I knew Brumer, but I didn't know this side of her. I recalled warmth, a pleasant home, and the smell of crusty bread. Instead, she was frigid. We exchanged minor pleasantries, then she took a position fifteen paces between Cora and me, Cora's pack upon her back, its sweat-worn leather allowing her to gain purchase with the material.
Following the commencement's culmination, the campus bustled. Cora and I were marked as present, providing our names to a busy senior tracking attendance on our way out of the auditorium. She still considered visiting the evening session, in case Aurelie made a repeat performance. I had my doubts. It wouldn't hold the same surprise, and making latecomers hear what they missed was an excellent lesson in initiative.
I won't be the one to break that to her.
The entire freshman class strolled from École tower to tower in cliques. Our mid-day assignment, for a couple of hours before and after lunch, was to orient ourselves with each of the twelve and settle on our two Mineures, the goal being that each girl would have the majority of their studies occupied by their Majeure, for me, Tacticienne, and receive a cursory education in their Mineure, one from each of the three Départements, Exploratoire, Domestiques, and Sensuelle.
It wasn't enough to be a badass Tacticienne bitch, we needed the skill to throw ass for the forces of nature and bind our own wounds when it all came falling down. I arrived firmly settled on Infirmière for my Domestiques Mineure. It was the practical choice for a life in the field. One could easily pack their own bedroll and procure a servicable meal, but a nurse was often a rare sight in the spaces between. The fact that it provided an excuse to practice sponge baths and field dressing on my classmates didn't matter at all.
Its relation to Aurelie also made Infirmière one of the three busiest towers on campus. In the time I stood in the queue, Cora had left to apply for Cuisinière and returned. It was an obvious choice, an easy elective, allowing her to place her focus on the brutal regimen facing Combattante.
Ainset made use of the time playing statue at a fountain's center, my pack at its edge, occasionally dropping out of pose to accuse passers-by of staring at her breasts.
At last, I passed through the wrought iron and glass doors to approach the tower secretary's desk, Cora waiting outside. The space existed in a sanitary blue-green glow. Its secretary, dressed in pink, with half-elfin ears peeking through bouncy emerald waves, leaned over its marble top. "Bonjour, quel est votre nom?"
"Bonjour," I returned with a short bow, "Serica Trumonde."
"Oui, une seconde," she turned to a filing cabinet and returned with my folder.
"Miss Trumonde," opening it, a slip of dark-green parchment fluttered loose. She traced it with her eyes. At the note's bottom, I made out the name Illia Courin, "Welcome to the École d'infirmières. Do you have an inquiry?"
Yeah, same as everyone else...
"Yes, Mademoiselle, I'd like to sign to the Mineure," I said, and my voice echoed back at me; it sounded small.
"Oui, it seems you are uninformed," she traced a finger over the note as my tongue pressed the roof of my mouth, "Per the tenets of your probation, you've been assigned the Minuere Bonne... et Danseuse, oh that should be fun."
Maid... and dancer...
"Right," I fought back a quiver at my lip, looking to the note. It bore today's date. "Apologies for my unprepared state... I'll-" She gave me a warm, but closed-mouthed smile, looking like she wanted to squeeze my shoulder. "Thank you for your time."
The room spun as I made my way back outside, to the waiting queue of girls who could choose whatever they wanted.
"Nurse Serica," Cora pounced on my back, hooking her arms around my neck and her thighs around my hips, "I think I have a fever, could you carry me to bed?"
Don't...
I couldn't tell her in front of that crowd. Leaning forward, I piggy-backed her out into the garden, eyeing Ainset, deciding she hadn't known, hadn't let me step into that unaware.
Illia, however, I owed her a response.
"Where to next? You decide on a Senuelle?" Cora chided, bouncing on my back.
"Dansuese..."
"What? What happened to Cartomancienne, or Masseuse, you don't want to rub me down?" she whispered in my ear.
It would have been Cartomancienne, reading cards. Masseuse was just a thought to toy with.
"It's not my pick," I shrugged, lowering her, letting the weight off my aching kitten-heeled ankles.
"What do you mean?" She touched my arm.
"I didn't get to choose, alright?" Snapping straight, my voice rose.
You ruined this for me, and then dragged me back into some half-assed version of it.
"I'm dancing and dusting shelves." I closed my eyes and pressed fingers into my scalp.
That's not fair.
"How can they... Ser I'm sorry."
"I don't want to talk about it."