Chapter 15
Warning: Some butt cheeks. Skip the third picture if you'd prefer. :)
March 22nd - Grythen
Evelynn
“You have completed all your prerequisite courses for your career as a dancetress. You can start your first practice here today with any senior you wish to approach. Have a good day,” the palace attendant bowed and opened the door.
Evelynn gazed ahead of her. Through the small rectangle of the door frame, she could see that the pine floor was extremely well polished and a whole length of wall was covered with mirrors. A gentle classical tune was playing on the radio, reminding her of silk ribbons running in the air. Happy to see so many familiar things, she took a deep breath and stepped in.
It was lunchtime and there was only one senior-Mejaine.
Of course she had heard of her before. Who hasn’t? All the backstage gossiping with other dancetresses had taught her that Mejaine used to be the gem of the court. Her cool appearance made her seem very unapproachable, especially with her appallingly long training hours. An obsessive perfectionist, they called her.
Evelynn watched the redhead practice silently. She was indeed perfect, moving with brilliant grace and landing with that exact angle between her slender legs and the floor as depicted in books.
Those who had lived in Grythen and grew up watching Mejaine on stage told her that she was legendary, the one who would definitely leave a legacy behind and be remembered by everyone. That is, until Gwen of Catherines came along. It must have been very painful for her to fall from somewhere so high, Evelynn sighed. Poor thing.
The poor thing must have sensed something, for she spun around immediately with a snarl on her face, as though she had caught someone red-handed. When she saw Evelynn, her expression cleared and her face switched to a look of pleasant surprise.
Mejaine’s eyes slid to the corners before resting on Evelynn again, seeming to be thinking of something. Her lips then pulled back into a kind smile and she asked, “Are you a newcomer?”
Evelynn warmed up to her beautiful smiling face. She must not have noticed me during the Spring Festival performance.
“Yes, I’ve just completed my basic course. I need to learn from a senior, and I think there would be no one better than you to learn from,” she flashed the most sincere smile she could muster. I shall be her friend.
Kismette
The wheels rolled to a stop slowly. The chauffer unstrapped his seatbelt and hurried out of the car while Kismette studied the car door which had far too many buttons and handles. Which one opens the door again?
The chauffer appeared at her door and opened it before she could test them all out. She stepped onto the tar road carefully, not wanting to dirty her new shoes. Iko was already out of the car and standing in front of her, waiting patiently as ever.
Kismette looked at the lady again, trying to memorize her face. Her hair was pulled back on the top like all the palace attendants’, but was curled at the ends. Locks of smooth black spirals sat serenely on her shoulders, framing her handsome, oval face elegantly. Iko was definitely not a beauty, but she had this refined, stylish air of confidence in the way she carried herself which made people give her a second glance.
The chauffer hurried back to his driver’s seat and started the car. The sound from the engine made everyone from the café nearby steal looks at the car and its alighted passengers before pretending to resume their former activities.
“He’s going to park the car now,” the raven-haired lady explained without her asking. “He’ll come here to pick us up when we’re done.”
“Our first stop will be the bank. Please come this way with me, Mistress Larazest,” Iko showed the way with her hand pointing down the grey pavement. Kismette nodded and followed her dumbly. The only vehicle she ever sat in was the rusty old tractor in the orphanage which sputtered and shook so hard she thought her neck was going to dislocate from her spine. She still hadn’t gotten over the fact that she had just rode in a luxury car, so polished she could check her teeth in the bonnet.
Kismette wished the chauffer had driven faster, but Iko had advised him to do otherwise, for “Mistress Larazest might not be used to high speeds.” Kismette smiled secretly. It was amusing to hear people addressing her by her family name. It made her feel important, like she was a businesswoman or a well-respected officer of some sorts.
Iko’s heels clacked noisily on the sidewalk as she led the way and ran through their schedule again for the third time. “Today, we will be opening a bank account under your name, Mistress Larazest. Master Viken has given me a cheque to deposit in your new account and I will guide you on how to get money from an automated teller machine. After that, we will go shopping for your clothes and shoes, especially formal wear. I will then advise you on how to match your clothes and accessories-”
Her speech was cut off halfway when her bag gave a sudden musical note and she reached into it, pulling out a rectangular, glassy device. She tapped the surface a few times with her index finger and stared at it for a short while.
Kismette tip-toed and leaned forward a little to peek at the gadget’s screen. It was fascinating.
“Oh, good news, Mistress Larazest. Your new apartment will be ready after your dinner with Master Viken, so you can buy things you want for your new apartment too. Basic furniture is provided, but I imagine you will want to choose your own decorations,” she smiled again, as though there was nothing ridiculous about what she just said. “Is there any specific colour coordination that you prefer?”
Kismette’s jaw dropped. “My… apartment? One whole apartment?”
“Why, yes, Mistress Larazest,” Iko laughed good-naturedly, revealing her rows of perfect teeth. “It is located just outside the palace compounds. You will have a bedroom, a bathroom and a living room with a small kitchen area. You don’t have to worry about cooking, though. All your meals will be catered for by the palace kitchen. Alternatively, you can always choose to eat out or call for home deliveries. Or, you can call me over to teach you some healthy dishes, if you want. Just give me a bit of time to run to the supermarket first.”
Kismette didn’t know how to react. Iko started walking again while she stared ahead in a daze. She licked her lips, tasting the flavourless lip balm which Iko advised her to use. She couldn’t believe that the gluey stick could smell like over-ripened strawberries and taste like crayons at the same time. Well, almost nothing here seems believable anyway.
“Iko, can you tell me what you are again?”
Iko stopped and turned to look at her, beaming, “I am your personal assistant cum nutritionist cum image consultant, Mistress Larazest. Although it is not stated in black and white, I am your one true friend too. You can chat with me about anything or ask me to do anything as long as it is within the legal framework of Quesdeja. You can trust me with all your secrets for I will never betray you.
Kismette gave her a funny look. “Friends can’t be bought. Or hired.”
“Oh, but I am a Wingsian. I am professional,” Iko smiled even wider. “You can ask anyone about The Wings Institution. Just by having a Wingsian, you are instantly in the upper-class, Mistress Larazest.”
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Next: Chapter 16