Minerva's eyes cracked open as she sprawled in bed. For a moment, she couldn't remember why she was here, or how she had gotten wherever she was. Instead, she floated in a comforting pillow of unreality and confusion. The bed was comfortable, the lights were warm and dim and distant, and she could just enjoy the feeling of profound dislocation. When she blinked again, it felt as if everything around her had shifted. A beautiful redheaded woman stood beside her bed, and was holding up a small bag full of a sloshing liquid that Minerva wanted to recognize...but couldn't. The woman turned to glance down at her, and murmured a soft word that Minerva wanted to understand...but couldn't.
"Hey," Minerva said, seductively.
Her lips were numb. It came out slurred. "
Eyyh
."
"Sleep, Miss Schross-Sableknight," the woman said, quietly. Her palm brushed along her head. "You took a nasty hit in a duel and are recovering."
Minerva felt somewhat annoyed. She was in a magical school, with magical spells. "Mahh?"
The nurse seemed to intuit her angry questioning mumble. "Magic? We fixed you up so you won't die. It's more calorically efficient to heal the old fashioned way. If we were in a hurry...well, we aren't. Now, shush. Back to sleep. Back to sleep." Her palm brushed along Minerva's head again.
Minerva found this all quite obnoxious.
When she woke again, she ached in her belly and felt more focused. Her lips weren't numb any more and she was able to sit up. The light of the warm afternoon sun was shining through the windows of the infirmary, but the other beds were empty. Beside her table, she saw a wreath of flowers, and a collection of letters and notes, one of them in bright Sildanus colors - the clashing orange and blue rectangles making her wince slightly. She saw that the bag that had been near her bed was gone - had it been a blood donation? She supposed if they were going for caloric efficiency, that'd mean getting a bottle of Type-1 blood and draining it into her.
She laid back into the bed with a grunt, her eyes closing.
"I got the bitch," she muttered.
Distantly, she heard a voice.
"I'm afraid that she is most likely still unconscious." It was the nurse.
"Well, I'd still be interested in seeing such a brave warrior."
Ugh.
Minerva opened her eyes and scowled. She recognized that voice, even if she had only heard it once before.
Vane Villamont entered into the infirmary then, followed by the nurse and the headmaster. He swept towards her bed, smiling with a light that actually managed to reach those dead eyes of his. He saw that she was awake and murmured.
"Why, you really are Maxmilian's granddaughter, aren't you? I really admired the man, especially his political writings, and given the...
ahem
... fates of his more direct descendents, I'm quite impressed."
"Thank you?" Minerva shifted in her bed. "What do you want?"
"I wish to offer to you a bit of an olive branch. I am aware that my more enthusiastic followers touched a nerve, somewhat? They do tend to be a bit too eager to press things. I am sorry to give offense. But someone such as you could go quite far in Ars Magick," Vane Villamont said, his hand taking hers and squeezing it. "We're not as...narrow minded as the Sleepers who parrot some of our ideology - there's more than enough places for women at the top in the world we wish to make."
"Wearing the boot?" Minerva asked, before she could stop herself.
Villamont chuckled. "You have a razor sharp wit, Miss Schross-Sableknight. Or...can I call you Minerva?" he asked, waving his wand and murmuring a soft
Carrien Flyht Selda
to draw a stool from across the room to his behind. He settled himself down and beamed down at her. Minerva felt a crawling awareness that he was trying to bring the full force of his...
attentiveness
on her. She had the hideous vision of him rumpling her skirts and tried to not shudder out of the bed.
And then...
An idea occurred in her mind. She had seen enough films about the War to know that the femme fatal could flutter her eyelashes at some Prussian officer and get all the plans for some deadly offensive - she just needed to
be like that
now. She pushed back her immediate disgust and thought of Kat's hands pinning her arms above her head, her lips pressing to her neck, her warmth enfolding her as the cold stone bit against her back. The memory brought a flush to her cheeks that she hoped he would mistake as inspired by him.
"Y-You may, uh, Mr. Villamont," she said.
"Minerva, then," he said. "Ars Magicka needs students like you."
"I...am not entirely clear as to your, uh, direction. Leslie did not exactly sell it properly," she said, nodding. "Is it true you're subservient to Mosely?" She threw that bit out, wondering if Villamont would bite.
"Subservient to a Sleeper who can't even organize his own party? A man who's all talk, all ego, no real ability?" Villamont chuckled. "Of course not. Half his speeches were slipped into his mind by my agents and written by myself. Do you think they'd have eighty eighty thousand members with just Mosley at work? Five Members of Parliament at work in the House of Commons? And there was a rally this September, it would have been crushed without a few...
suggestions
that my people gave to the police in London. Really, Mosley would be a harmless crank without me."
Minerva nodded, slowly. "So, the British Union of Fascists are your puppets?" she asked.
"Hardly. We don't need to lead them around, they push our agenda admirably anyway! They just benefit from a bit of magical help here and there, same as any other party. And once they're in power in the mundane government and we are in control in the magical government, the British Empire will, for the first time in two hundred years, have effortless and total cooperation between the two co-equal magisteria," Villamont said.
"And what will you do then?" Minerva asked.
"We'll take a stand against the two largest threats that the modern magical world face - discovery and exploitation by capitalists and the disorderly and unwizardly wrecking of the Reds," Villamont said.
Minerva bit her lower lip, and tried to look thoughtful. "I see," she said. "And what do you need students like me for?"
"This school is a haven for...subversives," Villamont said, leaning in slightly. "Your grandfather, you know, stood against the exact kind of subversives that are at work here. Communists. Labor organizers. Rootless cosmopolitan types." He inclined his head slightly at the very thought, as if to indicate the possible dangers beyond Minerva.
Minerva arched an eyebrow. Then she knew, exactly, how to get him to spill...
everything
. She sat up, her voice softening.
"You mean...Jews? Here? I was assured that this was backed by the Church of England."
"You're surprised?
They
are always turning up in places of importance," Villamont said. "And this is one of the most vital war resources of the British Empire, if you can believe it." He looked at her with even more open lust, Minerva could see it smoldering in his eyes. The fact she couldn't tell if it was for her body or of her the potential of her support made her skin crawl. Then Villamont made it ever so clear by shifting his posture so that the nurse and headmaster could not see the placement of his hand - then he placed it upon her thigh, squeezing her through the thin blankets that were draped across her body. Minerva forced down her every single reaction, her knuckles tightening beneath the blankets she wore - he couldn't see them whiten, couldn't see her fingernails digging into his palm.
"Mr. Villamont..." she whispered, her emotions making her voice husky and tight. She hoped he mistook it for excitement.
