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@roguedblood
a private blog managed by D ♡ ( 21 + / pst ) that will contain mature and triggering posts . writing blog with main gal boni.
do not save any gifs from this blog. most resource are created by me or my friends. do not follow as well.
stays in the chair while the sting of the antiseptic fades from his skin. does not reach for the bandage. keeps his hands flat on his thighs, watching her gather the trash into a tidy pile. he likes that she does not ask. he likes that she treats the red marks on his temple like a spill on the kitchen floor. growing up, the others were different. sarah and sully would lean in close, their voices rising with a noise that made his skin itch, but celine always just stood back. never looked at him like he was a lamp that had fallen and cracked. she treated him like he was just oliver, the boy who tripped over his own feet. it is easier to be a person when no one is busy pitying you. grateful for the way she moves without making a performance out of her patience. when she turns around, he looks at her, and the tightness in his expression finally gives way. he does not need to speak to explain the mess of his day. the silence in the room does the work for him. he reaches out, catching her hand as she passes, and pulls her close until she is pressed against him. “ orange soda sounds perfect, ” he says but he keeps his arms around her, holding on long enough to ground himself. breathes in the smell of her clothes, a scent that does not belong to the violence of the evening.
the way how people handled him had always been transparent, even when they were children. it was the kind of thing you notice if you’re the sort of person who spends their life watching the social circle of a room instead of participating in it. on that first day, when her mother dropped her off at sarah’s, the whole dynamic was already firmly established. sarah, sully, and sam were scattered across the living room carpet, and you could see the unspoken calibration happen the second oliver walked in. they offered him the best toys. they asked him what game they should play next. they modulated their volume to match his. he probably hadn’t understood it then. he was just a boy inheriting the best toys ⸺ but celine, she was keeping score. it took years of watching from the periphery to undertand the real, crushing weight of what happened behind his closed doors. she eventually understood it. she knew why sully constantly positioning her body between oliver and the rest of the world, treating him like a permanent, fragile child. she knew why sarah flooded him with unprompted praise, building a fortress out of compliments, and why sam routinely made himself microscopic just to give oliver room to breathe and shine.
but celine refused the script. she didn't want to offer him that brand of insulated currency, because the world outside sarah’s living room isn't going to negotiate with him. sarah won't always be standing at the perimeter to offer a heavy embrace. sully can’t fight every strangers because well, strangers are notoriously bad at compromising their own space just to keep someone else comfortable. maturation changed the way things are. the sharp edges eventually sanded down into something more stable, an even, eye - level perspective that still caught her off guard sometimes. she found herself slipping into the same gravitational pull, falling into the rhythm of accommodation because, honestly, his reality was already heavy enough. but she didn't baby him. she didn't build a performance out of her care. she just existed in the space beside him.
when his arms closed around her waist, her chest tightened. her breath hitched, just for a fraction of a second. she swallowed against the dryness in her throat, keeping her arms loose at her sides. she didn't move. it was the same stillness you use when a stray animal drifts close. you know that any sudden movement might break the encounter. she stayed exactly as she was, letting him anchor himself against her shirt, until the silence resolved itself. a small, unhurried smile reached her lips. “ then we'll get orange soda, ” she murmured, her voice flat but light. she tapped his forearm with two fingers, a brief, dry signal. “ come on. ” she didn't pull away. instead, she took his hands, shifting his grip until his arms were wrapped more firmly around her waist. she began to move toward the kitchen, her steps awkward and hitched under his weight. a slow, waddling pace that forced a genuine laugh from her throat as they navigated the hallway together.
she pulled the refrigerator door open, and the low light spilled over the shelves to reveal a single, solitary aluminum can tucked into the back corner. “ look at that. lucky day, ” she said, tilting her head back to look at him over her shoulder. a low chuckle escaped her. “ i was actually about to go out and get more. sarah stayed the night on tuesday, and you know how she is with these. she treats them like water. ” reached into the cold interior, her fingers wrapping around the metal. she popped the tab. then turned her body fully to face him and held the open can out. “ have you eaten ? ”
was preparing herself for a punchline. already had an insult lined up in her own throat, waiting for him to finish the joke so she could throw it back at him. his split lip is still glistening with antibiotic ointment, and smells entirely like rubbing. instead, the words that come out of his mouth next take her completely by surprise. “ what is wrong with you ? ” nudging his good shoulder with her elbow.
“ you got yourself beat up now you're talking like this, ” she says with another short chuckle. her fingers trace the hem of her sleeve just to keep from touching his face. “ should we get you an mri ? ”
rolls his tongue inside his mouth. the taste of copper stays. sharp and metallic. he shoves both hands deep into his pockets. his shoulders bunch up. he keeps his head straight, staring at the pavement. he hates the heat rising in his chest. he hates that his pulse won't level out. he keeps his pace hard and steady. he doesn't look at her. he just wants to be away. “ go home, gillian. ”
glances at him when the muffled curse comes from beneath his mask. keeps her eyes on the wet street, watching the red lights of the cars ahead blink in a rhythmic, tedious line. “ what ? ” she asks, the single word sharp against the hum of the tires. “ what happened ? ” she adds, her attention darting to him for a fraction of a second before she corrects the wheel. tilts her head as he surrenders the choice to her, a small, knowing nod escaping her. has a route planned that avoids the sterile, fluorescent quiet of a doctor’s office. it is a path designed for someone who has forgotten how to be a person when they aren't being a symptom. lets out a low, dry sound. “ why ? ” she asks, a genuine lightness in her voice. “ are you scared that i’ll kidnap you ? ” she says, the chuckle bubbling up before she can catch it.
“ i told you. we’re getting your food, ” she responds, her gaze softening as she looks at him, though the edge of the joke remains. it is a thin layer of armor to cover the fact that she actually cares about the outcome of this night. keeps her hands firm on the steering wheel, watching the traffic clear as she signals for a turn. “ do you have any food allergies ? ” she asks, glancing at the way he takes up so much space in the seat next to her. “ you’re like thrice my size. i won’t be able to carry you if something bad happens. i’ll leave you there to die. ” she says it with a grin.
“ my phone. i left it. ” he lets out a long, heavy breath. well - toned frame shifts, crossing his arms over his chest. he could probably snap her wrist if he wanted to, but the lack of an exit, of a way to call for something ( anything ) outside of this car makes his skin crawl. he scoffs. he stares at the side of her face as she drives. “ i know you’re not that stupid. ” he doesn't think she’s going to kill him. he shifts again, his shoulder digging into the door frame. doesn't know what’s in the food she’s dragging him to, and he doesn't care. he feels a strange, dull urge to stop talking and just let the road do the work. “ i guess you’ll find out if i have allergies if i die. ” he lets his head fall back against the glass. the vibration of the road travels up through his skull. it’s quiet in here. too quiet. he glances at the dashboard, then at her hands, then at the empty radio display. “ what psycho are you? ” he asks, sound tired. “ you don’t even listen to music while driving ? ”
pulls the door closed behind her and stands in the hallway. does not reply to his comment about the money. her father accumulated enough wealth to sustain three generations after her, so a bribe is just extra paper. she does not need his accounts. working is the only way she avoids her father's shadow, and she prefers having a ledger that belongs entirely to her name. walks to the front desk and tells her secretary to pack up her coat and go home early for the night. turns back to him as he steps out of the room in the white cotton sweats and the pink mask is stretched flat across his mouth. “ come on, ” motions with her hand for him to follow her down the narrow corridor.
the elevator is empty when the doors slide apart. it is late enough that most of the people have already cleared out of the building, leaving the mirrors grease - stained and quiet. they reach the basement garage where the air smells like damp cement and oil. she walks over to her car and presses the button on her key to click the locks open. “ after you, princess, ” opens the passenger door for him. stands there until he climbs into the seat, making sure he does not try to sit in the back like she is his personal driver. gets into the driver's side and turns the key in the ignition. the dashboard lights up in a dull green glow. she pulls out into the street, the tires making a soft sound against the wet asphalt while the city traffic hums around the hood of the car. “ you said appetizer, main dish, and dessert, ” eyes staying fixed on the white lines of the road ahead. “ do i decide or you want something specific ? ”
the elevator ride is silent. he watches the floor numbers tick upward, then disappear behind the metal panels. his reflection in the mirrored wall is distorted. a smudge of pink and white. he catches himself looking for a way out, a reason to turn back, but his feet keep moving. he keeps pace with her through the garage. he stiffens. the nickname hits him like a heavy weight. he doesn't say anything back. he just slides into the passenger seat. he keeps his back straight. he doesn't touch the upholstery. the engine turns over. the dashboard lights up in a smear of green. he watches her hands on the wheel as the car pulls into the street. he feels the motion in his stomach. he hasn't eaten in hours. the hunger is starting to claw at his ribs.
he stares at the back of her head. he doesn't know where she’s taking him. he doesn't know why he’s letting her. he should have walked away at the office door. he should have left her standing in that hallway. but he didn't. curiosity once again getting the best of him. because he too is curious to know when she will give up like the rest. when the money will no longer be enough to endure him. tolerate him. he stares at the window. the city lights slowly blurs to lights of neon. he reaches for his pocket, reflexively looking for his phone. his fingers hit empty denim. “ shit. ” he mumbles it into the mask. he shifts in the seat, the seatbelt digging into his shoulder. “ what ? ” he says, then catches himself. he drags a hand down over his face, over the pink mask. “ you know what ? since you seem to have a good plan already. you decide. ” he pauses. his eyes stay fixed on the dark buildings sliding past. “ where are we going ? ”
˖ꫂ᭪݁𓍢 @amourneds ... oliver ♡ celine ✧ ˚ .
celine dips the cotton into the antiseptic. she squeezes the excess liquid back into the bowl. her movements are steady. she doesn't look at his face. she works on the cut along his temple, pressing down with just enough pressure to clean it without making him flinch. he is breathing hard through his nose. she doesn't ask about his father. the marks on his skin are ugly, but she doesn't linger on them. she just cleans. she sets the stained cotton aside and reaches for the gauze. the room is quiet, but it isn't heavy. she doesn't feel the need to fill the air. she tapes the edge of the bandage down. she waits for him to move, but he stays still. “ do you want water or soda ? ” she moves to the table. her careful hands gathers the discarded plastic wrappers and the used gauze balls into a pile. she keeps her back to him to give him a second to settle. “ i only have fruit soda though. ” she lets out a short, sharp laugh.
“ a whole meal, ” she repeats and nods her head slowly. she looks down at the corner of the blotter and actually considers the request. food changes the architecture of a room. if a person is chewing, they are usually less inclined to believe they are fighting for their life. shifts her weight on the hard edge of the desk. “ i can't do that here, ” she says. “ and we definitely can't do it outside for obvious reasons. ” has no intention of being photographed next to the wreckage that is him. she watches the repetitive circle of his fingers twisting the silver bands on his knuckles. she stays still, assessing how to frame the idea before she says it out loud. “ i’m not putting my license on the line for you, ” voice is dry.
pushes herself up from the wood, her boots hitting the floorboards with a clear, sharp sound. walks over to the cabinet by the window. she opens the lower drawer where she always keeps her gym bag after her morning runs. she reaches inside and pulls out a plain white cotton sweater. she hands it to him. “ change into this, ” she says. “ put the hoodie up. we'll get you your full course meal, ” digs back into the bottom of the bag and pulls out a disposable medical mask. it is a bright, cheap shade of neon pink. “ hope pink matches your skin tone, ” she says. she drops the mask on top of the cotton. turns around and walks toward the heavy door, her hand catching the brass handle to give him the privacy of the small office.
he lets out a short, dry sound. not a laugh. definitely not one. he stares at the sweater in his lap, then back at the door she is holding. he expected as much. if the cameras were still hunting for him to love him instead of bury him, she would be lining up for a seat at the table. now, he is a liability. just another headline to avoid. he looks at the fabric. he thinks of the money sitting in his accounts, useless against the walls of this room. “ i can pay you that you don't even need to do this. ” he says it to her back, but his voice doesn't have much conviction. he just wants to be anywhere else.
neon pink. he stares at it, brow furrowing. the absurdity of it hits him, but he doesn't smile. “ what ? ” he says, voice dropping an octave. “ why would i do that ? ” he knows why. he knows it’s a disguise, as if a layer of cotton and a scrap of paper can hide his eyes. he looks at her, then back at the sweater. if this works, the door opens. the session ends. he stands up, his knees feeling stiff. he pulls the sweater over his head. it smells like laundry detergent and nothing else. no perfume, no fake sweetness. he likes that. he pulls the hood up and hooks the mask over his ears. the pink fabric feels tight against his nose. shoves his hands into his pockets and pulls the door open. “ this better be good. ”
suppresses a smirk from appearing on her lips. it is a small victory. it might be nothing to most people, but him expressing his distaste for the situation through a complaint about food creates an opening. she has always been a little bit unconventional with her methods. “ well what would you prefer ? ” she asks. eyes looks at the closed door. “ a whole course meal ? ” the sarcastic tone comes out easily. it is a specific kind of language, but it is the only one he obviously responds to. leans back a little, her left foot still swaying in the empty space between them.
she smiles because he caught up to her little story about the cellist. it means he is self - aware enough to recognize the shape of his situation in someone else's. “ is it a condominium or a house ? ” she asks. keeps her voice light. she wants to see how many questions he will answer before he realizes he is participating. “ or do you just own the room itself ? ” her head tilts to the side. it is a mocking gesture
the hunger is a dull ache now, sharp enough to remind him he’s been in this chair for hours. he expected her to fold inside thirty minutes, same as the others. she hasn’t. he stares at the door, then back at her, his jaw set. “ yes, ” he says. the word is flat, final. “ a whole meal. appetizer, main, dessert. and a drink that actually goes with it. ” he shifts his weight, the leather chair groaning under him. he starts twisting the thick rings on his fingers, a nervous, repetitive motion. he doesn't like her sitting there on the desk, not with her eyes tracking every muscle in his face. he’s exposed. he’s being watched. he hates it.
“ it’s none of your business, ” he says, his voice low as he looks away from her sharp, curious gaze. he keeps his hands moving, fidgeting with the metal on his knuckles to keep from looking at her again. he leans forward, his voice dropping, his tone suddenly trading petty insults for something colder. “ how much are they paying you? if i double that, will you just give them what they’re looking for ? ”
meets his eyes and is entirely unphased by the weight of his stare. throughout her career, she has sat across from men who were significantly crazier than him. some of them had threatened her life in small rooms, and a few had not stopped at threats. simply smiles at him. “ eat and drink, ” she repeats. her voice is plain. the smile stays on her face, forced but passing as something sweet because she spent years mastering the art of concealing what she thinks about her patients. only her eyes remain dark and perfectly still as she tracks the line of his jaw. she pushes her weight off the leather chair, her heels clicking once against the floor as she walks over to the heavy wood door. she opens it just wide enough to speak to the secretary in the hallway, requesting two glasses of water and a plate of biscuits from the breakroom.
closes the door and stands by the light switch. there is an old psychological study from the nineties that links the sharing of glucose to a decrease in defensive verbal resistance. eating together forces a primitive sort of truce. “ i read a biography last month, ” she says, moving back to her desk. “ it was about a cellist who refused to speak to his instructors for an entire semester. the papers called him problematic, and he spent ten years pretending the press did not affect him. ” sits down on the corner of her desk. her legs cross at the ankle, her left foot wiggling in a small, idle circle. a deliberate physical shift to appear more like a friend than an evaluator. “ he died completely alone in a rented room. ”
his gaze doesn't break, doesn't flicker, and certainly doesn't soften. he returns her smile with a sharp, ugly curve of his own. a practiced, cynical thing. she is just another face in a long line of people who wear sincerity like a costume, performing concern until the moment his situation becomes inconvenient. he has spent his entire life watching those people jump ship the second he hits turbulence. he knows exactly how much her 'kindness' is worth. “ damn you’re cheap, ” he mutters under his breath, watching her settle onto the edge of the desk with that calculated, casual posture.
the story drifts over him like stale air, a transparent attempt at a mirror she hopes he will look into. she wants him to fear the silence, to fear the end, to fear being forgotten. he stares at her, his expression flat and entirely unmoved. when she returns to the desk and begins her story, he lets out a long, slow exhale, his posture slumping back into the leather. it is just another tactic, a calculated play to bait him into a response. he listens to the anecdote, unimpressed. “ huh, ” he says, the devoid of weight. “ don’t worry, i own my room. ”
scoffs, though the sound is mostly just small and amused. shuts her notebook with a flat thump. puts her pen down on the desk blotter because she knows she will obviously get nowhere with him today. “ that is very fair, ” she nods, looking at the empty page.
she cannot believe the sheer audacity of the question, but there is a part of her that admires the absolute shamelessness of a man asking his evaluator for a snack. “ excuse me ? ” says it as if she is giving him another chance to opt out of the bit. her voice is flat. she needs to buy herself a few seconds to remember she is on the clock, and the sharp words that want to come out are easily bitten back behind her teeth.
the irritation lines his shoulders, stiff and heavy, as he tightens his grip on his own arms. he lets out a sharp exhale, the sound dragging through the room. he has no interest in playing these games, and repeating himself feels like a waste of breath. his eyes lock onto hers, cold and steady, shedding the pretense of a polite request. he leans into the space between them.
“ get me something to eat and drink. ” the words are a command, stripped of the earlier hint of a question. he holds her gaze, unblinking, entirely indifferent to her status or the rules of the room. he has nothing to lose in this silence, and if she is on the clock, she might as well be put to work for the price of his time.
⤿ sully + koen › @roguedblood .
sits perfectly still in the high - backed leather chair, her posture the picture of professional detachment. she has seen every iteration of this resistance. the slammed doors, the brooding silences, the performative apathy and she remains as unmoved as the desk separating them. she clicks her pen once, twice, and thrice for good measure before she leans back, her expression neutral and calm.
“ you know, i am still paid even if you sit there in total silence, ” her voice a low, steady murmur that lacks any hint of frustration. she glances up from her notebook, her eyes scanning his face for the cracks in his armor. “ or, if you’d prefer, go ahead and throw another temper tantrum. honestly, you’re doing me a favor by acting like a child. ” she shrugs, a movement so light it borders on indifferent. “ it’s really quite simple: if you don’t engage, i won't sign off on your progress certificate. and without that court - mandated stamp of approval to show you’ve actually done the work, the public will just keep seeing you as a liability. eventually, they’ll get bored, they’ll stop waiting for your comeback, and they’ll just forget about you entirely. it’s your choice. ”
he sinks into the chair, limbs heavy and loose in a display of calculated indifference. he hates this. the sterile walls, the professional detachment, the implication that he is some project to be salvaged. he isn’t broken; he’s just tired of the noise. he doesn't need a certificate or a court’s permission to exist. he stares at the clock on the wall, tracking the second hand as it stutters forward. he wants this over.
“ then why dont you continue to shut up ? ” the question comes out flat, devoid of any real energy. he scoffs at her mention of the public, the sound rattling in his chest. they’ve been waiting for him to trip for years. no matter what he says or does, the narrative is already written in their heads, and he stopped caring about changing their minds a long time ago. let them believe whatever they want. it’s all white noise now. he shifts his weight, the leather of the chair creaking under him, and his eyes lock onto hers with a sudden, sharp clarity. “ can you at least give me something to eat and drink ? ”
˖ꫂ᭪݁𓍢 celine ... 🦢🐇 ... sarah [ @amourneds ] ✧ ˚ .
the slight prickle of guilt that comes with a harmless deception lingers yet celine wears it easily, like a well-worn sweater. a fragile mention of a sudden sickness dropped into a message because she knows the exact weight of sarah’s devotion. the moment the words leave her fingers, the outcome is already written; her childhood friend will always drop everything, crossing distances just to cradle her dramatics with a warm container of her favorite soup. it is a recipe born from a happy accident during their shared youth, a careless spill of ingredients that somehow became an elixir. they both swear by it now, insisting a single sip possesses the power to mend whatever is broken inside the flesh. whether the broth truly holds magic or if it is merely the sweet, heavy effect of nostalgia keeping them safe, celine doesn’t care to solve.
opening the door, frame stands fully vertical, cheeks flushed with nothing but vibrant life and a terrible lack of ailments. immediately, her open palms shoot upward in a mock gesture of surrender, small frame shifting with defensive amusement. “ okay before you get mad. i just really missed you and i don’t know how else to get you to come without any negotiations. ” words tumble quickly across her lips before her head tilts toward her shoulder, a soft, blooming grin catching the corners of her mouth. eyes drop to sarah’s hands, body swaying with a rhythmic, child-like glee as awe settles deep into her features. “ you made me the soup didn’t you? ”
a light chuckle escapes her throat, warm and unbothered by her own transparency. “ i knew you love me. ” she steps forward, eliminating the threshold completely as she pulls sarah into a close, lingering hug, her arms guiding the other girl across the entryway and deeper into the familiar heat of her home. gaze wanders toward the living space, where clutter speaks of a restless mind. discarded pages and incomplete thoughts cover the surfaces like fallen leaves. she offers a dismissive wave of her hand, her voice carrying that stubborn, unyielding optimism that defines her ; refusing to let the heavy dampness of creative block or self-pity drag her under, because despair has never cleared a path for anyone. “ forgive the papers. i couldn’t figure out the next chapter... for now. ”
bright eyes flash with an immediate pivot of focus, eager to balance the scales of their encounter. “ and before you think you’re the only one who prepared something, let me... ” fingers wrapping around sarah’s wrist to tug her gently but purposefully toward the threshold of the kitchen. with a flourish that demands an audience, she gestures to the counter where a curated tray sits heavy with delicate doughs and dusted sugars. “ taddaaa! ” pride blooms across her chest, showcasing every single pastry she knows sarah craves most. “ i got it fresh today, and wait for it. ” her heels pivot as she moves toward the refrigerator, pulling the door wide to display a chilled pitcher swirling with a vibrant, sweet pink lemonade. she beams, looking up from under her lashes with utter satisfaction. “ i made it myself. you literally can’t be mad at me for pulling you from whatever it was you were doing. ”
𓍢ִ໋ ˖ 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐘 ♡ 𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 ༘
𓍢ִ໋ ˖ 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎 ♡ 𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐀 ༘
❛ ❀ 。𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 ⸒˖
it bubbles , elevates his mortal vessel into indulgence as her sweet encouragement composes itself into a melodious dare – a striking curiosity to overcome the red - maned devil . dainty hands attempting to keep themselves busy and indeed does he take notice , inhaling with saccharine amusement painted across his features – bold and filled by a divine sense of pride , by which the taller had always seen as his to claim , his to conquer and master . composure has frozen itself , sunken into the cushions to prior lean against – glancing rubies remaining on the company seated across from him . a hum against tightly pressed lips — clearly caught in a realm that mind’s sharpened edge will ponder over until voiced , “ you like observing ! may i request the master to demonstrate their favoured method of passing time then ? “ , open palm will dramatically lay itself flatly upon the fabric of silken shirt – jewelled fingers laying to rest for the mere display of gesture – to the contrary is it genuine interest pulsing in veins , starving to devour , “ i would never dare to suggest boredom to overcome you while doing your profession under my roof of course ! but , oh i am dying to know – “ , with his palm still resting above the sinner’s rotten heart , does own crown lower itself with the hint of a shake , “ what fascinating things have you observed here ? what have those sweet eyes caught ? would you mind letting me in on your little secrets ? i promise not to tell a soul ! “ – absent of one was he indeed not and yet , do widened hues resemble the subtle , controlled absence of sanity – the expectant simper of ivory flashing ; the gaping , carven ravenous fangs of a mythic beast . of course neither being a picture the immortal would paint himself in !
୭ ・゚ ◦ ♡ hoped the scandalous thumps of core does not echo as loud as it does in thoughtless cranium . lack of distance ( thought not drastic ) was foreign . accustomed to serving young master without enchanting presence . cheeks douched with shade of rose when addressed as master . a title waif like self does not deserve . gaze falls on jeweled fingers . curious head could not help but wonder if it ever feels uncomfortable . though hedonistic life may not need much use of hands . everything is served and cared for . some of which innocent soul took part of . child - like curiosity of the intimidating ruler induced a tender smile on delicate lips ⸻ untainted and untouched . ❛ it’s very easy really . ❜ mellow voice filled with excitement . slender frame turns to face idolized liege . heart instantly flustered that caused own body to adjust . head looked down with shoulders slightly folding . an awkward chuckle passing roseate stained lips . excitement getting the best of giddy self . reminded that it’s not a friend she is speaking with . ❛ i think it’s hard to demonstrate it when there’s barely anyone around . maybe someday when you have guests over . ❜ suggested , still unable to meet divine gaze . thought twice before answering pending question . could not help but think of it is a trap . regardless of response given , it will give the perception that paid hours are wasted on silly daydreaming . ❛ nothing . i am often too busy to do that here . ❜ words reeks of lie , one that ms. good manners is not very good at . ❛ the mistress gives us a lot of tasks to finish before our day ends . i love this job to put that at risk . so … yes , nothing . ❜ overcompensate with pathetic explanations .