I don't own digimon.

Chapter 20

The Boy and the Maid Dress

A boy sits patiently. Dressed in a pair of shorts with a strange t-shirt with something on it that I can't quite recognise, looks quite comfortable. Looks like a dog. A blue one. Last time I checked, dogs aren't supposed to be blue. Why someone would go out of their way to color a dog that way in the first place. Waste of paint. Unless this is how dogs usually appear in this world. Raises even more questions that I doubt will get answered right in this particular moment.

Surrounded by their peers, a woman (teacher, perhaps?) is reading from a book. The contents elude me, but they look like a mix of pictures and words. More slanted to the former than the latter though. Guess those are a thing. Not sure what the market is for them. Probably the young and those who see words as nothing more than scribbles on a page. Not that every book should be like that. Would make my job kind of awful for starters, on top of giving little in the way of variety for people.

The room itself is quite pretty. Weird bluish blackish grey rugs line the floor, while the walls have been given a nice treatment of white. If I didn't know any better I would assume that this place came from a world like mine. But then the strange black rectangles littering the floor mixed in with dolls and plushies has me rethinking that idea. Oh wait. Is this one of those 'modern' worlds? Has to be. Don't see these very often. Almost always the fantasy or the sci-fi people want. They have a certain charm. I guess. Does mean I have less of a grasp on things on display. So I might call something by its wrong name. Sorry about that.

"Class, we're going to hold a play of the various jobs you can have later on in life." the teacher explains, bringing out a hat. Pieces of paper can just be made out within. One by one, the children make their way up. Personally, I would've just thrown the slips of paper out and let them have at it. Simple as that. Okay, maybe I wouldn't go that far. You get the point. I think.

"Yes!" one kid announced, waving about his slip of paper like it's some massive deal. It kind of is? But not really. There's far better things to get excited at this age. Like sweets and I guess toys. Stuff like that.

If I had to take an educated guess, this 'play' is much like that of a theater show. Just on a smaller scale with less of a budget. But what sort of story could they be telling here? A story about jobs? I've sat through worse (puppet shows included). Though, that might be enough to keep the little ones entertained. Maybe.

As for the boy, he seems to be making his way up the woman. Digging into the hat, he pulls a slip out.

Maid

The boy stares to it, letting the word roll about his head. Sure, both mommy and daddy cleaned for a living. But their expectations were for their children not to end up like them. To rise beyond what they had accomplished in life. While such a small gesture, could he really tell his parents about this? Maybe. He was at the start of his school days. Sure, he had seen the getup his mother would wear in all it's frilly and feminine glory. But only once. Even then, it was a complete accident. One that he didn't wish to repeat. The harsh scolding right after helps solidify that in his head for the foreseeable future. Even if the boy doesn't quite see the need.

Of course, the boy holds it up just a little too high for a moment long. Maybe he wants to make sure that it says what he thinks it does? It does. No doubt about it.

"Hey Suzie, doesn't your mom employ his mom?" a kid announces, 'Suzie' looking in their direction. They just shrug, a knife on a well-made belt bobbing about. Wait. She's a kid. What kind of situation would necessitate such weapons? These are children for fuck sake! The idea that they could die at any moment should be the least of their worries.

"I guess?" she answers, eyes right on the boy. The damage has already started. Even when the play did come around, the boy isn't really able to perform. Some problem with his stomach. Well, that's what the notes for this flashback claim. My diagnosis? Stage fright. Very horrible, no good, awful stage fright. They even held a mock execution for the kid for the job of executor.

Things didn't get any easier after that. 'Boy Maid' (yes, that's what they started calling him for some reason found himself slumping his way through his first six years of school under a gray sky that never seemed to let up. Okay, that can't be right. Sure, he has shown some aptitude for stuff like cooking and welfare of others. Not skills that would help in a world where people are more concerned about the environment and protecting yourself against attacks by your fellow peers. Of course, something else sprouted within the boy. While other boys talked about their escapades with the girls, he would be off admiring some random boy around his age. He wasn't sure why he found another male so attractive. Better yet, girls became less of an interest for him. An even bigger target now painted on his back, the boy tried his best to power through these particular school years. While 'successful' (if you count not getting expelled from middle school), it all had to come swinging down at some point. Sure, he had a job

On that particular day, the rain coming down took on an almost crimson appearance outside. No one seemed to be playing, just watching for their chance at a little slice of murder. The boy had to trudge his way through this awful storm with little sign of the weather letting up. Inside, his mind was going a mile a minute. How would his parents react to the news? Would they accept him, or would they just cast him out like some kind of awful monster?

Even as his home came into view, butterflies took root in the boy's stomach. The stage fright from all the way back in kindergarten came rushing back. There's no stomach pains this time around, the boy twisting the doorknob and pulling the door open.

Inside, the whole home looks clean. Too clean. I get that some people have a disdain for dust. This just seems like taking it a bit too far. One's reflection was on full display here if you stood still and looked down on the strange white floor. Probably slippery to an extent. No way to really test that on my end, since the boy is making an effort to stay off that particular part of the floor. Which leads us nicely into the kitchen. There, the boy's parents wait at a table under a dim light. If one didn't know any better, you would think they were the boy. With her locks of blonde and black eyes (the color, not the facial distortion), just an inch of height separated her from him. The father on the other hand was on the short side. Perfect for blending into the crowd when things inevitably go south in some regard, but not good for anything else. Outside of using janitorial tools like a broom and strange cylinder things. You know, the ones that squirt liquid

A meal looks to have been prepared, but there isn't much for the boy himself. Though, his plate might be waiting off in the kitchen.

"Son, is there something that you need to tell us?" the boy's father remarks, his child taking a deep breath. This is it. The moment he had been dreading. No going back on this. So the boy opened his mouth.

The words that roll out bring only silence for the two adults. They understand what their son has just said, but it took a moment for it all too really register on them. Blaming the other would do absolutely little good. Especially with the way things have been going. Between the rumors of a supposed 'invasion' in the coming years and the mortality rate going up one couldn't be so certain in this sort of place. Among many other factors that I could never know.

As the rain began to show signs of stopping, the mother got ready for work. Decked out in her maid outfit, she took the time to call for her son. Still dressed in his school uniform, he made his way down the hall. Each step given pause. A possible out from a potentially bad situation he could be walking into. Yet, the boy continues to inch his way closer to his destination. The butterflies are back out in full force, each one threatening to burst out and fly away. Or at least, flutter about the enclosed space.

The doorway was coming into view, the final obstacle of this mental obstacle course the boy had constructed for himself. Hand on the doorknob, he pulls it down. Pushing the door open, his mother waits patiently. Decked out in a maid costume, it's kind of a risque outfit. The main part is a black dress with a skirt that's just covering her privates, with a lace apron that hangs just a tiny bit under that. Netting covers the entire length of her legs, leading right on down to a set of black heels. The titular 'heel' itself a very sharp spike. Perfect for the one or two times in the year that you get jumped and need to use your feet to protect yourself. Or perhaps use the shoe itself as a weapon. Short white gloves ending in a ribbon bow hang to her hands, while the standard frilly headband hung in her blonde locks perfectly. Well, as close to such a lofty standard that a maid could ever get in a world such as this one.

"Mom?" the boy whispers and got a slight pat on the head as he approached. Feeling quite good, he takes a seat on the bed. His mother does something similar, coming right beside the boy.

"No matter what happens, I want you to remember that your dad and I love you." his mother explains, putting a hand on her son's shoulder. "We'll support you no matter what."

Tears began to roll down the boy's face. He appreciates the gesture, but words do little against knives. Unless you're a wizard or one of the multitudes of professions that get magic for some reason these days. No offense to them, of course.

"When I get back home, we'll have a nice fancy dinner and then we'll talk." the mother continues and gets up from her bed. Heels click clacking against the floor, it's the last time he'll ever see her.

A tragic accident they tell the boy and his father. Something involving dancing. All that remains of the mother was her work outfit. No funeral, no body to bury. No condolences. Life just goes on… for lack of a better word and/or phrase in this moment. Oh yeah. No rest for the wicked. Never really got that one. As if to imply that those with 'drive' had to continue less fear that their time would come to an end. Probably doesn't mean that.

"So the boy does the unthinkable. He took his mother's garment and just assumed her place." Dave explained, letting out a deep breath. You earned it. Again. Maybe you have a talent for narration that's going unused.

"That boy was you, wasn't it?" Blaze remarked, getting a nod from his boyfriend. While there were definitely parts that Dave had left out, he got the feeling that it was best to let sleeping dogs lie for the moment. When the former grunt was ready to tell him, he was ready to listen.

"You going to be alright?" Balamon inquired, Dave's gaze focusing on Blaze in that moment. Mumbling something under his breath, the fighter managed to catch it. A nod is his only response. All that's really needed.

After, Bubbles went in for a hug. Dave accepted the gesture. Though he did have to kneel down in order to be on the dragon's level. Even them there's quite a huge height difference between the two. On top of a more than obvious age difference. Can't forget about that.

"Thank you." the former grunt whispered, breaking away from the embrace. After, he gave Phusitmon a quick glance. The plush rabbit digimon gave his best thumbs-up. Quite impressive, when you consider he doesn't really have real poseability in his hands. Then he's back on Blaze. "Now, we can get that maid dress?"

The fighter took a deep breath, a chuckle following it. While this was a gamble on his part, Blaze got the feeling this would work out.

"Two conditions." he explained, stopping right in front of the entrance to the clothing shop. "Your wardrobe is going to be more than this one maid dress. Secondly, only in the house. At least for now."

Dave nodded. While the former would've preferred to have been able to walk about Aldia in such a garment, he understood where Blaze was coming from at the moment.

"Understood." he answered, the group finally heading through the doorway and into the shop itself. Inside, a variety of clothing for both males and females of all kinds of races awaited. The floor looked to be some kind of hardwood, birch maybe. Whereas the walls had been colored a darker color. Makes the lanterns hanging from the ceiling all the more ambient. A succubus mans the side counter, gaze on Blaze for the moment.

"What can I do for my favorite dancer today?" the shopkeeper chimed, the fighter's cheek going in a fiery shade of red at the moment. Especially when she noticed Dave at the moment.

"My boyfriend wants to try the maid dress in the window." Blaze explained, ignoring Dave perking up for the moment. "On top of a bunch of regular set of outfits for day-to-day stuff."

The succubus nodded, Blaze casually setting down his gold pouch. It had been some time since he had bought clothes. Sure, he would occasionally dance here, but there were other times he needed to get clothing repaired.

"Any garments in particular?" the shopkeeper continued, both men looking at their options. Eventually, both Dave and Blaze come upon plain shirts and pants. Basic, yes. Does the job, absolutely. "Now, let me get your friend's measurements."

Floating her way around the counter, we can finally get a good look at our shopkeeper here. Dressed in rags much like her fellow succubi and orcs, hers have at least some patterning to them. Guess that makes them fashionable. Somehow?

Nonetheless, the shopkeeper gets to work. First, she wraps her tape around the chest of Dave, then the waist. Finally, the head.

"You look to be around Blaze's size." the shopkeeper explained, getting a nod from both men as she pointed towards a couple shelves. "While you're doing that, I'll go grab the maid costume."

The actual selection process of the shirts and pants was pretty easy for the pair. All the shirts were plain, solid colors and the pants were a mix of brown, black and gray. Typical stuff.

"Does this work for you?" Blaze inquired, Dave giving a nod. His gaze had already shifted away from the regular and over to the shopkeeper at the moment. Did get him a chuckle from Blaze in return.

"Here you go." the shopkeeper explained, handing the former grunt the dress and what looks to be a matching set of mary janes. He makes a beeline for a dressing room, Blaze following right behind. Which just leaves Bubbles and both digimon to wait patiently. So our little dragon took a seat.

"Master, are you ready to see me?" Dave called out, Blaze trying his best to hold together. Out of any way that his boyfriend could have greeted him, he had chosen this as his response. Yet, it somehow fitted this moment.

"Yes, I'm ready." Blaze answered and watched the door open up. Out came Dave, all decked out. A curtsy followed. "Dang. It fits you perfectly."

Dave nodded, only for the door to the shop itself to swing open. And in comes the Artisan. Because of course he does.

Notes:

This was actually quite a fun chapter to write. Mostly because we haven't had a flashback in quite some time. Though, the hardest part was getting the world to look the way that I wanted too. Not quite our world per say, but something close to it.

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Next Time: Huh... I don't remember it like that.