Law Abiding Citizen

[Idalia]

I D A L I A

human, charm school instructor & socialite

5th of Ash, 722

Never rush into a room. Walk in slowly, step to the right of the entrance, smile, and pause before walking forward. There is only one entrance.

The voice of her mother was still shrill, even in memory.

Straightening the collar of her peacoat, Idalia offered cordial appreciation at the door to the stranger holding the door, her heels clicking down the marble hallway where benches of Imperial citizens waited in turn. She sidestepped, standing tall as she surveyed the room, eyes bouncing from one wall to the other, gauging those who had arrived by car like herself, and who were the others, who must who traveled by foot, horse, or carriage.

Her chin turned as she spotted the line for sign-in, stopping to feed a coin to a machine holding the morning's paper, and tucked the folder she had been carrying under her arm like a clutch, "Goodness," she breathed, reading over the front page until it was her turn in line. She looked up, startled by the depth of the woman's sunken eyes "Yes, good morning. I had an appointment at nine."

"Name?"

"Idalia Rosewood."

"Rosewood, Rosewood....Hm," the woman behind the counter squinted, the deep circles under her eyes speaking volumes to the socialite, who sincerely wanted to offer a number of products at the apothecary on third street, but who couldn't seem to find the opening she needed without coming across as horrifically impolite. An opportunity for later, perhaps. While she mused, the receptionist ran a tongue over her coffee-stained teeth, and it was noticed that her lipstick had bled outside the lines, giving her smirk a clownish appearance, "You're appointment is with Valentin," the woman said, stamping the paper like a slamming fist - a punctuation of finality - wafting the astringent scent of black ink into the air, "We will let him know you're here. You can take a seat."

Idalia raised a brow, "Valentin, you said?"

Was that his first name or his last? Furthermore, who did she mean by we? From where she was standing, this rather brusque old hag was the only one behind the entry desk this morning.

"Valentin Valentin."

Idalia was already being waved away in lieu of the next arrival and she chuckled in disbelief. As a child to military parents, Idalia had an almost-biological impulse to arriving to formal meetings early. It was important to be reminded that the world sometimes operated on a different schedule, "I see." With a brief look over her shoulder, she caught glimpse of the woman's name tag and took a seat with the others, glancing once at the clock suspended on the wall before preoccupying herself with reviewing the documents in her lap. Did she forget anything? Proof of purchase, written business proposal, itemized lists, taxes paid upon acquisition... Idalia organized and alphabetized the collection, which proved to be a nice distraction, followed by solving a riddle in the paper once her work was complete.

Today would be a lesson in Imperial business ownership. The very first; and while she did consider herself grown and, therefore, above the trivial emotions of anxiety, she was not above feelings such as swift anger, which is exactly what Idalia felt when she looked at the clock after much resisting.

What was the purpose of appointments if one was intending to be late?

By 9:20a.m, the smile she had entered with had long since vanished.

So much for first impressions.

"Mrs. Rosewood?"

She stood, graceful and controlled, towards the government worker who lead her down a stale hallway. It smelled beige, "This way, please," They rounded a corner and further walked more, to an office that stood empty. Stopping at the doorframe, she eyed the space and stepped inside to stand behind the seat she would occupy and laid her file at right angles, perfectly face up and vertical.

Straightening up herself, Idalia waited, poised and practiced.

The pins in her hair were beginning to itch, her ankles ached.

Soon.

[Valentin]

"Soon" proved, in this case, to be an additional five minutes- an awfully long time to wait in an empty office.

And it was a boring space, to boot. A large desk, built like a Geleriand tank and made of wood sculpted with skill--but without vision--dominated the room, squat and ugly. There were a few desultory knickknacks and tchotchkes perched atop it, paperweights and a capped inkwell and three different pen stands, all identical; but no pictures, or notes, or clutter, or any other bits of decorative entropy which would have confirmed that a human ever lived in this room. The ceiling was a foot too high, giving the whole place a cavernous air, and the only decorations on the walls were the official government portraits of the Emperor and the present Secretary of the Treasury. That and a wall mirror, behind the overstuffed leather armchair on the opposite side of the desk. At the sides of the room were a few amenities- a small drinks cupboard, a cabinet, and a grandfather clock.

This last feature of the room served less as a distraction and more as an aggravation, ticking away, marking each wasted second with mechanical precision. The mechanism for this one was very loud; either a sign of old age or a sign that someone had intentionally selected a man-sized metronome as an office decoration. Indeed, if the idea weren't so absurd, one could almost imagine that the entire layout of this office had been meticulously designed to be as annoying as possible without crossing any lines.

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Regardless, and thanks to that clock, Idalia knew that five minutes and twenty-six seconds had expired before the air behind the chair on the other side of the huge desk tore itself open. A line of cerulean light described itself upon the air, then split neatly in twain, pulling away from itself to form a rectangle of barren white light in the air. Moments later, a man's foot emerged from the portal, followed forthwith by the man himself- Valentin Valentin. He blinked once as he entered ordinary space once more, as though clearing his eyes, before fixing them on his appointment.

"Frau Rosewood?" he inquired with the same tone as the receptionist; but he did not wait for an answer, "Herr Valentin. You must excuse my late arrival, I was unavoidably detained- it could not be helped."

The OIR employee was six-foot-nothing and not quite handsome enough to get away with the look of superior disinterest which darkened his visage; perhaps conveying a meanness of spirit commensurate with the wait Idalia had suffered, or maybe just an advanced case of resting bitch face. His shirt and pants were pressed, but his suit bore the subtle marks and crimps of having been hung on a coatrack in the office for repeated re-use rather than properly laundered. His shoes were immaculately shined on the top, though he had tracked some sort of silvery dust onto the floor when he exited the portal.

Valentin Valentin approached the desk and sat, gesturing for Idalia to do the same. It appeared that he felt the lateness thoroughly justified and was disinclined to explain himself further, or apologize for the inconvenience. This seemed to be the way of government within the Office of Imperial Revenue- each employee saw the public as a terrible imposition upon their own time, something which they had to suffer and for which the applicant ought to be appropriately grateful.

"I believe this visit is in reference to establishment within Gel'Grandal, yes? I can review the paperwork now, but I would also like to hear you describe the venture in layman's terms, so we can ensure you've chosen the proper vessel for the business."

The lawyer snapped twice, and the air over the desk seemed to ripple and strain. A moment later, a small service containing various glasses had appeared only a millimeter above the wooden surface, touching down on the top of the desk with the soft rattle of glass.

"Can I offer you anything to drink? Coffee? Brandy, perhaps?"

[Idalia]

I D A L I A

human, charm school instructor & socialite

5th of Ash, 722

There she was, standing, waiting. Soon was not soon enough. She suppressed a sigh, her eyes wandering while her posture remained upright.

Idalia Rosewood had grown up in a household that held certain expectations. Rules were no stranger to her, and now, a woman grown, she had continued to carry these training well into her daily life, bordering on an obsessive quality of persona. She never slouched and the collar of her blouse was sharp and pressed. No wrinkles interrupted her clothing, her stockings never fell, and the silver buttons of her coat fell exactly where they were supposed to - a testament to both seamstress and model. Everything was perfect. Everything was practiced.

Nothing was out of place.

Except for the man who had yet to show.

Her right hand slipped into her pocket to feel the compact mirror there, debating on whether or not she could reapply her lipstick in time; or if it might be gauche to do so outside of the ladies' room. Could this be some sort of test from the Imperium?

After all, patience, poise, control... were these not proper qualities for any reliable citizen to demonstrate?

Idalia withdrew her hand.

There was a sanitary quality to the room that she couldn't quite place. Sharp edges and dark wood. Sanitary wasn't the word. Oppressive? Heavy. Her attention trailed upwards, to the high ceiling and the trim that lined the office. When her eyes fell on the grandfather clock, tall as she, like a soldier counting. Its sound filled the office and her eyes grew distant until a blue line hissed and opened to a mouth of white, where a man emerged to stand behind the desk opposite.

"Frau Rosewood?"

She smiled at the clock, as if it had spoken, before her eyes swept back to new arrival, "Valentine Valentine?"

Idalia listened to his explanation, humming in acceptance, but more to maintain the social grace expected from someone of her station. Her pride was not the purpose of this meeting, nor would she allow it to become a hindrance, "Of course."

The man was brunette, as clean as expected, and he carried himself with an unapologetic presence, aided by the use of magic that admittedly surprised her. Her expression did not change, although Idalia watched him closer now, trying to piece together his role here. She had not met many mages, especially born a Zaichaer native, so she imagined he must have been quite good at his job, meticulous enough to earn certain liberties. She understood the lack of personality to the room now. The less one knew about him, the better. The reason she was here, was to learn about those who entered.

"The building in question was an estate purchased at auction," she began, knowing well enough that the records they had submitted would show that, and that she had notarized copies with her should something have gone missing, "I intend to repurpose it into an educational facility that shall specialize in the betterment of society. First, as a finishing school, but then to expand to other areas as well. Music, fencing, shooting, riding," she paused, noting whether or not he was particularly interested in the answer, or if it was simple protocol to ask, "There is enough room for a number of lessons as students and staff are acquired."

The business would start quaintly, with herself as an etiquette and music instructor, Her eyes followed his movements as he lifted a hand and snapped sharply, a tray appearing just above the table and settling with a small clatter. She nearly missed the way the air seemed to shift and shimmer, conjured into existence or summoned, she did not know.

"Can I offer you anything to drink? Coffee? Brandy, perhaps?"

The corner of her mouth twitched into an almost-smile, to which she responded simply, "Coffee, please. Thank you," The irony of the offered hospitality was not lost on her as she pictured the grandfather clock in her mind, its face and time. There was a seeking glint in her eye, but when she did not immediately spy a container of creamer, she continued, "I have no doubt that as these specialties expand, one would need a variety of permits, insurances, etcetera. That is, one of the reasons I have come here."

"It is important to me that I should start with the proper guidance, from the very beginning." she added, thumbing through the papers she had brought, "I find that it is much easier to instill good practices from the onset, than to train out bad habits."

Idalia withdrew an expense sheet, setting it across the folder in her lap should he inquire about that next, "Would you agree?"

► Show Spoiler

If I ever take so long to reply again without warning, please harass me. With this being my one and only Idalia thread at the moment, it completely slipped under my radar. Apologies.

[Valentin]

"Ah, yes." Valentin said, sifting through the papers on the desk until one was at the forefront, "Yes, the finishing school. A most admirable endeavor, and sorely needed, for I doubt that at any prior time in history has there been such a glut of young people so poorly living up to the promise of their breeding."

Though Idalia could not know, it was often said of Valentin that diamonds shone most brightly amidst coal; that is to say, his perpetual state of dour face and acerbic tone somehow made it all the more obvious when he was being candid. The man cared very deeply about education in the city (and in the provinces, though to a secondary extent), and clearly the thought of a proper finishing school cheered him immensely.

Perhaps buoyed by that earnest approval, Valentin scribbled a small note on a card, then promptly disappeared it. "My secretary will bring a service momentarily." The man enjoyed showing off his magic with petty displays--as the sudden appearance had shown--but coffee took a few minutes to prepare, and was at least very inconvenient to try to ready through slipspace. It was a little disappointing, as he had developed quite a few neat little flourishes with the brandy or wine, but it would have been unprofessional to press the issue.

In any event, there was business to attend to. Therewith...

"I concur entirely, frau Rosewood. Furthermore, your instincts are quite correct. Now, I've no business discussing your curriculum as such, doubtless you've given it due consideration, but I would draw your attention to the proclamation the Emperor issued two years past. You see, he expressed a desire that the history and culture of Gelerand should be impressed upon the children of today- to wit, schools which meet certain generous criteria in their emphasis on those things receive a significant tax credit."

The proclamation seemed like a very thinly-veiled attempt to spur on a certain nationalist spirit, but it was not. The children of the southside who actually attended the Academy and prep schools had the inducements of fortune and power, and that kind of privilege tended to draw people towards approbation of the society which made it possible. The people in Grandal who needed a shot of nationalism were those too poor to attend such schools in the first place. No, the entire affair had actually been a very roundabout way to transfer money to several of the Emperor's supporters in assembly.

No matter. There was nothing wrong with relying on a law in good faith, even one enacted in bad faith.

"Once the permits are filed, there will be a short forbearance period from the date you list as opening, but everything will come due at once if you are forced to close during that time. If you schedule an inspection prior to the forbearance ending and qualify for the credit, you will likely find that your first payment is de minimis."

(Valentin had never entirely understood why Gelarand lawyers were expected to pepper their advice with stock phrases from the elves, but he seldom defied convention without a reason.)

"But that, of course, will depend on your incomes... and expenses. It may benefit you to carry your expenses on through to future fiscal years, in fact. I suppose you have the figures?"

There was a knock on the door, which opened slowly. A thin, gangly man with light brown hair, spectacles, and an aquiline nose pushed in, carrying a silver service tray. A pot sat in the center, surrounded by ceramic teacups, a pot of cream, and a little bowl of sugar cubes. He set the tray down, mumbling something which sounded like it was probably an appropriate pleasantry, then backed quickly out of the meeting room. Valentin did not turn to look at his secretary during the entire affair.

[Idalia]

I D A L I A

human, charm school instructor & socialite

His agreement surprised her, and she nodded, the hint of a smile curling her lip, "Thank you," Idalia's dark eyes lowered to her delicate fingers laced across her lap, and the ring that weighed upon it."Its acquisition was... something of a gift really," I'm ashamed to say, she nearly added. But was she, truly? Affluence was not something Idalia felt guilt for, and she partook in its bounty often as foretold by the large gem and the insignia engraved into its hand. Her position, her responsibilities, they came with sacrifice just as any other.

"My husband," she explained, looking up once more. The paper Valentine had been writing on had disappeared, and her smile broadened, "He signed the check. While he may think this will be something to sustain my spirit for awhile, but he has yet to fully comprehend my motivations for this project. I would never take lightly the future of children," she tilted her head, sighing softly, "Or that of the nation's potential, for any matter."

Oliver Rosewood, her husband, knew her almost better than anyone, so it hadn't taken much convincing. There were others however, in a similar position, that were often caught in flights of fancy. Particularly financial ones.

At the promise of coffee, Idalia nodded again, simply listening. There was a casual grace to her movements, rather contradictory for her subtle irritations at the obsession of time. The knowledge regarding nationalist curricula had her mind turning over various opportunities, approaches, adjustments. She had given a deal of thought to what she would teach, and how, yet no doubt this meeting and its aftermath would consume her. Already, she was plotting the kinds of connections she might reach out to regarding an inspection, and which ones available to her should these events not pan out in her favor..

As if a mind reader, he requested more documentation, "Of course."

As she extracted the appropriate paperwork, a series of sounds followed. A soft knock, loafers shuffling against the floor amidst the clatter of china. A series of mumbled pleasantries were offered. Either the man was not supposed to be addressed directly, or he did not want to, "Thank you," she said once the visitor had left and the door was closed.

"Here you are," she lifted a crisp document from her folder to pass across the desk. Idalia waited for acknowledgement to be allowed to serve herself, or for him to serve himself first.

The paper which she had passed along had expenses listed, including the dates acquired, cost, and sellers. Furniture and supplies, and quite a bit judging by the size of the property and costs. 28 thousand in cost, with a 4% interest, "Is there a required number of years to retain tax documentation for audits?" she searched his face while he looked over the writing, "If there is a better way to document or prepare... please," she motioned towards him, "You are the expert, after all. Your instruction is invaluable."