[ AW ] who builds the future?

WHEN YOU TALK AND EVERYBODY LISTENS

then you walk and everybody whispers

The staff stood at attention once the preparations were completed. For a month they had worked ceaselessly to overturn the dilapidated structure from its neglected state into something that could be presented to professionals, patrons, and potential allies to secure the funding it needed to become the second of his (hopefully one day many) orphanages. Now in the final stages, prior to being unveiled to the individuals invited exclusively for the wealth lining their pockets, all that remained was to pass the All-father's intense inspection.

Vikari prowled the halls at a controlled clip that belied how critically his eyes were absorbing every minute detail, searching for anything that might fail to appease his monstrous expectations. Despite framing cracked windows, the windowsills were inspected for signs of dust or polish. The former would incur his wrath, and the latter would curb it—barely. At best the threadbare carpets would acquire no questionable stains... and, at worst, this whole event would have to be rescheduled due to an unforeseen complication.

Fortunately, there would be no need. Insofar as his cleanliness standards, everything was up to snuff. Now Vikari turned his appraisal to decor.

Lavishness and careful restraint worked in tandem to refine and soften the atmosphere. Gentle, golden light warmed the space and cast all the polished adornments into pure opulence—even the tattered fabrics unfurled on the walls lent to this, allowing shards of light to dance and sway when caught in the drafts seeping through the cracks in the glass. Relics that had been restored to replicate their former glory littered the walls, imbuing the novelty of this location with a historical ambiance that he hoped would earn some favor among the more obstinate Saorans. Threadbare carpets were placed in such a way that they weaved a strategic path through the rooms Vikari wanted to draw attention to, such as the classroom, extensive dining hall, and training areas. And, as requested, the second floor was strictly off limits to visitors ('We want to cultivate privacy for the youths that will one day be in our care starting now,' he'd later lament, with as much sincerity as he could stomach).

Finally, the All-father returned to the main room and, with a curt nod that hardly exuded approval, said:

"Let them in."

This was hardly a venture the judge had ever intended to dip his toes into for placing money no another’s prospects was always a gamble. Worse yet this would be nothing but charity as far as he knew for what could there be to gain from supporting something so innately unprofitable? A sentiment Bellatrix was sure to argue with if he voiced any further concerns as it was she who had caught wind of it first. Excitement clear in the ways she could not contain herself with lyrics falling faster than ears could comprehend in the way her lyrics jumbled while gushing over how this could only do good for those in need of it.

Phrases which brought a sigh to his lips for while there was no denying the incline of stricken whelps, no shortage of those without a guardian’s support. And yet he could not bring himself to care too greatly about the downtrodden nor investing in the future of such beings. Such beasts were hardly tolerable no matter their current living situation. Why should the serpent’s precious coin build up those not of his blood? If Mithras had his way - against another’s foreseen protests or insistence - it wouldn’t, not without promise of return. Something to make this all worth while.

No matter what transpired behind these walls all one had promised was that they’d make an appearance. Accept the opportunity to look around and listen to whatever whispers fell from the lips of anyone else in attendance. What the draconian had not sworn was that he would invest in it for when it came to matters of parting with money… well he would need to be swayed. Dark lip curling at the profound creak of the doorway but even more so toward all that flooded the senses the moment one stepped within.

All one could grasp was the underlying stench of age lingering beneath all which attempted to mask it. Giving way to how a derelict structure had been repurposed for what any other may call a ‘grand’ design. Housing for youthful vagabonds, for those undesirable in the eyes of society. And, if it smelled like this, there was no telling just how it actually looked. Even thinking of what paws may risk stepping on brought features to crinkle in silent disgust before a crown tilted, “Does it look as horrid as it smells?” Lyrics meant solely for the behemoth he hoped still stood alongside him, lest a query fell upon another’s ears in her wandering absence.