Prep work

Remember what I said about no bad music on my birthday?

I did not take into account the musical monstrosities of this world.

A trumpet sounds. Pipes and clangs. A whole circus of tomfoolery goes on below the window. Sounds I can not for the life of me properly describe. A mutant Renaissance festival on rubber chicken steroids maybe?

"From the top! This is the first good parade in 4 years and it shall be *TOOOOOOOT*"

Ponyo and I peek through the tiny crack of the window in my mother's gigantic wardrobe room. Down below, a funny man wearing a giant feather hat leads the practice run of outdoor musicians. It's very lively and jolly, yes. But also very ridiculous. Hopefully, they're not the only musical act we have.

At least, Mr. Orfeo is having fun.

How does he still have air in him from the overwork of Tondmego? Hmm, but it could be precisely that?

All work, stress, and generally no fun make one even more pumped up to let loose! It's the same case for anyone. It's why weddings and celebrations right after winter are such a big deal.

Life is generally peaceful but dull out around here.

"After lunch, we will have them wear this pair of dresses on the third day's afternoon soiree. Then switch out to this pairing by 4 pm. Then these selections to change into for dinner. Oh but these lovely dresses and accessories for after dinner. Followed by brand new embroidered pajamas to comfortably show off-" the professional fashion clown man, Callistus, goes on and on about our outfits and options.

"Poof poof!" Lilyanne swims in them.

Playing with the tutu and frills, she herself looks like a poofy little flower. A dandelion of curls among the puffballs of dresses. Some decent, some not so much so.

"Mother. If we waste that much time switching out into new dresses, there will be no time to do anything else or have any fun." I drawl in boredom, hopping my way back to the settee.

Look, even Ponyo Annabelle Coraline looks bored, and she's just a creepy lifeless doll.

A doll that is very effective at scaring maids.

The people of this time and world are extremely superstitious?

I don't know exactly what went on, but before I even stepped in to have morning breakfast in the dining hall, those not-so-poor maids on both night shift and morning duty were shakily prostrating outside. Bowing ground low as they presented Ponyo. Seated on a little palanquin made of fancy silverware. Like a real princess escorted from place to place? It was very over the top.

Either way, now the maids are half trapped here. Shivering in their own personal hell of attending to me, as they should.

I almost feel bad for them.

Nah. .

"Mother. Lilyanne and I really don't need to be attended to. Not when we're already trapped, ahem I mean...we're already with you." I state.

Rather than sympathy I find the shivering, shaking, and expression of near pissing themselves are getting annoying. I fear they really will wet the floor at this rate. Something I don't think my mother's carpets will take well.

The other servants are busy enough preparing for our festival party!

"Oh no, my baby girl. This is the point. They must follow after us, if not their host Lady. All those good fine noble, though humbler, oh so noble families have entrusted their young maidens to us. At this sensitive, most beautiful age! How else will they ever learn to manage their own houses and take their futures by the horn?" Mother states responsibly.

Unable to read the atmosphere, she smiles dumbly at all the nursery maids who were trying to melt into the walls. It does not go well.

Someone faints, maybe pees, and we have another shamefully demoted maid. Perhaps we'll have another transfer. Perhaps she'll retire early and run home for good?

Shame.

It's no fun if Mother defeats them all so quickly for me. I wanted to take my time to break them past the point of no return. Like this, my useless gossipy maids are just going to get sent home early? With a scare? Pfffft.

This villainess may be small but is not satisfied with this kind of cheap ending.

Luckily, Mother knows her wrong and shrinks into her seat on the settee. Perhaps a bit too depressingly so. I fear mushrooms are growing underneath as I speak.

"I didn't even trip, fall, break or do anything this time…..why are they still dropping like flies? Ah, this is why I'm not allowed to accept maids and companions willy nilly. Especially not those lovely pea-like sensitive noble ladies. Boo hoo" she so mumbles as much as she suppresses her cries.

Mother….your bad habits are showing again?

From speaking out loud to scaring away people but not knowing why. Mother....just why are you like this?

"My lady, please look here. What a lovely matching dress created for you? A one of the kind beauty."

"My lady, try some of these samples made for the young misses's event. Quite delicious, no?"

"My lady, allow this lowly one to play a song to relax you?"

"My lady, we have found 66/10 mysteriously missing goats this week. The commoners are praising the rates of your hard work even more so than the Lord Commander. Isn't that wonderful?"

Instantly, Mother's personal maids are on it in the great grand scheme to constantly keep her distracted, amused, busy, and not near tears.

Even the clown tailor is up to standard, quickly asking her opinion of dresses and ribbons. So many ribbons. I think we're solely keeping the ribbon industry alive here in house Ventrella.

The people who personally serve my mother certainly have a few odd things in common. Including but not limited to the very odd personalities to keep up.

Strangely, for the most part, practically none of them are nobles themselves.

A woman of her position would usually surround herself with minor nobility as a status and trust insurance. But with our family reputation, that's rather useless.

Another qualification is very ….specifically Grampa's fault I assume.

They must all be physically capable of taking at least three frontal hits from a full grown Ursus arctos. Basically bears. At the very minimum.

Maybe that's why…?

Oh, I sigh. Each day I age, the more helpless and hopeless life looks in this insane family.

"It's fine, Mother. The young maids weren't learning anything like that anyways." I force myself to smile and join the comfort brigade.

There! Don't you feel ashamed yet?

A grown woman that needs an entourage, including her own little daughter, to pat pat pat her? For shame. Certainly not noble at all.

A mushroom sprouts between us and I fear for the worse.

This is…obviously Grampa's fault!

Yes, yes, yes, what strange powers the hero has passed on to his sole heiress. The ability to pop depression mushrooms up from out of nowhere. Quite useless and terrifying.

Wait, can they be used as a safe food source? Are they even edible?

"Rather, I feel much better now that they're gone. Thank you, Mother.~" I up the cuteness meter instead, expressing a bit more of my relief at the eyesores being removed.

That lightens things a bit. Giving the maids time and the chance to quickly remove the unwelcome fungi.

Chop chop slice. Nice and clean. As if they were never growing there in the first place. No one has to know.

"Oh Rosalia, you really don't like your assigned maids after all? Rosa, sweetheart, gumdrop, my darling prized teacup, it can't be helped but you could do to be a tad kinder and less …how do I put this delicately…..lethal? Those young girls could be your support one day….and it could affect your future reputation..." Mother goes on, sighing in worry.

Of course, they will. They already have. I should give them something to actually talk about this time.

But that's not the point. What really matters is ...what Mother will do about it.

These maids she's supposedly responsible for. The rumors that have no doubt already spread, with or without me. Lady of the house duties? Domestic and internal affairs? Organization of any sort?

Those kinds of things...she's honestly….not very good at.

That's why when I want anything done, it's far easier and more productive to go straight to my Father.

The man that's currently being the worst Lord ever.

Wasting time, resources and kicking me to the curb to terribly roll in nerdom all on his own. Building up the festival grounds without me and my very important advice. Boo!

"Oh dear, I suppose it can't be helped for now. There there Rosalia, don't worry. Don't pout. You have so much time to learn it all with mama after your happy day. No worries, there there." Mother pats and coddles, misunderstanding any reasons why I could possibly be upset.

Oh, never mind it.

I already don't expect too much from this family, let alone this ditzy woman. Let's not forget that. It's already going much better than the first time around.

"Lily too! Huggies and pat pat pats for Lily too!" my sister gasps, swimming very hard out the pile of floof and frills to freedive into Mother's lap.

"The order!" Callistus, the oddly overly fashionable man, screams after her and the mess she made.

"One or two cute dresses a day is enough. No need for so many. Like I said before, it's a big waste of fun and time." I repeat, working hard on getting Mother to agree.

Somewhere from outside the window, a bad parade continues to practice. Servants, employees, and even troop members walk across courtyards and abbey ways. Everyone is doing their jobs in getting things ready. This 'festival' has already been long planned out by my parents, even without my noticing. I thought it was just for another dinner party ball for boring adults? But of course, it has.

Otherwise, they wouldn't have so many things ready. From the design plan and market list drafted out from the Autumn tasting festival at the ports to all the supplies stocked up and at the ready.

The 'surprise' of its existence being let out to my sister and I just well, today.

The surprise that came early all because we had a bad dream. A dream I don't feel safe in telling yet. Not to these people.

No one yet but Grampa, the only other soul that knows too much.

That and the much more responsible person in charge of him.

There's a past and future that don't seemingly correlate. All I'm doing for now is trying to help piece the puzzle together. Slowly. One part at a time. Who knows? One day, I may even figure out why my parents 'died'? Or just what Gable and Grampa were doing when this family was slipping into our flaming wreck of a bad end. Where anyone even was.

Maybe I'll just die again without ever knowing. That's just life.

"Dis one and dis one and I like pinks, purples, and blues, and -" my little sister waves her arms around.

The bad dream all but forgotten with a good night's sleep and the excitement right in front of her. Picking out dresses.

In the past, I was often called the heartless one to her tender crying face. But I feel that it's badly the opposite. That I cared too much. That's why I had to cut it off and move on. But at night, she's the one who sleeps easily and in peace.

Lucky her.

"Now now Lilyanne, what about Rosa? Which outfits would you like Rosalia? You can even pick out the cute things Georgie set aside for you. How about it?" Mother coaxes.

"Yes! The red little birthday girl is being so drably quiet! How about-" Callistus starts shoving racks.

I look up, about to tell her it's fine to let Lilyanne pick. But the options Lilyanne has Mother's dresser holding out, aka her usual poofy cupcake tastes, have me shuddering in ghostly itchiness all over me.

Let's not turn down common sense!? Half these free-choice outfits are mine!

As I'm distracted joining in the mess, fighting off a grown man from my precious tailoring room experiments, something unexpected happens.

A creak at the window.

So oddly quiet and out of place, it could have been easily drowned out in the muffled music practice outside. But like a spider you'd rather keep your eye on, for having it out of sight is much more terrifying, my vision catches only the back of a very possibly cursed doll.

Ponyo Annabelle Coraline?! No!

Off it goes. Perhaps by a gust of wind. Perhaps by a bad balance from my own negligence. Perhaps scary scary reasons I don't want to think about. But the doll goes from tottering the edge dangerously to falling over and out.

Shrieks and surprise are heard from the outside. I can't clamor to the window fast enough.

*boink*

"Huh?"

A distance away, past the inner garden and courtyard where our busy people walk the paths back and forth, Ponyo is being choked out. Well, in the position of it. The dolly head squished in the outstretched grip of a fair hand.

Ignoring how the hell she got there, as if flung with great force, the bystanders applaud the good catch.

The hand in a dark embroidered sleeve lowers with almost a crack. Revealing dark judgemental eyes, glaring up to the window from whence the doll came from. Glaring up with accusation and gloom. Her strong brows furrowed in judgment.

"It appears the young miss of this fine land is so affectionate she has forgotten how to give greetings with words...or other reasonable gestures. How well-loved she is here, free to throw things around." Cass reprimands into the open air.

"Yep. That's Rosa." Amar nods from behind her legs.

Which prompts everyone to look up at me with sweat drops and no excuses.

"Oh my, Rosalia! That's not polite to either your dolly or your guests. Do apologize." Mother fusses to me at the window.

Hey, hey, hey, don't blame me? I didn't throw anything?! Let alone that far?! Why is everyone blaming me?

Down below, Cass shakes her head in disapproval, her braids only half done and pinned today. She lowers the doll down to the much shorter child behind her. Hardly relaxing, as if blocking an incoming bullet meant for him instead.

"Ah? Did Rosa get a bit stronger?" Amar questions, looking back and forth from the ever-smiling doll to the window, mentally measuring the distance.

No!? No you brain-damaged child for foreboding victimized death?! I wish I had thrown it!

Oh my god, something is sincerely not right with that doll!?

"Kyaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!! Hewo cutie patootie!!! How are you doing today!? What are you doing here?! What are you doing not in here!? Hello!!!" screams and waves Mother wildly, her limited IQ draining with each passing minute.

Something is sincerely not right with my right hearing either, right under where Mother broke my eardrum with her piercing squeals. Ow ow ow. Mother why? Ow.

"Homewrecker." Lilyanne growls, throwing a tutu dress out the window.

"Oh dear, not you too Lilyanne. We do not be rude nor throw things out the window. Oh I blame Papa for this." Mother dear apparently still has some sense left in her.

As for me, I'm not sure how I'll survive the rest of this week. Let alone till I'm 5 years old. Or even the rest of my natural life.

Creepy doll. Scary Mother. Crazy Grampa.

In the not-so-far distance, scouting and war balloons colorfully fly or park where the fairgrounds should be. Making directions extremely easy to see. There is no snow this year but the grounds are still hard with frost. The wagons are already running in rotation non-stop, loading and unloading. A bit of gray sparks and semi transparent shields, some possibly secret magic building going on.

It's a light gray cloudy day with little chance of rain.

An unprecedented event. A party bigger than I can ever recall, so close to home. A timeline well messed up.

"Come up, oh do come up. Matilda, do have someone escort them up. Oh Calistus the little boys' outfits, *gasp* they can match!" Mother orders and rambles, adding more demand by the second.

From down below, through the noise of a bad Renaissance festival parade practice, Cass curtsies and requests a very proper leave. Stating many thanks but far too much work to do.

I believe it.

The strange scary maid-turned-trooper has passed her probationary stage and status. There is no mercy for a newbie and she's been working as far as her abilities allow. Or at least, what she shows.

So far that's a lot of magic physical labor and building. Especially in rebuilding Tondmego.

I wonder if that 'too much work' involves building up the birthday festival. Most likely.

Her troop's credit score must be building up quite quickly for all the seemingly work she's been taking this winter. Instead of a 'rest' season, it seems oddly all the more busy this year. Not just for Cass but many people.

Oh well, I suppose that's a good thing if the local builders and such can earn a bit more coin. To the troops however, the work never ends. Nor should it.

Jobs, quests, community service, and even bulletin board postings should be plentiful. The chance to earn, learn and grow stronger. That's the whole point. Why people even come here and join in all this crazy?

I'm pretty sure for the most part, military forces and heroes don't go mass preparing for some little girls' birthday parties.

Ah, crunch time. So much work to do. None of it involves me. Boo, sitting back and 'enjoying' is not enjoyable at all.

"Should I bring up Ponyo? Or the tutus" Amar asks, looking up at the window that keeps on throwing crazy poofs and frills.

He's accepting the cursed name far too easily.

"YES!" Mother squeals at the window frame, arms waving out like mad squid in reach of its cute prey.

"There is no need." Cass takes the red-haired doll from him, grimacing a bit in inspecting the thing.

Her face is always a bit unimpressed but it now comes with a hint of confusion and scrutiny. Perhaps mentally shrugging it off, her shoulders relax. With a light motion, Cass quickly throws the doll back up to me.

Which should not be possible.

Even if she has some super pitcher strength to throw that high and far, the physics don't make sense. It's more like Ponyo was placed into an invisible air cannon and shot out?! So much force?

"Oi! Hey minion! You have a very suspicious maid minion with a kinda scary glare, just so you know!" I indignantly catch the doll with my face.

Terrifying, but luckily no physical or supernatural harm comes to me. Stuffing is soft.

"Sorry?" a child tilts his head in confusion.

It generates another squeal from Mother and a grumpy lisp of "Homewrecker!" from Lilyanne.

"After we have finished what is most pertinent, If the Lady permits, I may send him your way to 'play'. Many thanks for your notice and care. We cannot begin to think of ways to repay your generosity, the 'housewarming' gift was beyond all ...reasonable expectations." Cass bows most formally and respectfully, too professional to respond to my not exactly insult.

Hey, wait a minute? House warming gift? I didn't send a housewarming anything? I haven't even gotten a chance to see the finished cave?

Mother!?

"Oh ho ho ho~ It was my pleasure! Please use them well. Keep the wagon! Make things cozy! And have the little cookie wear more cute clothes!!! Oh, I won't keep you. We'll have so much fun this week!" Mother is shamelessly guilty.

The small speck that is Amar waves goodbye as Cass leads him away, and I swear both my Mother and cursed doll are going to fall out the window waving after him.

"A wagon. Really? A gift basket couldn't do? Seriously? Mother, you visited the cave house….without me? When?!" I can't help but accuse.

"About the time you ran off from me to play with ....pickles!" Mother beams down, turning the accusations back.

Ahem, I may run off a lot but that's only to save myself a lot of time and grief. Especially when trapped in this villa with my mother. How was I supposed to know when it's time for something fun?

Injustice. A great injustice!

"Does my cute wittle puffy pink injustice want to take a walkie, down the kitchens and look at the feast displays and menus?" Mother claps innocently, treating me like a baby..

The spirit is not willing but the flesh is weak. My tummy growls. Picking out and trying on clothes is hungry work.

Sometimes, you just have to cut your losses.

Which is what I do when I let Mother fluff up the big ribbon on my head and take me hand in hand with Lilyanne down for a full lunch.

Ahem, I mean inspection. A very thorough inspection. With my mouth.

"I'll leave the rest to you then." Mother hands over fluffs and frills to Callistus. Isnada and Noemi silently following her.

Making our way down directly, it's only all the more obvious how busy everyone is. Running around with materials, plans, and ribbons. So many ribbons. Even Mother's maids are at a reduced number, most of them busy with various preparation work on orders.

I can hear wood being nailed and sawed from outside. Orders and requests. The accountants yelling figures and amounts between one another. Clopping horses, donkeys, and all hauling livestock going back and forth. The light choir practice of local children clumsily, but charmingly singing in tune. Much more pleasant than parade practice.

The further we go down the livelier it gets.

The loudest of all are my kitchens.

A lot of goodies are being prepped, baked, and cooked. Both in the villa and over at the troops.

It's an economical problem but common practice to just give food out during feasts and festivals. Even if it's just some simple porridge, plain bread, or weak wine for the commoners. That's the attitude and norm in these times. Like how almost anyone can just crash at a wedding and grab a seat. Happy times are meant to be shared. Hospitality is a strange thing.

It's also how people raise popularity in their own lands I guess?

Who gives out the best feasts and parties? The most often? Definitely not the Ventrellas, we're too far away and isolated compared to other city-states. Thank goodness for that.

But to the people who do make it, and more importantly the locals who work hard for us, the meals and offerings can't be too shabby.

There's also the visiting nobles to impress too.

From what I can guess, most of the mass-produced staple foods like porridge, soups, giant bacon wrapped roasts, and everyday bread are being done in the troop's kitchens. A standard troops meal time on steroids.

The finer fancier items, such as sweets, are being handled in our villa kitchens.

Even though it's our own house, Lilyanne and I drool at the shiny buffet being prepped and stored away.

Dessert especially!

Baked sweet custard tarts, some burned with that creme brulee sugar top. Glass trifle bowls, layering pudding, cakes, and creams, topped with syrup red cherry fruits. Decadent stuffed cannolis and doughnuts, filled with anything from fresh cream cheeses to fruit jam mixes. Pretty cookies and cookie sandwiches, cut into all the cute shapes my cookie cutter commissions could afford. Honey biscuits galore!

This is the real treasure here.

"Send me back to porridge duty!" Sobs out a voice from behind one of the kitchen doors.

"No, get back here. Hold him down, no WAIT- arg I got it Don't drop that?! " Orders out one that sounds suspiciously like Georgie.

In fact….the screaming and nagging sound very much like him. Over the muffled sounds of pots clanging, millions of eggshells, and a bit of a struggle. Hmmm, yep.

"Mother, may I peek over there? It sounds like my Georgie is back." I ask in the presence of the great boss lady.

"Cheese, cheese, cheeswie?!" Lilyanne jumps up and down, asking on her other side. The normally tiny cheesie terror is also too terrified into obedience when in front of Mother.

"Now now now my darlings, one at a time. Carefully Rosalia, let's not get too in the way of everyone's hard work. Calm down Lilyanne, a lady does not go pecking at things blindly and very rudely. Keep your appetites, my girls, pick only one item each before lunch. Why we can even share!...Just one Lily dear, no grabbing." Even without a leash, Mother has a strong invisible hold on us both.

Well, I suppose it's a good thing to have some control of troublemaker Lilyanne.

Who knows. Maybe she wouldn't have acted out so much as a teenager with some parental control?

Oh, what am I talking about? That is absolutely the case. Regardless of how overbearing, nagging, and responsible of an older sister I tried to be, that's no replacement for the scary Mother or Father. Those two, please stay alive to keep Lilyanne in check. Please. I have an increasing suspicion she's going to somehow grow up even more of a headache this time around. If not for anything but due to her good health propelling her full force.

Right now, Lily runs up and down the expanse of the long table holding the finished sweets. Finally, she points to choose a crispy baked cheese and honey bun that looks extra tall. Quantity over quality.

Meanwhile, I can't pick on the spot. Especially with my curiosity to get to whatever nonsense Georgie is making behind closed doors. I hear crying. Cute cute manly teenaged boy break down kind of crying.

How fun.

Mother picks out a snack for us each. Deciding for my districted indecisive gluttony that a small limoncello cannoli will do. I shall let it go, as my taste buds approve. Tasty.

Munching my snack, I finally knock down the door before the mess behind it physically does so. Admittedly though, I am very small and unnoticed.

I was expecting a food fight. Drama. Hell's kitchen.

I got what looks like an impromptu therapy circle. With Georgie at the center half hugging and crying along with a sobbing chef around his age.

"Oh my," Mother peeks around with me, munching on mini fruit tarts like they were popcorn.

"Nom noms," Lilyanne copies the motion exactly, joining right behind me.

"Ssshhhh" I shush them for being so nosy.

How unbecoming and certainly unladylike. But alas, there we stand. Stuck between looking like a stack of fools and eavesdropping in. Or both. Let's go with both.

"Every day it's *hic* the same thing. Hold this, pour that Rocco. Be our refill station, Po~! Custard. Jam. Honey. Wine! What about me, huh? What about my skills and value!? Aren't I a cook too? An artist? What about my porridge!?!! Oh, my precious forsaken overlooked porridge!" the teenaged baby cries choppy in Georgie's rocking comforts.

I don't know how comforting it is when he's kinda crying himself.

"There there. I feel you. I don't even know what my job is or what I am?! Carry this at warp speed, Georgie. Make that Georgie, no no no do it again for the 49th time Georgie. Arrange my impossible crazy toddler muttered ramblings into my exact specifications with your non-existential magic psychic powers, Georgie. I'm grateful for the chance to learn and play around with so much and all. But what am I supposed to do!? Offer my flesh for sacrifice!?"

I'm going to ignore certain implied comments due to the oddity of the situation. Will note to make my instructions clearer and not muttered ramblings though.

In the inner kitchen storage room, the two hug and cry it out with a few others on the floor. Their inner thoughts revealed in salt and tears and more salt.

"Um…Po, can you come here and pour the fine batter for the cake?" a female chef peeks over from another doorway.

"We're having a moment! Can't you see he's sensitive!" Georgie yells back.

"When he's done, can you have him come to the braising station, we're low on the good port wine for the-" another assistant comes to request, only to be met with another great sob from the crying center cook.

"Oh stuff a sock in it!" Georgie literally throws a child's sized thick-knit sock at him.

I'm not sure from where? Hey, isn't it oddly familiar-looking? Oh, that's not the point.

"What's wrong with the good hot porridge I slaved away at making?" Georgie's not so little friend continues to sob like a fed-up unappreciated housewife.

"Nothing, nothing at all. It's very good and delicious and filling." one of the therapy circle kitchen maids pats his shoulder.

"Yes, I love what you did with the fresh mushroom and egg one the other day. Didn't the young miss praise that one as well, huh Georgie?" comforts another red-eyed cook on the salty floor.

"There are a lot of mushrooms in this estate…." broods another downed kitchen helper.

"Yes! Rosalia, the picky, loved it. Now that's saying something. Porridge is a wonderful and great staple. Especially when you make it." Georgie consoles.

"Really?" hiccups the poor fool.

"Yes! It's just that we need your help with other things. Especially during busy times like these. Just like how I'm no longer limited to the kitchens! It's hard and scary at first, and there are moments, but in the end, you'll be all the better for it. " Georgie pats.

"But my porridge…" he starts.

"Is cheap. Common. Even a half-asleep sweeper child could make it. Won't impress anyone. Finish up in 5 minutes. We have a batch of crystal sugar water that needs tripling if we're to make quota." deadpans a scraggly senior chef, coming in and out just for some sacks of salt.

Talk about ouch.

The sensitive fool, that I shall now call Porridge Otaku for very good reason, becomes inconsolable. He breaks out into a great fountain of tears and incomprehensible cries. A fountain that Georgie and company apparently have been trying to plug up, all their hard work falling apart in the flood.

*sniff*

Oh no.

Slowly I look up to the source of the dreaded sound. Praying that it is not what I fear.

Mother is crying too.

"Boohoo! That's so sad!" the tears only get worse, more people crying.

To the reveal that we and Mother have been listening in the whole time, people start jumping through their floorboards. Well not literally, otherwise we'll have to charge property damage. But they might as well have with how they panic in straightening themselves out.

"My lady!" even Georgie panics, scrambling to pull up his friend and force him into a semblance of a weeping bow.

"My porridge…." too late though, life has already drained from him.

Unable to read the atmosphere or perhaps she just doesn't care, Mother piles into the circle. Possibly relating this a bit too personally herself.

"Ohhhh to have your efforts stomped on and dismissed! Not good enough, not proper enough, not expensive enough. Oh boohoohoo! Not everyone can be a pearl-shined white polished creme de la creme grain! Boo hoo hoo." she hugs an impossible amount of people at once.

"Boo hoo hoot-" Lilyanne starts to follow.

Right until I grab her by the collar, stopping her run in place. Along with this ridiculous copycat habit of hers. But it can't be helped with kids. Monkey see, monkey do.

"Lilyanne, I hate to say it, but sometimes…..we're better off copying Papa instead of Mama." I try to make the explanation something so simple even she can understand.

"Ohhhhh" Lily coos and nods at me.

Suddenly her spine straightens, her dazed eyes open sharply, her chubby little neck almost gracefully held high. Turning slowly with an exaggerated hand motion of thought, she surveys the mess on the floor containing our own sobbing and not so comforting Mother.

"Fat-sin-A-ting." she nods much slower this time, puckering her little lip.

Externally I am a calm big sister. Internally, I scream. Horrible.

"Don't...don't do that. Just don't. ….Be yourself, wait no, be good….be the best version of yourself and no one else." I pat her, mentally already giving up.

"Ohhhh, okay dokey. Huggies! Lily too!" Lilyanne thankfully returns her face and expressions back to normal.

Taking my hand, she runs to dive into the group hug. While I refuse, there's not much I can do to resist this mess.

"Georgie, what's going on here?" I come up to the only one here I'm comfortable in abusing.

"...you have cream stuffing on your face. " Georgie answers incorrectly.

As he wipes my mouth clean though, he gives me somewhat of a calmer clearer explanation. Nagging in his own way.

"Why hello to you too Rosalia, yes I'm fine. Thank you ooooh so much for asking. I brought you 'PEASANT' packed pickles from my own grandmother, just like you wanted. Leave it to you to ask for strange things. Why do you feel lighter? You should be growing bigger? Do they forget to feed you or something?"

Do I? Have I recently lost weight without a little teen assistant to mix up and trolley my 16-course snacks? Oh my, how flattering for a girl? NOT!

"Thank you for your AUTHENTIC peasant pickles. I hope your lovely granny enjoyed the blankets and cold cream. Very good in the cold dry season. Yes, I, Rosalia, your suffering young miss, am just doing fine terrorizing those unruly maids. Thank you oooooh so much for asking. Why is your skin not as smooth to the touch? Are you breaking out again? Now. What is going on here!?" I snap my fingers back.

"Oh you know, a bit of work stress. A bit of underappreciation. Lots of juggling. You and definitely your Ladyship mother were not meant to see that. Porocco is a great guy, wonderful cook down at the troops' cafeteria, he's just a bit….tired right now. "

"I WANT TO QUIT AND LIVE MY LIFE PEACEFULLY MAKING PORRIDGE. I WANNA QUIT NOW!" the person named cries out.

"NO!" everyone shouts out, all trying to keep him from escaping..

Luckily he's currently in a babbling tearful rant being drowned out in my mother's monster hugs. Nice and safe.

I squint down at the teenager who's only a bit older than Georgie. At most he could only be 20 years old. Fuller of face and certainly not as soft or cute. Rough patches across and a fisherman's tan already set. But a good healthy local boy with large strong hands to cry his ruddy face in.

"What did you say his full name was again?" I ask, trying to place porridge otaku.

My memory searches deep in the archives of Rosalia's mental documents. Through countless employee lists and records from all the family property, including the troops. The familiarity of it is not very striking, but juuuuuust important enough for her to take note of.

"Porocco?" Georgie repeats.

Hmmm. There's a lot of seemingly useless information in the backup files in Rosalia's brain. I haven't had time to process them all. Hell, I haven't even processed my own! One load at a time. Searching. Searching. Mentally searching…

"U-Umm, is P-p-Po-Porocco available to ref-fill th-the v-vanilla essence?! Eep!?! My Lady!!? On the floor!? EEP!!! " panics a certain clumsy maid of mine, all hands on deck to work.

Maybe we should have just locked her in the soap and pickle rooms, for her own safety.

"Abbey don't! Don't drop that! Get it!" Georgie quickly shouts for people to catch either Abbey from tripping or to rescue the precious seasoning in a jar, running out himself.

Shame that something as common as vanilla extract is such an expensive and treasured commodity. In my time, it was one of the cheapest and most common baking staples. You can't have a bakery without it! But of course, these are different times and different circumstances. Besides these are real hand-picked and dried vanilla beans, imported over.

Shame that it can only stretch so far.

If only we had a way to magically cheat expensive ingredients further to…..oh. Oh right. Porocco whatever. I remember now.

Categorized under the file "money saver" and "do not let quit".

His file stated he was born in a local seaside village to a fisherman's family. Specifically with the mundanely but oddly useful ability to pour a seemingly endless amount of liquids from a set container. So long as he doesn't get too tired.

There are of course limitations. Set to water and items he knows how to make himself.

Thus, as an employee, he's very useful in making one pot of porridge pour out into a giant tub. Or a bowl of cracked eggs turned into a batter of hundreds. But not so much a money maker. I can't have him hold a pot of gold and wait to be showered in money. Does not work that way.

Trust me. Rosalia tried.

He can't even make wine with his ability unless he learned how to make the exact specific wine, step by step the long hard way, himself!

But still, it's a very marked 'money saver' ability and he was a full-time employee in the troop's cafeteria. Should be a rather popular chap, no? With everyone going to him to stretch out luxurious or inconvenient ingredients. A real treasure in the kitchens. What's all this nonsense about quitting then?

And why was there no notes about how stupid crazy he is about porridge?

"Oh there there, cry it all out. Boo hoo hoo. I'm sure you have many wonderful skill sets that are just not shined yet! This is a boy's sensitive time. Of discovery! Of change! Oh ho ho, I remember my rosy darling at your age, oh ho ho~ So shy…." Mother has a very odd way of comforting. Too odd.

Mother….this is not the time to be so embarrassing.

"But no one lets me shine or try to shine because I'm just stuck HOLDING THINGS. All day. All these days. I'm just a fountain well! That's all people want me for!" he rants quite bluntly, too emotionally wrecked to be put off.

A few fellow employees around him are a bit too quick to go "oh no, not at all".

It's not very convincing.

"I'm going to change! I'm going to quit to focus on porridge!" he cries again.

"NO!" screams everyone, again.

Oh dear, it seems my cute kitchen employees have their hands full on the daily. Let alone during crunch time events like this. Some of it goes with the nature of the job but others….hmmm wells there's always room for improvement with scheduling and labor laws.

I think the mental Rosalia memory files do have something on Poor Rocco finally quitting one day to start a breakfast stall down at the ports. Presumably, selling porridge? That makes sense.

It went bankrupt in less than three years though.

They don't exactly sell restaurant management guides here.

"I understand! Oh, you poor thing. Caught between duty and destiny. What people expect from you and your own true desires. What you're supposedly good at in this world and what you really love!" Mother dramatically exclaims, with oversized teary cow eyes and sparkles coming from out of nowhere.

Did someone drop a big bag of yellow sugar or something? Where are those shoujo sweet sparkles coming from?

"E-Exactly! That! Thaaaat!" Porridge otaku weeps into the hug full force, rubbing his face back and forth.

Too much so.

The employees are too frightened or awkwardly stiff to say anything so I will.

"Back off my Mother. She's a married woman. Lady Ventrella. Don't make me call my Father. You won't like Father." I squish between my mother's breasts and where someone is seeking comfort in the wrong place.

"Lily too." my sister backs me up, further blocking our not so honorable Mother from anyone else seeking hugs.

There is a silence I don't know how to describe. Only broken by Mother's "Oh ho ho ho!" sound behind me.

"Everyone is right. Our gracious Lady has described our common frustrations so well while the young misses remind us what a silly position this is. Our greatest apologies. I beg that there are no misunderstandings. We'll be getting back to work right after this….bump." Georgie claps and smiles, motioning for some kitchen hands to drag porridge pervert up and away.

Quietly, he stares at me with wide eyes. The kind that both threatens and begs: "Please don't tell your Father, we want to live." Which is fair and valid.

"Stop. Let's solve the issue first before we get more repeats of this. Again." I snap for the kitchen hands to u-turn back with the sad and confused Porocco.

It's partially my fault for being born. Lilyanne's as well obviously. Now there's this big festival, larger than any noble dinner party. It's a lot of overtime for the employees I'm sure.

As a former overworked business slave, bakery and kitchen slave, bartender slave, beeping claw machine repairwoman, teenage tutoring slave, pickle making slave, and much more in my time of a certain dysfunctional family's employment, I completely understand.

Events are stressful!

"Back to this" I wave off that train of thought and point to the crybaby at the center of it all, flanked like the troublemaker he is by other employees.

"I understand that there is usually a clear contract made upon employment at the troops. Did you or did you not sign to take a certain amount of shifts regarding your hours and abilities?" I state as clearly and orderly as possible.

I am very glad I am saying so without cannoli cream on my face. It would be very unprofessional.

"Er...uh…" Porocco does not exactly panic, but he does look over to Georgie with much confusion and pleading in his eyes.

"Ahem, answer the young Miss Rosalia quickly. She's feeling quite gracious already." Georgie is quick to not so secretly smack him up, prompting a direct response.

"Um...yes?" he seems unsure where to look. Still using Georgie as a reference if it was rude or not to look very much down on me due to the height difference.

I'm too lazy to snap someone to relocate me up to a higher spot. We have much work to do and food to eat. So let's get this over with quickly.

"If you have an issue with your schedule or treatment at work, take it up with your kitchen department head. If we, your employers, are in any way in breach of contract, that's on us at each level. But right now? Feasts are code red. Can't take the heat? Stay out of the kitchen! Every hand working where it does best! Now, are you going to quit in shame and failure, cry on my storage floor some more as a Mother stealing roadblock-"

"Homewrecker!" Lilyanne continues to support me from behind."

"Or will you figure out a decent short-term solution until a calmer time!?" I scold.

This is usually the part where I make innocent employees cry.

But maybe porridge otaku is all cried out. Since he can only rudely point and stutter in confusion, turning to address Georgie again.

"It-it speaks? Like that?"

Georgie can only breathe in through his nose, resisting the urge to sigh.

Out of nowhere, Abbey steps up to defend my honor with a random broom. Smacking the offender in the knees and butt.

"H-how da-dare you be so rude to th-the young miss!?!" she scolds him with the broom.

It sounds a lot like "smack smack smack". Very satisfying. How proactive. We're all learning very well here. .

Indeed, how rude to refer to me as such. I'm not even a weird scary baby anymore. I am a scary pre-schooler now.

"Ahem, thank you Abbey. Yes please do not...point at the young miss like a talking zoo animal. It will never end well. But seriously, look, we certainly do need you more during busy times like these. It's hard. It's the most productive system. Look at me, I'm not even down in the kitchens half as much as I used to be. The young miss, Rosalia sounds adorably squeaky but she's absolutely right about contracts and section heads. We'll make it better, but you gotta speak out when you're tight and not snap down on all of us like that." Georgie takes over, gently leading this.

"*sniff*....Yeah, okay." the slightly older cook nods, tears coming back.

They hug it out and everyone either awwws or sighs in relief.

"Oh youth!" Mother cries into her mini fruit tart popcorn.

Served faithfully from her silent maids standing right behind us. The whole time. Not creepy at all. At least the rest of the kitchen staff, including Barbara is there with more tart refills and a tray of tea, waiting for all this to be over.

"Oh hello BARBARA! Are you pregnant yet?"*pat pat* "NO? NO WORRIES *pat pat pat* Kids are so adorably difficult, have all the honeymoon time while you still can!" Mother turns to accept a teacup.

"Mother, please. Mother. You don't just go patting people? Especially while asking if they're pregnant or not!? Mother?!!" I scream out.

"Oh dear. Well my Rose seed, when a lovely woman and her darling man love each other very much, it can create-" Mother still does not understand.

"That's not wait I said, ahhh!" I quickly cover my ears.

Thinking twice, I quickly switched over to cover Lilyanne's instead. It's already too late for me but we can't let Lilyanne be tainted this early!

"Alright, the show is all over. Back to work, unless you're taking your breaks." Georgie claps again, a little too comfortable with giving others orders.

Oh well. At least it's effective. Especially with Abbey sweeping people out.

"Rosalia. Lilyanne." Mother calls to us with Barbara's tea tray.

Contrary to my expectations, it is not for us.

Instead, we're given the tiny tray with warm mugs. Then practically ordered to send it over the "Nice big brothers who are working so hard on your birthday party! Just like you did before Rosalia~ Oh so nice. Remember to give your thanks, Lilyanne!"

I stare dead-faced at her for a good three seconds before reluctantly accepting. Gotta be a good influence for Lilyanne.

"Thaaaaaank you for making yummies nummies for da paaaarty!" Lilyanne cheerfully offers, shaking the tray so badly it almost drops.

Thankfully it does not drop before Georgie picks it up for us, holding back his snorting laughter. Or is that a smile? Either way, we get pats of a good job, all for nothing but being semi-cute.

"Yeah yeah, thanks. For overtime. And the sweets." I try to follow up. A bit awkward when I just scolded Porridge Otaku half stupid.

"That's true. People who normally don't get to enjoy these luxuries will really appreciate it. Thanks a lot to you. Man, I wish I had that ability….or any ability." Georgie pats his old kitchen buddy.

"...But...porridge. What's wrong with porridge..." Porocco droops into his cup, curling around it like a ball.

How hopeless.

"....why can't you just make sweet porridge then if it's that big a deal for you? Work hard to pour out ingredients for that." I raise.

I sincerely question the sanity of this individual. As if he can't not talk about porridge for 5 minutes? What's up with that? Reports need to include more details like this.

Somewhere a bowl drops with a clatter. A tea kettle goes off. The children's choir practice outside hits a beautiful high note.

"That's...GENIUS! The solution to this! Porridge and sweets! Wow, you really are a genius! Apologies young miss, for my terrible impression! I'll get started on SWEET porridge right away! Holy! That's brilliant!" Porridge otaku's mood swings up faster than I've ever seen him, skipping out as if his tantrum never happened.

Amazing.

"Why didn't we think of that?" Georgie facepalms.

"Oh ho ho. The best of both worlds. Yes, that is the ideal. Certainly, she takes after my darling." Mother coos, laughing at us all in that easy way of hers.

I have Mother and Lilyanne to babysit. Lunch to inspect and peasant pickles to hoard. My little assistant also needs to catch me up to work and gossip now that he's back. Party hasn't even started and I'm already tired.

Oh well. That's how it goes. Just gotta rest up, figure out if you want comfort or solutions, and get going.

Now onwards we go!

"HELP! Heeeeeelp him!" cries out a much louder, much crazier grampa sounding voice.

Nevermind then. Not going anywhere.

In slams the boss to the boss lady. The Grampa boss. The real but basically retired crazy Lord of this place. In his arms lies a seemingly lifeless snowy mochi.

"Oh dear, oh my, oh no! Papa, what happened to Lukas?!" Mother rushes.

"He's….HUNGRY! TOO HUNGRY TO MOVE!." Grampa responds gravely.

"OH NO!" Mother gasps, patting for a heartbeat or a fat belly on a tuckered-out child, gone even paler than usual.

….Is he hibernating or what?

Limp as a popped balloon, Lukas shows no little to no response. Not even a snot bubble nor snore. Perhaps a tiny weak whimper for bacon. Gathering all the sympathy from Mother.

"No more homewreckers on Lily's and Rosa's birthday!" Lilyanne stomps and demands beneath them.

"We played too much on those ice slides. But boy are they a beauty out there! Heard you girls love those things," Grampa winks and shrugs up the sleep mode Lukas.

"Ice slide again? Slides? There's multiple of them now? Is he going to be ok?" I look upon him, curiously poking.

I didn't even know Lukas could max out anything?

But well, if anyone could, it's Grampa.

Indeed when quiet and not destroying anything from his pure hyper energy, Lukas sleeps like an adorable cub. Gable has raised a pretty little boy worthy of being called a homewrecker. But it just feels too weird seeing him like that?

For some odd reason, Lukas' usually chubby cheeks feel not as satisfying. A little thin?

"Don't tell Gable or anyone but we finally maxed out the frozen limit in this terrain. Nice to know! Lukas is gonna be fine but a growing boy needs a lot of good to go back to normal. I think that's doable." Grampa looks around the feast being prepped.

Just how much energy did he burn for some ice slides? He's done them easily before?

"Yes. We have a fine feast of PORRIDGE. Best for a tired minion." I agree, pulling Grampa away after hearing that reassurance.

"Dat way, dat way." Lilyanny pulls with me.

Protect the sweets table! Don't let Lukas eat it all!

Do you know how much he can destroy on a normal day let alone when he's iced out starving!? Protect it. Bring on the porridge instead! Bring the cheap stuff! Make it bacon flavored. No complaints there. Quantity over quality! Bless the porridge! Here porridge otaku, it's your time to shine!

Inside and outside, everyone is doing their part and more in preparing.

The crowds are arriving. From locals lured by the news, merchants setting up shop, and travelers of all sorts. Nobles and commoners alike. They gather and mingle. Making their arrangements of all sorts. From camping out to staying at the local hotels and inns, even booking out our hotel village near the troops. Locals coming and going from the wagon systems running on extra capacity.

It's a very one-of-a-kind festival in the dead middle of winter. With twist rope swing rides and massive ice slides. Cookies and porridge. Tea, puppet shows, and more.

An absolutely crazy idea. How fitting for this family and land.

Tomorrow and onwards it will light up officially. Physically and metaphorically. With my sister and I sparking the main flames at the center stage.

Hard as it was to get here, hope you all enjoy it.