"Please. I beg of you. Please, give me your son!"
"Hmmmm, no. Can't do. But what I can do is loan him by the supervised quarter hour."
"Kyaaaaaa!!!~ I'll take it!"
Sold!
A woman as charming as the lingering memories of a beautiful night grins like the waning moon. A cheshire cat with a deal. It can only be uncharacteristically described as that. Professionally and a bit sadistically, she claps over the informal contract.
"Cosimo! Come here baby, your Auntie Maria wishes to 'play' with you." she calls, voice sticky sweet.
Over a leisurely morning tea and breakfast on the balcony, a dastardly deal is made.
My mother has got herself a new dress-up doll!
In this delicate space of women and children, the only boy stares like a dead fish at the wall past his mother's call. Limp and still with unwillingness in his heart but knowing the situation is hopeless.
Robotically, he gets up and plops himself into the evil hands of the squealing grown women. Outfits and accessories already out at the ready.
Lilyanne blinks in confusion on the sette. As if still searching for the big sister she saw yesterday compared to the miserable sacrificed boy before us now. What a good lesson about gender and bad disguises.
As for why Cosimo and his mother are still here?
Due to various reasons, such as aunt Pipa woefully crying about the lacking luxury facilities around here, we have guests! Fully upgraded tea guests, turned dinner guests, turned house guests. Oh my mother loves playing host and so few people are qualified, or sturdy enough, to last through that.
My aunt Pipa isn't wrong either. We're a countryside fief and an overgeared heroic military base, not a tourist attraction. Festival and transport efforts aside, there aren't many places to stay, let alone very fine ones. Our infamous 'hotel' village is a bit of the way off, and definitely not equipped to deal with the mega rich and needy.
So that glamorous red widow bemoaned and cried, past my Father's disapproving glare and straight to Mother's delicately easy heart. She immediately sobbed back, more than accepting her sister-in-law and guests with a generous spirit.
Father is still holed up moping in his office I assume, hiding from his own older sister.
Nevermind him though. To have the future scary cousin of mine and his celebrity mother captured under my roof for the time being. What luck!
This is indeed new.
Meanwhile, Lilyanne continues to stare and blink in confusion. Her squinted eyes and expression tell me everything I could ever need to know about her thoughts.
They go 'where is the big sister from yesterday?', 'who is this big brother here?', 'what even is gender? I'm 4!', 'does anyone have cheese for me?'.
In 15 seconds, she will stop caring about this entirely. The shiny lures of anything and everything easily distract her. How blissful her life is, with that lack of worries or brainpower.
I, however, must observe and plan diligently. In fact, in a rare situation like this, I am poised to attack.
To get on Cosimo's good side!
I will aim and attack all the weak spots early on and cozy up to power. With both him and his mother! Behold how cute I am!
"Mama, auntie, lookie! We can matchies!" I roll about with the outfit options, posing like a child model over the expressionlessly dead 10-year-old.
Work with me here, kid.
At this age, our mothers are our one source of money, power, food, support, and many other allowances. Sad but that's life. Now pose!
He's doing a very bad job at being cute so I have to pick up the slack. At least, he makes a good statue and accessory for me.
"Oh my, how precious." Cosimo's mother smiles down gracefully. A soft stroke over her own stomach as she imagines the tiny life growing inside.
"Kyaaaaaa! Why my baby girl is even cuter and livelier than usual!?! Waaaah, it is more fun with more people after all." my own Mother squeals and sighs in bliss, picking out outfits that I don't even know where she got.
I shall at least partially blame Georgie. But he suffers enough this week by running every other errand under the house banner. Work hard my cute slav- ahem Jr. assistant
We take far longer than necessary to get ready this way. But who cares? The first day of the festival is already over and now we have nowhere to be except to enjoy ourselves. Schedules are irrelevant to the whims of noblewomen.
Despite all the fun we have to dress up a dead fish of essentially a little redhead mini Bicchieri flower boy, in the end, we must settle plainly if he wishes to be seen in public.
It's a little sad.
Someone like Philippe can prance about anything and anywhere he likes. He could walk out covered in a diamond jumpsuit with minions carrying a neon sign that says 'kidnap me, I'm rich and important', and that would still be ok. He's a noble boy, the only son in his generation of the Bicchieri. Up high above the clouds of the food chain.
But Cosimo?
Due to his birth, he's always been forced to tread carefully.
An illegitimate child. One whose existence shouldn't even be allowed according to the laws of matrimony, despite the overabundance of them.
Right now, most of the world doesn't even know he exists.
Outside of whispers and scandalous talks, all unverified of course. They speak of the quietly hidden child of Lord Domenico Bicchieri and the infamous cortigiana Isabel. This relationship, and many like them, was an open secret to our circles of society. The beauty who hangs off the arm of a fearsome Lord far too often to be a mere plaything.
To play around is fine but to have a child born out of wedlock from that? It's neither a common nor an uncommon story.
After all, who would you choose?
The noble wife assigned to you by business, family, and all the tedious deals that even make your matrimony possible? One who by no guarantee you can even half stand? Who demands and demands, taking it all as if it were their noble birthright.
Or a person of your own choice?
Whoever that may be. To have and to hold. For better or for worse. For richer or for poorer. Sickness and health.
Don't even the very viliest of villains crave love?
I suppose so, since Father exists as the prime case example.
The only reason Mother hasn't thrown out this 'Adultress' sitting in our parlor is because her own brain doesn't work right. Too much crazy in it. Instead of reasonably fearing and avoiding a confirmed mistress of a highborn married nobleman, Mother does her hair, talks ribbons and childcare.
Her, Mother of the heroine, heart only follows the tide of "TRUE LOVE"! Or something ridiculous like that.
As celebrated and fashionably imitated after as Mother is, I realize belatedly that she's not a very good noblewoman. Rather, she tries and talks quite a bit about it but ultimately just does whatever she likes without reading all the tedious details. Her way or the dangerously monster trodden flesh-tearing robbery-inducing highway.
We, of course, have no real alternative but to choose a long slow death by Mother.
Lilyanne had to take after someone. Now and in the future, I can see their similarities lining up. My troublesome sister.....terribly resembles our mother, doesn't she?
"Tada! I am a genius!" Mother cheers, unveiling her final creation.
How...conceited.
But she's pretty and powerful so no one cares. That's the way to go.
There is a poofy child partially dressed in lace and some of my recycling bin experiments. What I could call a little gothic lolita boy. Cute and costume in a half-shoulder cowl and a big ribbon bow tying up his neck. With his hair greased and combed over, the coppery red now sits various shades darker. That odd cross of refinement and poker-faced attitude makes him the perfect model for such a look.
While he does not look too pleased, from the slight frown on his lips, he does seem to accept that it could be worse. That it's an improvement over being stuffed into another cross-dressing disguise.
Maybe because he's been dressed up. Maybe it's all the dark colors and darker details that oddly suit him. Just maybe, but I see someone else in the shadow of this child.
The shadows that linger behind it all.
His hand plays with a shiny button in the corner of his pocket, like rolling a coin. Back and forth, about to flip. The shine of it rolling back and forth flickers, almost hypnotizing.
Make a bet.
Head or tails. Wine or lose. Sweet or strong. Dark or light. There is no inbetween. Make a bet or lose it all.
You will get nothing.
Sour was the wine of the night. The flavor of life.
No matter how many flowers and sweets decorate each palace or ball, it all tasted the same. Bitter and sour. Not even good enough to make one properly drunk. Just the headache-inducing kind of all sorts of impurities. Filth and rust, bottled up nice.
"Happy Birthday."
What young maiden wouldn't be happy with such a greeting?
Let alone from a tall handsome profile such as this figure approaching around the corner. Dashing dark clothes, they spoke of money subtly under the surface. The old-fashioned embroidery is fine and not anywhere near as outlandish as most of the other guests. An almost morbid expression, if he wasn't such a good specimen of an eligible young bachelor. Tired dark veins oneself was well familiar with.
They came from too many late nights and late strains. Dark circles even the beauty of youth couldn't hide.
"You're in the wrong corner." a girl who couldn't quite be called a woman yet scoffed.
She took another sip of sour white as her response. Through the glass of it, muted piss yellow, she could spy in the refracted reflection the stark contrast.
Of another world apparently, despite them being so 'close'. Sisters living under one name, one roof.
Sparkling bright in the center, despite all the filth that surrounds her, shined a star. There was a pitiful gaggle of young and old, pressing their way for the meagerest of moments. To say hello. To offer their lives. To wish a blessed birthday to the lively star-eyed goddess-faced beauty.
Belle of the ball, that lovely young maiden who outshone everyone and everything. Only it wasn't even their ball. Or the right date. Their birthday was almost two months ago.
Rosalia took her peace and bitterness in turns, as they came. She had done her socializing duties for the evening and travels had always tired her out. Was it too much to seek an out-of-the-way place to sit for such reasons?
Such as staying far away.
"Mercy. Even in the barest of sense. I bring hiding fees of convenience." Cosimo placed down the tray he swiped with a clank, expression unfazed at her bark and brittle.
There were more crystal goblets of sour weak wines, untouched. He pulled out a flask from his own person, sharp teeth untwisting the bottle artlessly. With a careless-looking pour, a glass of mellow white wine turns dark. Fragrant and devastating, a Bicchieri infused amber.
"Strong or sweet?" he offers lazily, holding out another flask.
One that Rosalia knew was probably kept for his younger sister. A ginger ale or fruity-like mix to keep Violante from over drinking. Stop her from making a fool out of her young self, but still feeling fancy. That delicate balance of dealing with a precarious growing young lady.
Strong or sweet.
Alcoholic relief shot into her bloodstream or something to salvage the bitterness on her tongue? Whatever will suffocate this headache.
"Both." she holds out her half-empty goblet.
"I could be poisoning you." he pours, a thin raise of eyebrows that almost reminded her of someone.
Someone dead. Missing but probably dead. It was easier to just assume and work as if he was dead.
"Take your precious bet then. How I'll die. It most likely won't come from your flask." she shook the cup, silently demanding he hurry up.
"Try this then." he tossed her a different bottle.
"Do you take me for a fool? It smells foul! Ugh, how do you expect to kill anyone with something so obviously awful?!" she gagged, only taking a quick whiff after opening it.
It was indescribable at the first moment, but it didn't give her the feeling of throwing up in sewer.
"You would be surprised. People pay me good money for that. Branded mackerel juice, the hottest health product among the ill and the very wealthy." Cosimo retrieved the vial like it was a treasure. The stinky thing shining in his eyes, as if it were liquid gold.
The disgust was so strong that it was stinging burning tears up into the young heiress' eyes. Her fine and meticulous makeup was going to be melted off from the fumes and her tears. Hell, perhaps her entire face.
Goodbye carefully maintained beauty, hello face goop. Perhaps also a Ventrella heiress skull. All that will be left of her. Perhaps she'll ask Cosimo to deliver the message to have her man Alfonso polish and shine her skull and place it right outside the Troop's gates to warn them of the dangers.
"I take it back, I bet it all. I shall die from you and your flask. I shall die from your blasted pickled fish brine poison." she gasped out, blabbering quite foolishly.
"There we go. Now that's more like your age. I was seeing the grand Matriarch sitting there, sipping sour wine in her corner while disdaining everyone and everything." her unfortunate relations teased without remorse or even a slight sign of facial movement.
"You insulting fiend. I may be no Lilyanne but how am I comparable to our Grandmother's corpse, who just won't die?" she gasped, taking his offered mixed drink with little choice.
It was entirely sweet and neutralized. Like the kind fed to spoiled little girls who liked to feel fancy. One didn't dare to spit it out though, chugging it down gratefully to get rid of the previous stench.
"You would be surprised. Would you like to make a bet?"
"No! No more bets with you."
"Grand Matriarch is sending me away."
That got her to pause, albeit it was more due to running out of anything to drink.
The older boy, no...the man refilled her mixed punch. Sour to sweet. Pink champagne a colorful mix between what was being served and whatever he was having. A lot less bitter.
"People like us... grow up too fast already, with too much at stake. Comparison does no one anything good. I'd never bet on it myself. " he explained without really doing so.
The night breeze was still cold this season, ruffling his coiffed gelled hair out of place. Dark as dried blood, nearly plain red. In the shadows of the balcony, narrowed calm eyes glimmered almost submerged in blue waters.
Old familiar gold, always just out of reach.
"You fool. Are you drunk rambling already?! Why is Grandmother sending you away? The banks are finally generating large stakeholders among the populace. It's picking up faster than anyone could have predicted. Whatever excuse, isn't this just a plot to get you away to stake their claim?! To hoard it all!?" she snarled, angry.
"I need to prove myself." he stated casually.
As if stating the daily weather or how bad the wine was. As if he wasn't being forced off the edge. Again.
Someone else didn't need to do that. Someone else had it easy, had it all. That was the way life was. Unfair.
It was never fair.
They were born like that. Born with little choice but to run, sprint, fall and get up again just to achieve half of what they received so easily.
Nothing was ever fair.
"...where?" Rosalia bit the bullet, seeing no sense in complaining further about what they both already knew.
"Starting me safe and easy in the Northwest of the lonely isles. There are already established businesses there that need to be strengthened. Reminded and tied. Lucky me." he sipped casually, no drink was ever going to be strong enough.
"Safe and easy as in no one and nothing is there. They're sending you to rot. To die. Worse than exile." her hand gripped her cup.
Quickly, she set it down to compose herself, before it could break and shatter. Glass was just so messy to clean up. The sharp shards were annoying as it was tediously painful to pull out human flesh.
It was stupid how much money people paid for such delicately dangerous things.
"They're sending me officially, as an heir presumptive. On par with our dear Philippe. Like it or not, it's the biggest face they've given me. Lord Giacobbe Francis is not exactly celebrating my departure either." Cosimo explained, looking for the deeper details to his advantage.
"You, the only son of the previous Lord Domenico Marsilius Bicchieri, swoop in like a shooting star too hot with streaking money to kill off. You take a few steps up, towards this hell. His thriftless son takes a few steps down the automatic chain of succession and power. What do you mean he's not celebrating? He should be absolutely raving to send you away if not just sinking you to the bottom of the ocean." she snapped her fingers in front of his face, then snapped them again for emphasis.
"Who knows what the heads are thinking." he answered back easily, leaning against the balcony.
"Easy. I'll tell you what they're thinking. How to make your death look like an accident." she sighed, tapping for another refill.
He poured her half a sweet childish glass more and she protested by booing and throwing a handkerchief in his face.
A very normal cloth handkerchief thankfully, and not any hidden deadly weapons.
"Lovely. I can auction that." he pocketed the fabric.
"You will do no such thing." Rosalia rolled her eyes, disbelieving.
No one would pay for it if they knew where it came from. It's not like it was going to be sold off as her sister's, but she supposes if this young man was getting shipped off to nowhere, every little bit would help. If there was someone who could make money from nothing, it wasn't a bad option to bet Cosimo Bicchieri. As unreliably cheap as he was behind the front of money and ruthlessness.
The idiot still lived extremely frugally when there was no one to power control or impress, and that mindset stayed with him.
"What about your mother? Violante?" she threw out. Might as well get out all the information he was giving directly, for free.
It was annoying to have to rely on spies and such for information all the time. She did it enough for reports on her own sister. Sometimes, it was rather refreshing to get things straight, face to face.
A rare luxury in this line of existence.
"Here of course. What are they going to do with a middle-aged matron pimp up there? Freeze her to death? Don't worry about my mother, but Vio? She might get lonely though." he took another swing before speaking again, directly out of a flask this time.
"Sorry about her clumsy way of showing it. Keep her company when she goes knocking or clawing again, won't you?" he chuckled uncharacteristically, as if helpless at the thought.
When he smiled, even in the barest of ways, it felt drained empty. Clumsier and lonelier than he ever blamed elsewise on his younger sister, that spoiled pearl raised carefully in his palm since their terrible father left them in this life.
When he smiled, he looked nothing like her dead Father. That was a relief. Though she doesn't know why the thought ever arrived in the first place.
"So that's what you wanted all along? To connect and cozy them up to me? Joke's on you my bastard cousin, there's nothing I can protect. Not even myself. I walk to an iron throne with a blade swinging over my head. My power is borrowed. It isn't even real." she took the time to savor each acidic sentence that spills.
It did not have the intended effect though. There was no hurt. No spilled blood. Not even the cover of a poker game money face.
Just a lonely, slightly patronizing smile.
His face shape was all wrong, too stout, cut too bold and strong at the chin. Those stars scattered freckles too prominent while his normally sharp eyes muddled water. You couldn't really say what color they were or how many bodies they hid. How many levels of depth or depth.
Besides, Cosimo had much thicker lips than her own late Father. The very wrong kind of smile.
She was too tired for this. She didn't want to care anymore. Not for anything or anyone. Not anymore and perhaps, preferably, never again.
"Still too wet behind the ears. Brat. You're too easy to read. I'll be back, richer than ever. Don't you worry. I won't die that easily." he stated, quite arrogantly in her eyes.
"Pfffft, go rot in a bog. See if I care." she scoffed again, brushing away the rude hand doing a very sorry attempt at comforting.
She didn't need such cheap things.
Rather than that, it messed up her hairdo. Men never knew how long womankind suffered to get those perfect.
"Ah, yes. You're a very big girl now. No worries." he held his hands up in mock surrender, releasing the now messed up strands.
"Hmmph, I am a lady beyond any rank, station, or compare." she fitted to fix them up, or at least tuck them in.
"Terrifying." he gave her, dryly.
"Kindly see to it that nothing further comes out of that scam spitting and eating organ of yours. You best save it for when you starve to death on that rock or have your gum bleed your teeth out at sea. ...Do you need emergency rations? I suppose the troops could spare to part with some expired stale stocks for a low price. Just for you~" she made no effort to conceal her insults or greed.
Rather, she piled it on. Wave after wave of vileness, always keeping on the offensive. This was already very tame for her. Another would be sure to sting from her bite and thorns. There were no direct rewards but long-term safety.
Solitude. A sure plan as any.
"I'll give you 3% shares of my main bank for whatever supplies you have available to load within three months. In addition to occasionally letting Violante 'cozy up' your doors." Cosimo offered, as if he was pouring her another sweet child friendly drink.
If she were drinking that or something, anything, she would have spat it right out into his face. Instead, she choked on the dry air. Mentally counting up the rainfalls of money that stock could generate.
For free?
"You're….playing a very bad joke on me." she couldn't believe it, but neither could she hold back from shaking in greed.
"Nope." he shrugged.
"What's wrong with them? Why do you want my shitty food?! What are the other hidden terms and conditions? What?!" her hands twitched under the gloves, as if coming undone just to violently shake him for answers to everything she asked and had yet to ask.
It sounded too good of a deal, practically a steal. Something had to be at stake.
"I must say, this is a very bad method of interrogation." he pointed out.
"Tell me before I throw you out of this corner to those desperate money whores called single noblewoman seeking to claw under your virgin skin to stake their claim on you." threatened Rosalia Ventrella, terror of their generation.
"Bold of you to assume. But fair, I assent. Have mercy on this pitiful poor cousin of yours. Nothing can get past your brilliant tactics of intelligence gathering. Yes, sheer violence." he sighed through the shaking.
"Get on with it! The stocks, the money, your evil plots, tell me!"
"Again, terrible interrogation tactics. I hate to say it but please visit grandmother or at least see my mother for a reminder ahem tea. Alright, no need to choke me alive with my own clothing. It's all quite simple. "
A simple step-by-step explanation that a smart little conniving girl would have figured out eventually. Or it would have been if they weren't interrupted.
"How cute! What do we have here?"
Red.
Red claps down at them with a wide smile so porcelain it looked like it would crack. Mocking in a way that was overly familiar. All the shame and embarrassment only family relations could bring on.
I blink out of my stupor upon Aunt Valentia's, Pipa's, sudden appearance. Hardly changed. Same shade of red lipstick, ever mocking.
She looks so very much the same, practically unaged.
From the doorway to my mother's walk-in closet, she laughs over a doll-like Cosimo's frilly disguised appearance. A little dress-up doll to the women folk's whims and fancy. Small again. Like I never remembered him.
How dangerous.
It's too dangerous to get involved in the past. Yet it's all I have in order to secure my future. Some memories better off forgotten, jumbled in the mess of what's actually useful to recall.
What's important and what's not...is sometimes hard to differentiate.
That person, most likely made it back home safe and sound. No matter what. I'd like to think he didn't die that easily. I'd like to think, even if young Rosalia doesn't like to admit it, that he was a smarter person than her. Smarter and safer.
But really, it should have nothing to do with me. Live or die, where is my money?
Work hard to grow up and become that big investor for me now little boy, Oh ho ho!
"Oh, looks like my little girls are feeling left out. Let's pretty you all up!" Mother turns targets, eyes shining wickedly.
I choke on my self-satisfied laughter while Lilyanne bunny hops in joy and cheers.
The little fool. No, no, who would willingly subject themselves to Mother's hands? She's even more excited than usual. The new source of fun and cuteness fueling her insanity further.
Mother no, we had our outfits pre-planned out for this very reason. No more. Nooooooooo!
An unknown amount of dress-up torture later, I fully stop reminiscing on the past.
The present is just too stark and painful. Such as how my mother is very much alive and louder than ever, squealing over how well we match in poofiness. We're finally ready to head out to the festival again but somehow, I think neither Cosimo and I have the energy for it anymore. Not after that.
Mercy please. Spare us.
My cries go unheard though, as Mother cuddles me in her breath-stealing hold. Then carries us off.
The lives of children are really at the mercy of our parents. Our mothers especially. Cosimo stuck between the fingertips of those Bicchieri women while I have holding me the scariest of them all.
Let's work hard at holding out till we're much bigger. Fighting Rosalia girl.
Let's see when and where else I can escape to enjoy this festival. If I can?
Oooompf not so hard, Mother!
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Employees cut!
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Thank goodness. I've escaped! Escaped!
Just kidding.
Mother has just left us at the booth I had Abbey run to attend to a few 'public' matters.
Being lady of the land has its benefits but responsibilities. Since Lilyanne and I would be very inconvenient tag along to some matters of adults. Though that could have been due to how much we wined and fussed the past hours.
Just what is the business, I do not know but I shall assume it's scandalous and juicy gossip material. The other woman folk of that shady family followed her, ready to partake in more of that not for small children show.
For now though, my sister and I have been temporarily left with one of my usual babysitters and the many house and troop guards stationed at this stall.
I say stall but it very much has more of that pop up store appearance and feeling. Another one of my old line of work's specialties. Since I had Abbey assigned here to advertise and lottery spin off my own soaps and beauty products, I had to make it all the better. There wasn't a lot of time to plan due to the surprise nature of this event but with my modern crunch time experience, we managed to upgrade more than a few things.
Layout. Presentation. Functionality. Protection?
Dangerous times these are.
Honestly, it's a bit gaudy for my tastes, especially with Mother's odd collection of ribbons and fake flowers piling up. But it's the kind of thing that would do well here, very bright and attention-grabbing. Not a bad-looking store at all.
Of course, it's a lot easier to set up and run when nothing is for sale at all.
Guests may browse and look upon the displays. They may even get a bit of a sample on their hands. But nothing can be bought. A showcase of exclusivity.
These items can only be hungered over by rich prideful ladies or the men wishing to impress them with the elusiveness of something that can't be bought. A slap to the wallets and prides of all. One small ticket per person.
Sounds counterproductive doesn't it?
All part of my evil marketing plan. Well, not so evil. That's just business tactics. Scale back supplies to create demand. Pretty basic.
Besides, it's far too early to start selling my items.
Wholesale soap 'sold' to Grampa and the troops do not count, especially since I get the majority of ingredients from them anyways. I have to make up my allowance somehow? As well as maintain the steady testing research. The craft is still being perfected.
This isn't a fantasy enough world where I can snap and the perfect products show up, ready to sell without fear or precautions.
There's not enough research or back up. No one would buy it, let alone for the high prices I want to set.
The samples I've allowed Mother to share have created a bit of a buzz though. Once again, I need to borrow my parents' and family's influence. No one is going to believe a small child is behind this industry.
If anything, they'll think it's a new branch business that my family is trying out. One inspired by my sister and I.
Oh? Should that be a market segment to target? A family brand, safe for children. Lower cost point but higher volume of sales?
All very possible. The basic soaps and cold creams are certainly popular with the troops. There are even people redeeming their credits for them? How interesting.
A rather unpredictable top seller there though, is foot healing cream.
Um. I'll just assume the life of a trooper is a tough one, full of blisters, cracks, and pain. Fighting everyone. I shall take your preferences into my research very seriously.
But this isn't about my guinea pig market research.
No, this is the early plan of marketing!
"Pwretties." Lilyanne compliments the foot cream display case.
We used a pretty shoe up on the stand but the item is packaged beyond recognition. An ornate glass bottle and case, surrounded by flowers and sparkles. Held up high in its bright and colorful podium, with just a small shelf for Abbey or any employee to hold things like samples or notes.
"Yes, very pretty. No one will be able to resist paying full price on it once we raise the hype and finalize the product line. Bwahahaha." I rub my little hands together.
Look. Look and crave only to be denied. Then want it even more! That is marketing! Bwahahahaha! Ack.
"M-my young miss, p-please have somet-th-thing to drink down." Abbey pats my back in soothing circles, panicky ordering the guards to serve me.
I suppose part of the job protection is included to not let the young miss choke on her own stupid laughter. For they do so quite promptly. Luckily, water is all that is needed and not a choking emergency procedure.
Much more useful than the secret guards. They won't even show up to carry me or my stuff! Too busy being secretly spying and reporting my every move, or something.
"I-is that better? Y-young m-miss?" Abbey panics even more in these cases.
Large crowds, strange situations, my possible imminent death. All that and more.
Her teary expression says she's exactly half a minute away from calling all the emergency healers at the first aid stations. Just in case.
"I'm fine. Just too much bwahahas again." I sigh at myself and my own shame.
"Bwhahahahahaha!" my younger sister laughs, mocking me crudely.
"You, never do that again." I flick at her head.
"Ack Bwohohohee?" she winces at the attack, but tries again.
"Just. Don't, I mean, you're already sooooo cute, Lily. Just be yourself." I change tone.
"TEEHEE!!!" she giggles, cheeks blushing silly outside with her fat grin.
The natural charm of a happy laughing pretty little girl draws looks from passersby. The whispers spread through the crowds, pointing us out, even when protected back here. Perhaps exactly because we're up on top one of the 'official' Ventrella booths of this festival, flanked by guards, that people are quick to guess who we are.
That or they saw us in that darn embarrassing parade float. That too.
"Add on to the plans over the days, Abbey. We've baited them, now we can give them a little more of a taste. I shall authorize an additional 100 more basic and olive oil soaps. As well as a cleanser, but only remarketed as a 'family' product. Gentle and good even for children or a clean household. There's not as much of an exclusive noble clientele here, so a market expansion is doable. We'll see how popular it gets and plan a special event for the last day." I explain, eyeballing the current stocks.
"Y-yes my lady, Rosalia!" my little maid salutes, too influenced by the local troops.
"Stack the bars in a display pyramid. Change that theme with soft baby blankets and light ribbons. Make it look fresh and cute….and write this down for me instead." I hold out the messy orders.
"Y-es miss Rosalia!" she takes the quill from me, jotting down notes.
It's just that my handwriting is still a bit...distinctively awful. It's fine for Abbey or one or two people to just read, but as for official orders...let's have someone else do it.
One day. One day, my fingers will be long and elegant, my hands larger and capable of more than just cutely pounding my little fists and pointing baby-sized orders. But today is not that day.
It's fine. So long as I stamp my custom family seal at the end of a document. A-ok.
It's obviously not as powerful as any of my parent's or Grandpa's but it's pretty good. Everything I spend, authorize or order also goes straight to those parents. A child lock credit card statement….I need more cash money of my own. Funds that can't be traced.
Ah, the road to making money is a long one.
"I'm getting bored in the security booth, no one is pulling off any shit. Damn fake goody two shoes. Got any annoying shady people to arrest and interrogate around here?...Oh no not you two." another of my employees stops by, halting at Abbey when he sees who is right under her legs.
How rude.
"Homewrecker!" Lilyanne starts running, ready to jump down the booth platform.
Yuna does not reciprocate the affection nor make any move to catch her. She could have fallen and hurt her already delicate head. Luckily, that's what the assigned house guards are for. Guards that have no mercy,
With a quick order from that spoiled young miss, the guards holding her are quick to chase after Yuna. The screaming temporary festival security is no match for this massive onslaught. The grown muscular guards hard at work chasing the grumpiest babysitter ever down and throwing a happy Lilyanne onto his face given the chance.
At least, he doesn't look bored anymore.
"Is everything going alright at the booth? Any fears, concerns, or need for more security?" I ask Abbey, pointing behind us at the honestly not very assuring protection.
Nothing wrong with troop's security thus far, nor the many stations for them, but obviously we have kids like Yuna goofing off.
"I took this position to avoid this?! Get it away from me!" Yuna screeches, diving around displays and wooden stalls.
"Go go go!~ Teehee getty tag tag! Wheeeee!" Lilyanne rides, using various guards as her chariots to chase after him.
It's a very disturbing game. Poor Yuna.
"I t-think it's been pretty good. T-th-there were some t-th-thieves early on b-but t-they were caught and made an ex-x-example of! No is-issues since then my young miss!" Abbey reports with relief.
This lottery system is running well then. A disturbingly fair and equal chance of winning. How fun. Perhaps I can reuse it in the future to make some more actual money.
In the background, something is going on quite loudly, but it's fine. Probably. Most likely. No one is dying at least.
"Ahhhhh!!! How did you get...get off my butt?! No, don't tear it down you feral werebaby!?!"
"Heehee homewrecker got tagged! Butt drum!"
"DO NOT!"
"bUM ba ba boom cha! Chum cha cha boom!"
My cute loyal maid and I go over the result books, happily in peace as my little sister is well amused and exercised. What a nice break it is to catch up on work without worries.
The festival is going smoothly so far, even if it's not 'perfect'. The participants seem to be enjoying themselves. My employees aren't too stressed out. Sooner or later, my Mother will pick us back up. Yes, all is well.
Fear and suspicion have me turning my head back and forth. Because nothing can ever just keep going 'well'. That's not how life works, especially my life.
Alas, all I see is a focused Abbey counting the stocks from my purse, the guards and other employees stationed by, and a tired-looking Yuna plopped on the ground. He has somehow turned the situation around and is now playing my little sister like she was a pair of drums instead. The little girl lay on her tummy over his knee.
"Boop boop pa!" Lilyanne makes the random sound effects as Yuna's hands move down on her. His face is dead but turns to a seedy glare the moment I make eye contact.
With a single hand, the finale perhaps, he chops his hand down to the back of her neck. As if she were a cabbage to chop rather than an adorable human child drum.
"Quuuuack!" she bellows, signaling what sound that move makes.
A beautiful musical performance. The guards could cry.
When Lilyanne stops feeling the 'playing', she looks up with a questioning and absurdly calm stare. The flash of something deadly and cute, she stares up at Yuna, eyes wide open.
Fearfully, he starts massaging the pretend drums on her again.
"Yaaaaaay! Again! Pa cha cha cha choom. Doom be doom." she sings out happily, back to normal and following that unknown beat.
Ah, ok false alarm. Nothing wrong exactly. I probably just worry too much. It's so hard to just let go when you're juggling as much stuff as I do.
At least for a week of these festivities, I should relax a bit.
Right, Abbey?
Before my maid can even nod, the sounds of screaming and clucking rise from the not-so-far distance. Clucking, chirping, and other very strange giant bird sounds. Comes with free chaos.
I knew it. I just knew it! Aha, I told the world that nothing can just peacefully go well and here it is! Wheeew. Finally...ahem I mean, oh no.
Look, I just want to get my daily troubles done and over with?
Which is why I pack up and brace myself for what's to come. That flock of dust, screaming, and….feathers.
Who let the chocobos out?
Well, they're not really choco- oh never mind me and my pop culture irrelevancies. Those birdo mounts should be parked away outside or in a designated stable lot. Not pecking, clawing, and clumsily terrorizing this deep into a busy throng of people.
Guards? Security? Do something?
"I just wanted to ride the fluffies. Why does no one let me ride the fluffies, is it because I'm too awesome!?" comes the overly loud voice of a familiar culprit.
"I think...it's because….we're too short?" comes another much softer, but no less troublesome childish voice.
I watch with a growing sense of 'I'm not even surprised' numb, as my minions ride forth on one of those escaped giant yellow bird mounts. Lukas tugging the reins in a very confusing manner before giving up on them entirely to directly try to talk to the bird. Meanwhile, like a fair maiden, Amar tightly hangs on the back of this ride. His little legs, and Lukas', are indeed too short for any real riding on that thing.
"No, not that way! I know it smells good but we're gonna get in real trouble if we go flapping in!" Lukas ruffles some feathers, yelling into the bird's….ear.
Do those things even have ears? Do regular birds? They have holes or something underneath all those feathers right? Does it matter?!
"Yuna, this is your chance. Go save them." I point over.
He looks at me, then at the threatening beast that looks mostly like me on his lap. His expression was biting and very unimpressed. The moment he stops the playing, Lilyanne perks up with her eyes open, staring like the lights are on but no one but a ticking bomb is home.
"Right. My bad. Carry on with the important job of keeping Lilyanne busy." I nod, apologetic.
World peace may depend on it.
Meanwhile, we deal with the much more pressing concern of what to do when a curious pecking flock of domesticated bird mounts stroll out of the parking lot.
With the magic touch of a bad fairytale princess, Lukas actually manages to talk through his ride to some control. When he argues with it, it squeaks back.
Just that one though.
At least, I'm not up there with him. It looks to be a bumpy ride as Amar constantly has to right his balance. Always just close to slipping his little butt off, skinny legs dangling too short with Lukas'. This effort is the only thing keeping him from taking it easy.
Oh well, they've been through worse. Far worse.
What troublesome children. I'm surprised how they went unnoticed in another life, since surely I would receive some report of how much chaos even just one of them brings.
Though it could have just been commonplace in the crazy that goes on daily in the background of this land. It is, after all, founded by a madman.
"No worries, I can fix this!" comes said great founder and savior.
He rides gallantly. The crowds parting in awe at his astonishing appearance. The man with the profile, presence, and hubris of an old god. A god that's barely even visible on his mighty fat steed.
So much pink. It's like my Father's cursed unicorn onesie has been stretched out and ballooned into life, then gained even more weight. It's the biggest fattest horse I have ever seen, both in reality and in cartoons. An exaggeratedly girthy and jiggly thing that has no business going as fast as it is.
How? How does such an absurd animal even exist?
"Fear not good children, for I am here!" Grampa declares, riding the fattest white and pink horse that reality could deem fit to create.
Oh gods, I hate him so much. Wait, is he wearing a toga?
No matter. I hate it. I hate it all very much.
I hate it so much I burrow behind Abbey's skirt to hide from the shame. But alas, it is not enough.
As if the gods hated me, or maybe some magic sensor Grampa has, the obese pastel steed trots right up to this very booth. Right up to share the shameful spotlight.
"Rosalia! Lilyanne! Come! Hurry and climb on so we may save the day in glory!" he throws down the flower-filled fluffy tail of the horse's pink mane. As if expecting us to Rapunzel climb it to him.
"Ohhhhhh!?" which is exactly what Lilyanne does, half the way there when Yuna excitedly throws her off him.
At least Grampa is the hero of someone today. For Yuna gladly flees from babysitting duties to equally hide behind Abbey with me.
Did I say with me? I meant pick me up and sell me out.
"I am not related to that." I moan, shivering in the air as my feet leave the ground.
It is no use in the end though. There is no way anyone, let alone my honestly useless babysitters, can stop Grampa.
"Hurry Rosalia! Before it is too late, WATCH OUT!" Grampa gasps.
It comes like a cheap movie, fast then slow then fast again. The attack of the birds. Big things. Big tall things leaning down and forward. Those giant beaks of theirs, sharp and pecking.
"Waaaaaaah! Grampapa helpies! Waaah!" cries the beloved birthday girl.
The birds are attacking Lily?
Or more specifically….
"Lilyanne, did you carry cheese in your pockets again when you're not supposed to?" I sigh at the situation.
Big birdos peck at the cheese crumbs fallen out of her pocket. A few more intelligent ones are going to peck at the source.
"Waaaaaaaaaaaah! Wah! Noooooooo no Lily's chweeesies! Leave my cheeewsies alone! Waaaaah!" she flails, struggling to climb the annoyed fat horse while kicking off her attackers.
It fails quite badly as the horse starts trotting off, Lily still half entangled on its tail and butt.
" Excellent! Sacrificing yourself to be the bait? That's my grandbaby alright!"
What….what sort of conclusion is that?
I'm left so confused that Grampa scoops me up from my terrible employees right the next moment. Imprisoning me between rolls of pink fluffy horse fat and his own lap while he rains the endless praise on his 'heroic' granddaughter.
A toga laden lap alright. I will not think too hard about it.
"All grown up! *sniff* I am just so PROUD at her BRILLIANCE and BRAVERY! To fill herself with cheese to lead them away. What quick thinking and ingenuity!" He rides, leading the growing herd.
"Not the cheewseies, anything but Lily's cheesies! Take stinky big bruders but not my cheese! Waaaaah!" the beloved heroine of this world bounces, dangles even, from behind. The very worst kind of bait
I am not related to that either. I have decided from this point on, I am related to no one. Please no one look at me or group me up with them.
No one look!
"Oiii! Whooooa not so bouncy. Bad fluffy!" cries Lukas as even the bird he's half managed to tame speeds up in the chase for cheese.
"Uhhhh very bad fluffy." Amar gets jostled and rolled.
Somehow, the boy ended up facing the wrong way during this time. Butt up, he hangs onto the bird's back end for dear life while Lukas clings to its very long neck.
Don't underestimate the beast mounts here in this world, any of the species, no matter how cute or fluffy.
But do they like cheese? Well, these ones do at least.
Interesting notes to ruminate on as I hide my identity in this fattie horse's mane. The forest of pink fur is very good for burying myself in. If I don't see anyone, perhaps they won't see me? Unlikely, but dealing with the gross embarrassment directly around me is just too much.
"Quickly my boys, take the mane of the Paradise opera spring horse if you wish to live! Or at least not be questioned why I got you trampled over by Kwehbos. Quickly! Trust in the heart of the steed!" rumbles out Grampa's familiar cry.
There is nonsense going on around me as I focus very hard on not seeing or perceiving anything. Some very strange and possibly child endangering stunts on horseback. Lucky for me, this creature's immense fat is very good for supporting and blocking such shocks.
So fluffy.
I could very possibly die in it. From shame and comfort. As good a place as any.
The fat ripples underneath me. Like a very thick and muscular water mattress, jiggling under pressure of force. It informs me we have new weights on the steed if Lukas's cheers weren't loud enough.
Blurrily, I dare take the risk to look up and around. The seat of this strange species is surprisingly stable and very obviously wide. Wide enough to comfortably fit a small primary class.
Which is how Lukas can roll around so happily behind my Grampa. Amar being pulled over by the crazy old man from the back of his shirt. Meanwhile the sobs of my little sister, and the trails of her cheese-loaded pockets, still drop with each gallop.
This would be a very good time to nap. Less shame and confusion if one is unconscious.
Before I can mentally escape though, the world grows sparser and even darker.
We ride down a ramp into a tunnel, a steady descent into the underground. Squawking and all sorts of animal noises around us. The sounds start to echo. My vision takes a while to adjust to the dimmer glow of artificial stones. But all around us glows that magical light with rows of animals on artificial pastures and stable spots.
The sight makes Lukas awe and squeal, shaking Amar to look at each and every fluffy.
"Grwampy! Lily no have fun!" the butt of the horse calls out, rightfully upset.
A few other curious animals sniff in her general direction but there is low to no cheese left to give. Only a very grumpy little girl with some very stubby kicks.
"Good job everyone! We've saved the day! Yaaaay!" Grampa cheers us all on, sounding more excited than anyone. Like a primary school teacher trying to fool a class of kids.
The boys are still too busy pointing out every other animal while my sister huffs and demands release. All relatively calm in this wonderland of a zoo.
Or basically the underground parking lot to the rest of this world.
"Heya! Welcome to Lot D! Sorry for the wait. How can I help yaaaaa... oh boy." Tamera runs out to greet, only to be greeted by the sight of a lot of loose and peckish avians following the fattest horse known to man.
Ah, the joys of parking lot duty.
While this does seem to be Tamera's most appropriate specialty, she's looking a tad bit overwhelmed by the amount of unparked animals sniffing closer and closer.
At least, it's relatively peaceful and shame-free down here. I can relax on that part a bit. Who is going to see it? The goats?
"Heeeeelp! Tamera! Heeeeelp, they got into the acid bug room! Oh, just bury me now." weeps Vincent's strained voice from down the dark parking hall.
Work just got harder.
Well, I guess that's enough fun for today. Let's get to work everyone!
Someone round up those Kwehbos. Someone untie Lilyanne from there before that horse lets out a stinky poop. Someone please remove Grampa from the premise!
The minions….meh, I suppose we can pet a few of the nicer-looking animals.
There's also some pretty good acoustics in this parking lot. Not bad to get started on those music lessons I promised.
But first, what's that about an acid bug room?
Plenty to run behind the scenes of this show you see up above. Onwards!
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