Chapter Eight : The Simple Life With Isabella

It was a normal day in wherever the heck Ivy currently was. No, nobody rightfully knew. But let's say she's in her big pretty mansion. But not in the room where there's those big creepy paintings. Nope. She was on a balcony, which sat peacefully overlooking her big maze in her unnecessarily large backyard.

Of course they were all rose bushes. They were trimmed to symmetrical perfection, too. Couldn't have uneven rose bushes now could you? No. You couldn't.

Especially not if they're owned by Ivy.

"What a lovely day," she said, setting a delicate china tea-cup down on her glass deck table. Yes, the very best was available when you had the wills of BOTH your parents (real or otherwise) backing you up. Oh, the simple pleasures in life... "I honestly don't believe it could get any better. But then, that joke was used a long time ago." She waved it off with one of her silk-glove clad hands.

"Indeed," said Raphael, popping in out of nowhere. He was dressed in typical Frenchy fashion, with a high collar and whatnot. "Fair Ivy, I don't think there's a rose by any other name."

"How Shakespearian of you," Ivy said, giggling a little.

Then Raphael went back to wherever it is French evil people go. Possibly to France.

A passing maid saw this and ran down the hallway, terrified.

"Oh, it's already half-past a freckle," said Ivy, standing up and fluffing out her large red dress. "I'd better go and have the chefs make a grand meal. For me and me alone..." Sappy music started up in the background, but she walked out of the room and it was cancelled out now.

The halls were lined with portraits of past Valentine heirs and heiresses; the very end of it had a picture of Ivy herself. But then, that was typical. FOR HER. Yes, for her.

"Chefs, it's time for dinner," she told the men in ridiculous chef-hats who mulled about in the kitchens.

Has anybody ever wondered what chefs actually do in there all day? I mean, in the hours it takes to go from lunch to dinner? If they're only making food for one person? Oh, the mystery of the chef...

"Oui oui madomoiselle," said one in a really bad French accent, spelling that last word wrong. Ah... well. "Dinner will be ready soon."

Then Ivy went into the dining room, which was a few hallways down. You'd think they would place the kitchens and the dining room adjacent to each other, but... no. I suppose not everybody uses common sense, especially when you're in the fifteen-hundreds. I mean, there was that whole silly war that the author can't think off the top of her head but definitely happened took place, as that's around the time when several wars happened. I think. Eh. Whatever.

"Oh the lonely life of a lonely heiress," she sighed, fiddling with a salad fork on a lacey place-mat at the dining room table. "I suppose I'll just have to live out my days alone. ALONE. Oh, the lament of Ivy..."

Why she was referring to herself in the third person was questionable, but her dinner arrived shortly after her short monologue.

The waiter-people set out dozens of plates. For every large stuffed pig there were a dozen hard-boiled eggs (all in those little egg-holders). They poured red and white wine, and even some water just if she wasn't in the mood for wine. Then they put up the centerpiece (they took it down because it was a Valentine family heirloom, you see) and lit the chandelier above the table.

And Ivy commenced in eating two lobsters, three caesar salads, one chicken's drumstick, a plateful of turkey stuffing, four pieces of pie, a bowl of soup, and a few other things that sound really delicious but you can't afford for the life of you.

"Mm-mm, good," she said, covering her mouth as she belched loudly. "Teehee. Oopsy-a-poopsy." She stumbled away from the table, having downed a few glasses of wine, and up the stairs to her bedroom.

"Night night, don't let the bugs bite," said Maxi randomly through her window, and then he disappeared into some sort of abyss. Oh, he'll be back, it was just convenient that it was right outside of Ivy's house.

"And so ends another day," said Ivy in a drunken daze. "Put up all your toys; it's not time to play. I enjoyed my time with you, it was a blast. Although I hate to see you leave, you'd better leave fast! I'll pull out my sword, and give you a nasty wound. I'll see you again; say, about noon?"

And, as she collapsed on her bed, the fic... ended.

The End (see?)