Quote:
Originally Posted by
Lislchen 
But back to the first year. Their new slave servant.
Who wasn't wearing any shoes. "You really think she's up for this?" Olly asked Elodie without turning her head away from the first year. Well, she would just have to do. Back to fully focus on the girl though. "What's your name?" First question. "You know where the kitchen is, yeah?" Second question. There were A LOT more to come but first Olly had to make sure she was Elodie/Olly-servant material in the first place.
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Shanners She left her fellow fifth year to start the questions off, but gave her a curt nod to the one aimed at her. Once she'd finished, Elodie asked her own questions. Quick fire round for the first year. See how she dealt under pressure. "Are you a brat?" It was important, okay? "Also..where are your shoes? If you step on something pointy, I'm not carrying you to the Healer. I hope you understand that." And then there was also the possibility of cheesy feet. Did her feet smell? Elodie didn't dare ask or sniff or anything.
Fern heard the dark haired girl's question, but it didn't bother her, only snapped her out of her disbelieving awe. She knew that since they needed her for a super cool and important teenage job, it was critical that she be equally super cool and important, and she was used to her family asking these same pointed questions whenever they were hiring jockeys.
...well maybe not this pointed. But obviously these were necessary questions because why else would teenagers be asking them?
Squaring her shoulders, Fern's watched very seriously as the blonde teenager nodded in answer to the first question. Then she stoically replied,
"My name is Fern Quimbley, and I do know where the kitchen is. Behind the bowl of fruit picture. You have to tickle the pear."
Turning to face the other girl, she added,
"No, my manners very good."
Fern was feeling very proud of herself. She thought she was doing an excellent job being mature. She had to have been
at least as mature as a 13-year-old. But at the shoe question, she forgot herself and let out a little cry of surprise. Glanced down, the 11-year-old quickly curled her toes under the hem of her pants in an effort to hide her feet, and her face which had been slowly turning back to a normal color, flushed red again.
"My shoes!? They're over there," Not moving her eyes from the blonde's face, she waved a hand towards Dylan and the couch she'd been sitting in,
"And I understand! I do, I do!"