Unable to suppress her increasing heartbeat, she pushed the massive rosewood door. It took three attempts to open it, but eventually she was inside the office, facing her father. She hasn't even begun presenting her issue yet, but she already wanted to turn around and run away. It's actually been a while since she met the man behind the desk face to face. Their paths seldom crossed since her expulsion from the Institute. As one of his oldest children, she had to sit close to him at the dinner table, but she avoided eye contact as much as she could. Now, there was no such luxury.
Putting his goose pen down slowly, Sitanos beckoned her to approach the desk and sit down. The most prominent emotion on his face was not anger for being interrupted, nor disdain for being bothered by his least worthy offspring. It was simple curiosity. After years of a decidedly quiet and modest demeanor by Nitrozian standards, what could Evarista possibly want? Something major was up, and he knew it. She wouldn't come to him for something trivial. Reclining in his large armchair, he stroked his chin thoughtfully as his daughter sat down gingerly across from him. His gaze fell on the scrunched piece of parchment in her hands. Not even a pretense of good spokesmanship, huh?
"Alright. Out with it," he urged her.
"There's a... hmm. I want a... There's a someone I want to have. A foreigner."
Sitanos' face elongated in bewilderment. She wanted a slave of all things?
"Explain." He abandoned his relaxed posture and leaned forward, now even more curious.
She looked reasonably calm as she replied, and her voice was the usual breathy, disjointed drone. The only thing that gave away her near-explosive anxiety were her wildly darting eyes, trying to look everywhere except at him.
"There's a boy I met at a café. He's from a far-off land. Not a citizen. I want him to keep me company here. I'm... lonely." She lowered her head slightly and let out a deep sigh, so profoundly pained that Sitanos got startled a little. The ensuing silence weighed heavily on them, but fortunately, he broke it soon. Both his face and tone made his skepticism obvious, but still had a trace of fatherly affection.
"How will you take care of a slave? You can't even take care of yourself, Evarista." He let out a troubled sigh of his own and leaned back in his armchair again, arms crossed. He continued.
"So, this boy, you say... Is he the reason you've been absent the past week?" His gaze sharpened suddenly, almost making her jump in her seat.
Evarista froze with an agonized look on her face as steams of cold sweat poured down her back. Fiasco. She gave the completely wrong impression. She worded everything wrongly, she did everything wrong. Now that this idea struck him, there was nothing she could say or do to disperse his suspicions, unless she brought him proof of her innocent intentions. Which she couldn't, naturally.
Yes, the Nitrozian patriarch was no fool. This situation was not unique. He taught his children thoroughly, but some were still stupid enough to end up in unsavory situations. The sort of unsavory situations he implied with his question. He was completely off base, of course. More off base than he could ever imagine. But Evarista had not the vocabulary to explain this.
"N-no. No. He's... I've met him before that. And today I've met him again. He's... hmm. He's a good servant. He tells stories. I like his voice. I want him here so that I can listen. I want him branded, or he'll run away from me."
It all made perfect sense to her, but he looked like he hardly understood anything she said, confusion on his face rising visibly with each word that left her mouth. Evarista had never felt it so intensely; the feeling of being out of tune with the person she spoke to. It wasn't just as if she was speaking a language that he didn't understand. It was like she was a hooting monkey jumping up and down on the chair in front of him. Another species.
The young aristocrat fell silent and lowered her eyes, staring at the her hands blankly. Her overgiven vision was still smudged and monochrome, mercifully obscuring her father's face in the corner of it. The paper she was once holding had drifted down to the floor a while ago. She had no idea what to say now, and was quite ready to simply stand up and walk out as soon as he told her to.
There was no hope.