Don’t Take Life Too Seriously; You Might not be Able to Figure out What to Wear

I jolted out of the sheets, flailing when a pounding at my door awoke me from a dead sleep before the crack of dawn, or I would like to say, but as this room had no windows, who knows. Inky blackness greeted me, of course—closets don't have lights. The escorting maid had given me an old-school oil lamp—I say "old-school" because most of the residents used some other source of illumination. Not of much use now, as I had forgotten where I had placed it, having passed out before my body even hit the sheets. Still, no great effort to bumble my way to the door.

Now, before you go off and condemn them for stowing me in the closet like a wet mop, I have to clarify for the record. While this room was a closet, it was a closet in the same way that Australia is an island. That is to say, deceptively large and not representative. I hesitate to even call it a closet, as it would consume at least half the space of my family's den back home. Sure, the barren walls created a sense of isolation, and the hardwood floors would not go unremarked in polite company—not that I minded. It might have been a problem for sleeping, if not for Conroy's high standards for bedding and a constant need to replace them. And like an outdated wardrobe to Goodwill, he felt he did a public service by allowing staff to help themselves to discarded bedding. Therefore, I had a softer sleeping pad than I had back at the Two Trees. The lack of natural lighting bummed me out, but I had expected much less.

At any rate, when I emerged, nobody waited at the door. Instead, servants hustled about, moving at a brisk pace hither and thither. They paid me no mind, not even noticing. Until a maid, carrying a tray of plates, did a double take, tripping over her own feet and sending dishes careening down around her—the china did not fare well.

Feeling responsible, I rushed over to help her pick up the shattered remains. She stared at me, dumbfounded, and I prepared to give her The Talk—I had perfected it during my time at the Finfare Fair—when a familiar and terrible voice came booming down the hall.

"Seti!" Mimka's massive form towered before us. "What are you doing, you clumsy girl??" Seti tried and failed to articulate a response. "How many times this week?" Mimka shook her head. "Get this cleaned up..." She paused and then reconsidered. "Actually, never mind that for now, get another set of plates. You clean this up before you join us for breakfast." The girl pointed at me, still trying to form words.

"Well? What are you waiting for?!" Mimka pointed a commanding finger.

"But what is that..." Seti finally managed to choke out.

"Never mind Pachinka. Now get going!" And she chambered a booted foot as the girl ran off. She turned her head to me. I think the hue drained from my body. "As for you..." She grabbed me by the ear. "You shouldn't be startling my girls."

"I didn't mean to."

"Oh, sure you didn't." Mimka began leading me by the ear. "If you are going to be eating with us, you should make yourself useful."

"...Useful?"

"Yes." She dragged me off into the kitchen, relinquishing my ear once we entered, barking orders as maids dove for cover as if from an aerial bombardment.

"Mimka, where are those dishes?!" Igot stormed through the door, fresh from the front lines.

"They are a little delayed; they will be here shortly," Mimka replied.

"Well, I do hope so..." He came up to her ear and whispered. "Lady Valarina has decided to join us."

"What? Again??" She sighed. "Here, find something for this one to do, while I try to shoo her off." And she bustled out the door.

Igot looked at me, mouth still, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "Did you sleep in that?"

I gazed at my oversized suit. "Um... yes."

He betrayed just a hint of disapproval. "Please refrain from doing so in the future," he said, trying to straighten my clothes. It hadn't struck me as a problem. I didn't have anything else to sleep in, and I would be hesitant to sleep in the buff. After that incident, I never wanted to part with my clothing again.

Ultimately, he shuffled me off to help Tissa, as we knew each other. Mimka had charged her with preparing morning toast. Similar to the Earthly standard, only they sliced the loaf horizontally and carved large wedges from each half. We added a light layer of oil before toasting them. Together, we made swift work of the task, and I found myself impressed with the efficiency of the cutlery—far superior to the knives we used back home.

Having finished early, we helped others bring food out of the kitchen and onto the lengthy dining table, as staff crammed in. While comically long, I feared it might not accommodate everyone...

As we stepped out, the hallway incident repeated itself, only without the destruction, as heads turned to behold the bizarre creature. However, the constant distraction became insufferable for Mimka, and her billowing voice brought the entire dining room to a halt; even those in the kitchen looked out.

"Since you all are so easily distracted, let's just get this out of the way," She began as if to a group of impetuous children. "This here is..." She furrowed her brow and looked at me. "What is your name again?"

"Um..." I hesitated to answer, not wanting to give my real name and not wanting to acknowledge my slave name. However, this was Mimka we were talking about. Best not to make her mad. "Olavir," I croaked out.

"Yes. This is Olavir." Her voice boomed. "He is a yut..." She hesitated again. "Igot, what did you say he was again?"

"A yutsuukitsuu," He answered. "They are a kind of small sapient beast creature."

"Yes, thank you, Igot. So that would be explaining his strange appearance. He will be in attendance from now on, so I hope you all got your gawking over with." She looked over the servants as they looked over me. I, too, hoped they gawked themselves out, as I didn't appreciate being examined by so many.

"Okay, back to work." The staff began chatting among themselves. "Now!" Mimka's voice clashed like lightning, and they hustled back into action.

The meal consisted of porridge, bread, vegetables, and eggs. Lady Valarina sat at the head of one end of the table, not a care in the world as she munched away at the simple fare. Igot sat at the other end with Mimka sitting to his right, both shooting glances at Valarina, with Mimka looking exasperated.

The food wasn't bad. On par with the general grub served up at the Two Trees I would say, though some meat would have been appreciated. They didn't skimp on the portions either, as it was self-service and they didn't limit the helpings. Even still, we couldn't finish it all, and leftovers remained, which I heard would find their way into the pig feeding troughs. If not for the whole slave thing, I might have been inclined to have a favorable opinion of House Uvald, as they appeared to treat their staff generously. In fact, the harshest treatment had come from a certain head maid: Mimka, I had learned, to my mortification. However, they did believe in slavery, so a pox upon their house.

With the staff fed, everyone rushed off to their various duties, including Tissa and me.

"Alright, Olavir," Tissa said as we walked down a portrait-lined hallway. "I'm not sure how aware you are of human affairs—I was told your culture is quite different—but I am Lady Amillia personal attendant." She looked over. "And you, I guess, are her..."

"Pet?" I suggested.

She blushed. "That... might have been the word they used." Well, at least she found it as demeaning as I did. She cleared her throat. "So, that means we will be seeing a lot of each other." Another glance. "You seem to be an intelligent sort." I returned a sidelong glare. "Sorry... I didn't mean it like that. It just... I don’t know how intelligent your kind is. The hozenlo are extremely smart, but then you have the hougen who are... not."

I let out a sigh. Of course, she wouldn't know. It would be unfair to judge her when she probably didn't even realize the yutsuukitsuu existed until yesterday.

"I suppose this is the first you have seen of the yutsuukitsuu?" She nodded. "Well, culturally, we are certainly quite different, but as far as intelligence goes..." I stopped in front of a portrait of a chubby man with a droopy mustache to think about it. They certainly had an extreme traditionalistic approach to life, which made them slow to adapt, but... "ours is comparable to humans. True, most of my kind would be bewildered by your ways. But worry not, for I am well versed in human customs." I could have left it at that, but then thought better and added, "mostly."

"Great! I'm glad to hear that!" She smiled with the tight lines softening. "I was worried I would have to take care of two people instead of one."

"Isn't Lady Amillia responsible for me?"

"Yes, and I'm responsible for Lady Amillia. So Amillia's responsibilities are my responsibilities." That made sense.

We arrived at a grand door, though orders of magnitude less grand than the front entrance. Still way larger than necessary, with carved inlays adorning the rich dark wood. If Amillia had to open it on her own, it would prove quite the chore.

"Okay, let me give you..." she squinted as if seeing me for the first time, and started fixing my hair. After yesterday, I had to suppress a bout of anxiety as she restored order. It looked like I would have to start paying attention to my appearance. "There. Okay, so about Lady Amilia. She is..."

A spoiled brat, I wanted to say, but refrained. Still, I felt she wanted to say just that, but was searching for a more diplomatic wording.

"She is a little bit much sometimes. Well, most of the time. She can be quite demanding."

"So she is bossy?"

"Um... Not exactly. She rarely directly demands anything. But as it is our duty to meet her needs, or perceived needs, she can be quite the handful. In truth, I don't think she realizes how much she puts on us." Tissa shrugged. "But it could be worse, I hear of young ladies who are quite abusive to their attendants. Lady Amillia is merely... high maintenance."

"So you are saying that attending Amillia is exasperating, but she won’t berate or demean you?" I summarized.

"That is about the size of it." That hadn't been my experience last night, but I guess I had invited her taunts, so perhaps I couldn't rely on that assessment. Though she did withhold that chocolate… "Alright," She took a deep breath. "Let's get started." And she pounded on the great door to Amillia's bedroom.

She pounded on the great door, a bit aggressive I thought. However, after several rounds of pounding and calling out, Tissa put her shoulder into the finished wood to open the door, only to find Amillia still rolled up in her sheets.

"Come now, Amilia. It is time to wake up." I still stood at the door and could only make out a groan of protest as she tried to shake her awake. It seemed like their daily ritual. "Your friend Olavir is here." That did it. She sprang up and saw me standing at the door.

"Olavir!" She tried rushing the door but was caught by Tissa. She didn't appreciate that, judging by the frown she gave Tissa.

"You know it is unbecoming to run around in your nightgown." Amillia looked down, taken by surprise to find herself still dressed for bed, and pouted. "Come on, let's get you dressed, and then you can see Olavir."

"Mmm... Okay." A brief look of resignation, and then Amilia, without reservation, threw off her nightgown, leaving her stark naked. Startled, I fell back and shut the door with some effort—damn that door was heavy.

Over the next several dozen minutes, Amillia quibbled over what to wear, while Tissa tried, with saint-like patience, to get her to settle on something.

"I thought you liked pink?"

"I do like pink, but now I see it doesn't go with this morning's shade of red at all," Amillia said with an air of expertise.

"Well, how about this blue one then? It should match nicely." Tissa remained unfrazzled by this line of reasoning, which to my mind sounded ridiculous.

"Yes, but it won't go with the midday sky. I plan to be out and about!"

"Well, then, how about this orange dress?"

"Orange!? That dress is melon yellow! It doesn't go with my complexion at all!" This continued at length, with Tissa giving suggestions and Amillia rejecting or trying on and then rejecting nearly everything she presented. I say "nearly" because she did eventually settle on something.

At length, they finally emerged from the bed chamber, with Tissa hunched forward and Amillia prancing out as she rushed up to pull me into a hug.

"Olavir!"

"I see you went with… white." I guess that goes with everything.

"It's not white! It's white with pink inlays." She pulled away to point them out.

"I... stand correct."

"Come on, Amillia, we are late for breakfast… Again." Amillia didn’t hear her whisper that last word. However, I did—benefit of big ears. Good to know that Amillia's outfit Odyssey would be a daily occurrence.

We followed behind as Amillia skipped along, her hair in pigtails today, suiting her bubbly mood. Periodically, she would look back at me and get this big dumb grin. My stomach turned. I could only hope she would grow bored with me, and I could welcome the sweet embrace of neglect. She did seem the kind to have wandering interests. Although Conroy did drop a sickening amount of money at that auction, even for a super-rich dude. Would he do that for a passing dalliance?

We arrived in a grand dining room far superior to the servants’ mess hall: a long polished wooden table with fine linen draped down the center, pristine china with silver polished to such a sheen you would almost mistake them for mirror fragments, all laid out in what I assumed was the proper placement. Several large windows bathed the entire room in morning sunlight. A single voice broke through the deadpan silence.

"Really Valarina, is it really appropriate to be writing at the table?" Conroy said with exasperation...

"It's okay, I already ate," she replied without looking up from whatever she was writing.

"Don't tell me you ate with the servants again?" He massaged his forehead.

"Yes. I was hungry." Conroy let out a sigh but said no more until he saw us enter.

"So, my other daughter finally arrives." Amillia's head jerked.

"Sistilla! You're back!" she shouted, throwing her arms wide..

"Hi, Amillia. Another hard time selecting your outfit?" Sistilla said with just the slightest amount of derision. Amillia seemed oblivious, though.

"You have no idea." She said, resting hands on hips. "It is an especially challenging day, but this will do."

"I see..."

"Come now, Amillia. Take your seat." Conroy gestured to the open chair occupying one whole side of the table, a good 20 feet. "It seems so seldom we all get to eat together, what with your sister off... galavanting."

Sistilla sighed, no stranger to this complaint, but offered no rebuke. Amillia, still naive to the civil hostility, hopped on her chair, and servants emerged as if from the walls and placed breakfast before the four of them with the precision you would expect from a microchip assembly line. Amillia dug in.

"What were you doing this time, Sistilla?" Amillia asked through a mouthful of food.

Conroy seemed about ready to chide his daughter, but Valarina spoke first. "Amillia, you know it is impolite to talk with your mouth full," she said, still scribbling away. Conroy stared and muttered under his breath; I had a good guess about what.

"Well, Amillia, we were assigned to guard a caravan through the Raincaster region."

Conroy started choking on some food. "You did what!?"

"Oh, come on, Father. I am a Veteran. I'm completely able to handle the danger."

"It's not just about the danger! Escorting a caravan is..." He shot her a glare. "Beneath your station."

"I'm sorry, Father. I will be sure to suggest they put up a separate board for 'noble jobs,'" she said between spoonfuls. Going by her flippant tone, it seemed she didn't much heed her father's words. Conroy sounded a long suffering sigh, nearly dropping his head into his food.

Such an interesting family dynamic. Conroy wanted his family bonding time, but Valarina preoccupied herself, and conversing with his elder daughter appeared to give him additional gray hairs. That left him with just his youngest daughter.

"Have you been looking after Olavir?"

"Yes! I had Tissa make sure he was taken care of." Oh? Did she arrange the closet for me?

"Who is..." Sistilla saw me for the first time and her eyes went wide. "A yutsuukitsuu!" She stood up, and I sensed she was about to dash over, but a stern look from her father stilled her. I guess she still respected some of his authority. She sat back down. "I've only ever seen them in the Pento plains. They're very reclusive."

"Yes, Father bought him for me for my 11th birthday!"

"Bought him...?" She pinched her eyebrows together. "And didn't you just turn 10?"

"Yes, he's an early birthday present," Amillia said merrily between bites. Sistilla shrugged her eyebrow.

"And how did you acquire a yutsuukitsuu?" She took a bite of her biscuit.

"Dad bought him from the Finfare Fair for 15,000 Noggins!"

It was Sistilla's turn to violently choke on her food. "How Much??" She said, leaning over the table and staring at her father like he just sold the family farm for a handful of magic beans. I guess that verifies I'm not the only one who finds that a ridiculous sum. Conroy didn't reply, covering his face in shame.

She took a moment to recompose herself, looking down at her plate. "So this..." She looked over at me. "Olavir is a slave then?" I scrutinized her expression. By the way she said it, I felt there might be a possibility she disapproved of slavery, and there did seem to be a notion of contempt. Similar to what a vegan might give to someone eating a steak. Well, probably not that bad—some of those people can be absolutely militant— perhaps more like how some nonsmokers view cigar enthusiasts.

"Indeed," came Conroy's breathy answer.

"And the going rate is... 1,500,000 vols?"

Conroy's posture continued to collapse. "Well, there may have been some extenuating circumstances..." Sistilla continued staring, demanding answers like an unrelenting parent. "Sigh, Marvril was involved."

Sistilla deflated like a failed punchline. "Really, you lecture me, while you are out there perpetuating boyhood rivalries of no merit."

"No Merit!" He pounded his fist on the table. "Image is everything!"

"Umm... Wouldn't spending such a large amount of money on something so..." She cast an apologetic smile my way. "Frivolous, be bad for our image?"

"Don't assume to know; you weren't there. That addlepated dandy is always scheming!

"Yeah!" Amillia interjected. "He wasn't going to let Marvril have Olavir!"

Sistilla let out a sigh and raised her hands in surrender. "Well, for what it's worth, he is probably better off with us. The Toualas would probably try to monetize him."

"That's right! We will take good care of him!" Amillia declared.

Oh, boy...