Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics. This story is written for your enjoyment only. All characters are the property of Square-Enix. Once again, I would like to thank my co-writer and editor, Falchion1984 for his help in making this fic possible. Enjoy and please review!
Co-Author's Note: Falchion1984 here. This Note is just a quick one. The tail end of this funny little scene includes two vintage pop culture references. Identify them, and prove that your geekhood is beyond reproach!
Chapter 49: Whilst The Lady Sleeps
Though Manon would never take back his decision to protect Charlotte, from either of her near-misses with cruel, domineering bitches, he had to admit that he wasn't much enjoying having to pay for it.
Why did grown-ups have to be so messy?
Though people had been trickling out of the wedding ceremony for some hours, it seemed that the remaining guests were keen to wolf down food, guzzle down wine, and dance about enough to make up for their diminished numbers until, after what felt like weeks, the ballroom stood empty…
…and decimated.
With so many people in a confined space, it was inevitable that things would get messy. Someone would back into someone else who was eating some morsel of food, which promptly ended up on the floor, or someone's wild pirouette caught a tray of drinks, causing an off-season downpour to wet the vast fields of silk and velvet. And, given that wine was served, drunkenness inspired a spate or two of foul temper, and hard blows to nose or jaw could cause globules of blood to spurt out, mingling with the redness of the wine until one could not be told from the other.
Naturally, this mess had to be cleaned up by somebody.
And, as per King Delita's decision regarding Manon and Stephanie's punishment for their altercation not long ago, the two squires were amongst those "somebodies".
Manon could see Stephanie from his vantage point. She had removed her armor, swapping it for the rough livery of a servant girl, something Manon privately hoped was driving her up the wall, and was laboriously scrubbing at what looked to be a piece of wedding cake that had been knocked off its plate.
She caught his gaze, and her eyes smoked with hatred.
Manon's answering glare was equally vitriolic, but he stayed right where he was and swept up the detritus left behind by people too drunk to keep a firm grip on their glasses. Being personally dressed down by the king once was quite enough and, more to the point, he could tell that what he did had upset Lady Catherine and Sir Beowulf.
Oh, granted, neither of them had said as much. In fact, Lady Catherine was frantic when she saw that Manon had been bloodied up, relieved that his hurts hadn't been worse, and even seemed relieved that Charlotte had had someone to defend her. Sir Rad, by contrast, had made his own sentiments about the altercation very, VERY clear.
"Tell me you made those pompous bitches cry,"had been his exact words.
Manon hadn't. Part of him was upset that he hadn't, not to mention that a girl had fought him to a draw. But, the rest of him felt…differently.
He didn't regret defending Charlotte, but he DID note that, when he looked back on the fight, parts of it left a sour taste in his mouth. Something was different from when he fought with Stephanie to protect Charlotte than when he'd decked Francine to stop her from pawning off Charlotte and other little girls from the workhouse to those dirty old men.
Eventually, he'd mustered the nerve to ask Sir Beowulf what he made of this, and the former Templar's answer had helped a bit.
Just a bit, though. Much like how they could drink that wine when it made their heads hurt the next day, if not right away, Manon found that grown-ups still didn't make much sense to him.
But, still, Sir Beowulf had told him that, simply put, he'd felt the way he did because some empathy had been creeping in.
Since Manon didn't actually know what "empathy" was, it actually wasn't quite that simple. But, luckily, the former templar saw his mistake and tried again.
Simply put, empathy was the ability to care about others.
Manon had certainly thought he'd had that already, since he chose to protect Charlotte from Francine when he didn't need to, and Sir Beowulf had conceded the point. But, he also pointed out that there was more to it. After all, he'd only had himself and Charlotte to think of back then. Now, he had Lady Catherine, Sir Beowulf, the other children at Lionel Castle, and now Sir Damien. Later on, he'd have Lady Catherine's baby and his fellow squires. These were people he'd connected with, people he'd laughed and bickered with, people he'd spoken with, and people who'd found a place in his life just as he had found a place in theirs.
Part of why he felt the way he did about knocking Stephanie flat, even if she'd gotten right back up and knocked him flat right after, was because he knew that some of the people he'd come to care for would not have approved, that they would be alarmed that he'd suffered harm. And, another part was that he genuinely regretted hurting a fellow squire, who he might have to depend upon in a real battle someday. Maybe, looking back on the fight, he was also wondering if intervening with violence might make things worse for Charlotte rather than better, not to mention how it might reflect badly on Lady Catherine?
Manon had thought it over, and he could understand some of it, but he knew that one thing was simply over his head: he didn't know how to deal with a bully without using his fists, and he sometimes doubted there even was such a way.
To this astonishment, rather than chastise him for the unbecoming sentiment, Beowulf chuckled, said that was only to be expected since Manon had gone so long without any grown-ups to provide a positive influence on his life and that, in point of fact, everybody feels that way at least a few times.
Once the shock had worn off, the former Templar had said that he would teach Manon several ways to resolve a confrontation without using violence and, for those instances where he simply had to draw steel, he would make sure Manon was ready. He'd even made a point of vowing to do so, upon his honor, which meant he had to keep his word.
Not so long ago, Manon would've viewed such a promise with skepticism…at best. After all, the grown-ups who used to run the workhouse had promised to take care of him and all the other orphans who'd flooded into the place, and they'd gone back on their word and left the minute their pay had stopped coming.
But, Manon had changed a great deal since back then.
He'd met more grown-ups than he could count. And, in particular, Lady Catherine had amazed him with how she was willing to go out of her way to help him, Charlotte, and their fellow wardmates when church and state alike had abandoned them. He'd also met Sir Beowulf, who wanted to help him attain his lifelong dream of being a knight, someone worthy of respect and who'd have a bright future, simply because the former Templar had seen in the adolescent street waif the potential to be more than the urchin he had been.
So, yes, Manon had faith that Sir Beowulf would keep his word.
His introspection faded as he focused on his work, hoping to get it done just a bit sooner. As the broken glass was swept away, he realized he was out of excuses to put off scrubbing the floor beneath. He scanned the room for a brush and bucket and, much to his dismay, the only one in sight was being used by Stephanie, who was currently scrubbing away at a particularly stubborn stain…and would likely tip the bucket of water over his head if he got too close. Manon had been about to let out a sigh of resignation, but it was cut short when he heard something go "thunk" behind him, followed by the sound of sloshing water.
He turned, and saw Charlotte.
As seemed to happen often lately, Charlotte's eyes darted away from his, her cheeks coloring slightly. But, Manon barely noticed. His former wardmate, now Lady Catherin's lady-in-waiting, had also changed into the rough gown of a servant girl…
…tried to, anyway.
Unsurprisingly, the borderline obese "little" girl had not been easily crammed into one of those dresses. The blouse rode up on her belly, which oozed forth and sagged to cover a good portion of her thighs, which meant that the skirt, which should've been ankle length, instead rustled about just above her knees and emphasized the exaggerated waddle her newfound girth had caused her to develop. In what she surely considered insult on top of injury, the bodice on the blouse had been loosened as much as was possible, and yet it still looked like it was pinching her well-padded hips and seemed to strain every time she took a breath.
In other words, she looked ridiculous. And, since Manon knew Charlotte well enough to know that she knew, and was probably upset about it, he forced himself to keep his eyes on her face. He wasn't sure that would help, since it meant he could still see hints of her second chin and her cheeks, which reminded him of squirrels gathering nuts for the winter, but it was the best he could do.
Perhaps Charlotte had the same thought, for she gave a resigned sigh and passed him a brush. Producing one of her own, she carefully lowered herself, or poured herself, onto the floor, dipped her own brush in the soapy water, and began to scrub. Manon did likewise, inwardly debating whether he should or shouldn't ask if she was doing alright. If he did, would it remind her of bad memories she'd much rather put behind her? But, if he didn't, would that imply that he didn't care?
He shook his head in exasperation. Grown-ups didn't make sense, and girls didn't either.
Fortunately, it was Charlotte who broke the silence.
"Thank you," she whispered, so softly that Manon almost missed it.
Manon tried to avoid looking as astonished as he felt, and was so wrapped up in keeping his expression merely "friendly" that his foot struck the bucket and sent both children scrambling to keep it from tipping over.
Their fingers managed to get entangled, prompting their eyes to meet and their cheeks to turn scarlet.
After what felt like hours, the two children drew away from each other and went back to work. Feeling more than a bit embarrassed by his display, Manon only just managed to choke out "You're welcome."
Following that simple utterance, the two settled into an awkward silence, broken only by the sound of bristles scrapping against the floor, the water sloshing as they lathered up their brushes, and the occasional, less-than-knightly swearing coming from both Manon and Stephanie when some stains proved quite resilient.
Again, it was Charlotte who broke the silence.
"And, I'm really sorry," she said, her voice nearly choked away.
Manon's eyes turned in her direction, perplexity writ large on his face, and then deepening into worry when he saw that Charlotte was tearing up. His chore forgotten, he scooted over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder, hoping the gesture would offer some small comfort while his tongue tried to figure out what he was supposed to say.
Crying girls had been a fact of life in the workhouse, even before the grown-ups had abandoned the place, but this was the first time Manon felt an urge to do something about it…
…pity he was drawing a blank as to what that "something" ought to be.
On a desperate whim, he opted to be blithe and said "What, my nose? I'd taken worse all the time back in the workhouse."
This was true, as children brawling over the scraps they'd scavenged from the town, and the biggest and strongest usually getting the lion's share, was also a fact of life in the workhouse. Manon had had his nose broken quite often, even when he'd proved the stronger, and was even known to come away looking like someone had used his face to scrub a paving stone. But, thankfully, one of his wardmates, Peppin, had some skill in white magic and was able to have Manon up again, unmarried and smiling the next morning.
All of this was true…and, judging by Charlotte's expression, it wasn't reassuring. At all.
"If I hadn't made such a pig of myself, maybe that wouldn't have happened," she sobbed. "You're being punished, by the king, for something that was my fault!"
"Wait, stop!" Manon said, forcefully enough that he distantly heard the sound of Stephanie's scrubbing waver, possibly indicating that the noise had attracted her attention. Not caring much, he continued. "You didn't pick that fight. Those girls did. Did I get in trouble for what I did? Yes, but I would never take it back."
"Lady Catherine and Sir Beowulf-"
"They understood. Oh, they weren't happy, and they're going to show me better ways to deal with that sort of thing next time, but they agreed with what I just said."
"Oh, there'll be a next time, alright!" here, Charlotte paused to grab the undersides of her sagging belly and lift it slightly. She let it go and in flopped back onto her knees, jiggling like the pudding that had once filled the silver basins that had been passed about during the wedding feast. "I've turned into a hog! I can barely keep myself from eating everything I can get my hands on, and look where it got me! I was practicing my walk in Lady Catherine's room, the book I was balancing on my head toppled off, and I couldn't pick it up because I'm too fat to bend at the waist! Milady said she was worried about my health, as if she didn't have enough to worry about."
Silently thankful that Charlotte knew better than to say just what the Duchess of Lionel had been most worried about, namely that it'd be discovered that she was having a baby while unmarried, Manon listened for a bit, just in case.
But, thankfully, Stephanie had gone back to her scrubbing and, when he dared a peek, she gave no hint that she was at all interested in what Lady Catherine's "pet peasants" were up to. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned back to Charlotte and decided that he might need to drive home his point more forcefully.
"Listen to me," he said, as firmly as he dared given Charlotte's state. "It. Was. Not. Your. Fault. You were just minding your own business and, well, bad things happened. That can happen to the best of people…we both know that."
He didn't elaborate on that point but, as expected, he didn't need to. Charlotte got the hint right away, recalling how Lady Catherine had admitted that she was having a baby, that the real father was dead, and that he'd been a man she'd loved very much.
And, as far as either Manon or Charlotte were concerned, few, if any, were a better fit for the term "the best of people" than Lady Catherine, since having that on her mind hadn't stop her from taking in a small army of orphans and giving them salaried employment in her home.
Still, judging by the way Charlotte had quieted and her expression had turned somber, she did understand his point. Even the most decent people could run afoul of those who'd wish them harm. If anything, it made them more tempting targets. Some would stay their hard, whether out of timidity or a refusal to sink to their assailants' level, and others who had too much to lose might try to bargain rather than fight back…and end up opening the door to their own exploitation.
Manon honestly had no idea what Lady Catherine would do if she were in a situation like Charlotte's, though he suspected she wouldn't risk her baby over her pride or her purse. Besides, Manon planned on splitting the labor of keeping her safe with Sir Damien, and he wouldn't settle for less than fifty-fifty. Still, he knew Lady Catherine had her own courage, even if he'd rather put his own to use for her.
As for the other grown-ups he'd met in Lionel Castle, he'd been spoiled for choice with regards to decent people who would make downright hairy targets for would-be assailants.
People like Lord Drake, Lady Agrias, Sir Rad, Lady Alicia, Lady Lavian, Sir Beowulf, and others had likely taken lives before, and often, but never for their own pleasure. And, though they'd probably been in plenty of fights, they'd never gone into one without provocation or, at least, good cause.
Harassing a visiting duchess's lady-in-waiting because of her birth and her weight? That was quite far from "good cause".
"Besides, it could be worse," he added, and before Charlotte could become irritated at his glib tone, he made his point. "How easy would it have been for King Delita to side with Stephanie since she's highborn? He could've just decided it was my fault and had me flogged, but he didn't. I got a lucky break, and neither of us have had too many of those, so I'm going to learn from what happened. Who knows? Maybe the next time I keep you safe, I'll do a better job of it?"
Charlotte gave a little huff, but Manon could see that the corners of her mouth were finally turning upwards.
Manon found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he might figure girls out yet!
His optimistic self-appraisal came to an abrupt end, however, when Charlotte, while attempting to move the bucket, suffered a mishap. After several attempts to reach the handle, thwarted because, as she aforementioned, she was too fat to bend at the waist, she managed to crane her way around her rolls to snatch the bucket's handle get it off the floor, only for the rim to catch on the lower roll of her stomach and tip over, getting both her and the floor drenched. Charlotte nearly lost her footing on the slippery floor, but Manon vaulted to his feet and caught her by the shoulders…
…and he promptly lost his footing and fell.
Charlotte landed on top of him, and the impact smacked the breath from his lungs and caused his ribs to ache in protest. Very loud and desperate protest.
Manon managed to keep from crying out in pain, or from deciding to risk more of King Delita's ire when he realized Stephanie was snickering at the pair but, thankfully, Charlotte rolled off of him and promptly began fretting over him.
"Are you alright?!" she asked, frantic and mortified. "I'm so sorry! I'm such a-"
Manon, seized by sudden daring, held up one hand to cut short her tirade and, after studying her anguished expression for a moment, he schooled his expression to suggest he was not having trouble breathing and simply asked "It bothers you that much?"
He'd learned, the hard way, that using the direct approach to tell a girl she needed to lose weight never ended well. Still, he'd picked up a few tricks from Lady Catherine about how to be diplomatic about other people's problems.
Charlotte, who looked like she'd just been kicked in the face, nodded glumly.
Admitting to himself that he didn't have as firm a grasp on Lady Catherine's "tricks" as he thought, Manon quickly added "Okay, fine. When we get back to Lionel Castle, we'll do something about it."
Charlotte's disconsolation promptly turned into stupefaction.
"You…" she answered haltingly, as if she couldn't believe her ears. "You don't mind?"
"Hey, it'll be simple enough," he replied. "Sir Beowulf has me do aerobics on top of swordplay and tactics. I can ask him if he'd let you join in. Besides, he's a great trainer. Here's the proof!"
With that, Manon flexed his sword arm, trying to get his bicep to bulge with his newly acquired muscles…
…which were, in fact, so newly acquired that the effect wasn't easily visible.
Charlotte, her expression now turning mischievous, eyed his arm, looking unimpressed for a moment before she burst into giggles.
"Sorry about that," she said, though it sounded much different than the several times she'd said it to him previously. "But, I really appreciate it. Especially since you don't have to do that for me."
"Maybe not, but I want to," Manon countered. "You pushed me to chase my dream, and even taught me to read and write. Not to mention all the work you did in the kitchen. I got the better end of the deal anyway, so I may as well give something back."
Manon wondered if bringing up her cooking might've been a bad idea, given that Charlotte was clearly upset about her ballooning figure and her quite a bit of her newfound weight had come from sampling her own cooking to make sure it was up to scratch…and getting rid of the failures and leftovers. But, though he spied a wince crossing Charlotte's plump face, her smile still seemed genuine.
"Well, I hope you'll still be happy when I change up the menu, because I want this gone!" she emphasized her point by slapping her belly with both hands, causing ripples to shoot through her broad form. "I'll make Lady Catherine proud!"
"Yeah, and so will I," Manon affirmed. "But, I gotta serve out my sentence first. I'll understand if you've had enough for one night, but I'd appreciate it if you want to help me."
"Sure! Besides, I should burn off some of that wedding feast anyway."
Manon was certain he heard Stephanie mutter something disparaging under her breath, but he forced down the notion of retaliating. The pair spent then long minutes scrubbing the floor and, later, stacking up dishes and platters to be ferried to the washroom. The pair had been in the midst of pulling off and folding the tablecloths when Manon belatedly recalled that he had no idea just where they were supposed to go and had turned to ask Charlotte when something very shocking happened.
Charlotte, apparently seized by sudden daring, had been leaning in to kiss him on the cheek but, since Manon had turned to face her, she'd found his lips instead.
It only lasted for an instant, and it hadn't been one of the long kisses like the pair had seen Sir Damien and Lady Catherine do at the altar, and certainly not like the kind Sir Rad and Lady Alicia did, when they stuck their tongues in each other's mouths, but it was enough to stun both of them.
Though, Manon had to admit, he didn't come away wishing it hadn't happened.
Before he could do more than let an exceptionally stupid looking grin cross his face, Charlotte turned scarlet and waddled off in the opposite direction as fast as her meaty legs could carry her.
Manon was jolted back to the present when he heard what sounded like a snort. His eyes darted in the direction of the sound, and he saw Stephanie, who was regarding him with an expression of derisive amusement.
Well, let her have her fun. Manon knew it was best to turn the other cheek for now but, the next time he faced off against Squire Stephanie Lockhart, it would be in a practice arena during a duel or training session that would be sanctioned by a senior knight. It would also be after he'd trained more, built up some muscles, the kind one could see at a glance this time, and had learned how to use his wits to overcome a foe that was bigger and stronger than him.
And, when that happened, he was going to knock that pompous bitch on her ass!
Charlotte didn't much care where she ran, but her lungs and legs felt quite differently and she soon skidded to a halt, sending her flaccid blubber wobbling like so much uncooked dough.
What had she been thinking?!
Well, the simple answer was "Nothing", of course. Oh, she'd found no small amount of solace that Manon appreciated her help and her company, that he apparently didn't find how fat she had grown nearly as repulsive as she did, and that he was even willing to help her lose the weight. She'd been glad that Manon didn't blame her for getting him into trouble with the king, and had even been amused by his less-than-impressive display of his less-than-impressive muscles.
Well, they might not be impressive now, but she didn't doubt that would change. And, soon.
Then, something happened. She wasn't sure what, but it almost felt like she was desperate to get closer to him, as though she might lose her chance if she waited much longer. And, even more than that, she felt this strange certainty that she wanted Manon.
More than anything.
She also knew, however, that she was much too shy to tell him everything that had been running through her head, but she'd screwed up her courage and decided that giving him a peck on the cheek would be a good place to start.
And, somehow, she'd instead managed to end up giving away her first, proper, kiss.
She couldn't even remember the last time she'd been so mortified!
Even her harassment at the hands of that mean-spirited young seamstress who kept berating her for how her doughy figure complicated the task of making her a dress or how the Lockhart sisters had gotten their jollies at her expense paled in comparison. As if landing on top of Manon when they'd fallen and nearly squashing him flat hadn't been bad enough!
And, she was terrified that what she'd had with Manon since their time in the workhouse and later at Lionel Castle might've been ruined…
…except, hadn't Manon been smiling after their accidental kiss?
It had looked like it, but he could've just as easily been amused that a wheezing hog like her thought she could have a chance with someone as handsome and brave and determined and funny and…
…and Charlotte just wanted to swing her head against a wall and be done with it.
The only thing that stopped her was that she felt so winded. She hadn't noticed until it was too late, naturally, but packing on the pounds had made running an incredibly taxing feat and she was gasping like a blown chocobo, bracing one flabby arm against the arm to make sure she didn't pitch to the floor again.
Eventually, as deep breaths of the cool night air brought relief to her flaming lungs, she found calm returning. And, she began second guessing her panicked portents. Manon's smile did not look like own of derisive amusement. After all, she'd seen plenty of those at the workhouse, usually directed at her, and his had looked…honestly, "silly" was the first word to spring to mind. And, though he'd had more than enough time to throw some scathing words her way – after all, it's not like she could run that fast while lugging around all that jiggling fat – he hadn't.
What if, what if, he hadn't been disgusted by what she's unwittingly done? What if, what if, he'd actually liked it?
Charlotte knew she was getting ahead of herself, about twenty leagues ahead of herself, but she found the corners of her mouth curving upward again.
However, those smiling lips twisted into a look of slack-jawed horror when she noted just where her panicked lumbering had brought her. She was in the castle's washroom, which was piled with small mountains of dirty dishes and well used flatware, and at one of the wash basins was Claudine Lockhart, Stephanie's little sister.
Claudine saw her as well, her expression one of both surprised recognition and barely concealed disdain, and…
…wait a minute, why is she here doing the dishes? Charlotte silently asked herself.
Yet, even after blinking several times, her disbelieving eyes still told her the same thing. Claudine, also a daughter of a noble household, was standing before her, clad in a servant girl's clothes and with makintosh gloves over her delicate hands, scrubbing away at the platters and eyeing Charlotte with an expression that could charitably be called unfriendly.
"Are you going to gawk all night, piglet, or are you going to pitch in?" she asked, her tone suggesting that the first option might provoke further mistreatment.
Shaking herself back to attention, Charlotte waddled over to a stack of dishes and a wash basin, which were quite far from Claudine, and started scrubbing away, her mind buzzing with questions all the while. Claudine hadn't been ordered by King Delita to share in her sister and Manon's punishment, so why was she here when she could be luxuriating at home?
Charlotte tried to force the question out of her head. After all, it wasn't her business, and she didn't want to risk another session of being Claudine's plaything. But, the question persisted, and Charlotte found her eyes darting in Claudine's direction several times.
When Claudine noticed the scrutiny and fixed a glare on Charlotte, the rotund girl felt her copious guts tie themselves into leaden knots and she braced herself for the worst…
…but, instead, Claudine simply growled out "What. Is. It?" Though, it sounded less like a question than it did an order.
Too afraid to do much else, Charlotte obeyed.
"I was just wondering why you're here, milady," she said, her voice little more than a terrified squeak.
Claudine's eyes narrowed for a moment, but then she turned back to her work and simply replied "Funny, I was wondering the same thing about you."
Not really sure why Claudine would deflect the question, nor why she felt some small, strange need to answer, Charlotte simply stated "Because I wanted to help Manon."
Though Charlotte's eyes darted away, seemingly of their own accord, before she could make sure, she thought she saw one of Claudine's delicate eyebrows arch at those words. Almost too afraid to see what else Claudine might do, she went back to her work, drenching the plates in the soapy water and then wiping them down with a rag, the rhythm all too familiar after her time as Lionel Castle's head chef…
…and walking garbage disposal.
Unfortunately, the work was so such a product of muscle memory that her hands could perform the task without the rest of her her even paying attention, which meant that most of that attention was instead going toward Claudine's inexplicable, ominous presence. She was still frightened of being stuck in the same room with the older girl, and yet still confused as to why she was here in the first place. Though dread at the prospect of further mistreatment had her jaw clenched so tight she could barely breathe, her curiosity kept prodding at the back of her mind until she felt ready to snap.
Then, to her surprise, Claudine broke the silence.
"Hopefully, you'll do a better job of helping him than he did you, piglet," she sneered.
That caused Charlotte's fear to wither. As though someone had emptied a bucket of icy water on her while she'd still been asleep – which Francine had done several times in the workhouse, and never with clean water – the shock of those words caused whatever had been running through her head to suddenly be blown right out. And, instead of frightened or curious, Charlotte was angry.
Not angry enough to resort to violence – Claudine had quite the height and reach advantage, and it wasn't her place to risk Manon suffering further punishment – but, as it happened, she was amply prepared to defend him against that particular barb.
"Oh, he'll get better," she stated, not bothering to sound as demure and respectful as she normally would with someone above her station, though Claudine only scoffed in reply before Charlotte continued. "He's going to be trained by Sir Beowulf."
That caught Claudine's attention. She'd been about to offer another disparaging remark, but had choked on the words when Charlotte's claim sank in.
"The Sir Beowulf?" she asked, clear disbelief in her tone. "Sir Beowulf Kadmas? The regional commander of the Chimera Knights in Lionel?"
"Yup, that's him," Charlotte replied, forcing herself to sound as blithe and yet smug as possible.
For a long moment, which quickly became uncomfortable, Claudine simply gawped at Charlotte, making the younger girl's nigh-permanent self-consciousness flare up again. Even before she'd blown up, she had never enjoyed being stared at like that. Not when she was standing before Francine who was trying to figure out if she was too bony and "flat" to pawn off to those dirty old men or when a steadily lengthening list of grown-ups had caught sight her bloated frame and stared as if she were a collision between two chocobo drawn carriages…or a contender for prize pig at a county fair.
Charlotte managed to avoid flinching under Claudine's gaze, barely.
Then, the older girl's expression changed, and she regarded Charlotte with a calculating eye, almost as if she was considering her earlier claim, and what it might mean if it were true.
"Interesting," she remarked, though the casual tone of the quip sounded more than a bit forced. "But, I still say Stephanie would win a rematch. Care to make a wager on it, sow?"
"Lady Catherine doesn't approve of gambling," Charlotte pointed out, idly wondering why the Duchess of Lionel would always glare in Sir Rad's general direction when she said that.
"Who says she has to know?" Claudine asked, the question sounding rhetorical. Then, when she saw Charlotte's expression harden, she gave a breathy sigh. "Oh, very well. I'd suggest wagering pastries, but some of us want to keep our girlish figure."
Indirect though the jab was, it still stung. Nonetheless, Charlotte shook it off and considered. Then, she had a sudden inspiration…and acted upon it before considering whether or not it was wise.
"How about, if Manon wins, you tell me why you're here washing dishes?" she suggested, realizing a split-second too late that that was a dangerous question.
Lady Catherine had been patient when she'd unwittingly asked questions that were a tad too personal, but she was likely the exception rather than the rule. Yet, to her amazement, Claudine didn't lash out at this seeming impertinence. Instead, her gaze drifted downwards and, after long moments of meditatively washing a pudding basin, she asked something very surprising.
"Why do you want to help that other peasant? The king didn't order you to be down here either."
Too surprised by the shift in mood to even feel angry that Claudine didn't consider Manon's name important enough to remember, Charlotte gawped for a moment and then gave a hesitant answer.
"When our workhouse was abandoned by the grown-ups, he kept me safe," she said, not sure why she did so. "And, when things got even worse, he helped me escape."
She didn't say any more. But, then again, she had neither the inclination nor the need to do so. Aside from the bad memories, stories of how the late Cardinal Draclau had embezzled from the workhouses to finance some scheme to manipulate the outcome of the War of the Lions had gotten around. Not everyone believed it, but those that did found the truth a bitter draught indeed.
By the look of things, Claudine had heard these stories as well, for she gave a nod and did not pry into the details.
"So, you're here helping him because you owe him?" she asked instead.
"Yes," Charlotte answered. "I've tried to repay him by teaching him how to read and write, but it never did seem like enough."
To her stupefaction, Claudine said "I know what you mean."
Unable to hide her befuddlement, or her surprise at how the usually haughty girl's expression had sobered at that last exchange, Charlotte found herself studying Claudine as the two of them went back to their work. Charlotte was much too shy and self-conscious, not to mention afraid of Claudine, to risk scrutinizing the older girl's expression for more than a heartbeat at a time, but she could tell what she'd said had struck a nerve. And, the way her eyes flicked in the direction of where her older sister likely was also seemed telling.
So, whatever Claudine's reasons for being here were, they had something to do with Stephanie.
Charlotte considered that for a moment, wondering if she might be pressing her luck. Claudine seemed strangely subdued now, but Charlotte was still wary of provoking her. Yet, for all that, something in Claudine's expression prodded at the back of her mind until, finally, she came up with a way to, carefully, fish for answers.
"So, who's training your sister?" she asked, not sure how to refer to Stephanie without risking reprisal for supposed impertinence. "It looked like she'd been practicing for a long time."
"Practically since she could walk," Claudine replied, her words dripping with pride and no small amount of smugness, not to mention confidence that she'd win her unspecified wager. "Father put a wooden sword in her hand on her fourth birthday and an iron one on her eighth."
Charlotte was skeptical about that chronology, but decided to let it pass. Instead, she asked "Did she fight in the War of the Lions?"
"No. She hasn't even graduated from the academy yet. But, maybe that's for the best. My aunt and two of my cousins fought with the Hokuten at Dugeura Pass, and…"
She didn't finish the sentence, but she hardly needed to. Charlotte gave a solemn nod and simply said "I'm sorry for your loss."
Claudine seemed surprised by the gesture, but she gave no comment. Instead, she went back to her work for a time, buffing the flatware until Charlotte could swear she could make out bits and pieces of the older girl's reflection in the knives and spoons. Charlotte also went back to her work, considering if she ought to pry further.
After a moment's indecision, she asked "Who's training your sister? Besides her teachers, I mean."
"Father is," Claudine replied, her tone going strangely flat. "Seems like it's all he does when he's home. Hasn't given me the time of day since he realized I couldn't stand the sight of blood."
That took Charlotte by surprise. She had thought that there'd been a fair bit of blood during Manon and Stephanie's altercation, and she hadn't noticed Claudine showing any signs of distress…
…except, she did remember seeing Claudine cover her mouth several times after the two combatants had bloodied one another's noses. What if that hadn't been just shock? What if she'd been trying to force herself not to throw up or scream her head off, or something like that?
Maybe. And, though it hadn't occurred to her before now, maybe the workhouses weren't the only places where those who were weaker tended to get shoved aside.
"I knew a boy back at the workhouse who was the same," she said, her tone conversational. "One of the other boys had been punched right in front of him and got a bloody nose. When he saw the blood, he fainted dead away."
"It was like that for me too when I was little," Claudine admitted, likely surprising both of them in so doing. "These days, it just makes me feel sick to my stomach, but father was still furious. Probably would've shoved me in the arms of the first boy from a wealthy family that he could find, but Stephanie threatened to get herself kicked out of the academy if he tried to get rid of me."
That confession nearly made Charlotte's jaw drop. Given that the Lockhart sisters had clearly come from a wealthy and distinguished family, it had been all too easy to imagine that they'd been showered with affection and gifts from the sort of doting parents that Charlotte could only dream about. The notion that a highborn girl could be like her, unwanted and viewed with disdain, was more than a bit jarring.
It also caused her perspective of the older sisters to shift a bit. Yes, the pair of them had been quite cruel and petty in their treatment of her and Manon, but maybe neither of them were all bad. Stephanie had stood up to her father, threatening to throw aside her chance to become a knight, which would no doubt earn his eternal enmity, unless her sister kept a place in their home, however unwelcome she might have been. And, by similar token, Claudine had chosen to spend an evening doing menial chores simply to help her sister serve out her "sentence" at least a little faster.
Charlotte wasn't prepared to forgive either of them yet, but this show of loyalty between the pair had her thinking that maybe she ought to consider the possibility that, despite first impressions, the Lockhart sisters might be cut from a different cloth than Francine.
Feeling one last flicker of daring, Charlotte decided that, since Claudine had seemed in great need of someone to talk to, she might as well relay something useful.
"Can I ask you something, milady?" she queried and, seeing Claudine shrug in reply, she pressed on. "Do you think King Delita would be harsher with your sister if something like this happened again?"
Judging by Claudine's perplexed blinking, she hadn't considered that.
"I overheard Sir Beowulf talking to Manon one day," Charlotte went on. "He said that knights aren't just judged by how they fight, but how they behave. He also said that a knight is supposed to protect the weak and, before he was king, His Majesty was a knight. And, before that he wasn't that different from me or Manon."
Here, she paused and quickly studied Claudine's face. The older girl's brow was furrowed and her eyes had gone distant, as if she was thinking hard about something.
"He did not look happy about what he saw," Charlotte pressed on, figuring it best she hammer her point home while she still could. "What if your sister does get kicked out of the academy next time?" Seeing Claudine practically blanch at the idea, she added "Manon is going to learn better, I have faith he will. Try to help your sister learn too. Maybe that'll be a good way to pay her back."
For a long moment, Claudine gave only a few perplexed blinks in reply, as though surprised that a peasant girl would impart such meaningful advice. Or, for that matter, that she'd allowed a conversation she hadn't even wanted to have in the first place to go so far…or in such a personal direction. Still, something in the way her lips pursed thoughtfully suggested that, yes, Charlotte had not been just wasting her breath.
Maybe, not unlike how something good had come from when Lady Catherine forgave her and Manon for trying to rob her, something good might come from Charlotte opting to give the Lockhart sisters a second chance to be better than what they were now.
"And, here I was thinking that mouth of yours was only good for chewing and swallowing," Claudine quipped, but the barb came across more as teasing than venomous.
Deciding not to get upset at the reminder of her figure, Charlotte simply said "Just wait, I'll slim down soon enough."
"Probably for the best. I've heard the expression "Never trust a skinny chef", but things can be taken too far."
This time, Charlotte decided to turn the other cheek, simply letting out a brief chuckle and getting back to her work. Still, small though the gesture might be, she felt the corners of her mouth draw upward when she decided that, whether her advice was taken or not, Lady Catherine would have approved.
As Charlotte herself could attest, a small act of kindness to a stranger, even one who'd done wrong, could have a wondrous impact.
Though few of Lesalia's well-bred denizens would admit to such, and those that would only did so amongst company whose discretion was beyond reproach, quite a few of the nobles who called the Ivalician capital home had rather salacious imaginations. Some of these had, in the privacy of their thoughts or intimate conversations well away from the ever-present ears of Lesalia's gossipmongers, entertained speculations about the wedding night of Sir Damien Mitchell and Duchess Catherine Seymour, all of which were…lurid.
Had they somehow managed to see what happened instead, they might've been disappointed.
Though tender words were shared, along with no small number of intense kisses, Catherine Seymour, known to a select few as the "late" Alma Beoulve, was utterly exhausted. Though she'd put on a delightful show for the wedding guests, the combined stresses of believing her one true love to be dead, carrying his unborn child, keeping that catastrophic secret from escaping into the public eye, discovering that her lost love had returned to her, and then making sure her and "Damien's" wedding took place before anyone could grow suspicious had fatigued her so that, practically the moment she'd touched the mattress, she'd gone limp in her husband's arms and started snoring.
Sir Damien Mitchell, known to a select few as the "late" Sir Izlude Tingel, could privately admit to being slightly disappointed. But, only slightly. After all, the two of them had already consummated their marriage. Several times, in fact.
Wouldn't that send the Lesalia gossip mill running full tilt, he mused.
Of course, he would never even consider letting that secret out. Not after all the work it had taken to hoodwink the Ivalician public into thinking "Catherine's" child was conceived in wedlock rather that out of wedlock. Still, he couldn't help feel a bit of mischief at having outfoxed the normally astute seekers of tittle-tattle that seemed to be around every corner in Ivalice's capital.
He was also feeling, however, much too restless to drift off to sleep with his newly wedded wife and, while the castle staff had done an admirable job of decorating the room, there wasn't all that much that held his interest.
Well, aside from Alma, of course; but she clearly needed her rest.
After a moment's deliberation, he quickly penned her a letter to explain that, no, his absence did not mean that their reunion hadn't been some wonderful dream that had cruelly ended, and he was simply seeing if he could while away the time with a nightcap and a good book until she opened her lovely eyes again. He then headed to a small parlor which was shared by several of the castle's guest rooms, which was thankfully empty as this hour. A number of books had been nearly arranged for the guests' reading pleasure and a cabinet of bottles and glasses stood against one wall. After retrieving a tome on botany that Izldue was sure would put him right to sleep and a glass of port, he settled in to see if the author would opine on whether the "H" in "herb" was silent or not.
His evening became markedly more interesting, however, when Duke Malak Galthana appeared.
"You considering a peacetime hobby?" he asked, regarding Izlude's choice of reading with a raised eyebrow.
Izlude gave a low chuckle and said "Probably not. Just couldn't get to sleep, but Catherine nodded right off."
"Can't say that surprises me. She put on quite a show back there. Must be exhausted."
"Yeah, I'd say so. Still, at least it turned out for the best. There were times I…had my doubts."
He didn't say any more. Even though the parlor was empty and most of the castle's residents were surely asleep by now, he knew better than to risk it. Besides, Malak was well aware of the secret romance between Izlude and Alma, and hardly needed any details in order to empathize.
Of course, that DID mean that a change of topic was in order.
"How is Duchess Galthana doing?" Izlude asked, deciding that sometimes the simplest solution was the best.
Malak's answering smile showed relief as much as affection.
"Better than I expected, really," he said. "Given…what happened, I was worried that Lord Nelson…excuse me, Doctor Nelson might end up hurting her, even unintentionally. But, he seems to be a good man. Quite brilliant too. He's like Mustadio, only with medicine instead of machines."
"Sounds like he might be a good match for her." Izlude observed, though he was well aware of the gravity behind those simple words.
Rafa had been repeatedly violated by Grand Duke Barrington, a man who had taken her in and professed to be a second father to her and her brother. Scars like that doubtless ran deep and, even if Doctor Nelson was courting in good faith, he might find it a challenge to win her affections and convince her that he would treat her heart as a precious gift rather than a plaything for perverse amusements.
Izlude had to admit, he was curious as to whether Doctor Nelson was equal to the challenge. He hoped he was, though. Though the disguised Knight Blade didn't know Rafa nearly as well as he knew her brother, he knew enough to know that he wished her happiness…and that getting it would be no small task for her.
"You and the missus decided where you're going to settle, by the way?" Malak asked, shaking Izlude from his introspection.
"Still hammering out the details, actually," he admitted. "We're still not sure how Drake taking the post of Grandmaster of the Knights of the Chimera is going to affect Lionel Castle, our homelife, or his. I'd think Catherine would like to be close enough to the children who've moved into the castle, but I think she's at least open to the possibility of us having our own home. At least a few of the children might come with us, to help keep the place up, but I don't think I'd mind."
Here, the disguised Knight Blade paused and let a dreamy grin cross his features.
"Having a few stepchildren does seem appealing," he mused aloud.
"That reminds me," Malak spoke up. "How are Manon and Charlotte?"
"Well, Manon didn't much enjoy being "sentenced" to clean up after the reception, but I can hardly blame him for getting into trouble by defending his lady. Still, if he does want to be a knight, he'll need to learn some better conduct. It sounds like Sir Beowulf has made a good start of it, and I'd like to contribute. I can see why Catherine is worried about Charlotte, though. Spoiled paunchy noble brats are a gil a dozen, but I've heard tell that Charlotte's been out of control for quite a while now."
He paused and let out a self-deprecating chuckle.
"Ah, sorry," he said. "I'm rambling."
"No need," Malak replied, his tone earnest. "You thinking about that means you care about your stepchildren. Makes you a lot better than the stepfather Rafa and I had."
Sensing this conversation was straying into choppy waters, Izlude had been about to ask how Drake's pending appointment would affect the Murray twins, as Malak's affections for Lavian were no secret, when the Duke of Favoham abruptly held up a hand and turned.
"Did you hear something?" he asked, his tone low and urgent.
Izlude had not, but he DID know that Malak had been raised as an assassin and, thus, his ears were keen. Rising silently from his chair, Malak padded about the parlor, his brow furrowed with concentration as he tried to discern where the strange noises were coming from. Eventually, he came to a specific door which had been left ajar, and his concentration became aggravation. Puzzled, Izlude rose and walked as quietly as he could manage to the Duke of Favoham's side. He soon understood Malak's annoyance as a faint, but unmistakable, voice reached his ears.
"Off with that button," said the voice of Rad Phillips. "It's my turn, and I'm hard."
"Oh, our hearts are broken!" replied the voice of Alicia Murry.
"I told you we should have played between the sheets instead!" the voice of Lavian Murry admonished.
"We can get the better of him if we hit the post!" Alicia insisted.
"You tried that three times last night, and all we both did was suck out!" Lavian contradicted.
"And, I knew I had you both, so that's why I went all in," Rad chimed in.
Izlude was certain he was turning green by this point. Granted, he'd known that Rad, Alicia, and Lavian had…something going on behind closed doors for some time now, and likely something which would leave those of stringent morality properly horrified. Izlude supposed he wasn't in much of a position to criticize – after all, he'd slept with Alma AND gotten her pregnant before marrying her – but that hardly meant that he enjoyed listening to this. And, by the look of things, Malak didn't either.
"There they go again," he grumbled. "What does Lavian see in these…these…"
Izlude hadn't been sure what he might've said in reply, but he never did find out, as Malak promptly snatched his arm and started dragging the disguised Knight Blade towards the room where the voices were coming from.
"Wait, what are we doing?" he asked, despite not really wanting to know.
"I think it's high time we spoiled their fun," Malak said simply, seeming not to notice how Izlude's face turned a deeper shade of green at the idea.
Oh, he was no prude. He was all too aware that certain men had a predilection towards bedding any lady they could, and sometimes more than one at a time, but that hardly meant he wanted to barge in on such an event and pull apart the participants! Unfortunately, Malak's hand might as well have been made of solid iron for all the luck Izlude had freeing himself from the Duke of Favoham's grip.
And, worse, his protestations were drowned out by the voices of the three.
"My, my," Rad remarked. "What a bust!"
"Oh, shut up!" Alicia shot back. "We both know you're a grinder at heart!"
"Look, it's getting late," Lavian cut in, raising and then dashing Izlude's hopes that this errand might be cut short. "I saw we go no-limit, nobody gets to be passive, and no straddle grip for the rest of the night."
Izlude felt nauseous.
"Oh, ho, ho!" Rad cheered. "Looks like lady luck is on my side! And, she brought her sisters!"
"Pah!" Lavian shot back. "I've got four men in the palm of my hand and, damn, will they give me plenty of juice!"
"This could be tricky," Alicia mused aloud. "I want to come out on top, but it looks like I'm getting a bit tight."
Now, Izlude felt really nauseous.
Malak, who seemed too angry to be affected, had dragged his unwilling accomplice to the door and, not finding it at all craven to do so, Izlude shut his eyes…
…and lamented that Malak's clenching his arm meant he couldn't cover his ears.
"Like I said, I've got four ladies!" Rad proclaimed. "I've got the nuts, so give me the glimmer!"
Izlude could feel something leaden taking shape in his stomach as he tried, desperately, not to wonder just how many ladies Rad could bed at a time.
"Damn!" Lavian cursed. "Four men, but their quads just didn't do it for me!"
Izlude's immersion was, thankfully, broken when he heard Alicia's words.
"Two of spades, three of hearts, four of clubs, eight of clubs, and a king of diamonds," she groused. "What a terrible hand!"
"Eh?" Izlude murmured, finally opening his eyes.
To his surprise, and relief, he had not walked in on Rad spearing the Murry twins with his other sword. Instead, the dark knight and Agrias's former subordinates were seated at a round table, in the center of which was piled a stack of gil, both coins and printed bills, while smaller piles of varying sizes were arranged before each of them.
In their hands were playing cards.
Izlude blinked in disbelief, and puzzlement. And then, he forced himself to swallow a gale of laughter at his own presumption. He'd barely finished when Malak, whose temperament seemed unchanged, made his displeasure known.
"Didn't Drake and Agrias make it clear they didn't like you three gambling?" he asked, the question sounding quite rhetorical. "Aside from it being a bad influence on Rachel and the other children, you know how easy it is to bet money you can't afford to lose, and then lose it anyway."
"Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud!" Lavian chided. "These days, we just use the money to keep score. We get back what we brought in, but whoever loses has to do a favor for the others the next day."
This time, Izlude decided not to turn his imagination loose on what that might entail. He did, however, notice that Malak didn't look reassured.
"Rad," he intoned, "we both know that the last "favor" you asked for involved got Ramza quite angry, and cost over three thousand gil in property damage."
"I was drunk!" Rad protested.
"So were Alicia and Lavian. Agrias was even angrier at them over their little…dance routine."
That disquiet in Izlude's stomach promptly returned. But, again, he was jolted back to awareness when Malak clapped him on the shoulder and looked him dead in the eye.
"This," he began, leveling a condemning finger at Rad, "is a degenerate clod with no sense of boundaries, and there's only one thing to be done about him."
Before Izlude could protest that he'd much, much rather read that botany book instead of being roped into Malak's scheme, the Duke of Favoham surprised him once more.
"We must clean him out!" Malak then shoved Izlude into an empty chair before taking another and saying, "Deal us in!"
Before Izlude could make sense of this, or decide whether he even wanted to, he had a small pile of gil and five cards laying face down in front of him. Giving a resigned shrug, he picked up his cards and sorted them, absently noting that the lucky streak which allowed him to reunite with his lady love did not extend to this little game.
"Think you can take me, your lordliness?" Rad asked teasingly.
"I will make you cry," Malak replied.
Thirty minutes later, Rad was bawling.
"Two of spades, three of hearts, four of clubs, eight of clubs, and a king of diamonds!" he howled. "This is the exact same had I had before! How is that possible?!"
"Why, Sir Phillips, it would seem that, for you, winning is not, shall we say, in the cards?" Malak asked before tossing back his head and letting out a peal of laughter. "HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA!"
The Murry twins, it seemed, hadn't fared much better, as both promptly folded. Izlude resignedly revealed his cards and, upon seeing Malak's hand, suddenly found himself wondering if the Duke of Favoham was in the habit of cheating. The Duke of Favoham, for his part, cupped the pot with both hands and dragged it towards his already sizable reserve of gil.
"On behalf of the Riovanes Orphans' Fund, I'd like to thank you all for your very generous contributions," he said with a smug sort of cheer, and promptly making the group regret that they had agreed to his suggestion that their next game involve the winner actually keeping the winnings.
Well, I won't be making that mistake again, Izlude silently consoled himself. Thankful that he'd lost only a drop in the proverbial bucket to Malak's shocking string of victories.
Still, it hadn't been all bad. By this point, practically everyone in Ramza's former band knew who he really was and, despite what had happened between them at Orbonne, no one seemed inclined to hold grudges. That had helped to soften the blow of his former home and inheritance being denied to him and the knowledge that his dearly held fantasy of introducing his newly wedded bride to his father, and the latter's hardened exterior finally melting, would never come to pass.
But, that was alright. By reuniting with Alma, he had not only found love and the prospect of family, but he had also found friends and acceptance.
"How about the lucky man picks the next game?" Alicia suggested.
"Seconded!" Lavian chimed in.
Still feeling too awake to join Alma in peaceful, if slightly anticlimactic, slumber, he assented.
"So," he began as he dealt the cards, "five-card stud, nothing wild, and the sky's the limit."
Co-Author's Note: Falchion1984 strikes again! So, now we know the dirty little secret Rad, Alicia, and Lavian have been keeping as far back as Chapter 3. They weren't having threesomes; they were playing cards. Here are all the bits of card shark jargon that I used over the course of the fic. At least, those I could find again upon rereading and was able to look up a definition for:
1. All-In: Where one bets all of one's chips.
2. Between the Sheets: Where players bet against the pot rather than each other.
3. Break a Suit: To be the first to play a card of a particular suit. If a restriction is in place against leading with such a card, however, then the suit can be broken. This is especially used with Hearts, where Hearts may be Broken.
4. Bust: To run out of money, especially in a tournament.
5. Button: A small white puck which identities the Dealer.
6. Glimmer: Money.
7. Grind: Playing for long hours in Poker, usually making small bets, to gradually build up winnings.
8. Grinder: Someone who Grinds, see above.
9. Hard: A Blackjack hand that includes an Ace.
10. Hit the Post: Used in Between the Sheets, involves matching one of the first two cards dealt.
11. Juice: The price you pay to make an either/or bet.
12. Leg: Another word for "Hand", or a single round of game play.
13. No-Limit: When the game's betting structure allows a player to bet any amount they have.
14. Nuts, the: The top hand.
16. Passive: A play style that usually eschews betting or raising.
17. Peeping: When a player adds a chip to the pot and is allowed to "peep" at the widow card.
18. Quads: Four of a Kind.
19. Rack: A set of slots that holds a player's cards.
20. Suck Out: To continue to play a bad hand in Poker rather than folding.
21. Straddle Grip: Holding the deck of cards horizontally in one's dominant hand, can be used to deal from the bottom of the deck if one is sneaky.
22. Tight: Conservative.
Co-Author's Note: All of these, including the ones I likely missed, are used in various card games but, between the lack of proper context, the chronic horniness of modern society, and the fact that it's said by one man and two women who are always disappearing behind closed doors, most would quickly assume that they're all sexual innuendos when, in actuality, they were not. In the immortal words of Herve Villechaize, who played Nick Nack in the James Bond movie The Man with the Golden Gun, "Ha, ha! I have fooled you!" I hope you found the reveal every bit as amusing as I found setting it up over all these years.
It's also been brought to my attention that Charlotte's "issue" might fly over a head or two. So, let me break it down. Given that Charlotte was abandoned by her parents at the workhouse, which itself was abandoned by the staff when their pay inexplicably (for them and the orphans, we know Qucklain embezzled the funds to find the Taurus Stone) stopped coming, she has a LOT of unconscious trust issues. Between her experience with abandonment, the fear it could happen again, and the sense that what she has can easily be snatched away by someone bigger and meaner than her, she has – or, hopefully, had – a lot of emotional baggage that was coming between her and her new life in Lionel Castle. For this reason, even though her conscious mind seems to understand that Alma would not eventually throw her out, her subconscious mind was much slower to get the message. These issues also extended to the physical. Given that Charlotte was often left half-staved by her ward mates, her hypothalamus, the region of the brain that triggers hunger, was likely in full screaming overload while her ventromedial hypothalamus, which signals when one is full, would be pretty damn slow on the uptake, as it often is when one is deeply famished.
So, all told, Charlotte would be pigging out partly because her constant undernourishment would have her system both telling her she was hungry much more often than it would otherwise, but failing to tell her to stop before she made herself sick, and partly because her subconscious belief that, sooner or later, she'll be back on the streets, so she'd best gobble the food down while she has it. This would combine to create a condition similar to compulsive eating, though with a hopefully novel twist. I suspect that her going from skin-and-bones to obese in the space of a few months might strain credulity, but I do hope it made for an interesting issue, namely that Charlotte getting fat wasn't just her enjoying her new home too much, but also because both her system and her subconscious mind were interfering with her realization that she, finally, has a home.
And, before I sing off, please see if you can identify those pop culture references, if you do not want your geekhood to come into question.