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"This is a stupid idea," Jamil told Azul drily.
Azul didn't roll his eyes, but Jamil could sense that it was a near thing. "Please, Jamil. Everyone wants to know the ins and outs of the housewardens' lives."
Jamil grit his teeth as he said it. "I'm not a housewarden."
Azul gave Jamil a look that Jamil chose not to decipher. "Ahem. Yes, well, your housewarden is too much of an open book to be of much intrigue, I'm afraid."
"This is a stupid idea," Jamil told Azul again and turned away.
"This is a marvelous idea," Headmage Crowley pronounced to the dismal room of seven— Azul, Riddle, Vil, Idia's tablet, Yuu, Leona and Jamil. "Think of the publicity, and— ahem, it would. Certainly lift the spirits of the Isle, don't you think? A truly noble cause."
Jamil blinked.
"What the fuck?" Leona said without any preamble. There was admittedly something left to be desired in his specific wording, but Jamil largely found himself to be in agreement.
Headmage Crowley cleared his throat. "Language, please, Mr. Kingscholar."
Jamil could have sworn that Leona's eyeroll was audible. "Right. Sorry. Let me rephrase. Have you lost your mind?"
"Not the words I'd use," chimed Idia's crackling voice from his tablet held up by Yuu, "but low-key same. I mean, me? On reality TV? Dream on, lol."
Riddle was frowning so hard it seemed his eyebrows were actively attempting to meld into one. "I don't understand," he admitted. "What is the point of this?"
"Entertainment," Azul offered, and when he gained a sceptical look in return, he added, "Which means, of course, that we do expect the revenue to be considerable, part of which would, naturally, go to the continued funding of this wondrous establishment."
Jamil barely suppressed his eyeroll.
"Well, that certainly answers some questions," Vil said mildly.
A short sigh was the answer to this, but Crowley powered on, turning now to Azul. "A marvelous idea," he repeated, "although I must admit to one tiny concern. I fear some viewers may take issue with… the absence of certain participants."
It was always somewhat difficult to know where exactly Crowley's gaze was focused on, but Jamil was certain this time that it lingered on him. Or, rather, the empty space beside him.
Azul nodded, smiling, beatific as ever. "I understand, of course. Say we change tactics to include both housewardens and vice housewardens?"
Yuu put up their hand. "Has anyone asked Malleus about this?"
Jamil held a knife in his hands. The handle was smooth and wooden, Jamil's fingers wrapping around it with perfect poise. It shimmered crimson.
"Strawberries, Jamil," someone drawled with clear bemusement from beside him. "Not people. Though," and this sounded teasing, damn the asshole, "I wouldn't complain. Would make things interesting."
Jamil reined in his urge to snap a quick Fuck off with an incredible show of restraint that he felt he should be rewarded for it. He breathed in and out slowly. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said with a lightness that he did not feel. "If I may, Leona, with no offence intended, what are you doing here?"
Leona leaned into Jamil's field of vision, completely unhelpful, arms crossed on the counter. "Well," he said, and his smirk was hardly suppressed. "I am a housewarden, Viper."
Jamil decided not to address the use of his last name. At least he'd been spared from some sort of inane nickname like the cephalo-punk that Azul had gained. He had enough of that from Floyd Leech, who was bumbling about the kitchen with a loud mouth and flailing limbs.
"Of course," Jamil said to Leona as he sliced another strawberry in half with perhaps a bit too much force. If he ever had to look at another strawberry in his life, he would crush it in his bare hands. A strawberry tart or two was not worth all of this.
They had begun filming the first of the episodes of Azul's little passion project, and Jamil hated it. There would be seven episodes, he had proclaimed, one based on each dorm— each official dorm, that was, although Ramshackle's housewarden-by-necessity did end up making an appearance, alongside Grim, who was doing no wonders in the kitchen beyond attempting to scarf down every goddamn ingredient before they made it into the recipes. The first of these was to be focused on Heartslabyul and therefore, naturally, a tea party.
Jamil was more of a cook than a baker, but it was the baking that needed more hands. Jamil could keep an eye just fine on Kalim from his spot in the kitchen, although he needn't have worried too much, since Ruggie and Lilia seemed to be keeping as close an eye on the boy as Jamil was, but those two were as reliable as water from a half-broken faucet. Jamil graciously pretended not to notice the breads Ruggie was stuffing his pockets with, though he had no idea why, considering they weren't any different to the cafeteria breads.
Jamil also had no idea what Leona was supposed to be doing, though in all fairness, that seemed to be a natural state of wondering in regards to Leona.
"Of course," Leona mimicked, the barest hint of fang slipping out. "That sure is a tone."
Jamil forced a smile to split his mouth gently. This was being televised, he reminded himself. Recorded on camera and spread to the masses. "Just my natural tone. I apologise if it caused offence."
Leona raised an eyebrow at Jamil. His gaze burned hot and bright on Jamil's skin, or maybe that was just the heat of the oven. Jamil looked away. His strawberries were chopped. "Fuckin' hell. A true snake if I've ever seen one."
Jamil tried and failed not to grit his teeth as he set the knife down. "I'm sure I don't understand what you mean, Leona."
Leona waved a hand, but something in his eye told Jamil that he did not believe a word that came out of his mouth. It was unnerving, to be seen so clearly, as though her were transparent glass rather than a mask curated carefully over the past seventeen years of his life. "'Course not, 'course not."
Jamil breathed in. Televised, he reminded himself. Leona scrutinised him unabashedly. Publicised, Jamil reminded himself. The kitchen needed some damn ventilation. The ovens were burning the place up. "We," Jamil started, trying to ignore Leona's stare and managing only to become hypervigilant of it, "should make a meat pie."
This caught Leona off-guard, the calculating edge of his gaze grinding to an abrupt halt and then starting back up again at thrice its previous speed as Leona narrowed his eyes on Jamil. "What?"
"A meat pie," Jamil repeated, as though Leona's beastman hearing hadn't perfectly assured that he had definitely heard him. He wondered if it was the we that had caused the stop, the expectation of royalty stooping so low as to cook.
"No, I got that," Leona said with a scoff, and if possible, his stare turned more intense, more singularly focused. Jamil tried not to be too obvious as he pulled at the corner of his collar, the high collar of the chef uniform Azul had insisted they all wear, in a futile attempt to cool down. "Why?"
It was Jamil's turn to raise an eyebrow at Leona, his face far steadier than he felt. "Well. I hadn't thought his royal highness would settle for a couple finger sandwiches, but if you insist…"
Leona laughed, short but true in a way that his calculations hadn't quite seemed. He seemed as surprised by it as Jamil. "Hell, no," he said after a short pause. "Lead on, Viper."
Jamil tugged one final time at his collar. The ovens really were burning the place up.