153 Tondmego
Too much hard work and no chaos makes Rosalia a very dull girl.
Did I say 'chaos'? Whoops.
During this season, more so than usual, some of our staff have been released on winter break. Perhaps to visit their families. Perhaps to have a personal life. Who knows, who cares.
Most importantly of all, my Georgie has gone!
It's devastating to my work life! Who knew?
My little Jr. Chef assistant is apparently in charge of my cooking experiments, my skincare lab, my tailoring experiments, my anything and everything experiments. Anything that has to do with shipping, ordering, commissioning, and contacting Alfonso really.
How awful! That's far too much power.
I would complain and demand a refund of sorts but there is none. That's just the life of a toddler. Always in someone else's hands. In this case, Georgie, lead babysitter. Otherwise, no one trusts me with anything. Not even Alfonso.
The storage is safe with Abbey's inventory stock but I can't access anything new or in progress.
Woe is me, I'm far too tiny and juvenile.
This would be the time to roll over and demand Father do something about it. Surely as the technically Lord of this household, he can give me at least that much. After all, I've been very productive doing all of his stupid homework assignments. Sore as my little hands may be, I have diligently improved my handwriting.
I've even drawn more nerdy things I want to be made. Or at least tried to. At least I wrote notes on parts, details, and what they are?
Oh, that may be why I need handwriting practice.
But alas, the impossible to imagine has happened.
Father has been taken ill!
"Ill? Hardly. I don't feel a thing." says the handsome man with a running fever.
Hot temperatures and a red flush to his face. Thankfully not as hot as his hair. A normally melodious voice that rasps with the great need for sleep and nasal spray. A dull complexion and more than occasional sniffle or sneeze.
Father is the very case study of a classic cold.
"Oh my poor rosy darling, you're absolutely wrecked." Mother sobs something ugly, bawling over Father's side as if he were to roll over and leave her on this mortal realm forever.
"Preposterous." he would sound much more imposing and convincing if he were not so stuffed up in the nose.
"Achoo!" heaves my pink little sister, also equally as taken by winter's burst of wet weather.
Unlike Father, at least she does not deny it.
For once, I see the uncanny resemblance.
What almost comedic fools they are, this father-daughter pair. Both sick. Both for the very same reason.
They were caught in the rain for too long staring at snails! Snails?!!
"Soooooo many snails, Papa. Achoo! Owie. Achoo! Oooowie." Lilyanne no longer has the strength to sit up. Her own sneezes knocking her right into her back. Creepy doll in her arms for company.
I will ignore how Ponyo Annabelle Coraline has integrated into the background. I will also ignore how it keeps getting new dresses. Especially ones that look like mine.
"Indeed. A plethora of slow-moving specimens. Absolutely fascinating creatures." Father nods along in agreement, not a trace of shame nor remorse. The heartless being.
"Yummy wit cheesies." says the little fool learning all the wrong things from my normally more sensible and capable parent.
What tragedy befalls our family in these troubling times of partial working staff. What an ill omen. What stupidity!
What tasty escargot.
When Mother cries and bawls into the sheets, Father's leg, or even Lilyanne's tummy, it's her emotions that come through. Not her words. For my ears hear a muffled something that sounds like "I love you so much but you're so stupid.".
Which does not sound like the words spoken by a noble lady at all. Thus I shall ignore that.
More importantly, we must ignore Father when he gives any more lies, excuses, or even delusions of "I'm not sick. In fact, I feel fine."
Such claims are DENIED.
Of course, he can make himself feel fine. There's a series of buttons in his brain that turn on and off his pain sensors. A great switchboard of even more functions I'm not graced to know about. I don't think I've ever seen him in physical pain except around Mother.
Sometimes, I don't think he even operates like a human. I know for a fact, from both the original's memories and my own eyes, that when he wants to, he can fall asleep instantly. A press of one of those mental buttons. Beep boop shut down. Done for the day.
How convenient.
I believe I can partially numb myself to some things. But I do not possess that. Where is that button located in me? It's certainly not by my ears, those are just ticklish.
But today is not about me, even though it's all told by me. No. Today is the day half of this family's tomfoolery has caught up to them. From Father's tendencies to overwork to avoid work, to Lilyanne's bad habit of sticking, clinging, and copying anything on anyone she likes. Now, they are both sickly.
I hope they're happy now. I hope all that snail watching was worth it.
This mushroom cap escargot is very tasty though. So simple to make too, mmmm.
I do prefer the soft savory mushroom caps over hard-to-eat little shells one must pick at. Kudos to the chef who took the time and creativity to make a more child-friendly escargot. I don't mind eating snails, not when they can be cooked so scrumptiously.
Somewhere, a Georgie-shaped hole in my mind sounds suspiciously modern and snarky. It sounds like "Rosa, stop taking food selfies. Your chronically frail heroine sister is sick and going to ruin your life."
Haha, very funny imaginary Georgie. You don't even know bad reality TV or memes. Let alone the whole plot of this bad story called my life.
See what I mean by me going dull? I'm back to talking nonsense in my mind to cope.
At least I know I'm safe from unconsciously talking out loud when I stuff food in my mouth. Mmmmm stuffed baked mushrooms. They taste good with white cheese too. Yet not too greasy or overpowering with the butter. It must be white wine and pepper. Delicious.
A light clang of silver, the roll of wheels, and the doorways open ever so slightly again. With it comes a man who is more spindly long legs than anything. A gray well-groomed hair to beard and dressed in dashing black.
I hope Alfonso comes with more escargot!
They're amazingly wonderful today! Must be the freshness from after the rain.
"Ahem. I do apologize for intruding at the moment, my Lord and Lady." our butler enters with grace.
Alas, it is not more tasty dishes he brings, but a handful of paperwork. Mail and paperwork!
"Call for the doctors!" the sobbing woman that I call Mother wails.
"We already have, Mother." I remind her in between crispy bites of toast.
The bread of this world, when one can afford it, is just too delicious. Munch munch. Mmm, the secret to staying healthy is to keep eating well. Even when sick. Can't get better without anything fueling the healing process.
Eat up, Lilyanne.
"Cheesies *cough*." she weakly gnaws, one hand constantly cuddling...Ponyo
Yeah, keep up that strength and good eating habits Lilyanne, go go go! You'll be better in no time! Keep the doll while you're at it.
"Why do I not get personally fed?" Father dares to complain, perhaps feeling jealous of his own daughter. How petty of him.
But he is sick, despite his denials, so I shall have mercy on his patheticness. Besides, it's just a little cute to have a normally imposing man such as Father be eating out the palm of my hands. Just a little bit of a power trip.
As I take turns playing with the attentions of either feeding an oddly cute Father or the silently screeching hungry bird that is my sister, Mother is forced to return to sanity with the paperwork Alfonso brings.
Her brown eyes skim quickly, wet as they are. Finishing any routine signatures or skipping past the usual missing goat cases.
We really should do something about that?
Not the whole solving all the missing goats that will turn up every year, but more the processing that even gets those files up into our hands. Surely we have someone else more….free and qualified to see to that?
"A devastating mudslide? At this time?! How large? Blocked the main road. Oh, how terrible. Any casualties?" she gasps at the final report in the list.
Oh my, that does sound serious.
Well, I suppose with the few rainstorms the last month and a winter wet season that's technically still going on, those things are more likely to happen.
"Oh my, the poor poor villagers of Tondmego. Of course, our hands must be put to work at once." Mother declares, getting a small slide of paperwork from Alfonso. Ready to skim over the fresh reports and sign any preset emergency plans for situations just like this.
Wait, did she say Tondmego?
That's our Pottery village!
Not the pottery village! That's the worst place for a mudslide?! I mean, anywhere is bad but that's seriously the worst location out of all our local villages.
The local villages that we immediately serve and collect supplies vary.
The most commonly visited and mentioned in this little life of mine so far are Farming Village A, Farming Village B, and Farming Village C. We all get the point. Technically all the villages have farms but these three are composed primarily of farms with no other major exports or specialty. Even if a household has a farm a bit far from a village, due to the nature of farms, you could be considered one of these from the map.
The ports are not technically a village but might as well be one with the growing population of full-time residences. Families that follow the workers. They're the newest, the latest addition to our local circle of population.
Related and alongside them are Fishing Village 1 and Fishing Village 2. I suppose they could also double as salt villages but we're just being redundant by including the offerings of the sea.
A few more specialty villages here and there. If they come in multiples, well there's my not so brilliant naming system to keep track of.
We do not speak of Hotel village, the ones closest to the troops. Poor poor hotel village.
I should do something further about that…..Yeah, that's an issue for another day.
Right now, our Pottery village is in trouble!
Tondmengo, as it's actually called, and not just 'pottery village' in my head, does a lot more than making cooking pots or Mother's little practice teacups.
Their most exported orders are for bricks and tiles. Construction material. As well as anything that molds, is fired up, and is made up of the various clays in between the mountains that surround them. The natural deposits that flowed or dried up around river banks and streams.
It's a strategic location, but at great risk.
A mudslide?!
That place is the most vulnerable to being blocked off the main road or even buried alive should they be so unlucky. There's heavy clay-rich mud on either side of them?! Ahhhhhh!
To pottery village! At once! We must send help!
"Oh dear, what to do...what to do!?" Mother runs about the room, finished, signed, and stamped paperwork floating gently to Alfonso or any number of attendants following after him.
I catch sight of the contents of a few of them. Contingency plans in case this exact situation happened. Deployment of troops preauthorizations. Phase 1 already in effect. Organization for Phase 2 and onwards. Calling in the appropriate units and soldiers.
Yes yes yes, I approve very much.
After all, what's the point of supplying and fixing so many things for Grampa's troops if you can't get direct aid?
A well-organized set of emergency plans in order of operations.
But that's really not enough. Since this is a matter of an important production village in our direct territory, the Lord of the House must really do something.
Looking at my father right now though, he's not fit to do anything but drink escargot soup in bed or continue getting kicked in the face by my baby sister's bare feet. Most likely both. Preferably not at once.
Technically, by all the proper orders of law, my Lord Grandfather is the rightful head Ventrella.
But it's Grampa???
Everyone treats Grampa like he's already senile and retired anyways?
Technically, once again, the Lordship doesn't even go to my father. He married into this house and took upon the family name. It's a title by marriage.
Grandpa's named heir is my mother, his only child.
"Oh, darling! How can I bear to leave you like this!?!!" the childish woman cries, rubbing herself frizzy against Father's cold-ridden countenance.
"Tis but the sniffles and a case of my immune system heating my body's temperature to a rate that will destroy whatever minor infection that invaded in a moment of reckless weakness. It is nothing that won't be recovered in the manner of 1-3 nights of good rest." Father comforts her gently, smoothing down her hair.
Well, that's one way of saying you caught a stupid cold because you were sitting out in the rain staring at some snails move.
Apparently, it was very fascinating.
Either way, it appears that killing Father is easier than expected. Just distract him with something nerdy and let nature run its course. Eventually, he will die this way. Only this time he's taking Lilyanne with him.
Which is a big no no.
First rule of these other worlds. You must not touch the protagonist! That's instant death!
And so, both Father and Lilyanne are sick. My loving mother too distraught to leave their sides, preferring to stick and fuss over their bedsides.
But alas, we do not always get what we want in the world
"Your honorable Lord Father has already been informed and deployed his orders. At the very top of them, your presence is required, my Lady." Alfonso informs, elegantly catching and receiving any filled forms that comes his way.
Mother acts like she cannot hear him. Maybe she really can't with all her rubbing and wailing in Father's tired arms.
"Mother….people could be dying. Pottery village. Mudslide. Worst place for a mudslide. Much mud. " I remind her bluntly.
"Oh poo, well we can't have that now. " Mother sniffs, relenting in finally letting go of her beloved little family.
Lilyanne does not seem to notice or care, already mostly passed out, lest she sneezes violently again. Meanwhile, Father assures his beloved wife that they can very much handle themselves. Given especially the fact that they weren't going anywhere.
"It's not like we're poor vulnerable peasants living in a single dilapidated mud shack, exposed to the elements, animals, cold, and diseases." Father demonstrates by snapping.
Instantly, multiple people appear out of nowhere.
From the maids carrying up towels, books, and snacks. To pages and accountants with various matters of work, sample projects, and even medication. Two of the secret guards make themselves not so secret by hopping down from god knows where like the ninjas they are. While six regular ones crash into the room with salutes and brandished weapons for display. It's a bit much.
Alfonso snaps the majority of them away, then fluffs Father's pillow and takes away the last of the paperwork still clutched in Mother's clenched hands.
I think the patient will be fine.
"Oh, darling." Mother darts back to her beloved man, as if it were painful to part from him for more than 15 seconds.
This disgusting couple.
"Mudslide. People, a whole village, under the mud. Pottery village, so much mud." I deadpan, swallowing the last of my toasties and tea.
I considered making a little demonstration with my food, but I have already eaten it.
"My beloved." Father comforts, despite being the one in bed. Though not exactly by his own choice.
"Oh, Darling." Mother stares tearfully at his pale face, into his adoring eyes against the pale weak light.
He reaches a hand out to caress her face, only for her to take and kiss his palm fervently.
It's like a bad movie scene here. But no one is actually dying.
"Cherish this, as I do. These moments, the last of your touch. Know that I sigh for the lingering warmth of your memory, turning it over and over again like stone that's warm to the touch. As the sea crashes the rocks on the shore. Know that I love you more than you could possibly imagine. In anything and everything that you do." he speaks tenderly, barely above a whisper in that raspy weakened voice.
Weakness made all the more precious. He brushes the loose tresses of hair from her face, placing the blessing of a last kiss upon her sobbing face.
"Oh darling beyond all! I swear I'll make it back home to you by the end of supper, at the latest!" she sobs, clutching his hands to her heart.
Seriously. It's just a cold. No one is dying!?!
Well, not here at least.
"Bring forth the quickest carriage with the sturdiest wheels. Oh, my things. Oh, I can't bring myself to leave so I must do so at once. Before my heart rips and tears with my ill love. Oh, any dirt roads would be a disaster with all the rain!" Mother makes her orders and murmurs.
Thankfully, our major roads are wonderfully modern for a countryside fief. Better than many cities even. They're wide, have at least two lanes, well layered, well built, and well irrigated.
I will admit, sometimes Grampa is good for something.
I don't know about the smaller paths once at a village or town, but getting there shouldn't be too much of an issue. There is the matter of time constraints though. Wet weather is more than enough to slow down everything and anything.
"That won't be necessary my lady," Alfonso informs, already clapping the shady maids into dressing my Mother and presenting …..a purse and picnic basket?
"Oh, have better arrangements already been placed?" Mother blows kisses as she's whisked away only but for a moment to change the middle and outer layers of her clothing, getting draped in a final much sturdier violet coat and hat.
Changing her silk and pearl house slippers for some boots. All served hand and foot by the maids of course. Oh, how enviable and convenient. Damn rich people.
"I suppose that could be called the case, " Alfonso bows and nods.
"Hello, honorable Father, " my own sick mess of a Father speaks through a tissue.
"Grampy?!" Lilyanne sleepily rolls about, already drooling in her uneasy sleep.
There is a terrible tapping from the window. If I dare look over, a crazy old man who technically owns everything here is waving. There is no law against waving through the window of your own house.
Except we're on the 6th floor of the sickbay!!!?
What's he doing out there?! How!?
Oh, it's the stupid excuse for a hot air balloon again.
"Papa?! Whatever are you doing here?" Mother makes her way to open the luxurious iron bar window.
Mmmm fancy prison. Make your iron bars swirly and pretty like a high-class suite hotel.
"Making sure you don't run away or make excuses again! Duties are duuuuuuties baby girl! Exercise is good for you! Besides what a wonderful day to SAVE THE DAY!!!" Grampa happily waves, blowing eerily familiar kisses at the occupants in the room.
"I wasn't going to run…away...again. Not this time." Mother says very convincingly.
As disturbing as my grampa is, a ride by flight is far more convenient and cuts down on messy muddy travel time. Like that, Mother could actually make it there and back by supper.
"Very well then, I shall grace you all with my presence. A bit of exercise is good after a meal." I wipe and crumbs off my face and toddle my full belly over to the window.
I have not visited Pottery village in this lifetime, and would not mind making the trip. Even in these dire circumstances. In fact, what wonderful timing. A chance for ideal observation. If nothing then in 'what not to do', in dealing with or preventing such disaster or worse from occurring.
"Rosalia?!" my mother questions, something disapproving in her tone.
"Rosy pumpkin pie!" Grampa pats and claps, much like one does calling for a pet dog.
Normally I would not put up with such an insult. But arguing proper manners with Grampa is harder than explaining to him what a cell phone is. And my grandfather is indeed, a senior citizen of another world who doesn't know what a cell phone is.
I climb from the window to hop the perilous gap from window sill to the basket. Making a perfect landing in Grampa's beefy arms. A full 100 score for me.
"Rosalia no, oh get back in here darling. Oh, it's not safe. Oh, it's too cold out, what if it rains again? Rosalia!" Mother fusses.
"It's fine, it's fine. It's not that bad out." Grampa waves her off as he settles me into his radiator warm chest. No need for a child's seat or a seat belt when it's just little well-behaved me.
"She's useless and not going to be doing anything anyways! Won't even track a speck of mud! Unless she goes rolling in it like a piglet? Huh, good times." Grampa explains with a wide smile, as if that makes everything ok.
Ouch.
Useless? What is that supposed to mean?! It's probably true in this case but still!
Also, I will not be rolling about filthy mud? Seriously who does that?
Eventually, either Grampa is annoying enough or Mother has had enough of fussing and grabbing things she doesn't need, that she actually gets into the damn basket compartment.
Her loving family, and an entire entourage of maids, wave her bon voyage as we float away.
"Baaaaaaaaaaack by supper! Be well without me, my love! Be happy, even without me, oh my dear sweetheart. Don't stay out in the rain, don't sneak work when you should be resting, don't feed Lilyanne more than 3 ounces of cheese per-"
But the distance grows greater and greater, far faster over air than by anything else.
Thank goodness for that. For I don't think I can stand the disgusting displays of affection any longer. Instead, I stopped being able to stand it years ago. Now I just numbly suffer.
Might as well be productive about it.
"Grampa, what's the situation like? Is it quite terrible? Enough for you to personally visit by hot air balloon. Is it a beautiful natural feat of nature's ferocity and destruction- ahem I mean, how horrible." I cough, trying to keep warm by wrapping Grampa's cloak all around me like a blanket.
It's a tad chilly being up so high.
"Not as bad as it could be! No deaths but we got a lot of muddy knees and a half-buried village. Now that's a damper. Worse with the roads sliding about and buried themselves. Help is on the way but winter's the worst time to be out of house and home." Grampa answers me, for once with decent information.
"Just between you and me, I never saw or recall something like this." I quietly say to him.
There are approximately three reasons for that. Why this was not in any of my plans or memories at all.
One. It happened when the original Rosalia was far too young, and ignorant of the world. I don't remember much of what happened to me as a child in the first place. So fair.
Two. It was not catastrophic enough to be recorded down or noted in old reports. I mean disasters and such happen all the time. Plenty of worst things to deal with.
Three. I fucked up so hard in these short years that it caused a mudslide over this poor hard-working village. A great series of coincidences from the butterfly effect.
I'm going to go with one and two, as they are far more reasonable and likely, but number three is still flapping there in the back of my mind.
"Well, you can't magically see and predict everything, honey pot pie!" Grampa bounces me a bit, being far too loud against the wind.
Great, thanks for blowing my attempts at subtlety.
"Papa? Rosalia?" Mother keeps to her seat.
Nice and safe, a good proper distance away from me in the basket. And yet I still feel the encroaching fear, as if it is an invisible shroud, a shadow of wings and horror. Her smile is small and demure, looking far too lovely. Ankles delicately crossed. Big metal war hammer not so delicately by her side.
"...it's all Grampa's fault, Mama!" I choose my defense and stick to it, hiding behind the muscle of a doomed man.
"Ahahha there there, Rosa." he laughs, comforting me of all people in his hold.
"Hmmmm?" Mother smiles ominously, eyes closed.
"Sorry my Maria~. It's TOP SECRET content in our TOP SECRET CLUB between my little monster grandbaby and I! Isn't that right, Rosalia?! Very top top top confiscated baby material."
Kill him. Then kill me. Then kill him again.
How did this man ever stay alive to this day?
"Oh ho, another seeeecret club is it, Papa?" Mother laughs ominously.
"You know it baby girl! Gotta have the seeeecret knock knock code to get in!" Grampa covers, not at all terrified by his own daughter.
They have a lovely laugh off, flying in a basket in the sky. In the semi-cloudy skies, the rumble of thunder crackles through the air.
Maybe.... scary crazy....is really in the genetics here.
I just wanted to conveniently visit pottery village?!
"Oh, it can't be helped then. One can't be part of every club!" Mother sighs and cries into her handkerchief.
"A fact of life!" Grampa agrees.
"I suppose then, Papa, we must have a meeting of our own in OUR OWN SPECIAL CLUB!!!" Mother does not threaten, nor leave room for escape in her tone.
"Ahahahaha!" Grampa laughs, possibly sweating.
"Now hand me back my daughter and focus on steering safely, Papa.~ I'd like to be back this evening." her hands clapping, outstretched in a spoiled smile.
For the rest of the ride, I was sat and seat belted by my mother. Both my safest and most dangerous spot. Perhaps even more so than the crazy old man.
We fly across roads and forests, fields, and farms. It's not the smoothest ride, but certainly faster than anything by land, and that more than makes up for it. If I don't look around too much, I won't get motion sick.
Approaching the edge of the green mountain range, we make to land.
I sure hope it looks worse than it actually is. Because it looks pretty bad. Like a collapsed set sand castle over half a little doll village.
Like a small trail of ants, troop members are deployed to their missions in this valley. The majority of them hard at work clearing the roadblock. While the little line of ants makes their way through to help any villagers in need. Two smaller balloons float tethered to the ground, acting as lookouts and providing bird-eye views. More ants are stationed up on one side of the mountain, possibly securing and stabilizing the land.
Time to get to work, I see.
"Glad you could make it babycakes. The troops are always so much more energetic when you're around, Maria. But first, the nice and safe useless corner!" Grampa steers us over the blockade in the descent.
It is with little fanfare, for there is already too much going on.
Down to the surviving portion of the town. Where the healthy villagers do not sit idle.
The fire kilns are lit. Baking tiles, bricks, and bread. Whatever is still in working order. Makeshift temporary shelters are already built, with more in construction.
Some muddy victims of the wrong side of town drag themselves and their belongings to them. Even more, are still clamoring in and out of the ruins, river, and mud.
It's by the command station of the shelters, kept warm by all the lit giant ovens, that we hardly drop down to. Just enough to roll down a ladder for Mother to take me down. Grampa tossing out supplies like weights off a dead ship.
"Meet you by the back village in about an hour, Maria! Remember no running!" the balloon flies off.
"Oh, I should say that to you, Papa." Mother grumbles, even if he can't hear her anymore.
Clinging in her arms, I not only stay safe but clean. Mudslides and disasters aren't the most sanitary places. Now here we are right in the middle of one.
Someone like me, would just get in the way right?
"Don't wander now Rosalia." Mother warns me, though it is very impossible when I'm clinging to her neck.
It certainly seems that way then the seas of people part. Good soldiers, laborers, and common villagers alike. Ceasing their work, they start bowing with various shouts and screams. Variations of titles and praises, most likely for my mother, cried from her tired mouths.
Oh, not this again.
Can we chill with the bowing? Or the worshiping. Just once was enough?
Though I suppose it is a very magical thing, even by this world's standards, to see someone drop in from the sky.
Mother mainly ignores them after a quick nod, making her way to the shelter of a command station.
"Lady Legate!" a senior communication officer salutes to her at the makeshift station.
"Oh please don't call me that, Orfeo. I shall die. Simply die. And then what shall become of my dear weak vulnerable beautiful little family?" Mother is never too dramatic apparently.
"I shall play you the tiniest, saddest, most melancholy marching band as comfort for you, my lady, but please. Ah, you have brought the young miss along with you? For uh...." the man called Orfeo trails off, holding back from pointing and asking.
"The life of working mothers is indeed harsh! Especially with small children, cute as they are. Who would have thought...." Mother exclaims, mumbling that last part.
"Indeed. Even during warring campaigns, the honorable commanding Legate would carry you around at twice that age, strapped to his enviably manly pectorals. Keeping your feet, and much of everything, nakedly bare to avoid you running too far through terrains much too"
"OH HO HO! So whimsically amusing. I see you need that helmet to prevent any further head injuries from affecting your poor memory, dear Orfeo! Oh ho ho!" Mother cuts him off, laugh high and unamused.
"No, I just came from the mountain range. It was for falling....ahem I mean. Of course. My memory. It is not what it used to be. Please spare this poor head of mine. ....Please." someone catches on.
"Oh ho ho, how silly. What can a little lady such as I possibly do? Quickly now, bring me the reports and what you need me to do. I have a sick husband and youngest at home "
"Right away your ladyship."
"And how is your son? Why have I not been invited to his wedding yet?"
"My Lady Maria, trust me. The day he gets a wife, I'll lead and play the largest marching band in song across from sea to all the borders."
Given that officer Orfeo is both a senior communications officer and a community musician leader, that is entirely possible.
"I'll settle for the day his awful mug doesn't scare off a girl long enough to say yes, then we march!" he adds in.
I believe this old man just wants an excuse to throw a parade.
Given that I have no recollection of such an embarrassing event, it would be safe to say his son was not so lucky in love for the next 14 or so years.
Oh well, it's not for everyone.
Look at me after all. Forever alone.
Pffffft. Still better than a life stuck with the wrong person. Much better.
But admittedly, it's a simpler and harsher time for people here. Very traditional. People just got married for the sake of it or their parents set it up. But it's easier for men. A bachelor can prolong marriage to whatever age while an old spinster is laughed at and mocked. How typical.
Well, it doesn't matter if I stay single for life. Preferable really. What matters is if I have money and can live well. Make all the money! Oh my true love, my money.
Right now, I must protect all avenues of money. That includes this muddy village at the edge of nowhere.
From what I can eavesdrop on in Mother's arms, the troops operate much like military aid in times of crisis.
The military roll out!
Phase 1. 1st responders and rescue! Send in the scouts to report the situation as the rescue squad gets to immediate work.
Phase 2. Back up to the first response. Based on the intel of the scouts. This is where the main forces come in, called from wherever they were stationed. Any suitable troops, units, or specialized individuals. Also where the road clearage happens.
Phase 2 ½: Stabilize the situation. This is the current phase we're in.
Phase 3. Organization and planning. By now we should be setting up various stations and chains of command.
Phase 4: Roll out the support, final orders, and necessary aid. Full power on the disaster relief plans and rebuild
Phase 5: Yaaaay volunteers and further aid can come in. The weather isn't that bad thus far. By then, commoners and civilians such as the locals from other villages will come in to help. After all, there are some intervillage marriages and family connections. If anything, we're still all one country state?
Grampa is right. Winter is a really shitty time to be homeless.
At least the village has some really nice ovens and kilns. Most of those survived the mudslide. Mmmmm toasty.
A small advantage in these trying times. They can make their own bricks and tiles at least. The first priority right now is securing the villagers's safety. Followed by clearing out the road blockage for safe easy travels.
From afar, I can see them already well at work. Those with enhanced strength, abilities, or even magic taking the place of modern machinery. All working hard before another pour of rain makes things worse.
I see people. Mud. More mud. A very out-of-place wave of dust growing larger and larger, people rushing out the way. The dirty vaguely human bullet breaking the sound barrier as it runs through the streets, as if straight towards us.
It's oddly familiar. From the stubby legs that never tire, to the flapping little teddy bear figure being dragged in the air behind it. It's very familiar, when it starts screaming.
"CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP CAP CAP CAP CAP! GASP! SISSY!!!!! And Rosa too! I know it's Rosa because that one is red and making a sour lemon face! Yes!"
"No!" I run and dodge, before the muddy child can smack right into me and take me in his grip.
In order to successfully escape, I climb the tallest pole I can. Possibly hissing down to protect myself.
It does not work, for Lukas simply hugs the pole, shaking it and me down with it.
"No no nooooo"! I scream, falling to my doom.
Doom is one corner of a damaged shelter patio and muddy handprints everywhere. Also ow, my spine. Ow ow ack!
"You're here too! Great! Now we can get to BEING HEROES!" screams the loudspeaker that is Lukas, right into my ear.
"Unhand me! Mother! Mother, how could you let him get me like this? I'm all muddy! Ahhhh!!!!" My screams and cries doing nothing to deter Lukas from rubbing more mud on his person to mine.
Instead, my mother has dropped every sense of responsibility to go 'kyaa kyaa!~'. Dropping down to child height to coo and inquire.
"What are you two little cuties doing here?~" she squeals, mood queerly spiking up at the unexpected presence of my two minions.
"Mother! Get him to release me! Mother!?" I yell, still being cuddled and twisted in Lukas's absurdly strong arms.
It's like a rabid child got his hands on a new toy, and I'm the toy! Eeep no more huggies! That's far enough huggies! My developing spinal alignment is at risk!?
"Hello. The wagon took us? It was really fast. They came for Cass." Amar, the previous toy, tilts his head to Mother's questions, looking one with the mud.
If he tilts it to the other side, I suspect another mini mudslide might occur. From his own filth and Mother's loss of control squealing.
"Oh, is that so?!" Mother replies in a cute induced bliss.
"Uh-huh, we came too." the slightly less messy child nods.
"Yep, I got dropped off to play right at breakfast time! Even if Cap and Gab made sure I ate lots at home so I don't go 'eating blah blah out of house and home' whatever that means, and it was super yummy! Cass says lots of things, all no no no but Yuna and I still ates lots of funny yummy things. I like the cave house, it looks super human-like and not like a bear cave at all. Bear caves are cool too but human caves are cooler!" the extra messy one continues to blabber into my ear, rubbing our dirty cheeks together.
"Release me, foul midget, hey wait a minute. How come you get to visit that cave house? I haven't seen it yet! How rude."
Slowly, through some strange osmosis, I get increasingly dirt and muck covered. A great concern of my mother's, but only prior to cute little distractions.
I used to be a bit self-conscious about how easily my mother can forget me in the presence of the minions, but then I saw her forget Lilyanne too. After that, I felt a bit better about my clumsy mother's selective memory.
It's probably Grampa's fault anyways.
"Can Rosa come over to play later? Cass is still adding things, but a lot of rooms are ok. I think that's why the really fast wagon took Cass. Because she can make stuff like rocks and earth move. She didn't want to but her badge beeped and they threw her in. So we came along. " Amar turns to my mother, asking permission to kidnap me later.
Ah, that makes sense. Cass's abilities are very suitable here. She must have been on call for mandatory service. It's no wonder the troops came for and deployed her.
"Oh of course! Oh, I'll bring a housewarming present!" Mother twitches in place, holding back from attacking in hugs.
"Orfeo!" she snaps.
"Coming my lady. Hold out and hold still little ones. Dig your feet down!" responds the older man, revving up the handle to a terrifying device.
It looks like a cross between a chainsaw and a leaf blower. Bigger than all three of us kids put together. An elephant truck attachment powering up like some demon wail.
"OI!? OI YOU SHITTY BRATS?! Don't you think you can just-" an angry mud mermaid comes to a skidding halt as he approaches us.
Make that a merman? Merbabysitter?
Either way, Yuna goes flying a distance away as the mutant leaf blower aims and blows hot air. Mud, dirt, and all loose articles blasted off.
"Arms up! Turn around and wiggle the butts clean!" Mr. Orfeo yells over the roar of the machine.
I'm not sure how I didn't go flying myself. But eventually, we are dubbed mud-free enough, but for some stains, and spared Yuna's fate.
Fascinating. I wonder how that leaf blower works? Or what other applications is it used for?
But a fate worse than a tornado of mud awaits us. For once all clean, Mother attacks! Scooping up all three of us into her arms. Ack! My lungs!
I need to start wearing full body armor everywhere I go.
"Oh so cute cute cute. This isn't exactly the safest place for children but oh, it can't be helped. Cute cute cute what good little boys are you for trying to help out. How are you so soft and cute!" Mother snuggles and squeals, swinging us back and forth in her love.
"It's not trying! I help out lots! I can punch things and not people. I'm supposed to be softer on people and not break them. So they have me go bam bam pow lots on the mountain! Oh and I'm not supposed to freeze anything because Gable says I can't in front of others but sometimes I make the mud harder and less muddy that way." Lukas defends himself and his prowess.
"I'm useless." Amar does the very opposite.
"Awwww I'm sure that's not the case." Mother coos.
Wiggling in her grips, with me in the center of this doomed hug, he pulls out his little badge. Holding it up for her and Mr. Orfeo to inspect.
"Yes. That's in inactive 'Useless' status alright. " Mr. Orfeo looks down and remarks.
"I'm awesome!" Lukas squirms to show off the pendant on his neck, a circular faint line of it glowing blue.
"Semi-useful! Grunt work but very good given your age and size! You deserve a clap!" Mr. Orfeo praises, ringing a small pair of cymbals.
Why do we have that here?
"I am awesome. Too bad. Work hard sidekicks." Lukas pats Amar and I.
"Don't feel bad, we have many, majorily, useless units at any given time! My own son included." Mr. Orfeo grumbles that last bit to himself.
"It's not useless. Everyone has different skills suitable for different things. With blooms of all seasons! There is no need to compare. Don't ever lose hope." Mother starts, face hopeful and hand together for the start of an inspiring speech.
"No no no, pretty sure my son is just useless" Mr. Orfeo's face sinks further and further, growing dark.
Ah, some parents have it hard. Fighting.
An explosion goes off in the distance. Sounding like a bunch of dynamite in the mountainside. Then another goes off. The blasts shaking the surrounding air, swaying the scouting balloons. Hardly settling before a third one goes off in succession. Birds cawing as they flap away.
"Whoops?! No worries. Not according to plans but I can fix that!" goes a booming voice, one that sounds suspiciously like my grampa.
"Oh dear." Mother copies Orfeo, shoulders shifting depressed.
She places us, kids, back down on the ground as she looks off into the distance, sighing with her hands on her hips.
"I'm going to have to lend a hand directly, aren't I?" her sighs sound quite miserable. Like a disgruntled employee facing a load of unpaid overtime.
"That would be for the best, my lady. Please do your duties and contain the Lord Commander." Mr. Orfeo concedes, click clack clanging over to the command center, writing, clicking, and blowing orders.
It's a complicated process ok? Whatever works.
Mother would still like to keep this a one-day trip and be back home by nightfall. Unlike who she calls, her unfaithful husband. One who goes frolicking over at farms for sleepovers.
Farm sleepovers are fun.
But alas, my mother and father are two very different people. I shall not get away with that kind of thing here. Which is really for the best.
This isn't a place to play.
And so after going over the final reports and orders, my mother readies to be off to reign the disaster in more directly.
It's not that bad, but a lot of people and things are stuck in mud. Did they deforest a certain part of the mountain too much because they were busy building stuff? Burning fuel? Pottery village needs more fire stones, just saying. They need it way more than the others.
"It really is unsafe for children. I don't wish to- oh, but I can't just….Oh, what to do? " Mother looks back and forth from the dynamite zone that Grampa must be in, down to where I stand.
The struggles of a working Mother.
She could take me along with her. But for once I agree, I do not wish to be around whatever landslide chaos Grampa could be making. Being buried alive doesn't exactly appeal to me.
"I want to play- ahem, stay around here mama. I should be safe in this zone and you can always find me."
Oddly though, Mother denies my request.
It's a bit annoying when she actually tries to parent. She treats me like a helpless baby!?
"I can't take you with me, despite all of Papa's nonsense assurances. How is this any place for a proper young lady? I can't possibly let you see-....no too inappropriate, never! Ahem, it just won't do. But Papa is currently wrecking things and I certainly can't leave my weak little baby girl alone in this clutter. No offense dear Orfeo. " Mother paces.
"None taken." says the red-faced man, half climbing to ring a very complicated set of bells, horns, toots, and whistles.
"Oh what to do? If only we had one of those babysitters."
This would be the perfect time for lighting to strike. Another dynamite bomb to go off. And a babysitter to beautifully emerge from the wreckage in a dramatic fashion.
"You….damn….BRATS!?" reemerges Yuna, tiredly crawling back from where he was once blown away.
"Yay! You caught up! Finally. You're way too slow, Yuna?!" Lukas shakes his head.
"Oh!" the simple little wheels in my mother's head start spinning.
Not that I don't mind the timely appearance of the grumpiest babysitter ever but what's he even doing here?
Shouldn't he be a useless rank too?
"He comes over and eats Cass's cooking lots. She said that if she has to go to work, then he does too. Then the wagon took him." Amar answers my silent questions.
Ah yes, that is fair. Cass is a scary woman. I wonder what her cooking tastes like though? The yogurt cups I got from her before were quite tasty.
Oh well, a house warming visit will be due for another day.
For today is a busy day at pottery village! So much to see. So much to do!
"Be good to the babysitter now Rosa dear. Oh, thank you so much. Oh, we'll have some lovely toasties and teas set up later but alas for now, -" Mother pays the very surprised babysitter, starting on her fussing towards me.
Another dynamite bomb goes off, another hopefully controlled landslide going off in the distance. Followed by "I MEANT TO DO THAT!? OH A GOAT?! HOW DID YOU GET UP THERE?!".
"Oh dear, oh my PAPA! PAPA, YOU STAY RIGHT THERE! Muah muah be good now darling, Mama will be back soon and you can tell your sick papa all about your day. Orfeo, please don't let her run around too far, she's very-"
"OH, MORE GOATS?!!! WAIT, WRONG GOATS. BAD GOATS. AHHHHH!!! OH THAT TICKLES." goes the distant screaming, thundering in a way only my grandpa can achieve.
"PAPA?! PAPA!!!" and so Mother is off. Forced to run so quickly I can't even observe her long enough to call it unladylike.
"Wait! Sissy! Me tooooooo! Cap, wait for me!!! I'll save you! " goes Lukas, looking like a baby duck following in the storm.
And then there were only the useless ones.
"It's because we have no magic isn't it?" I sigh.
"Oh. Maybe? Yeah...." Amar looks down, a bit depressed for a troublesome child his age.
"I actually got paid?! For once?! There's money in my hands to look after you brats?" Yuna stares in shock, inspecting the coins in his hands.
"That's too much money. My mother doesn't understand how some purchases work. You should hand it here." I hold out a hand.
"Not even in your dreams, princess." Yuna is quick to pocket the money.
"...Useless." Amar does the standing equivalent of curling up in a ball.
Nevermind. Now, he is a ball.
"Don't be sad, it's nothing new. Useless people are useless. No cool magic power for us. Wait, isn't your strength at least decent?" I pat at the oddly depressed child.
It happens. Very understandable when one idiot friend has been blessed by the genetic DNA lottery that says they get cool things while you get...nothing. It's how I feel every day with Lilyanne. Made worse with Lukas. Then every other reminder that I got all the bad traits in this family.
Oh great, now I'm depressed!
Move over. I'm going to grow some sadness mushrooms.
Good thing Lukas ran off, busy being too 'awesome'. For he is not allowed in the useless corner. No cool magic users allowed. Only clean, mudless, and magicless losers get to be here.
"Well now that you're here. Hold still and hold tight." Orfeo orders, pulling out the big leaf blower again.
This time, Yuna is prepared. Arms out, legs steady, he goes through the air cleaning and blow-drying just fine. With that, he meets all the requirements for the useless corner.
"Being a bit stronger than some common brat is nothing. Even a farmer's kid can dig a hole or lift some firewood. You do what you gotta do. Besides, what are you spoiled little sprouts complaining about? Everyone wants to be as useless as you. You don't need to work as hard or nasty in these conditions. " Yuna lifts us out of the depression corner by the back of our shirts.
"Useless. No cool magic. Clean enough. One of us." I pass and approve of Yuna's application into the useless club with some pats into the air where I dangle.
"One of us." Amar chimes in, giving Yuna a thumbs up.
"....I don't think so, midgets. Maybe when you give me that young master money." Yuna sighs like any disgruntled employee, dangling us further out.
"Never!" I wiggle at the threat.
Nothing shall come between me and my money! Nothing!
"Don't go too far now, or lady Maria may bash me a new drum. The safe zone barriers should be up." Mr. Orfeo doesn't mind Yuna taking us out for a walk.
So long as we stay in the communication zone. Which is pretty decent.
Finally, my little tour can start.
Though I would prefer not to be dangling like a naughty kitten. On the dry paved, mostly surviving ground, Yuna finally lets us down. We have to hold hands like good little children and not wander off by ourselves, but at least we can walk.
The village needs an organizational clean-up, and is getting there. This disaster has its good points I guess. We can always rebuild, and build it better.
But for now, let's get some temporary homes/shelters up. Anytime is a terrible time to be mud swept homeless but winter is barely halfway done with us yet. The chill, while still bearable for an afternoon stroll, gets very uncomfortable after anything over an hour or two.
During the walk, I even had to take out another jacket, a cloak, and a hat. The boys were dressed for a day out but not me! It's chilly out.
"I could go for a hot tea break now." I grow a little bored of watching mud-stained everything.
"So could anyone. But fat chance of that. " Yuna responds without any bite, boredly walking us around. Despite his uncaring expression, he does seem to prefer this job far over working through the mud.
When Amar holds out a fingertip of some familiar crystallized ginger candy, I easily chomp down. Mmm yummy and warming. But still not tea.
"Come on team useless. We can at least get some hot water set up. I didn't see anything like that officially around? Let's go back to the communication shelter." I decide.
I feel a bit bad, but when you're as useless as us there's really no helping it.
Yuna gives me an odd look but shrugs along, letting me lead the way a few steps ahead. Next to me, Amar is a decent little minion that helps carry random things I point along the way. Anything too big, like useless logs of wood, is immediately grabbed by Yuna.
By the time we make our way back to Mr. Orfeo and the troops, we have everything ready to go.
The situation doesn't look like it changed much though. People still scrambling around. Just maybe a bit more of them?
"Hi again, uncle Orfeo. may we set up some tea right about over there?" I come up to ask.
Busy as he is, we're given full permission with a glance, wave, and whistle before getting back to the operating board.
The communications system is indeed strange. But hey whatever works. Not everyone has a loudspeaker for a voice.
Someone's tummy does rumble. For once, I am proud to say it's not mine.
"You're extra useless aren't you. Set down the stuff." I pat at Amar's belly.
Still not enough mochi. We're working on it!
"Didn't Cass leave you with extra portions before we got hauled off?" Yuna raises an eyebrow down at him.
"Lukas liked them. He never had that dish before." Amar responds easily.
Getting eaten out of house and home by Lukas is just a fact of life now.
I understand completely.
"Tea and snacks. You're all lucky to be employed by one such as I. Now set up the stove and fire." I clap twice to the floor.
A simple clay stove is set up. Useless chunks for firewood thrown in. From my purse, I pile up three firestones to start and speed things up. Then we placed on the stove a large copper pot we picked up and washed. Water filled it from one of the many nearby rainwater catchers.
A bit of work yeah, but at least it's something even useless kids can do.
Yuna's taller longer limbs are best for that though. Even as Amar helps carry water. As the most useless of them all, I can only point and tend to the fire.
After all, my best feature isn't talent, skill, or anything admirable like that. It's money! Money and resources.
After the stove, a long table bench, and some makeshift stumps for chairs are set up, I can climb on top to unload goodies from my purse.
A girl can never be too prepared
"I have lemons here. In they go halved. Biscottis are fine as they are but can we place the rolls by the fire to warm? I have sausage ones and veggie cheese-filled ones! Hmm, what else? Amar, hand over the ginger candies. Yuna, stir. Amar. Candy. Now. I know you have more. Amar. Throw it into the pot, Amar." I am forced to repeat myself.
It's important to be patient with brain-damaged children but oh so tiresome. Eventually though, I find out where he keeps them. After enough wacks from a table cloth I pulled out, the minion concedes, acting pitifully as if he was greatly bullied. He sits up on a stump. Then reaches as if to tie his little shoe.
On the same ankle where he keeps his badge tied like a charm, sits a silver shiny anklet. It jingles slightly at the touch, with delicate bell sounds.
From there he not only pulls out a satchel of ginger candies but a literal brown brick.
"This is better for making tea?" he offers in a way I dare call fearful. Shaking as if I were a bad loan shark.
For his honesty, I will not yell and demand to know how long he's been hiding that. I shall just glare. And glare. And glare for a very long time.
Yuna rolls his eyes, muffling his unflattering laughter as he takes the offerings to throw into the cauldron. A wooden ladle quickly helps dissolve the mix.
"That Cass makes him wear it. It doesn't nearly hold up to you and your, amazing, loot. " Yuna breaks off a tiny piece of the brick, popping it into his mouth and mine.
Sweetness of an unrefined source melts like warmed wax on my tongue. Approving of the taste, I nod in pleasure.
Soon, a gentle sweet lemon ginger tea is ready. Not too sweet, with plenty of the sugar brick left over. Another pot of water is set to boil, with some of my failed soda mix bottles poured into them for flavor.
The rolls got a bit scorched being warmed too close to the fire, but filling and tasty enough. Amar munches lazily with me, my tea-time companion. While Yuna, the older and slightly less useless one, eats over the stove. A cheese roll in one hand and stirring the hot beverages with the other.
The warmth is enticing, especially in the open air. Things just taste better when you're cold out. Even if it's simple.
The flickers of flames, the sweet scents, and our cozy setup draw a few eyes of the officers.
When one young intern age trooper stares a bit too long, I snap at him to bring over cups. Lots of them.
It's a pottery village, there's plenty of cups at the very least.
So without much ado, we get a little drink and snack station set up. The ginger tea soon runs out, but another pot is set to boil on our simple stove. My purse stocked with plenty of failed syrups and soda testers bottled up.
After satisfying my tummy, I bring over a warm cup and biscotti to Mr. Orfeo personally. To which I get a pat on my head, and a clang of the tiny cymbals, for my efforts.
It gets oddly busy at the snack station.
Yuna gets warm enough he has to take off two layers of his clothes. The teen almost constantly stirring water, sugar, and drink mixes.
Anar runs around doing a bit of everything to help. Sticking in more firewood to the stove. Fetching more pails of water. Things like that.
Perhaps after watching a scrawny little child run his butt off for them, the big manly troopers feel a trace of pity. Soon we have a constant source of water and firewood provided.
Meanwhile, the biscottis that I stored up disappear as soon as I stack them.
Feeling a bit cheap, I lay out the ship biscuits, seed crackers, and other experimental famine foodstuffs instead. Perhaps to the advice of my grampa. The tester MRE rations!
They don't taste anywhere as good as cookies or biscottis, but they sure are better than the rations grampa can make.
It's a very good way to get rid of them and a great place to test them out. Much to my surprise, those also disappear as soon as I plate them. Leading me to just pour them out messily and leaving them to Amar to slide out.
I can remember a previous time with much different results.
They're not my memories but the original's.
Most of these rations aren't anything new.
Nothing the troops haven't already figured out. Deployed to our soldiers over long missions. Kept in storage over long periods of time due to whatever reasons.
They just don't taste all that great.
I mean no one makes hard crackers, salted slabs of dried meat, or pressed olive and seed cakes for their gourmet tastes?
No! They're nutrition meant to last for a long time safely. The cardboard granola bars and jerky sticks of these times. Beggars can't be choosers. We work with what we have.
So when food aid requests were overwhelmingly made to the Ventrella lands, this was what I was able to safely offer them.
All these items passed inspection, were good to travel, and we had large numbers of them. After all, they were the emergency supplies to our own troops, soldiers, and workers. I ate them plenty of times myself in all testing phases.
I didn't expect people to rave over the taste or anything. Nor did I expect them to cry on their knees in gratefulness. But I….really I don't know what I expected?
I just….didn't expect to be so vilely hated.
A lot of towns revolted. A lot of bad reactions were stirred up into mobs. My low reputation further sank by the day.
I was said to be a cruel, miserly, shrew. I was said to be a lot of things that I'd rather not repeat, not even in the memory of my own mind.
It was said that while people across various lands starved, I was sipping good wine, enjoying dry-aged steaks and fine floured cakes. It wasn't particularly true nor was it false. I don't think that was not the case with any noble though?
Even worse, was that I sent those insults to mock the hunger of the people. It was worse than denying them my aid. Crueler than doing nothing.
Bricks instead of bread. Seeds not even fit for the birds. Strange powders that watered and spoilt in liquid form.
They were all approved for troop's usage. All standard military prepped stocks, dried and dehydrated. Tried and true. But it mattered little.
Maybe the communication was unclear. Maybe I failed in the distribution and management in all the ways that mattered. Maybe I was just a spoiled stupid little girl that doesn't know anything works.
I don't know.
All I know was that no matter how much I poured over my original notes and research, anything I touched or tried to do was met with disaster. The people hated me. Nothing would change that.
At the same time, the real savior came through.
Lilyanne.
Blessed Lilyanne and her wonderful soup kitchens. Ohhhhhh the brilliant idea of a soup kitchen. Yes much tastier than old hard dry rations.
You know what goes into soup?
Gold and cheese!!!
A major waste of money! Money that could be better diverted elsewhere.
Such as relief to the farmers. Growers and processors! The research that funds a lot of things, including why there was even a famine in the first place. Colder weather! Lots of bad weather. Great, now what to do about that? How to make things cheaper to grow, produce, and ship. How to keep the economy going. All matters of things.
I shot down her soup kitchen idea the first time I heard it from her pretty pink lips.
It's fine if she wanted to start a local soup kitchen with her own money and allowances. Heaven knows she could afford it. Her paints were expensive and despite the color scheme differences, her closet was no less extravagant than mine.
Sure having pearl-encrusted bed slippers were an useless luxury but we were dumbly used to it ok? Blame our late Mother and our terrible gross Father who liked spoiling her.
It would have been fine if she just wanted to set up a damn soup kitchen.
The problem was that she wanted to set up absolutely everywhere. With some make-believe budget coming from the end of a sparkly cloud farted rainbow.
I get it. I really do.
She was a good-intentioned naive sheltered rich girl who got high off doing charity to feel good about herself.
No, that's just my own frustrations speaking out again.
Sincerely, my sister did not understand economics. Or common sense. If my understanding of the world outside our rich lifestyle in the villa was limited, then she was absolutely blind.
After our third or so fight about the matter, I had her running off in frustrated tears. Crying about why I was cruel against soup and the common people.
Of course the people like soup. I like soup. I love soup. Never have I ever discriminated against soup.
It just wasn't an economically viable option.
How would things be organized? Who would be running it on a daily operation? How many locations and where? How long? Where would the ingredients for the soup keep coming from? Where would the money be coming from?
Our personal family safes were not an option.
Despite my force of power, I was only the acting lord. I was underaged for most of my reign
The real power and position lied with our Grampa, who trusted me with those keys. Trusted me with more work, because I asked for it. I delivered on my promises. I never made ones I couldn't keep.
For that, my cheap miserly hard set reputation was set in unbreakable stone.
Lilyanne got her soup kitchens set up. The money raised by the generous hearts and hands of many noble boys in our circles. A wonderful show of donations. Even my own betrothed, whose country was hit among the worst in the years of famine, gave generously to her cause.
They were immensely popular.
People lined up from towns and villages across. Gathering in masses for a bowl of free soup. Their tired weak bellies finally warm and fed.
Somehow, for some mysterious reason, it was trickled and spread from noble delegations down to common taverns that I called funding the soup kitchen "a drain of gold", "a useless endeavor", and "a regret that will leave us far worse than where we started".
All very true. For those were the exact words I told my sister. Word for word.
I never wondered where those rumors started. It wasn't the first time Lilyanne cried to outsiders about how I bullied her. It wasn't the first time I was hurt and betrayed by her 'innocent' intentions.
Reputation aside there was no comparison between my aid and hers. She was just better. Better in every way. As always.
I don't know what happened to the items I sent. Maybe they were tossed in the rivers. Maybe they were actually used as bricks. Maybe they were set in a storage corner and forgotten about. I'll never know.
I just know it was a disaster.
"They're edible but they don't taste very good. " I chew a rolled seed cake being given out.
My teeth grind in a manner that could be a bit angry. The taste was only a bit better than what it was in the original Rosalia's memory. Still, I stuff my face to prevent mumbling out anything I shouldn't. If anything, the hardness of it kept my mouth busy.
It's not anything worth stealing, but the bar goes missing from my little hand. Amar's slightly larger ones were much quicker and sneakier.
"They suck but get your own." I complain, trying not to choke.
"Not very yummy. But not very bad." he nods and chews, finishing it off slowly.
"Where do you think they're all going?" I look down at the empty plates, holding back from scratching my head.
"Into people's tummies. They're not very bad or anything. The ones with dried berries are a little yummier. Yuna, can we have more?" Amar holds up our little empty cups for refills.
The bits stuck in my throat go down much better with something hot and sweet to drink. Ah much better.
With not much better things to do, I occasionally stir the hot punch or unload the syrups and rations that I do have. Sometime in between when I wasn't looking, another waxy sugar brick makes its way to Yuna's side.
When Mother comes to pick me up, it's with a dirty dozing Lukas underarm and an even dirtier Grampa in another. Both of them looked tuckered out, with strange holes in their clothes resembling large blunt bite marks. The roads are cleared and the mountains stabilized thanks in part to their efforts.
With the sun still mostly visible in the skyline, it's time for us to go home for the day.
"Oh, how lovely. Would you like a ride back?! How about a sleepover?" Mother stops to enjoy some hot punch, childishly talking to the other members of my useless unit.
"No thank you, we need to wait for Cass. She's on code red. It might take a long time and she'll be really tired when she comes back." Amar answers with no fuss. Yuna nodding in agreement with him without any prompting.
"Oh, that won't do. I understand but that sincerely won't do. Orfeo!" Mother changes face sharply between playing nice in front of the minion, and ordering her own troop officers.
"The young ones here will be given first priority, my lady. Can't assure their comfort right now though. They're the ones doing a better job than us in that regard. But they'll be safe." the old officer laughs.
His face was red despite the setting temperatures of night. Looking a bit out of breath, but still going. No such thing as overtime. It's just work where it's needed.
"Oh, it can't really be helped. Stay safe now, all the best." my mother leaves Amar with two wet kisses on either side of his little cheeks, a fat blanket wrapped over his shoulders.
It's only with a strange look from the babysitter, and all the surrounding officers, that she does not kidnap him right then and there. As a small comfort to her bleeding heart, she leaves two stuffed packs of I'm not sure what with Yuna. Along with the picnic basket and a lot of fluffy promises.
I wave the two off as I follow my mother. Sneaking them more fire stones, emergency funds, and some pizza stuffed pies under Yuna's hidden station by the stove. A proper dinner is important after all.
When I walk through the half-broken half-thriving village, it doesn't go dark at all despite the setting sun.
Plenty of fires were lit for the night.
In the ovens. In the converted pottery baking kilns. In the tabletop stoves, very similar to the simple one that we had set up ourselves.
Hot water stations for boiling and cleaning. Some simple steaming soups were getting passed out in anything from unglazed bowls to cups.
I think I even saw some frustratingly untasty crackers and cakes. Stacked like bricks on a platter at some of those stalls. A bit of something to go with your drink or soup.
But I could have just seen it wrong.
With a bit of rousing, and a lot of cheerful threatening, Mother has Grampa awake enough to start the parked balloon. She seat belts Lukas and I in safely, before she goes to help my yawning Grampa to navigate and drive this thing back home.
That night, after a good proper bath and a much more proper dinner, my own still tired Father asks me about the contents of my day. For surely it was a lot more interesting than his.
Lilyanne contently sleeps nearby as Mother hums over her little figure.
I roll about his bed, playing with papers and pens on his sheets. I make him a hot cup of failed soda pop punch and think about it for a bit. Or alot. But in the end, I don't really know what to say. Not in a way that satisfies.
I'm pretty useless after all?
As long as I don't make things any worse, that's good enough for me.
I can only tell it as it happened. To the best that I can.
