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Dining room

"Oh, um, well--I'd have t'think about it. And, you know, ask if anyone else I know who is, of course, trustworthy, would be interested." She took a sip of her drink. She was not prepared to be soft-offered a job. And she was very grateful, of course, but she was also a bit... suspicious. Not of Selene's motives, of course not, but, well, she was used to having enough money they needed to pay someone to keep track of it all, and she couldn't help but be a little concerned that a person like that didn't totally understand what it was like to be someone like her. But she didn't want to seem rude or uninterested, because if the offer was really beneficial to her circumstances, she didn't want to be passed up, but she had about a thousand concerns in her head, which she wasn't sure how to vocalize, so finally she just asked, "What are the hours?"

It seemed like a much better question to ask than, what does well paid mean, Selene? What is well-paid to you? because that was a question which might mean four different things: It was paid the standard amount for that work, it genuinely was well paid, it was extremely well paid (because rich people weren't aware of what the lower classes were typically paid), or it was absolutely dreadfully paid (because rich people weren't aware of what the lower classes were typically paid, and thought the meager wage they provide was 'enough'). But it was an awful idea to ask about money immediately. So she asked about hours.
 

Machina Somnium

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Lukais snorted, finishing his coffee and excusing himself to start taking the dishes and leftovers back to the kitchen. For that and to leave the table ready for whoever came to have breakfast next.

Selene hummed, thinking about it.

"The last guy did around 9 hours a week usually, but I'm fairly sure it'd be fine with 8 to 10. It would depend on how fast you worked. Time'd start running when you came into my house and checked in with my housekeeper. We have an office there you can use, and everything you'd need to work would be there. Of course if there was anything else you needed you could ask the service for it. A coffee, more pens. You'd be required to let me know if things are stable, if you can see any big changes coming or if you'd recommend any. Besides all an accountant would regularly do. The most I'd be willing to offer are 15 hours a week, but that seems to me like a bit of a stretch. 7'50$ an hour, flexible schedule. From 7 am to 8 pm you'd be free to come and go as you please. I can make exceptions if you want to work late, but I'd rather not" She explained it all rather quickly.
 
Rose listened to Selene politely, nodding along to the expectations and hours, but then when the pay was mentioned, she couldn't help but choke on her water. She then, of course, covered her mouth with her hand and apologized profusely, it was just far more money than she anticipated, and for so few hours. She didn't know how much money personal accountants normally made, so she didn't know under which category the pay fell under, but she knew it certainly wasn't the extremely cheap one she had most feared.

"Um," she said, having never made that much money before, and for so little work, "when, uh, do you need an answer by?" She was desperately trying to remain professional, and trying to act like money wasn't a big deal to her, because of course she didn't want to seem greedy or like she only cared about the money (which of course she did. The moment she was able to make real money with music was the last moment she'd ever spend working as an accountant), but she was completely taken by surprise.
 

Machina Somnium

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"I'll decide who I'm hiring next week, dear" Said Selene without giving away her low-key amusement at Rose's reaction. There was also some pity, that she was surprised by a barely higher than average salary for an accountant. That was how she saw it.

"Luka dear, we should be heading out, yes? Wouldn't want to be late and interrupt father Ronald." She said, while Lukais finished leaving everything just ready. He gave them a thumbs up, washing his hands and making sure there were no stains on his clothes before they headed out.

In the garden, Gabriel and Olivia were petting Jenny. A huge black mare that had a modified buggy cart attached so it looked a bit more modern. They were happy to see the adults. There were horse hairs all over Olivia's dress, and some dirt she was trying to shake off. Selene just sighed and pretended not to see it. Gabriel helped his sister a bit, trying to cover for her even though every single adult had noticed.
 
Rose followed out Selene and Luka, and when she saw the dirt on Oliva's dress, she chuckled softly, and when she was certain Selene was not looking, she took a bit of dirt from the garden and wiped it on her own dress (secure in the notion it wouldn't stain the fabric), and quietly said to the children, "Soon it will be the biggest fashion, you'll see," as she got into the cart, after greeting sweet Jenny, sitting carefully so the folds of her dress hid what she had done.

And then she settled in and prepared for the Church. Father Ronald was alright, she certainly had experienced worse priests, but he never seemed all that confident in public speaking, even though he had been doing it for years, so the congregation said. The church ladies were the bigger concern, they often had far too many prying questions into her life, and many politely-accusatory questions regarding her living situation, considering she was a young lady living with so many unmarried men who were not her family. More than once she had been politely ordered to take confession. Oh, if only they knew... She smiled serenely to herself.
 

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In another room, the sound of a warm, clean guitar can be faintly heard. The tone is dark and the harmony is full and complex.
 
Rose came into the dinning room, now with her hair loose about her shoulders. She also has removed her church gloves and is overall dressed more relaxed than she had been before going to church. She greeted everyone politely and then sits in her usual chair
 

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Mitch walked into the dining room briskly, a subtle nervousness in his stride, but that wasn't uncommon when Selene was in the household. He nodded to Rose with a friendly smile. "Ah, there you are. How are you today?" He said, pulling out his own chair and sitting across from the Irishwoman.


He exhaled sharply in an attempt to get the stress out of his system. "We still going out to the record store after lunch? There's a Stravinsky concerto that I wanted to share with you if you hadn't heard it already."
 
"I'd live t'," She replied, "Although we should probably remind Ikanov, you know what he's like. But could you imagine if we left without him?"

She laughed lightly, working as hard as ever to keep the atmosphere pleasant and lovely. She figured it was her role in the house.
 

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Mitch rolled his eyes, chuckling at the thought. "We wouldn't hear the end of it, I'm sure." He looked to the doorway briefly. He hadn't really seen Ikanov since this morning, but he knew he was up and about. He thinks he's slick, but Mitch was still aware when he was being watched, even deep into his trances, so to speak.

"How was church? Any revelations to speak of?" He spoke half-jokingly. He was certainly familiar with the feeling of being lectured by the clergy and those who 'knew better', so he knew Rose likely struggled with similar strifes, if not worse.
 
"No, no revelations..." Rose sighed, "nothing out of the ordinary happened. They're still all convinced we aren't simply friends." She was careful with her wording, because she knew children may be about, and she didn't particularly want Dark or Selene to come down on her for speaking more plainly, "they don't understand I'm not that kind of girl, and it isn't an easy thing to explain."
 

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Mitch shook his head, looking down at the table. His voice was much lower to ensure nobody outside the room would hear him. "It figures that these people preaching of purity and righteousness are the ones with the dirtiest minds." Of course Mitch wasn't opposed to religion and spirituality; any belief system that works for someone is perfectly fine by him. He took issue when people used their beliefs to antagonize others. He smiled lightly. "No reason to let people's weird fantasies affect you as a person."
 
"It makes me wonder what their opinion of Snow White is." Rose replied with a playful smirk, but then she shrugged her shoulders, glanced outside, "well, it's the same everywhere, anyway. It's just the way some people are, which is why it's lovely Church is only once a week. Sometimes I think I'd stop going altogether, but I feel like somehow, from all the way across the ocean, my ma would sense it and she'd die on the spot."
 

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Mitch laughed at the rather apt comparison. "Just call me Bashful, then. Ikanov can be Grumpy," He joked. The smile wiped off his face soon after he said that, and he sighed quietly, his brow furrowed and a contemplative look in his eyes. "Sometimes I think about whether I should be going back," he said, looking down at his hands. "My ma always wanted me to go, but my pa was the one who struck the fear and wrath of God in our house." He put an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand. "For all he knows, I'm still going. But I just got tired of the church body treating me like a homeless druggie wasting my life away."
 
Rose shrugged her shoulders, "There are other ways to gain spirituality if that's what you're worried about... and from what I understand about the bible, you don't need t'go t'a building to find the Christian God. I don't know about other ones, and half of me family'd expire if they heard me even say that. It's always good to experiment with other congregations and other religions. When I lived in New York, I visited so many holy buildings from so many religions, mostly for the music."

She looked at Mitch, "I don't think I've ever asked. Was your family Catholic or Protestant?"
 

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Mitch grinned with a beaming, somewhat ironic pride. "Irish Catholic, tru and tru," he announced with his springy, Limerickan accent. "Loads 'a' hellfire, loads 'a' repentance." He looked up to the ceiling. "That's not to say I objectively disbelieve any of those things. I was raised on it, it'd be a tad difficult trying to unbelieve those things, and maybe it's true to others. I just don't want to believe that's all I got to look forward to from God... Or Whoever." He looked back to Rose.

"I know I got the option to explore my options, but something about it scares me. It feels like I'm betraying my family by doing it, or maybe even betraying someone of a higher power," he spoke forwardly; it seemed like it was something that had been on his mind for quite some time, maybe even years. He glanced around, still keenly cautious of his surroundings and any eavesdroppers. "But I know for a fact something is out there for me. I've heard the music, I've seen the services. All the pieces are there but I don't know how to put them together." His eyes glowed. There was a spark of whimsy in his look, but it was undercut by his brow, which was lowered in frustration.
 
"Ah, don't get me started," Rose replied, with all the appropriately exaggerated gestures, "try going through puberty while being educated by good, hardy Irish nuns. I still have nightmares about Sister Prudence, took me ages before I could look at a penguin. But I know how you feel..." She sighed, "Hard t'get the thoughts of the Devil knipping at your heels out of your mind after how intensely it was beat int'ya. And... well, heaven would be nice, if the Golden Gate entry policy is more accepting than those of us here on the ground'd have you believe."

She didn't know where she was, but it was nice to know Mitch understood. Thank god for Irish catholics, they understood the struggle of wanting to live your life without fear of being smited. Smote?

"Well, if you ever decide to come, I've had worse priests. And the ladies, they may enjoy prying into your business, but they sure can bake."

As they spoke, Dark came and stood in the doorway. He had heard the lunch bell, and had sent Ivy to wash her hands, but he overheard the conversation and found it intriguing, but wasn't quite sure how to add his thoughts, if he should at all. For one thing, he had been eavesdropping, but for another, he wasn't raised Catholic, his religious upbringing was rather different, and it didn't take a genius to detect he was not Irish in the slightest.
 

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Mitch laughed heartily. "I suppose I haven't been a part of the Irish Catholic experience back at home, eh?" He exhaled, relaxing his shoulders. "Maybe we just run the risk of being smote just on account of being Irish," he joked.

He hummed softly and paused for a moment, thinking silently to himself. "I may tag along next time. Of course, I have to wake up in time for it. Maybe I'll find out something new. And, of course, I have no objections when it comes to baked goods." Admittedly, at this point he had noticed Dark was listening in to the conversation, but he didn't draw attention or force him to say anything. The conversation had become less incriminating than it had been at this point. He just allowed him to come in whenever he was comfortable.
 
"If you speak t'my folks, they'll tell you about our plight. Risk of being smoke on account of being Irish is fully in line with the tales of gloom they tell us not t'forget." Rose replied, but deep down knew it didn't take much for her to share the same stories of woe, because event though she was born and raised in an independent Ireland, her family wasn't, and the history was all too recent. And independent Ireland wasn't exactly utopia, if the amount of money she sent back home each month wasn't evidence enough.

"It might be good for you to come next week," Rose replied, "or it may just make it more difficult. I've never stopped going, so I'm not sure."

Finally, Dark decided to interject, still staying in the doorway, and he said, "It does not get easier."

Rose looked up at him, a bit surprised she had somehow not noticed him, "What?"

"Balancing a strict religious upbringing with your current beliefs. It does not get easier. I have openly identified as an atheist for probably as long as either of you have been alive, and I still expect to smell the fires of Jahannam when I do, think, or say anything haram--prohibited, I apologize, which is difficult because," he flashed the back of his hand, "I have made many prohibited choices."
 
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