After having left all of the suitcases in Christie’s room – because ninety percent of them were hers – the girls directed to the dining room where they found the rest of the members of the estate.
Agatha was elated to find a certain familiar person there, though it was also true that she felt a dizzying giddiness at the sight. Her mother looked good in a maid's outfit. Too good. Esmeralda was already a dashing woman, and Agatha’s mental image of beauty. The seamstress had everything the apprentice didn’t have: height, bosom, and mane.
Perhaps the height was the least egregious of all as Esmeralda only had like half to two-thirds of a head on Agatha, but still, it was enough for someone to question if she was her daughter. That someone being Agatha herself. Size had always been something the dirty-blond girl was conscious about, and it didn’t help that her mother always one-upped her.
Same with the chest. Perhaps Agatha wasn’t flat, but she also was small enough that she didn’t need to wear a brassiere. And if the clothes were too rough for her nipples, she would first modify said clothing and add a bit of padding and cloth to make them more comfortable before choosing to wear a brassiere, as they were rather uncomfortable.
But the one that actually affected Agatha the most was her mother’s mane. It wasn’t a matter of length as the seamstress-in-training had always hated having long hair – it got far too messy with the knots and then too hot in summer – but a matter of color. Esmeralda had perfect, brass hair. Quite literally the most desirable color and shine of them all. Yet all Agatha had was blond hair that looked like someone had bleached it and then dropped a bucket of charcoal powder to fix it, only making more of a mess.
Agatha didn’t blame her mother for not making a perfect replica of herself in her daughter but… she wished she had done so.
Ah, the petite girl yelped mentally as she looked at her girlfriend. Christie was looking at Esmeralda with those exact same thoughts; Agatha could easily tell it. She knew how the redhead was thinking how infinitely more beautiful the brass woman was to her failure of a daughter.
Then a clap.
Strident and powerful. The shake was so strong that almost Agatha felt transported back to the classroom in Knight’s Ascent, hundreds of kilometers away.
“Ah!” Hasel Valasela, patriarch and miner, exclaimed. “We have a whole family gathered here! Truly an event that deserves a feast!”
“Hasel, it’s not even afternoon,” Esmeralda protested as she pinched her nose.
“We could have a teatime feast then!” He suggested.
“You’re lucky you’re my employer or I would be smashing your nose against the table.”
“Lovely as always, Esmeralda!”
“Are they… okay?” Christie asked with copious amounts of worry. The shock had been so great that she had reverted to her bunny self. “S-should we separate them?”
Agatha giggled; her worries suddenly evaporated. “I think they are fine.” I should have expected this much. After all, I got my sharp tongue from her.
The petite girl grabbed her girlfriend’s hand and led her to the table, where they sat one next to the other. Her mother and Christie’s father continued bickering for a minute more before Miss Diorite finally interjected.
She clapped.
A simple clap.
Though the vibrating windows and glasses didn’t think the same.
It was at that exact point that everything clicked in Agatha’s mind. They really passed down that clapping technique from one person to another, huh? She had once thought that René Dago’s clapping was powerful, but Miss Diorite’s put it to shame.
“Esmeralda, you should behave more like a maid. Hasel, you should behave more like a patriarch,” the old maid stated that dryly and refused to elaborate.
A ringing silence reigned for a handful of more seconds before Christie’s father coughed.
“I am glad that we have everyone finally reunited,” he spoke calmly as if he hadn’t been hit by the brunt of the shockwave. “And I would like to thank my dearest daughter’s girlfriend, Agatha, for convincing Esmeralda to join us on a more… permanent basis.”
“I am just glad to see my mother under a roof that does not collapse in itself,” Agatha said softly, mostly because she was still shellshocked by the thunderclap. “Though, if it is possible, I would like to inquire how well my mother is faring in this new environment.”
“Superbly, I must say,” Hasel nodded with gravitas, truly taking to heart the ‘behaving like a patriarch’ part. “As healthy as Miss Diorite is, she is only a single pair of hands, and she cannot use her agates for long. Having a young maid with active agates certainly expedites things.”
“Young?” Esmeralda snickered.
“Unlike me, no one would guess you are forty, woman.” Hasel snickered back.
It was incredible to Agatha how someone could turn a compliment on someone’s youthful looks into a derisive statement. Mostly because her mother still had a while before turning forty, and that horrified expression of hers certainly screamed it.
Miss Diorite sighed. “You have been able to behave yourselves for the last few months. Why must you portray such childishness when your daughters are finally here?”
“I have been a bit too lenient with Hasel,” Agatha’s mother said sourly.
“Esmeralda needs to be reminded that she is always my junior,” Christie’s father said at the same time.
The two former soldiers looked at each other and squinted at one another.
“Was it really a good idea to bring your mother here?” Christie whispered in her ear. “Not that I would not like her here, but… I have never seen dearest father like this.”
“Oh, trust me, this is completely normal.” Agatha crossed her arms and nodded, self-affirming her own words. “This is what true friendship looks like.”
That made the redhead’s eyes shoot wide open, then they promptly closed in a seductive manner. “Well… if that is what friendship looks like, then I am even more thankful that we are not friends but a couple.”
Her body betrayed her and Agatha found herself blushing. “…that was a low blow, dummy doll.”
“I can show you what a low blow can look like, mock sapphire.” Christie’s breath caressed the seamstress-in-training’s ear, making her squirm and blush even harder.
“Oh, my!” Miss Diorite exclaimed as she covered her mouth with a hand.
Depths! I’m beginning to hate this woman! Agatha straightened her back upon being seen by the old maid. Why is she always looking at us? And, most importantly, why does she get a kick out of it?
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The broad woman’s sounds were enough to stop the former soldiers’ renewed bickering as they looked at their daughter now. Agatha could feel her face heat even more now, though now that blush was partially intertwined with rage. She slapped the table and stood up.
“It has been a long journey, and I am personally quite tired, so I am going to my room now.”
And she blitzed out, even abandoning her girlfriend as her embarrassment was getting too big to manage. Only once she arrived at the guest room that she had inhabited the previous year did she manage to relax and take a deep breath.
She was honestly mad at everyone.
At her mother for causing such a bad impression on Christie.
At Hasel for pestering her mother so much.
At Miss Diorite for snooping every time.
And at Christie for being such a loveable girlfriend that never failed to excite her, yet could have a lesson or two in timing.
Agatha collapsed on the bed; she didn’t bother removing her boots, and she simply dangled her legs on the border of the mattress, lazily flailing them up and down with her head burrowed on the sheets. She blamed most of her anger on her headache that refused to form, maintaining itself in the mellowest yet most constant of migraines.
A minute later, she heard a knock coming from the door.
“Little sapphire?” Even if the voice was muted, there were only two people in the world who called her by that nickname, and only one of them was a woman. “Can I come in?”
“Sure, Mom,” Agatha affirmed, but kept herself lying face down.
She heard the door open and the soft steps of her mother approach. Then the mattress softly dipped as Esmerald sat down.
“I’m sorry for all of that,” the seamstress apologized with a sigh. “I should know better than to behave like this, especially in front of your girlfriend.”
“That’s not why I’m mad,” the seamstress-in-training’s voice was muffled as she talked to the sheets.
“Agatha, I know you too well to know that’s not the case.”
The petite girl sighed and turned around like a sausage, now facing upward. Her mother looked with a bit of amusement. “Okay, maybe that’s a part. A big part, even. But what bothers me is that we’ve seen each other for the first time in a year, basically two considering we only met for an hour last time, and yet you spent all that time talking to Hasel, not once to me. You hadn’t even looked at me!”
“Oh, that’s not the case, little sapphire,” Esmeralda ran a finger across the line between Agatha’s temples and hair, putting some locks back into place behind the ears. “That’s a lovely outfit you have made.”
“Too little too late, Mom.” She pouted.
“That’s a superb attire your hands have manufactured, my daughter,” the seamstress reiterated.
“Hmm,” Agatha harrumphed and raised her back to look at her mother’s sapphire eyes. “Somewhat better.”
Esmeralda smiled and arched forward to kiss her daughter on the forehead. Oh, fractures. That felt weird, Agatha slightly shuddered. Thank the earth that Christie stopped kissing me on the forehead a long time ago and instead chose the nose, or I think I would have gagged.
“Are you too grown now for kisses?” Her mother squinted at her.
“It’s not that, Mom,” the daughter giggled. “It’s just that I’m used to only being kissed by a gorgeous redhead as of late.”
“Oh,” Esmeralda was suddenly stunned. “I never thought I would see the day my daughter would brag about her partner in front of me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The seamstress failed to respond and the trainee squinted. “No, really. Mom, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, daughter. Nothing~” The blond woman chuckled. “But I’m happy that you and Christie are so tightly knit. I held my doubts as I hadn’t been able to see your relationship in action until now, but now I’m satisfied. I love seeing you this happy and bright.”
That brought closure to Agatha. She had revealed that over a year ago to her mother, but a part of her still thought that the seamstress had just accepted it, so her daughter wouldn’t make a fuss about her past as a soldier, rather than real acceptance.
“Thanks, Mom,” Agatha gave one of the smiles Christie called radiant to her mother. “And talking about outfits, it’s interesting what you did to yours too.”
Esmeralda giggled and stood up from the bed. She then took a step away and twirled on the spot as she raised her skirt. “Like it?”
The outfit in question was a traditional maid uniform with a long skirt shaped by a massive and floral petticoat that gave it the traditional bell shape. Maintaining their mother-daughter obsession-slash-tradition, there were also frills sewn everywhere that they could be sewn into. The fabric was mostly a contrast of searing white and pitch black, and while it would be a nightmare to clean, it was certainly eye-catching.
“Yeah, it’s like the most maid outfit that has ever been maided.”
“That was part of the idea,” her mother smiled. “I thought that if I were working for Hasel, at least I should fulfill my role. But part of the beauty of this outfit is lost when I’m the boring type of maid that only cleans and cooks, after all, he has never called me to his bedchambers.”
“Mom! Eww!” Agatha shuddered.
“What?” The woman chuckled heartily.
“That’s my girlfriend’s father!” She protested.
“And? Worse has been seen in this world.”
“Aren’t you just friends?”
“A bit of a strong word, but yes.” Esmeralda shrugged. “I don’t think of Hasel like that, but honestly, I could do with a bit of action.”
“Eww!” The wording and the subsequent imagery got too strong now, and Agatha actively spasmed.
“Oh, come on, daughter. You will be seventeen in a couple of days; how can you recoil at that?” Her mother was amused. Too amused.
“I’m not recoiling at that. I’m recoiling because you’re the one saying it!”
“Eh, I guess it makes sense. Wouldn’t have liked to hear my own mother saying so.”
“How in the lithic fuck are you forty?” Agatha spoke aloud without mincing her words.
“Excuse me! I’m thirty-five! The one who’s forty is Hasel. And a very youthful thirty-five-year-old at that. What can I say?” The seamstress shrugged and then patted her daughter’s shoulder. “Honestly, I always considered maturity to be overvalued. What use is there for it? Does it feed you? Does it please you?”
“Some would say immaturity hurts others, Mom.” The petite girl squinted.
“But does it hurt you?” The brass woman emphasized.
“I guess not,” Agatha sighed in defeat, knowing better than to try and argue with her mother.
“Then that’s fine and dandy! Don’t worry about others, just about yourself and what matters to you.” The single-agate lithorist would have agreed to that because the former soldier’s tone hadn’t slowly became somber. Esmeralda sat next to Agatha, and she looked right at her, azure and sapphire eyes meeting. “Really, just worry about yourself and what matters to you and nothing more.”
“Is there something wrong, Mom? You’re scaring me.”
“No, there’s nothing… well…” Esmeralda sighed. “You are almost as old as when I had you, and even if I know that will not be possible as long as you’re with Christie-“
“I will always be with Christie,” Agatha sternly interjected.
“I didn’t mean it in that sense, little sapphire.” Her mother’s tone wasn’t sarcastic but… preoccupied. “Perhaps it will take three years before you’re a soldier like I was, but once I was one, it only took months to lose the love of my life. So, to this I must say this to you: Agatha, no matter what happens, you owe this country nothing. I raised you to be well aware of that fact. If you ever find yourself in a situation where you or Christie are no longer welcome here or need to risk your lives to keep yourselves here, just run. Run and never look back. Neither I nor Hasel will reproach you for anything. Your safety and happiness are what matter the most.”
Agatha was… completely speechless. Even when her mother had revealed her past, she hadn’t been this serious. The shock was enough to leave the girl speechless, but the words were enough to leave her thoughtless.
“I… don’t know what to say…” That was all she could muster.
“You don’t need to say anything, little sapphire.” Esmeralda hugged her and pushed her daughter’s head on her bosom. “I’m speaking here as a deserter, but deserting is the best thing I’ve done in my life. War is horrible. Profitable and good for social climbing, yes, but horrible. If another war breaks out while you’re at your mandatory service and things get too heated, just run away with Christie.”
“I…” Agatha smacked her lips. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” her mother stated taciturnly and firmly. “You don’t even need to say goodbye. Knowing that you’re out there living the good life will be enough.”
The dirty-blond girl pushed herself away from her mother’s chest and she smiled at her. “Thank you, Mom. I take back what I said, you really are more mature than most.”
“Yes, maturity is realizing that nationalism is just kids drawing maps with crayons,” she chuckled and pat Agatha on the head. “I’ll be going now. I said everything I wanted to say, but I still would like to see you at dinner.”
As her mother marched out of the room wearing that maid outfit of hers, Agatha couldn’t help but smile. Being told to betray their country out of love was the most beautiful and warm acceptance she could have ever received. She had been told repeatedly by Esmeralda that she was accepted and loved, that she cared not for legacies and progeny, but now she knew it.
And there was no other word to describe that than beautiful.
Agatha felt her mental fog clear, and she was suddenly refreshed, all of that overusage of her Fourth Stratum utterly gone. So, after a bath, she found herself attending the dining room for dinner. All together at the table, eating harmoniously. Hasel, Miss Diorite, Adrien, her mother, and last but not least, Christie.
Growing up in Malachite, Agatha had never had a family, only her mother. But now… she felt complete. Perhaps it wasn’t her father, but there was indeed a father at the table, and also two old adults who could easily take the role of grandparents. She turned her head to face Christie as her gorgeous girlfriend stuffed her mouth with pudding.
What did Hasel say before? The whole family? Agatha thought to herself as she became drunk in the sweet and warm sight. Yes, this is definitely a whole family.
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