OPHUS 39, 2718 | IN THE EVENING
Things easily fixed, easily managed, and after a quick washing of his hands, the blonde passive was back to work.
It was all routine. Even on the days he managed to get switched to different shifts - cleaning, maintenance, the like - it was all still predictable; each day still fell into place in a line of hundreds of other mundane and boring days. Although things had heated up significantly in the passive ward as of recent months, it still did little to satisfy that itch for something new; the explosive and fatal effects of another servant's diablerie meant nothing to him when it didn't change things.
Oh, he knew that things were changing, as subtle as those changes might be, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough, and it never would be. He'd already wasted nearly seventeen years of his life in this prison of a university, and he would not be spending seventeen more. One way or another, he would mend it, and fix the injustices brought upon him by those that couldn't even knead dough without his assistance -
"Hey, Clover, stop," scolded Lars, the servant's hands rushing to swat at those of the auburn-haired woman working beside him, "don't put any butter on the dough before it's in shape. You're going to make it too sticky to mold again."
"Sorry," offered Clover as she pulled her hands back, emerald eyes flicking upward to meet the man's gaze for a brief moment, "I just figured it'd make it taste better. I've never worked on the rolls before."
"Yes, well, you're just going to make it greasy like that. Go wash your hands and dust it with more flour, then start shaping them again."
The shorter passive gave a nod of acknowledgement, stepping away from her work for a moment to do as requested. Lars was grateful for the moment of peace, the quiet and blissful moment away from the woman's rambling mouth and assuming mind - but she was back just as soon, returning to her position beside him, standing far too close for his liking.
"Clover," he warned, quiet voice barely above a whisper within the noisy environment of the kitchens, and Clover stepped slightly farther away without resistance.
"Oh, Lars - have you noticed a few things have been... going missing, lately? You're in here more than I am, so maybe they've just been misplaced, but I'm having trouble finding a few things."
She can't have noticed this soon. I only took it a few days ago and no one -
"Just small stuff. I just figured I'd ask."
The Hessean was perhaps more relieved than he should have been, but it didn't show on his face, the man's expression distant and undisturbed as always, blue eyes caught somewhere between reality and dreams. He clapped his hands together, dusting them off before pushing to step away from the station, "no, he hasn't noticed."
It wasn't a complete lie - he had also had a bit of trouble finding certain things around the kitchens lately, but he hadn't considered the notion that someone could have been doing it purposely. Lars couldn't begrudge them if someone was doing just that - he couldn't say anything about taking things when he'd recently done so himself. A hand was raised, fingers pushing back through the golden waves atop his head, leaving remnants of flour to dust the strands and go unnoticed by the servant.
"He has to finish the desserts for tonight's dinner, Clover," he said in dismissal, beginning to walk away entirely from that section of the kitchen, but as always, the red-headed passive stopped his attempt.
"Oh! Actually, can you help me finish this batch first? I'm just too slow. Silly me."
Wordlessly, the blonde complied, but a twinge of irritation was clear in the quirk of his eyebrow. Returning to Clover's side, he dirtied his hands once again in flour and dough and everything else likely smudged about his arms, faraway gaze flicking about the area to examine the other servants as they worked.