A/N: You people really don't read Author's Notes, do you? Sometimes I put
IMPORTANT STUFF in here. Such as my request for advice about my Sasha/Beast
quandary. Although I am extremely flattered with all the praise, I always
whined to my friends who write how awesome it must be to get reviews (what
an ego booster!) and now I know! So thanks, Chien, and Fire Pixie and
Kristie (thanks for the advice, lol!), and all you other beautiful little,
tattooed, gum chewing freaks out there. I guess I'll have to wing it as far
as this next chapter goes. Here we go.
Time passed, as it has a habit of, and I slipped into the grind that was paid-servitude.
"Sasha! Dust dining room 24 of the west wing!"
"Sasha! You missed a spot in the corner of bathroom 38, take care of it, please."
"Sasha! Where did you put the broom with the good bristles?"
(A/N: This is the last bit of lame exposition, I swear!) I didn't mind, I was used to the orders, it was what I was there for, right? I came to know most of the castle like the proverbial back of my hand. Nearly every room from the west end of the cellar's seamy underbelly to lofty observatory 6. I took small pleasures in the way bedroom 45 (which was painted a lovely peach color, it turned out) glowed with light from the afternoon sun, the discovery of rich velvet drapes in a ladies sitting room off dining room 20, and the skill and beauty of the statues in the dead courtyard. Crawford had said it was past helping, but I was never one to give up easily, especially when it came to my work.
"If you really think you can save that wasteland, I don't see a reason to stop you, as long as you don't let it interfere when we need you." Crawford was an okay guy, as far as bosses go: nice about the orders, as well as the criticism, though not exactly lacking in dedication to his work or cynicism about that very subject.
It was the one and only Crawford who approached me with a new order while I was fleshing out Operation: Rose Garden (as I had began calling my courtyard project). I had decided that I'd have to do the heavy clearing and weeding first, when I was fresh. Hopefully I could get Ivan to set foot inside the castle walls to help out, I'd barely seen any of him since our first encounter in the carriage yard. Then I'd go into town for some rose seeds, along with any other growing thing I could afford. I was greatly looking forward to the trip, for obvious reasons. Maybe there'd be a festival when I got there. I could only dream.
"Sasha!" came the familiar cry as Crawford picked his way meticulously around the weeds, "I have something I need your help with." Was he stalling? Crawford? Stalling? My mind couldn't wrap itself around the concept.
I rose from my musings of weed disposal and eyed Crawford, "Yes, sir?"
"Ah, hm," he plucked a nonexistent hair from his uniform. Yup, Crawford was stalling. I had to contain my giggles, "Come with me, I'll explain on the way." My eyebrows lifted. A surprise, what could it be? I gathered my personal cleaning supplies, and followed Crawford expectantly.
He led me through the castle, down the newly washed and swept halls and polished and buffed stairs. I'll admit it, Dad and my talent didn't end in the fields, we cleaned a good castle. We couldn't turn back the hands of time, as Crawford so encouragingly predicted Operation: Rose Garden's success rate, but the castle was at least decent now. I clearly saw how great our influence was as Crawford and I made our way through areas of the castle I hadn't seen. I could feel the darkness sink in around us like mist in one of my spookier folk songs.
"Now," Crawford haltingly began again, "This is an important assignment, but you've shown your skill and I admire your ambition with the courtyard." Goodness, this must be serious.
"Why me?" I had to know, "Why not Dad?"
"Well," he said, abruptly stopping in front of a large door, hardly different from the others, "I wasn't sure, but I felt you could be of more service here." He spat out the sentence, like it was the best lie he could come up with. Okay, he wants to keep yet another secret, fine, it wasn't my business anyway, I was the help! Quit prying, Sasha, I scolded. Crawford swung open both the double doors of this new room. They opened without a squeak, which surprised me. This room had to have been used often. I craned my neck around Crawford to see into the room, but he seemed to be everywhere I tried to peek. (A/N: I'm having a touch of the writer's block, if you can't tell.) Finally, I pushed past him, and nearly fell flat on my face when I discovered exactly where I'd stumbled.
"What is this place, Crawford?" I whispered. He quietly padded across the royal-blue carpeted portion of the mostly rich honey-colored hardwood floor.
"This," he said just as quietly, "Is the master's library."
A library, where they keep books. My mind had been turned to sludge under the sunlight that poured through the cathedral-size windows of the library. The master's library. I decided thought would be better accomplished after I gazed for a while. My eyes traveled along bookshelves that seemed to go up for miles. Ladders reached three quarters of the way up, ending in makeshift black iron balconies that made the rest of the gargantuan shelves accessible. Where there weren't shelves or ladders or swirls of alternating blue carpet or honey hardwood, there were deep, heavenly-comfortable looking armchairs. I'd never seen anything that looked so comfy, so inviting. What were fashionable were teeny, mostly wooden chairs with tiny cushions that couldn't seat a six year old comfortably. Also scattered around were stacks of books, some with pieces of paper sticking out to mark a spot in the book.
Everything was spotless, I didn't see any reason for me, the help, to set foot in this haven, this Heaven-on-Earth.
"Crawford, I don't understand. What do you want me to clean?" I turned to him. He had remained where he stood typical butler-style, gazing around at the library with a small smile on his face. I could tell the warm space calmed him like nothing else. I also had no doubt that this was probably where he went when he turned on his heel and disappeared. He looked at me, as if he'd forgotten I was there.
"Clean?" he responded somewhat dreamily, I wondered if I sounded like that to him, as if I'd woken up from a truly delicious nap, "No, my dear," My dear!? What was it about this place, "I wanted you to help with the filing of all these books. The master, I'm afraid, isn't quite so organized as you seem to be, with all your plans for the courtyard and way of cleaning. I know you'll do a wonderful job with the library. The master and I shall be very grateful." Oh shit, I wanted to cry.
"Crawford? Dad must not have told you." Crawford's eyes cleared slightly, and he looked at me straight.
"Told me what? I should say, I never mentioned any kind of work like this, I simply thought you'd find it enjoyable." I hated to do this, but I had to be honest. I couldn't live with myself to bring harm to this Heaven.
"Crawford, I can't read, or write. I'm just a farmer's daughter, let alone a servant's daughter. I never had a need. I never thought I'd have a need." I could feel tears rising. I didn't want to leave this place, not one little bit. I didn't care if it was the master's, that enigmatic prick! If I could even exist here, this soul-healing space, maybe I could undo the damage of the last six years. The thought made me feel, oh God, it made me feel! That alone was astonishing to me. The only time I'd felt like this was swaying to the particularly beautiful chords of my favorite songs around a bonfire with the performers. Or even earlier, being rocked to sleep in my mother's arms.
"Oh," Crawford frowned, "Well, I suppose we don't need you wasting more time her-"
"Crawford, please!" I found myself nearly sobbing, "Is there ANYTHING else I could do here? Anything at all, dust, scrub, I'll even scale those windows and clean every inch of them if you'll just let me be here. I don't care if you only let me spend five minutes, I'll do it." I furiously swiped at the tears, I didn't want to subject poor, defenseless, unsuspecting Crawford to my inner turmoil. I was nearly nose-to-nose with the elder man, so close he felt the need to take hold of my shoulders to steady me.
"All right, Sasha, all right," he said this slowly and soothingly. Augh, he probably thought I was loosing it! "Calm down now, child. If you want to work here, I'm sure this place could use a dusting, um, somewhere. You see, I usually do the cleaning myself here. The master is somewhat sensitive about who I let into the library. It's something of his inner sanctum, to say the least, I'm afraid." I backed up and took a few deep breaths, in two three four, out two three four.
"Do you mean, the master said I was allowed here?" I didn't realize I hadn't stopped backing up until I dropped into one of the armchairs. Wow, now that was a chair. I sank slowly, sweetly into the chair. My eyes drooped shut of their own volition. What was I so upset about just then? I dunno. Something dumb. I had better things to think about, like how comfortable this chair was. Wait, no, it wasn't something dumb, it was the fact that I may never see this place again! I ripped myself from the warm embrace of the chair. If I'd had to get up from that chair in any other place in this castle, it would have been torture. But not here, it was one warm embrace to another.
Crawford had waited politely while I took a few steps away from the chair, just to be safe.
"Yes, he did." The tone of finality was about as subtle as a stone wall. I nodded, once again letting him have his secrets.
"So," I said with a sigh, "Do I get to set foot in here, or not?" I looked around, suddenly I was tired of being polite, "Huh? I said, 'can I stay here or not'?!" I cried to the ceiling. I stopped myself, I won't rant and rave around, not now. Absolutely not now. Crawford, bless him, pretended not to notice who I was really talking to.
"Yes, Sasha, you can stay here. As long as it doesn't interfere with your other work."
"Thank you, Crawford."
A/N: Wow, that was longer than I thought it'd be. But it turned out okay. Well, I successfully avoided Sasha and Beast's meeting once again. I'm giving you guys ONE MORE CHANCE to send me some advice. It would really help me out. Okay, that's enough for now.
Time passed, as it has a habit of, and I slipped into the grind that was paid-servitude.
"Sasha! Dust dining room 24 of the west wing!"
"Sasha! You missed a spot in the corner of bathroom 38, take care of it, please."
"Sasha! Where did you put the broom with the good bristles?"
(A/N: This is the last bit of lame exposition, I swear!) I didn't mind, I was used to the orders, it was what I was there for, right? I came to know most of the castle like the proverbial back of my hand. Nearly every room from the west end of the cellar's seamy underbelly to lofty observatory 6. I took small pleasures in the way bedroom 45 (which was painted a lovely peach color, it turned out) glowed with light from the afternoon sun, the discovery of rich velvet drapes in a ladies sitting room off dining room 20, and the skill and beauty of the statues in the dead courtyard. Crawford had said it was past helping, but I was never one to give up easily, especially when it came to my work.
"If you really think you can save that wasteland, I don't see a reason to stop you, as long as you don't let it interfere when we need you." Crawford was an okay guy, as far as bosses go: nice about the orders, as well as the criticism, though not exactly lacking in dedication to his work or cynicism about that very subject.
It was the one and only Crawford who approached me with a new order while I was fleshing out Operation: Rose Garden (as I had began calling my courtyard project). I had decided that I'd have to do the heavy clearing and weeding first, when I was fresh. Hopefully I could get Ivan to set foot inside the castle walls to help out, I'd barely seen any of him since our first encounter in the carriage yard. Then I'd go into town for some rose seeds, along with any other growing thing I could afford. I was greatly looking forward to the trip, for obvious reasons. Maybe there'd be a festival when I got there. I could only dream.
"Sasha!" came the familiar cry as Crawford picked his way meticulously around the weeds, "I have something I need your help with." Was he stalling? Crawford? Stalling? My mind couldn't wrap itself around the concept.
I rose from my musings of weed disposal and eyed Crawford, "Yes, sir?"
"Ah, hm," he plucked a nonexistent hair from his uniform. Yup, Crawford was stalling. I had to contain my giggles, "Come with me, I'll explain on the way." My eyebrows lifted. A surprise, what could it be? I gathered my personal cleaning supplies, and followed Crawford expectantly.
He led me through the castle, down the newly washed and swept halls and polished and buffed stairs. I'll admit it, Dad and my talent didn't end in the fields, we cleaned a good castle. We couldn't turn back the hands of time, as Crawford so encouragingly predicted Operation: Rose Garden's success rate, but the castle was at least decent now. I clearly saw how great our influence was as Crawford and I made our way through areas of the castle I hadn't seen. I could feel the darkness sink in around us like mist in one of my spookier folk songs.
"Now," Crawford haltingly began again, "This is an important assignment, but you've shown your skill and I admire your ambition with the courtyard." Goodness, this must be serious.
"Why me?" I had to know, "Why not Dad?"
"Well," he said, abruptly stopping in front of a large door, hardly different from the others, "I wasn't sure, but I felt you could be of more service here." He spat out the sentence, like it was the best lie he could come up with. Okay, he wants to keep yet another secret, fine, it wasn't my business anyway, I was the help! Quit prying, Sasha, I scolded. Crawford swung open both the double doors of this new room. They opened without a squeak, which surprised me. This room had to have been used often. I craned my neck around Crawford to see into the room, but he seemed to be everywhere I tried to peek. (A/N: I'm having a touch of the writer's block, if you can't tell.) Finally, I pushed past him, and nearly fell flat on my face when I discovered exactly where I'd stumbled.
"What is this place, Crawford?" I whispered. He quietly padded across the royal-blue carpeted portion of the mostly rich honey-colored hardwood floor.
"This," he said just as quietly, "Is the master's library."
A library, where they keep books. My mind had been turned to sludge under the sunlight that poured through the cathedral-size windows of the library. The master's library. I decided thought would be better accomplished after I gazed for a while. My eyes traveled along bookshelves that seemed to go up for miles. Ladders reached three quarters of the way up, ending in makeshift black iron balconies that made the rest of the gargantuan shelves accessible. Where there weren't shelves or ladders or swirls of alternating blue carpet or honey hardwood, there were deep, heavenly-comfortable looking armchairs. I'd never seen anything that looked so comfy, so inviting. What were fashionable were teeny, mostly wooden chairs with tiny cushions that couldn't seat a six year old comfortably. Also scattered around were stacks of books, some with pieces of paper sticking out to mark a spot in the book.
Everything was spotless, I didn't see any reason for me, the help, to set foot in this haven, this Heaven-on-Earth.
"Crawford, I don't understand. What do you want me to clean?" I turned to him. He had remained where he stood typical butler-style, gazing around at the library with a small smile on his face. I could tell the warm space calmed him like nothing else. I also had no doubt that this was probably where he went when he turned on his heel and disappeared. He looked at me, as if he'd forgotten I was there.
"Clean?" he responded somewhat dreamily, I wondered if I sounded like that to him, as if I'd woken up from a truly delicious nap, "No, my dear," My dear!? What was it about this place, "I wanted you to help with the filing of all these books. The master, I'm afraid, isn't quite so organized as you seem to be, with all your plans for the courtyard and way of cleaning. I know you'll do a wonderful job with the library. The master and I shall be very grateful." Oh shit, I wanted to cry.
"Crawford? Dad must not have told you." Crawford's eyes cleared slightly, and he looked at me straight.
"Told me what? I should say, I never mentioned any kind of work like this, I simply thought you'd find it enjoyable." I hated to do this, but I had to be honest. I couldn't live with myself to bring harm to this Heaven.
"Crawford, I can't read, or write. I'm just a farmer's daughter, let alone a servant's daughter. I never had a need. I never thought I'd have a need." I could feel tears rising. I didn't want to leave this place, not one little bit. I didn't care if it was the master's, that enigmatic prick! If I could even exist here, this soul-healing space, maybe I could undo the damage of the last six years. The thought made me feel, oh God, it made me feel! That alone was astonishing to me. The only time I'd felt like this was swaying to the particularly beautiful chords of my favorite songs around a bonfire with the performers. Or even earlier, being rocked to sleep in my mother's arms.
"Oh," Crawford frowned, "Well, I suppose we don't need you wasting more time her-"
"Crawford, please!" I found myself nearly sobbing, "Is there ANYTHING else I could do here? Anything at all, dust, scrub, I'll even scale those windows and clean every inch of them if you'll just let me be here. I don't care if you only let me spend five minutes, I'll do it." I furiously swiped at the tears, I didn't want to subject poor, defenseless, unsuspecting Crawford to my inner turmoil. I was nearly nose-to-nose with the elder man, so close he felt the need to take hold of my shoulders to steady me.
"All right, Sasha, all right," he said this slowly and soothingly. Augh, he probably thought I was loosing it! "Calm down now, child. If you want to work here, I'm sure this place could use a dusting, um, somewhere. You see, I usually do the cleaning myself here. The master is somewhat sensitive about who I let into the library. It's something of his inner sanctum, to say the least, I'm afraid." I backed up and took a few deep breaths, in two three four, out two three four.
"Do you mean, the master said I was allowed here?" I didn't realize I hadn't stopped backing up until I dropped into one of the armchairs. Wow, now that was a chair. I sank slowly, sweetly into the chair. My eyes drooped shut of their own volition. What was I so upset about just then? I dunno. Something dumb. I had better things to think about, like how comfortable this chair was. Wait, no, it wasn't something dumb, it was the fact that I may never see this place again! I ripped myself from the warm embrace of the chair. If I'd had to get up from that chair in any other place in this castle, it would have been torture. But not here, it was one warm embrace to another.
Crawford had waited politely while I took a few steps away from the chair, just to be safe.
"Yes, he did." The tone of finality was about as subtle as a stone wall. I nodded, once again letting him have his secrets.
"So," I said with a sigh, "Do I get to set foot in here, or not?" I looked around, suddenly I was tired of being polite, "Huh? I said, 'can I stay here or not'?!" I cried to the ceiling. I stopped myself, I won't rant and rave around, not now. Absolutely not now. Crawford, bless him, pretended not to notice who I was really talking to.
"Yes, Sasha, you can stay here. As long as it doesn't interfere with your other work."
"Thank you, Crawford."
A/N: Wow, that was longer than I thought it'd be. But it turned out okay. Well, I successfully avoided Sasha and Beast's meeting once again. I'm giving you guys ONE MORE CHANCE to send me some advice. It would really help me out. Okay, that's enough for now.
