Yes, I abandoned the silly way that the game writes things, because it was too strange for me to remember off of the top of my head. Here's the next chapter, written normally, thank you.
Disclaimer: If I owned Rune Factory 2, you would have seen more of Barrett, Jake, Orland, Roy, and several other characters. Oh, and the tamed monsters wouldn't be so stupid. But we don't, and they are, aren't they? That's proof enough.
The blond took a deep, relaxing breath to release all of the pent up tension he had withheld all day. With all of the extravagant feasts and parties designed to show-off the de Sainte-Coquille family's generosity, Max barely had any time to himself during the hot summer days–that is, unless he slipped away from it all and made it to his private quarters without getting caught. Thoroughly enjoying how the walls muffled the noisy guests from downstairs, he slumped his shoulders and inhaled deeply, rather weary of the lengths the rich had to go to keep money in their pockets. Honestly, he huffed to an imaginary nobleman with her nose pointing towards the ceiling, if I didn't know any better, I'd call them vultures instead of houseguests. I've seen Jake with a friendlier expression before.
He strode across the room intent on falling into his luxurious bed when something glinting on the wall gave him pause. He turned and caught sight of the tattered sheath mounted proudly there, hinting to a practice of swordplay harsher than the average wealthy man's fencing. Staring at the hint of metal shining with the candlelight, he smiled faintly as he remembered the merchant he had haggled with to acquire it–she was very difficult to bargain with, since the item in question was a part of her culture. The sword came from her homeland, as did her sky blue dress, or "kimono" as she had called it, and she wouldn't hand it over to simply anyone with a jingle in their pocket. It had taken a lot of coaxing to pry her hands from the sheath, as well as reassurances that he wouldn't mishandle the weapon. A lot of effort for a sword, but worth it in the end.
Strolling over and carefully withdrawing it from its sheath, Max examined the fine blade and toyed with the idea of taking a few swings with it. Father would not approve. For some reason, that made the urge to do so that much greater, and he grinned childishly as if he was stealing from the cookie jar as he neatly jabbed the air. It was an awkward maneuver, further proof that fencing simply wouldn't do for this raw weapon. It was made to dismember its opponents, not to tickle their sides until they cried "uncle." That, I can respect. He figured Tanya would have a blast with the blade, and he jokingly thought about showing it to the weapons-smith. Then again, I might not get it back afterwards. He sliced an "x" into the air, chuckling madly with glee before catching himself, eyes widening in horror. Dear God, I do believe I'm going insane.
Disturbed by his sudden outburst, he quickly sheathed the sword and replaced it on its pedestal, admiring how snug the fit was and taking a step back in respect as he was tempted to bow to it. He snorted at the idea, his mild-arrogance swelling at the insult to his image as he mumbled, "I do not bow to anyone." Satisfied with his established importance, he proceeded to imitate what he had done before with an imaginary blade, closing his eyes to create a fanciful image of daring monsters in his room that he quickly slashed to ribbons. Indulging in his childish game of pretend for a while, he was disturbed from his enjoyment by a tentative knock on his door. Glaring at the remnants of the monsters that melted away to reality, as if warning them "next time," he calmly strolled across the room and opened the door to find his irritated sister standing before him, arms folded as she gave a huff to display her displeasure.
"Max, what exactly are you doing in your room?"
He gave a lazy shrug as a playful grin slipped onto his face. "Slaying monsters," he teased, knowing how frustrated she was by his disinterest in their family's parties, and was rewarded with her annoyed groan before she grabbed his sleeve and dragged him behind her. "Now, Rosalind, I don't doubt you and Father's capability in dealing with these . . ." He searched for a word he could manage to spit past his intense loathing without earning himself a slap in punishment. ". . . guests. Can't you leave me out of this?"
She shook her head, effectively sinking his hopes in a smooth getaway as she argued, "The entire family has to be present for these things, and, believe it or not, you count. Now stop being difficult and come on." She ignored his reluctant sigh as she pulled him out into the front hall where the visitors mingled, and she gave him a stern push towards the stairs and stood between him and the private quarters. "Don't think of sneaking away again, either."
He sighed again, knowing by the look on her face that Rosalind wasn't going to let him laze about while she and Father worked hard to entertain their guests, and he quickly pulled up a welcoming mask to hide the resentment he felt towards everyone in the room. "Oh, good evening! My, that brooch looks fascinating . . ." As he immersed himself in the pointless chatter of the wealthy men and women, he secretly plotted his next escape, desperate for the freedom that came with an empty room and a singing blade.