Chapter 75.4 The Truth of Life

People, I mean gifted people, are walking, wandering, making noise with multiple conversations, and I'm having dinner. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself, but no one approaches, so I look, look, and move on. Even the young people Paul introduced me to nodded. What about me? And I, ooh. Yes, the cooking in high society is wonderful, although the food at Dunois and Delacour is also good, but not enough — the portions here are a mockery. Sometimes you get up from the table with a concrete desire to visit a cheap café where they serve normal human portions.

Having finished my meal, and having glanced at several "gourmets" with barrel-shaped figures sitting firmly at the tables, I decided to go to the part of the hall where sofas and tables are provided. Such places are usually crowded with old maids, only old people and ugly girls, although there are also overly strict grandmothers with grandchildren who do not let them go a step away.

Fortunately, the current gala does not provide for much dancing and partying until dawn, so most of the inhabitants of the "soft corners" are absent. I took a small table for two or three just as one of the waitresses, a pretty brunette in a light blue uniform dress, came by.

 I ordered a simple juice from her, took out a large notebook and fountain pen, and began to sketch mindlessly. The girl brought the juice in about five minutes, for which she received a golden round. Wow! That smile gives me goosebumps! And her walk! And her legs!

— It's not polite to slobber on the table. — they said lazily as they sat down at the table.

— But she's so good! Or am I wrong? — I ask the silver-haired blonde.

— She is an elite servant, and they are trained to do whatever the master wants. They have to be attractive. — Fleur shrugs her open shoulders.

— And expensive, — she nods at the smiling servants. — Pleasure?

— That varies. — The girl moved her fingers in the air in a strange way, a gesture I didn't understand at all. — Not all maids are geared for a wide range of services. Some are more adapted to housework, can provide and "night" services, some — vice versa, and some only for work. Accordingly, and prices are different, because the "night warmer" should be prettier, yes, "fresher", and such goods are always in the price. You need to decide what you want, and only then find out the prices. Interested? — The girl glanced at the servant, who expressed nothing but polite interest.

— Except for the general development. — I already shrugged. — I used to think such things were a fantasy, but there it is.

— If you say so. — The girl replied in a calm voice, I didn't even hear any emotion.

I see, "ulcer-mod" activated, right? We spent a few minutes in silence — silence wouldn't have worked anyway. I drew a caricature of Cornelius Fudge — a short, fat man in a completely inappropriate bowler hat (it doesn't go with the clothes), and only a top hat would be funnier. The cartoon was so bad. The girl moved her eyes lazily from one guest to the next, not stopping on anyone in particular.

— Fleur?

— Hmm? — I got a bored and indifferent look from her stunningly clear blue eyes.

— I want to paint your portrait. — As if I'm talking about the weather.

— Pfft.

And that was that. The girl turned away and went about her business, leaving me wondering what her open answer meant. But coincidence is fate, and this lady likes to joke. The third available chair was occupied by Little Lightning.

— Hello, Sora! — Gabby smiled broadly, and the world around her seemed to light up with new colors. — Are you coming to watch Quidditch with us? — She was very spontaneous and cute.

— Who's playing? — Attempts at cheerfulness were put aside.

— Lots of people. — The girl waved indifferently, or tried to, but her azure eyes were blinding. — Didn't your sister tell you? — At these words, the eldest sister shook her head a little harder and looked away.

— I was mentally prepared. — I smiled back.

— I see. — The girl got a sharp look from the younger sister, and in general she often has something "like that" in her behavior. — The parents sent us to find you and invite you to the World Championships in England in a week and a half. You wouldn't refuse the honor of defending the most beautiful French girl of this generation, would you? — The cocktail of sweet, childlike face and more mature, fire-breathing eyes was strong, I'm afraid to imagine Gabby as an adult.

— It is an honor, my lady, to escort you! — I bowed my head, and though I tried to keep a spirited expression on my face, my trembling lips spoiled it, which made Gabrielle immediately recognize my pretense and pouted, playing offense.

I could tell by the barely perceptible gasp that Fleur wasn't too happy with my joke either. Gabby and I looked at each other and smiled broadly at her reaction. Sometimes when Fleur pants like that, the father of the family affectionately calls his daughter "Teapot," which makes her pout even more rather than amuse her family. And I admit that her panting looks quite funny, especially when you've seen the girl at home and around people, and you know how she changes around strangers. I turned over a new page of my notebook and started drawing Fleur in an anime style — all super offended, huffing and puffing, steaming with resentment and feigned resentment.

— Good evening," a sweet voice sang next to me. — And I've been looking for you everywhere! — A fourth chair was pulled up to the table, and a red-haired witch immediately sat down.

I had to politely say hello, exchange a few "ritual" phrases and compliments, for rules. Five golden rounds went to the local servants, sending the "Fox" on a false trail, so I bought myself some time. I had no illusions, for I knew that hunting was a sacred ritual for this person.

— Sweet Sora, the girl's smile seemed pure, kind and bright, but only to those who didn't know what this witch was capable of, I think it was the devil's smile. — I invite you to a ball in honor of my mother's birthday. — With these words, the girl handed me a beautiful envelope; I unfolded it, glanced at it, and put the official card back inside.

— Unfortunately, I won't be able to visit you. — I returned the envelope, covered with a fine powder. — Starting next week, my free time will end and I will return to work. I'm sorry.