Welcome to Gaia! ::

Hollandaise quickly pulled on her dress, the white cloth dropping easily over her leaf-covered arms, clinging around her breat and floating around her hips. She was likely going to be late - something that had never sat well with her. 'A warder is never late, they arrive exactly as is right. She resisted the urge to snort - it was a common phrase about the slow-moving, slow-thinking warders. It was something Hollandaise was not, not yet. As for her lateness, her hair had simply taken too long, the giant mass of it twisted and braided around the branches that crowned her head. Hollandaise was more than a little upset with Deszeld, and while she still could not pinpoint why, she had taken extra care with her appearance, as if to say 'this is what you are missing'. It did not matter to her that she was the one who initially upset Des - the auction had been a whim, something to stop Hollandaise from thinking on all the things she wasn't sure how to fix. She had hoped it would stop her thoughts from straying towards the student who followed her from the shadows or her estrangement from Aisha. It had been an attempt at distraction, much like when she poked at Zar on critter - aimless amusement. Hollandaise thought of Jory and his gentle, well-meaning advice. She could not avoid everything forever.

Sighing, she collected Twizzler, shushing the minipet as he squirmed and squeaked, and scooped up yet another plant (she had somehow found time to purchase several hardy, flowering plants). This one would bloom into brilliant orange blossoms if cared for properly; it reminded her of Aisha's glowing loa. Twizzler was put into a small carrier admist much continued squeaking, his blue markings glowing in distress. The little creeper bat disliked change and everything that entailed, his noises the only method he had to communicate with Hollandaise. "Shhh, little one," she crooned. He was not a plant, so she culd not assure him with more than mere words. She poked one long finger through the carrier and laughed a little as he promptly presented his chin for scratches. Hollandaise thought Aisha might like him. He was, along with the plant, a sort of peace offering: or a beginning of peace. She knew she had blundered terribly, and recently she had thought very long and very hard about what it meant to be alive - to be green and growing.

Thezil had not been disgusting. Aisha was not disgusting. Neither of them were like the undead the elders had spoken of in disgusted, condescending tones, they had spoken of rotting flesh, of putrescent organs falling out of bodies, of exposed bone and shrunken eyes. She was taught to fear and lothe the undead ones, because they were different in their not-growth. And still, Hollandaise could not repress the shudder she still felt when she thought of the undead, and her hands trembled. But Aisha was not like that. The look of abject hurt that had flickered across the ghoul's painted face, the way Aisha wouldn't meet her eyes - Hollandaise felt something twist in her gut. It was hard to apologize, but it was needed... somehow. She couldn't let things sit like this between them. Aisha had been her friend, and, she guessed it didn't really matter what she was, but who. And Aisha was a sweet, sensible ghoul who went on adventures with her and held her hand in dark corridors and glowed in the most comforting way.

With one last sigh, she opened her door, hands ghosting over scratches that would not heal. Sleep tight: a constant reminder of her own weakness. For she could think of no reason he would target her, of all creeple, except that she had shown some exceptional weakness. It was like a lion that chose the weakest of the herd to kill: predator and prey. She had to end this, become stronger, seek help. That was next - she would take Jory's advice, she would call on a teacher as she could not call upon her elders. The letter in her desk drawer was a constant reminder of her exile; Hollandaise was no longer a warder until they decided she exhibited sufficient warder-like qualities. Her chest ached. With a soft click, she closed her door behind her, quickly moving through the hallways of the monster dorm. Hollandaise's feet made no sound as she ducked around the empty corners, her movements light as a thief. Seeing no one, she stole out into the cool evening air. In her white, flowing dress, she looked more ghost than monster and she giggled a little, nerves flickering up and down her arms. Hollandaise had one destination before joining Mathias: the undead dorms. With a start, she realized she had not evened texted him. Juggling her things, she pulled out her phone.



Although being late irked her, Hollandaise hoped the majority of the undead students there would be at the dance already and she would not meet anyone. She did not think she was strong enough to not recoil, as shameful as a response that was. Twizzler squeaked, a strangely reassuring noise. Shushing him, she stole into the undead dorms, hallways thankfully as deserted as her own dorm. The cool air that circulated here caused goosebumps to raise on her arms and bare legs. Her dress, although many-layered, was too thin for this and the air stole up to caress her thighs. It had taken a lot of nervous swallowing and determination to ask someone where exactly Aisha's room was. But she had done it, because Aisha was more important than old prejuidices and instinctive dislike. Hollandaise had no idea if the ghoul would begin to forgive, but she missed her. And it was better to try and fail, then to never try to fix things at all.

And then, Hollandaise stood outside Aisha's door, heart fluttering in her chest like some small bird. Her hand lifted, poised to knock, the she paused, and let it fall instead to rest on the cool door. She didn't think she could face Aisha right now - what if she rejected her? And, for all her years, Hollandaise was still just a girl, with a girl's heart and a girl's insecurities. So she took the coward's way. With one last whispered "Be good, Twizzler, she will love you," she set down the carrier. Inside the carrier, attached to Twizzler's chubby neck, was a note. It simply said 'We should speak, please. -H. The plant she placed next to him, pushing thoughts of happiness and warmth to it. Looking at the collection, Hollandaise swallowed noisly and added one last thing: her student pin, green ribbons of leaves twisting over a black background. She pressed it in the plant's soil and straightened up. They looked lonely, she thought, sitting just to the side of Aisha's door, but they were the only thing she could do for now. Blowing out a creaking, windy breath, Hollandaise turned and ran, heading finally for the dance.