Commission: A Violet for a Rose - Preview 1

So satisfying to be on a new project, and got a good chunk of work done already. Enough for an early preview of our main characters!

"Sheets upon sheets were spread out on the living room table, covered with hastily-drawn diagrams and scratch-written notes from Violet’s classes. The worst part of an occult and folklore major: so many of the classes seemed to blend together, talking about the same few popular stories or niche “interesting” topics. Not that Violet didn’t love it to death, but it led to situations like this where you drop one notebook, and suddenly you’re playing a complex game of jigsaw trying to match loose-leaf sheets to their corresponding courses.

“Okay, pagan ritual. That goes in pre-Catholic religions,” she mused, moving it over with her dark-painted fingernails before second guessing herself, “Or, was it in witchcraft and the occult?”

The girl hovered between the two piles, trying, or rather hoping, maybe she could match her unintelligible scratch from one day to another. When that failed, she did what all pre-twenty college students did when faced with endless frustration: she tossed it across the room, let out an exhausted groan, and slumped back into the couch cushions.

Her hands were quick to rise, slipping through her shoulder-length black locks and tousling them like somehow it might shake the thoughts straight in her head. “Come on Violet, it’s not that hard,” she muttered to herself, face still buried in her palms, muffling her words.

Yet, she’d been at it most of the afternoon. The balcony window that opened into her little sublet was casting an orange glow, the odd beam catching in the sun catchers to paint pretty little prism rainbows around the room. Rose, her roommate, would be home soon.

Violet got to her feet, her skinny jeans threatening to pop another few of their pre-distressed stitches. For as tiresome as her own day could be, they were nothing compared to the hell Rose had to endure on the daily. Twenty-eight, her roommate was an early graduate of a teaching program, and now found herself in something of a “short stick” job, teaching the trouble students around Violet’s age; the worst kinds of young adults.

She deserved better. Heck, that woman deserved the best; something the young folklore student felt severely inadequate for. Every morning, when she got up, she’d watch the redheaded educator pull back those gorgeous ginger locks, showing off the adorable freckles that dotted her cheeks, her nose, and drew you into those bright green eyes. Eyes that would never rest on a twig like Violet.

The noirette was hardly one thirty soaking wet. Short, a head shorter than the average at just a little over five feet, and trim from her tight tummy to her, unfortunately, barely-boobs. Wearing a bra was a social obligation to keep her nipples from showing through her tight tops, not any sort of need to support her little bee stings. She wasn’t unattractive, technically, to a certain type of people. The problem was wanting with all her heart to be Rose’s type, and at best, she was currently a roommate and friend.

Still, she could make it up in other ways, trudging herself to their little kitchenette and flicking a pair of burners to max. One for dinner, one for tea. The kettle was easy enough, filled at the sink and a couple teabags tossed right in before setting it on the heat. Dinner on the other hand…

Violet raided the pantry, chewing on her lip with a thoughtful look in her dark blue eyes. Pasta, tuna, they were good on mayo. Did they have any pickles left for a quick tuna salad? Best to hope. If not, she could shift it easy enough into a mac and cheese.

The pot was set to boil, and with that, the girl made her way back to the couch and her unsorted notes; just in time for the front door to begin the telltale rattling of the teacher’s return.

A telltale sign of a cheap student apartment: squeaky door. It swung in, revealing the tired redhead in all her glory. Her beautiful red locks had the lightest bit of frizz, hanging down to her mid-back like a grand sheet. It was a beautiful backdrop to highlight her drop-dead silhouette. Plump breasts adorned her chest, ranging right at that sweet spot she got to shop in the bigger end of the intimates sections, leading down into a small dip in the waist.

She wasn’t as lean as the noirette, the lightest bit of pudge showing beneath the small gaps of her burgundy blouse’s buttons, but it was the perfect little cap for those tight work pants. They were seemingly painted on her motherly hips, a nice pear shape for a perfect, plush ass. How many dreams had Violet had, just fantasising sinking her nails into that juicy booty and burying her face in it? She was having one now, and thank whatever gods there might be she was good at hiding it.

With little more than an exhausted sigh, Rose dropped her purse and bag to the floor, their contents of textbooks and lesson plans pouring out almost as bad as Violet’s own. Her heeled shoes were kicked off to the corner, and she trudged her way through their little living room over to the couch.

She wasn’t elegant, turning and letting herself fall over the arm, her head landing on her roommate's shoulder with a rough huff from the impact.

“Long day?” the blue-eyed goth asked, only able to look down at the taller woman from the awkwardness of her collapse.

“Just a bit,” the redhead answered, eyes closed and rubbing at her temples. “They didn’t want to learn algebra the first time, most of them don’t want to try the second go around. And one of them actually shot a rubber band at my ass while I was writing out an equation,” she pout, arms falling to under her impressive bust. “Still stings.”

There was an urge to laugh, and an ever bigger one to ogle. Violet managed to resist both, shuffling a few of her papers scattered on the table to keep her gaze occupied. “Sounds rough. I’ve got tea going; want me to make you a cup, and you can tell me about it?” she offered.

“Please,” Rose chuckled with a smile. “With the hazelnut creamer if we have any left. Half a sugar.”

“You haven’t even tried it yet, and you want to ruin it with cream?” the noirette chuckled.

“I know it’s one of your teas, Vi,” her roommate countered, “which means it’s probably one of those witchy green ones that tastes like dry street leaves. After a day like today, I want something sweet, nutty.”

Violet just shook her head, keeping her jovial laugh going. “Okay,” she relented, hearing the whistle of the kettle starting up and rising to her feet.

Her support having abandoned her, the redhead flopped backward, ginger locks spilling over the edge of the couch. Her brilliant jades drifted from the ceiling, to the scattered mess laid out over their table. “Drop your bag again, Vi?”

The trim goth let out a sigh. “Unfortunately,” she admitted, getting the step stool from beside the fridge so she could reach the mugs on the top shelf.

It was something to take her mind off things. “Wish I could help you with it, but your classes are all Greek to me,” the curvy cutie swung her legs over and sat up, carefully shifting things around to take something of a curious look at all the occult mumbo jumbo.

“Only some of it’s Greek,” the noirette joked, tucking the mugs under her arm and climbing down. “Actually,” she mused, taking the kettle off the heat and getting started filling the cups, “You might be able to help me find something I’ve got in there somewhere. It’s Japanese, so it should stand out.”

“You say that like I can tell the difference between your chicken scratch,” Rose teased, picking up a pile of papers, “but, I’ll give it a go.”

“Thanks,” Violet could feel the blush entering her cheeks, filling her face, “I, uh, need it for tonight for a ‘project’.”

“If only my students were so eager about their homework,” the teacher sighed, walking her digits through the sheets and giving them a quick peek to look for anything that looked moderately oriental.

In the meantime, the slim girl scoured their fridge, finding the coveted creamer and giving the container a quick shake. Sounded like enough. She poured it into what would be Rose’s cup, watching the pale yellow-green liquid go cloudy and finish as an off-brown.

Next, the sugar, which they kept next to the microwave. It was as simple as fishing out a teaspoon and carefully trying to only fill it with half a heap. Her lithe digits were skilled, scooping out just enough, cupping her palm beneath to catch any falling grains as she swung back to their drink and dipped it in. She knew roommate well enough to stir until everything was consistent; a perfect drink for a perfect woman, then collected both drink to return to her mess.

Just in time too. Rose’s eyes perked up, as she pinched one if the sheets in her care and laid it out for the noirette to see. “This the one you were looking for?” she asked.

The occult student at least recognized her own hasty handwriting, but it took plopping herself back down and laying their cups at the tiny edge still available on their covered table to give it a proper look. “That’s it!” Violet chirped, quick to scoop it up and tuck it out of the way in her book bag.

The redhead raised a skeptical brow. “Vi, didn’t you just say you needed that for homework?”

Pink filled the younger girl’s cheeks. “I said tonight,” she corrected, “P-probably going to be up late studying. Plus, I’ve got dinner on and still need to sort all this out,” she gestured to her mess of notes.

She wasn’t the greatest liar, but if Rose knew, or even believed, what it was and her plans for it…

“Well, just don’t stay up too late,” she warned like a concerned parent, picking up her still piping tea and taking a sip that left a small stain from her dotting of lipstick on the rim. “Just as I thought, tastes like a fall harvest now with the hazelnut, as opposed to a raked yard.”

The teasing struck right to the quick, making the pale blush the goth was sporting deepen to a red to rival her roommate’s hair. “It’s not that bad,” she huffed, picking up her own and taking a taste of her untainted, earthy drink.

It was hot on the tongue, leaving her gasping to cool her mouth for a moment. “Anyway, thanks for finding those notes for me, Rose. You were going to vent about your rotten class though over tea?”

“They’re not ‘rotten’,” the teacher did her best to defend them, but the exaggeration in her tone was more than telling. “I really think they just need the right motivation to take their education seriously, and currently that doesn’t appear to be coming from me,” she paused and rubbed her bottom, “Unless they think it’s hidden in my butt like a pinata.”" - A Violet for a Rose by Madam Materia