Whumptober Short: Broken Dishes
In her time working as domestic help, Tsura has learned many things. Every master of the house has different rules, of course, but some rules apply almost invariably across every household she’s stayed in.
Stay out of the way, don’t ask for anything you’re not offered, don’t volunteer your opinion on anything unless someone directly asks for it— such logical precepts have been the central structure of her life for years, by now, and Tsura has never found them all that difficult to follow. She functions well as a servant, as someone so quiet and unremarkable that few ever seem to remember she exists.
Valerius Espina’s household has been the unfortunate exception.
The well-off gentleman himself (an eccentric who thinks far too highly of his own abilities) might have been manageable, but his... lover (or whatever title she qualifies as) complicates matters well beyond what Tsura can handle.
Rosie. No family name, no title, no history to speak of. Towering head and shoulders above Valerius (or any other Ghiasuli, for that matter), with both a Dzlethian-like pair of horns and a matching set on her shoulders, she’s somewhere between intimidatingly gorgeous and just plain intimidating. Rosie makes demands whenever the mood strikes her— new clothes, imported foods, or anything else that strikes her fancy—, while Valerius offers a seemingly limitless budget for indulging her every whim. Her temper is vicious at the best of times... and not just towards the help.
This is where Tsura finds herself seeing things she shouldn’t.
For example, today, as she’s hauling her mop and bucket around Valerius’s mansion on her regular routine of chores, Tsura slips through the arched, open doorway of the sitting room... only to be met with the immediate, jarring crash of glassware shattering on impact.
Rosie is on her feet, towering over the still-seated Valerius. There’s a scowl on her face and a wine glass in her hand— presumably twin to the one now in shards across the hardwood. Valerius’s ashy hair is damp with dark, red liquid, which nearly hides the shallow cut across his forehead. She threw her glass at him, Tsura thinks with distant horror. Not that she’s shocked. Not that it hasn’t happened before.
“Rosie, darling, calm down. There’s no need—”
“There is. You know what I expect from you, and you’d better hold up your end of the bargain. If you think you can neglect me, you’ll regret it!”
Standing at her full height, snarling with too many teeth, her growl seems to vibrate through the floorboards. On well-trained reflex, Tsura freezes. She’s seen people beaten bloody for less. Around nobility, disrespect is the greatest sin.
And yet, Valerius only sighs. Smiles pacifyingly at the fury towering over him. “My dear, I’d never think of it. Come now, sit down. Tell me exactly what I need to do to make you happy again, hm? We’ll get one of the maids in here to handle the mess...”
That’s where Tsura ducks back through the doorway. She shouldn’t have seen that. Valerius’s pride would be at stake if a mere servant witnessed such an exchange, and she wouldn’t be forgiven just because she stumbled upon the scene by pure accident, while only trying to do her job. That mess was far from the worst she’s come across in this house, but like every other dirty secret, it’s better off staying out of sight.
