This was written as part of tumblr's 2015 Rune Factory Spring Fever event, for the prompt "departing on and/or returning from a journey". Well, this turned out to be more about the journey itself but I think it still fits in nicely. It was a journey writing it, at any rate.
i. Largo – in a broad, dignified manner
Max could not believe his nose.
Not that he'd ever admit it to Father, but the cherry blossoms here in Selphia were even more fragrant than those in his beloved Alvarna.
That could, possibly, be owed to the fact that there was no tang of ocean salt taking up permanent residence in the breeze, like in Alvarna.
Or it simply could have been that he was misremembering. That Alvarna's cherry blossoms really were the superb specimen, only he hadn't the time to take in their comforting sweetness, when his recent weeks had been nothing but a potpurri of death and decay; the mustiness of the church during her funeral; the overly-clean scent of the clinic, so many hours there receiving comfort from Rosalind and Ray, Sera and Serena.
Any lesser man would have holed himself up in his room, let a calloused shell harden around him. But as a de Sainte-Coquille, Max did not have time for such nonsense that would tarnish the image that accompanied the name he wore like a crown.
So it was that Max had ventured outside of Alvarna to pay a visit to Cousin Porcoline - that is, Father's cousin, but dash it all with such trivalities. A visit of pleasure (which Porcoline was aware of), yes, but one also of urgent business (which Porcoline wasn't aware of) and for his most important associate, no less.
Leann de Sainte-Coquille had, after all these years, finally shown interest in playing the piano Max had received as a wedding present from Uncle Jasper.
She desired, needed, an instructor, and an instructor Max would find her. His dear friend Barrett had informed Max of a rather talented musician who entertained the patrons of Cousin Porcoline's restaurant, so Max saw no feasible reason why this virtuoso wouldn't jump at the chance to share her passion with his daughter for twice the salary that Porcoline gave her, plus free room and board.
And if this musician was anything like Barrett had described, Max planned on also extending her an offer to teach at the Alvarna Academy.
To Max's surprise, Barrett was on board with this idea, which was no small feat. The mayor's son had even planned to come to Selphia a day ahead of his normal schedule, to explain the other merits of Alvarna's school to this prospective teacher– or, rather, instruct Max what to tell her, since Barrett didn't have what one would call "a way with words" (or "charm" or "common-level social skills," or, Max could have continued had Barrett not gruffed at him to shut the hell up, proving Max's point).
As he passed by the townspeople, Max greeted them with the winning smile he would use on the musician. He always flashed strangers a flawless smile regardless, but in this instance it was more because he was woefully out of practice in the smiling department, not having the resolve to bother with it as much in front of his friends and family in the past weeks (but enough to get by).
Upon seeing his relative waiting at the restaurant entrance, Max radiated even brighter.
"Maxie!" Porcoline crushed him into a hug, and Max's smile twisted into a grimace, both from the pain of being squeezed so tightly and the pain of the image of Julia that flickered in his mind, screeching that the sudden rough contact had wrinkled one of her favorite of Max's shirts.
"H-Hello, Porcoline." Max (gracefully, of course) broke from Porcoline's hug, and smoothed his shirt down. "It's been some time!"
It had indeed. The last time Max had seen Cousin Porcoline, Rosalind had been a blemish-covered teen mortified about having to wear a brassierefor the first time, while Max had been sporting frightening metal braces that, unbelieveably, had rendered him quieter than Dorothy for a couple years.
Dark days, they'd been.
"I'd love to catch up right this very minute, but there's a festival today that I'm almost late for! But I waited just for you, Maxie, before I took off; I wanted to see if you'd like to join moi, and come meet everyone. I wouldn't wait around to ask just anyone, you know~. Only family!"
Max wasn't sure if that was true, or only partly true. Was Porcoline being so generous because Max was the son of his cousin whom he hadn't seen in quite some time, or because Max was the widower son of his cousin whom he hadn't seen in quite some time?
Well, either way...
"Oh, I'm fine, Porcoline. I'm a little tired from my trip, anyway. Besides, I'd much rather meet everyone in a less..." Max motioned airily with the hand not gripping the handle of his suitcase. "...hectic setting."
"If you insist! I promise you a most delicioso-ho-ho-ho meal when I return. Don't miss me for too long in my absence!" Porcoline gave a flutter of his meaty fingers, before heading off. "Ta!"
Only after he ascended the stairs and entered his room was Max struck with how silent the whole place was, hauntingly so. That the restaurant was empty should have been explanation enough to Max, but it wasn't.
If he were to seek further reasoning, it was because he was in Selphia, not Alvarna, so this foreign feeling was of multiple definitions.
But the answer that made most sense to him was that this was a mansion belonging to a de-Sainte Coquille, and by his own personal experience, such a building was not something Max associated with being empty. Or hadn't, anyway, not until that fateful day a little over a month ago, when a piece of his heart was carved out and created a Julia-shaped emptiness that throbbed deep in his chest no matter how filled with friends and family his manor was.
And this was what he hadn't told Barrett about when proposing this venture, because he was disturbed by it himself: that part of him wanted to believe Julia's absence would somehow...not be filled, but substituted for, by fulfilling this wish of Leann's.
Changing out of his wrinkled shirt and into loungewear, Max considered how absurd it was to assume anyone – especially Barrett, of all people – would be judgmental of him wanting to do whatever it took to make his only daughter happy.
But there was a very real reason why he didn't see it proper to go into any more depth than he had.
Because that's what Julia had felt she was doing – going to whatever lengths necessary to demonstrate how much she loved and adored Leann. And it had killed her.
ii. Staccato – with each sound or note sharply detached or separated from each other
Beauty sleep was a tedious thing, and Max had trained himself long ago into taking naps that lasted exactly forty-five minutes, and not a second more or less.
Even if he hadn't woken on his own, he would have likely been disrupted from his sleep by the disturbance in the hall right outside his door.
Expecting it to be Porcoline, he didn't even bother changing out of his pajamas. Opening the door, however, he was met with someone as different as Porcoline as he could have imagined.
A young lady – no an elf; there was no mistaking the pointed ears poking out from between long tresses of hair a much duller blonde than his own – was darning herself as she picked up a broom and dustpan and every other cleaning supply that was scattered on the floor around her.
Never one to ignore someone in need – especially a female someone – Max stepped over to her, and reached down to retrieve a fallen bottle of floor cleaner. "Are you alright there, miss?"
He'd been in plain sight, but reacted as if she hadn't seen him until this moment, letting out a quiet but startled "Oh!" before taking the floor cleaner from him and cradling it awkwardly her one arm.
"Thanks. But don't worry about it, it's my own fault. I shouldn't have tried to bring all this -" she nodded to the broom tucked against her other elbow, the clump of rags in her hand. "-up in one trip. You must be Porco's...cousin, right? I wanted to try and clean up a bit around here before you arrived. I even cut out of the Festival a bit early, but I guess..." She closed her sentence with a shrug and a sigh. "Sorry if it's kind of a pigsty. Porco's impossible to keep up with some days."
Max's eyes scanned over her again. Judging by her attire and the way she'd referred to Porcoline, he'd never had guessed she was the help. From what Max remembered though, Porcoline tended to live life a bit faster-and-looser than the rest of the de Sainte-Coquille clan, so perhaps it shouldn't be so surprising that his cousin's maid was dressed so eccentrically.
"I see. My maid Cecilia is the same way with my own father – even after many years with us, there's still times when she falls behind a bit. So I try to stay as neat as possible, you see – lessen her load, so to speak. She has a family of her own now, it's the least I could do, right? I promise you I'll do my best to stay as tidy as possible during my short stay here, make life easy for you– or easy as can be with Cousin Porcoline."
"Uh...what...? Er..." The elf blinked at him, unable to form any sort of decent response. "That's...um..."
Goodness, for a de Sainte-Coquille maid she was uncharacteristically inarticulate. Max opted for a different approach; perhaps formally introducing himself as more than just "Porcoline's cousin" – showing he wasn't anyone to be intimidated by - would ease her nerves a bit.
"By the by, I'm Max." He gave a slight, formal bow, which very few people other than himself could do while in their pajamas without looking utterly preposterous. "Max de Sainte-Coquille, of the Alvarna de Sainte-Coquilles. And it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss...?"
"Margaret...?" Her whole being – posture, expression, voice – was tentative. Cecilia had been the same way when she arrived in Alvarna, which likely had been taught to her by Tabatha – not to be too friendly with their masters, or their masters' friends. He deduced that this Margaret here was likely inexperienced, and had been trained in similar fashion, but with a little push and a bit more reassurance, she would become to Porcoline what Cecilia had become to him and Rosalind: a trusted friend and confidant.
"You don't sound very sure of that. If you don't have conviction in your name, what do you have?" He indicated with his hand for her to ry again. "Come now, don't make me forget your name already, Miss...Miss...?"
"No, I...Yes! My name's Margaret!" If could've just been the dim lighting playing tricks on him, but Max swore Margaret's confusion had slipped into something more...agitated.
"Much better." A piece of Max's hair had fallen across his brow, and he casually smoothed it back. "Now, Margaret, I know I just told you I'd try to avoid giving you any more work, but I do have one very teensy request." He indicated just how teensy by holding his thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart. "Just a moment."
Stepping back into his room, he first slipped into the robe he brought – really, it wasn't appropriate to be in his sleepwear in front of a maid – and grabbed the shirt that Porcoline had previously rumpled.
In less than a minute, he was out in the hall again and Margaret was not – she was next door, in Porcoline's room, the first place he checked. "Oh, there you are. Now, here's what I need done...Margaret?"
Like Cecilia whenever she was cleaning, Margaret hummed as she did so, her back turned to Max. And Ceci had always been able of taking instruction even in the middle of her various elven tunes, so Max didn't see why Margaret couldn't; elves were very fascinating and capable beings.
"So, I just need this - " he unfurled the shirt, which was a luxurious royal purple. "- ironed, or steamed, or however it is one gets wrinkles out of silk."
He carefully draped the shirt over the back of the chair at Porcoline's desk, waiting for Margaret to give some sort of acknowledgement, but she only continued to vigorously wipe a rag along a windowframe.
"Er, you needn't hurry or anything, but I do need it by tomorrow night. For tonight, I'll wear something else for dinner with Porcoline, but I amdining with a good friend of mine tomorrow. Truthfully, I don't care about fashion all that much, but it would be nice to have it available to wear, you understand?"
Truthfully, he was hoping to wear it to make a good impression on the musician tomorrow. Never in several of their lifetimes would Barrett care about Max's appearance. Max could wear one of his cousin Evelyn's peculiar cabbage-leaf ruffled tops with an accompanying tie fashioned from pink turnips and Barrett would give him the same bored, blank stare he always did.
At last, Margaret turned to face him, and with a scowl marring her fine features. "Do it yourself."
"Pardon?!" He'd never been backtalked like this, by anyone working for his extended family. Even Maerwen, otherwise prickly as could be, was complicit when it came to her duty as a maid.
"Do. It. Yourself! I'm not a maid!"
"You're...wait, you're not?" But I thought...since you're..."
"Because I'm an elf?" She picked up the broom that was resting against desk, and tilted the handle out, forcing Max to move aside. "You automatically thought I work for Porco because I'm an elf, because what else would I do but work for a human, right?"
"No, I thought...well, you have cleaning supplies!" He gestured to what she was holding. "I assumed...L-Listen here, this isn't fair – most elves work in some sort of trade or another, you can't just act like I'm the first person to ever make such an assumption!"
"Well, you're the first person I've met that's been such a supreme jerk about it." She stood in the doorway, blocking his path off from any sort of exit – not that he was finished with this conversation by any means.
Max let out a dismissive breath through his nose. He heard much more scathing insults from Jake weekly, if not daily. "So what are you doing up here, if not working for Porcoline?"
"Oh, let's see..." Margaret feigned being deep in thought for a moment. "Maybe I'm helping Porco out because he's a good person and I want to repay him for his kindness, for giving me a place to play my music for everyone! You know what that is, Max de Sainte-Coquille? Kindness? It's when someone cares about someone other than themselves."
She was the musician, the one he was so keen on seeking out and hiring away from Porcoline. Well, she had been, until she'd made an accusation so baseless, so indescribably maddening that he was seconds from changing his mind.
"I will very kindly ask you to never accuse me of being unable to care for another person, Margaret." His countenance did not falter; in fact, like his voice, it was dangerously even.
It was a tone he took in only the most extreme of cases, like when a foreign duke had grown too pushy about wanting to court Rosalind, or when Jake really thought that he could get away with lying about having called Leann a nosy little brat, and making her cry. Max was not threatening,never threatening. Only with a certain air of authority that as of yet, but one person had dared disagree with: Julia, when he told her that she needed to stop this. That she needed to seek help, real help, more than he could give her.
Margaret would not be the second. She didn't respond, only glared at him piercingly enough to take down a Buffamoo.
Well, then! She could be however mad she wanted. It wasn't as if being mistook for a maid were an insult in the first place, but to Margaret it had been, and Max had apologized for it (in not so many words, but the implication was there)! She was the one who'd purposely insulted him after only knowing him for a couple minutes!
After another heavily silent second, Margaret turned with a huff and marched out of the room, leaving behind a number of her cleaning supplies set haphazardly on and around Porcoline's desk.
Max gently picked up his shirt from the chair, studied the fabric both with his eyes and his fingers. As if that would somehow invoke some vague recollection of how Cecilia had managed to keep it in such pristine condition.
"Do it yourself." Because, right, it was as easy as Margaret had demanded of him.
He was already busy doing – and learning to do- so much by himself, he hadn't the time nor energy for something as mundane as laundry. Taking over for his father, being a single parent (Rosalind and Ray helped, of course, but at the end of the day it was Max who needed to be the most important influence in Leann's life), and now one more thing to add to the list: how to convince a musician he'd outrageously offended to come give his daughter piano lessons.
Well, he'd figure it all out, one way or another. He was a de Sainte-Coquille, after all; he didn't have much of a choice.