himself in this impressive study?
Blythe turned around at the opening of the door behind her again, brushing hair back behind her ear. Curious and trepidatious eyes alighted on the figures entering.
She blinked blankly.
Oh my god.
He was. Normal looking. He wasn't like 57 and a creep, he was just a person. With some nasty scarring, oh my goodness. She found herself wondering how one would get hurt like that. Oh god, was he a soldier? Was he a [i nice] soldier? Yikes, maybe this wouldn't work out. But he was typically handsome white boy underneath all that so that was- oh my god stop being so superficial, asshole! Yikes!
Blythe hadn't realized she had started smiling; at first in relief, and then it just stayed there. "[+purple Hi there,]" she greeted, letting him appraise her for a moment before approaching and offering a hand to him to shake. "[+purple I'm Blythe,]" she laughed a little nervously. "[+purple as you know. Nice to meet you.]"
Blythe Masters was also a typicalls handsome person. Average body, swathed in a big, black cardigan sweater overtop a pentacle t shirt, and black skinny jeans. Her pale painted face peeked up at him from underneath the floppy, wide brimmed hat she had pushed back on her head, stupidly large pentacle hoop earrings, and a smile; hoping gently said smiling wouldn't make her eyeliner or foundation get disturbed, but she had faith in her eye primer, at least.
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