Prompt: Doing something domestic
W/C: 1,519
When I was a novice, I always imagined living at Court would be great; for someone cooped up at the Academy, Court seemed almost like an amusement park. There was always something to do and it had every amenity you could want, all contained within the safety of the wards. It was in essence a small city, exclusively for Moroi and dhampirs—and I couldn't wait for us to graduate and begin enjoying all the excitement it had to offer. The problem was, in all the time I spent planning out the future, I never stopped to think about the basics; the cost of my Academy tuition—which I've since learned was paid by my father under the guise of anonymity—covered the cost of my school supplies and boarding, as well as my meal vouchers and the fees for my training gear. He'd even stipulated I was supposed to be provided with a modest clothing allowance and a little spending money, though no one bothered to ever inform me of that and I never got the money—something that pissed Abe off so much he made a special trip to the Academy to discuss it with the woman in charge of student services, but that's another story entirely. The bottom line is, I was so used to having things provided for me that I didn't stop to consider that once I was out on my own… that wouldn't be the case.
You know how they say that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence? Yeah… well I hate to admit it, but they're right.
The reality is—Court isn't exactly dhampir friendly. I'm not talking about the people—though they do still give Dimitri and I looks and gossip when we walk by; it's the actual monetary cost of living at court I'm referring to. Everything is more expensive here, just the way it is in human tourists towns that depend on out of town vacationers with deep pockets to fund the businesses out of season. Which is fine for the Royals—they don't even bat an eye at spending ten bucks to get a shirt dry cleaned or dropping twelve dollars for a hamburger at the café. But for a dhampir getting by on a Guardian's salary—which isn't a hell of a lot—it's tough. Lissa insists on covering the cost of our rent and utilities, but we draw the line at anything else—and to be honest, even letting her pay just that bugs the hell out of both of us.
The first few months we were lured in by the convenience of picking up our meals in the cheapest café on the grounds, but soon enough we realized just how much money we were wasting and knew something had to change. If we continued on the way we were going, we'd never be able to save any money—and both of us wanted to put aside enough to buy a home of our own. Even the smallest cottages at Court were outrageously expensive, so we did the responsible thing, sitting down together and figuring out a budget. In the end, it was apparent to both of us that it was much more economical to prepare our own food—something neither of us was thrilled about, but you've got to do what you've got to do, right?
After all that, I was actually kind of excited for our next day off to roll around—shopping for groceries together just seemed like such an adult thing for a couple to do, as stupid as it sounds. Unfortunately, the shopping excursion that day was a complete bust—the grocery store located inside the wards was obviously not going to work for us. Not only did it cater more towards the Royal's high end tastes, carrying ridiculous things like caviar and exotic mineral water with names I couldn't pronounce, but they marked even the most simple things up—and I wasn't about to spend five dollars for a damned loaf of bread. It would have taken an entire weeks salary to keep the both of us fed.
From that moment on we started getting the things—and services—we needed from the nearest human town. Everything was so much cheaper there that it allowed us to stow a much larger chunk of our pay into savings than we'd anticipated—which meant we might actually be able to afford the little house we had our eye on in two years' time—close to my twentieth birthday. I told Dimitri I wasn't going to marry him until I had a two in front of my age, but I still thought about it a lot—way more often than I should, truth be told. The thought of starting our marriage in a house of our own made me second guess my deadline, wanting it much, much sooner—though I wasn't about to tell him that. Dimitri can be… very persuasive, and if he sensed my resolve was starting to falter, he'd move in for the kill—and while I would really, really love his techniques, I had to stand by my decision. A large part of the reason I felt like we needed to wait was mainly to prove to my mother that I wasn't rushing into things without thinking them through—so as much as I might want to change my mind, it was something that I just couldn't do.
It's quite a drive to the nearest shopping center, which means we can't make the trip more than once or twice a month—so before we set out we always go through our pantry and fridge, making a list of everything we'll need; we have a set amount in mind about how much we can spend, and the idea is not to exceed it. The really funny thing is… when comparing Dimitri's personality to mine, you'd expect him to be the more responsible one when it comes to sticking to our budget—but guess what? You'd be completely… wrong. When it comes right down to it, my Russian god is the one who ends tossing things into our shopping cart that aren't on our list—though I'll admit the treats he sneaks in are always things for me. They're the things he knows I love but am trying to avoid because they're too expensive—like chocolate cupcakes and the mini donuts that come in a bag or frozen peperoni pizzas—but when it comes to me, he doesn't care about the cost. It's just like when we were back at the Academy and he surprised me with the lip gloss, for no reason other than to make me happy, even though there were things I'm sure he needed that he should have spent his money on instead of me.
I found out fast that for me, shopping for groceries was no different than shopping for clothes—I want to get in, grab what we needed and get back out as quickly as possible, but Dimitri… as unbelievable as it seems…he's a dawdler. He wants to go up and down every single aisle—and when I say every aisle, I mean exactly that; he even likes to explore the ones that have absolutely nothing on them we might need, his eyes bright as he examines all the items that the store has to offer. Shopping at Wal-Mart might be more cost effective for us, but thanks to Dimitri's browsing… Jesus is it time consuming.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I generally lose my patience about ten minutes after we enter the store and end up storming off to grab my own cart and setting off on my own to get the things we need. I've timed how long it takes, and without having to compare the merits of every damn brand on the shelf, I can get it done in less than thirty minutes. Of course, then I have to waste even more time hunting down Dimitri—who is so usually so engrossed in whatever he's looking at that he doesn't answer his phone when I call to ask him where the hell he is.
Despite how irritated I get, it's kind of hard for me to hold on to my anger; every time we get home and unload our purchases, he's managed to sneak in a tiny surprise item just for me, and I'm not talking about just the snacks. Whether it's something simple like a heart shaped key chain or a pair of inexpensive earrings, it reminds me just how much he loves me, and it always puts a smile on my face, no matter how hard I try to cling to my grumpy mood.
Mind you—I'd smile just as much if he'd learn to hurry up and not spend twenty minutes marveling over the items on the 'as seen on TV' aisle… but I haven't got the heart to tell him. That'll just be our little secret, between you and me—so you better keep your damned mouth shut about it.