Chapter Text
You ran your thumb over the cut again, pressing hard and watching another bead of blood seep out.
'Don't lick it,' you warned yourself mentally. 'Your hands are filthy.'
And unfortunately, you were right.
A fine layer of grey dirt had embedded itself across your hands throughout the night as you lifted, packed, and shamefully picked things up that had missed the bin first time round. It was a shift that would make the water run black. Nice.
Sighing, you instead wiped it off on your other hand and got up sluggishly, knees groaning at being in such an unnatural position for so long. What time was it?
Quarter past six; you'd successfully killed 20 minutes before becoming destructively bored, so that was as good a hint as any to set off, even if you were going to be extraordinarily early. Hey, maybe you'd get lost and naturally burn some time that way. Where even was the Beneviento estate?
You were immediately greeted by a bitter wind as you slouched out of the back door of wherever-the-fuck this was. It was somewhere near the village, but you'd never managed to find it when you were off duty; you put it down to whatever weird magic the Duke had up his sleeve.
To be fair, he was a decent employer, if a little tight on wages, which yeah looking at him, made sense. He'd taken one look at you when you said you had packing experience, gave a deep belly laugh, and hired you rather nonchalantly on the spot.
You're sure you'd have a few more praises to sing for him if he hadn't put you on this assignment though. First of all, starting at 8am? Right after your shift? This girl loved her sleep, and he knew that.
Second of all, working in the direct household of a Lord? Maybe you'd been fucking up recently and instead of bringing it up to you like a reasonable manager, he decided he wanted you dead via Lady Beneviento.
Of all the information you'd manage to gather on her, you knew she was a creepy reclusive dollmaker with a face no-one had seen. Her surname tasted nice to say though. Or hey, maybe she was another Lady Dimitrescu, but Italian. Yikes.
It was a clear morning, with your breath puffing in the air in front of you as you tucked your neck further into your jacket. A light frost gave the churned mud a slightly crunchy texture as you plodded back to the cluster of civilisation some twenty minutes away. Your eyes flicked upwards out of habit, and a great grin broke out across your face.
"Good morning baby!" you crooned quietly at the half-moon sitting in the dim sky, pitch black withdrawing from the faded blue of dawn. "How was your night? Good? Yeah?"
The journey back went considerably faster now, summarising your night to the celestial body, careful to keep an eye on where you were going despite your head being craned upwards.
Seeing as you'd left everything last-minute, you had to ask passerbys for any directional advice reaching your destination upon getting to the village, and they were few and far between, even fewer still that wanted to give you their time. In the end, you managed to get a rough idea from a mother with a toddler in tow who was babbling about crustless bread, who you thanked.
For the most part the instructions were accurate, if a little vague on direction, simply leading you from landmark to landmark. You'd just fought yourself not to jump on the rickety slats of the rope bridge when something on the wind caught your attention - that was familiar.
It was a deeply sweet, rotten scent; the churning of raw white fat against worm-rich earth; of dried sinew and grease-stained bones.
Darling, it was decay.
You were drawn like a moth to a flame, tuning your steps with the tempo and direction of the wind, a vulture to carcass. Your work could wait - you had plenty of time.
Honestly, the smell was disgusting, but you couldn't help but find the source. Your instincts wanted you to block off your smell, to breathe through your mouth, but you took a moment to deeply inhale and hold onto the revulsion.
It didn't take much longer to see a shape in the fallen leaves, about the size of a medium dog. Fingers twitching, you stepped closer and smiled quietly to yourself.
It looked to be some kind of badger-type creature, judging by what was left of the paws, fur and skull. It had curled up on its side, the stereotypical peaceful resting position defaced by the veritable white blanket of writhing maggots. They almost seemed to pulsate around their meal with every other heartbeat, the quasi-static movements patterns as mesmerising as a campfire in the dead of night.
You moved a little more before crouching so that you had to simply but reach out to plunge your hand into the disco rice, but you remained still. A debate rang in your head whether or not to bring the rotting spoils with you; after all, it's what you kept the gloves and bags with you for. However, you had no idea how long you'd be working for, and maybe of all people to find you storing dead goods in your bag, it shouldn't be a Lord. But hey, you'd be coming back this way, right? You could just pick it up th--
Oh shit.
You hastily stood up and backed away, eyes still fixed on the badger, before turning away and striding to retrace your steps, cursing yourself. The smell sticks, man! Now you're gonna turn up smelling like a literal dead body! Fuck's sake, what if Duke sent you here to impress instead of punishment and-
Sighing, you wiggle on the spot in a tiredly comedic effort to shake off any evidence. According to your phone, you were still about 45 minutes early, which happens more often than you'd like. An echo of the child screeching 'wHeN wiLL yOu LeArN' played in your head. Maybe get closer to the site, and, I dunno, climb a tree and wait? Yeah, that sounded sick; you hadn't climbed a tree in years.
So that's how you found yourself blankly following a path through the thickets, eyes unfocused, occasionally landing on a hanging doll and apparently not thinking much of it at all. You'd seen weirder hanging from weirder places.
You only started paying attention again when vegetation fell away to what looked like a cliff's edge some way in the distance, and a house perched somewhat precariously nearby, but more importantly, Duke's carriage. Oh thank god, because you didn't know what the fuck you were doing.
You jogged up, relieved to see his feet hanging out so that you weren't burning all these calories rushing to an empty box. He apparently heard you, as his head slowly poked out from the sill edge and he waved lazily, cigar smoke trailing behind his hand. You dabbed in response.
"Ah, good morning! You're very early, Miss Reader. I trust your night treated you well?" he half drawled, grinning down at you from his throne of goods.
You shrugged, making a so-so gesture with your hand and a non-committal 'eh' sound, which he chuckled at.
"This task was originally assigned for two workers, but your counterpart has been taken ill rather suddenly, so you'll be doing it alone, albeit with a doubled deadline to compensate," he started, taking another drag while examining some beads hanging by his shoulders.
"Lady Beneviento is having something of a furniture renovation, and has requested assistance with moving her current goods out, and the new goods in. All clear so far?"
"Uh, yeah..?" you reply, waiting for a stipulation to come next, like 'but you have to do everything with an arm amputated'.
"In this particular case, you are also tasked with building said furniture, which I know is something of a more skilled task, but I'm sure the Lady herself would be willing to lend a hand should you struggle. She's a very skilled crafter, you know."
You barely heard the last sentence as you bristled in indignation.
"I've built Ikea stuff before - I know what I'm doing!" you jabbed, your faux-anger quickly giving way to a laugh.
"Oh I don't doubt you in the least, Miss Reader. You will find the specification sheet and any necessary tools by the flat-packs," he replied smoothly, arm gesturing to the side where there was indeed a neatly-stacked pile of flat boxes sheet. You glance over, only for your peripheral vision to catch something by the main door of what you assumed was the Beneviento household.
You pause.
"Uh, how long has the front door been open, boss?" you ask, squinting in the poor morning gloom.
"Ah, Lady Beneviento, good morning!" he called over, ignoring your question.
Wait, hold up.
You squinted again at the door, only noticing someone was there against the dark backdrop as a small child dressed in white ran past them.
"Duuuuukkkkeee, heeeeeyyy!" the child called in a voice that sounded like an adult with a cold mimicking a kid on a sugar rush. Only when they got closer did you realise it was too gangly and moved too jaggedly to be a real ass human child. Bit weird, but ok. Was this the Lady?
"Good morning to you too, Miss Angie!" called Duke at the not-child.
Ok, so that wasn't the Lady.
'Angie' had gotten closer now, and you could see she was some sort of doll or figurine? In tattered wedding garb at that. Her eyes were a bit wide and intense, but you'd seen FNaF fan animatronic designs, so this was nothing.
The other dark figure in the door had - you glanced over - left the doorway and was making their way down the entry path towards the mire the carriage had parked itself in. This had to be Lady Beneviento then, right?
When she drew nearer, the Duke spoke up as you gave a thumbs-up to the doll who was eyeing you like an eager dog.
"This is Reader, the employee I have assigned to your request, my Lady," introduces the Duke. She looks over to you through the veil she wore and you instinctively threw up a peace sign and a 'sup'.
Shit, why'd you do that?? It was kinda funny though
You feigned chagrin and inspected the dirt as the Duke explained the situation to the Lord, but your head snapped up at the deadline. Six days?
The Duke had caught the 'wtf' look in your eyes and he chuckled.
"Don't worry now, you won't be required at your regular placement during this time. You'll resume work on the evening of the sixth day," he said as Angie skittered over to the flat packs, making generic sounds of excitement.
You nod, realising you maybe didn't plan forward enough for this. Your legs were gonna be jacked walking to and from your shack after this week.
"Oh shit, where do you want me to plonk the old furniture?" you blurt out, leaving absolutely zero time between thinking of the question and asking it. You winced internally; probably shouldn't swear in front of a Lord.
"Leave it somewhere here - I'll find it one way or another," he replied, gesturing vaguely at the space you were standing in. He looked over to Lady Beneviento.
"Unless, of course, the Lady has any further plan for them?"
She shook her head, all smooth and almost reptilian. What the fuck.
The Duke left shortly afterwards - or rather, disappeared - not even leaving wheel marks in the mud, which left you wondering if the sleep deprivation hallucinations were already here to get you.
You took the time checking off the goods one by one on the sheet, which very luckily didn't catch the breeze and fly off over the cliff's edge when Angie had finished running around with it and haphazardly replaced it on top of the stack.
The Lady herself had moved very little, hands clasped rather tightly together in front of her as you examined codes and labels on the boxes. Her garb fluttered slightly in the wind, almost reminding you of a ghost who you only knew was there because a towel from the laundry had landed on them. You were pretty sure she was watching you but tried to act casual despite suddenly having lost all ability to read.
Wait - ah shit, she was probably waiting for you to address her.
"Sorry, my Lady!" Just checking everything is here. Which it is, thank god," you say, trailing off towards the end as they were more remarks to yourself than her. You folded the sheet a few times before shoving it in a back pocket.
"But first!" You straighten up in a mimicry of determination and confidence, hands on your hips. "Let's shift all your old sh- stuff out...Or rather," you laugh sheepishly, stance wilting. "I'll do it, and you can chill or whatever."
The Lady tilted her head slightly, but it was Angie who spoke up.
"Nah, we'll help! We wanna say a last goodbye to everything!"
Maybe she couldn't speak and used the doll as a mouthpiece? The dissonance between her posture and Angie's voice was jarring.
"Uh...aight. Lead the way, I guess?"
It was...well, it was a house for sure, way on the roomier side than what you were used to, but no Castle Dimitrescu. You only visited that place once for a """poultry""" delivery, but once was enough. Way too much flair and fancy for a working class rat like you. You hoped your friend was doing alright up there and hadn't been juice-boxed yet. Your only gripe with this place was the sheer amount of dolls. Some people are into them, fine, but this was tiptoeing into liability territory. Dusting must be such a piss-take, not to mention they were essentially kindling in the event of a fire.
"We cleared all my friends off the tables n chairs for easy moving, so you're very welcome," Angie chirped behind you, brushing past and lifting herself up onto the lone table currently in the centre of the foyer, joined by an armed rocking chair. Your eyes flick to Lady Beneviento before remembering Angie isn't a dog and is probably allowed on the furniture.
"Yeah, thanks, that'll speed things up," you muse, more focused on mentally gauging your workload. "This one first? May as well; give us more room to shift everything else out later," you ask, already heading towards the table, but pausing as you reached out. Your hands were still a mess and they'd definitely leave dust streaks on wood like that.
"Actually, you got a sink I can use, m'Lady? I'm still a bit beaten up from work." You fingers curl in like a child who had just been told not to touch something.
She nods once, but it's Angie who leads you by dragging a trouser leg, screeching 'THHIIIIIIIS WAYY' as you fight not to trip up or step on her dress.
The doll had yanked you into a small cosy washroom, which perhaps could have been cosier if there weren't several more dolls lined up on shelves leering down at the toilet. Fun.
Murmuring a 'cheers', you turn on the closest tap - the cold one - which was actually warmer than your hands currently, and would you look at that - the water ran a cloudy grey.
"Eeurgh, you're disgusting!!" squawked Angie, hovering - hold up, hovering?! - over your shoulder. You whip around, eyeing the space between her ground and the feet, only eliciting her to cackle and speed out of the room, still levitating in the air. Alright, whatever. The Weird scale was getting expanded by the minute.
Wincing, you turn back to the sink, the water clear once again, but your cuts had opened up now the grime wasn't there to cover them. The wounds bled, and you balled your lips. Well shit. Maybe they'd close up while you scrubbed the some of the black from under your nails?
Spoiler alert: they didn't.
Fine, whatever- you'd spent long enough in here anyways. Pulling on your safety gloves as you returned to the foyer, you saw the Lady was idly thumbing through a book, awaiting your return.
"Sorry 'bout that," you started, already starting to heft the round table onto your hip. "Really had to get into the cracks n cre-"
"Do you think we're infected or something? What's with the gloves, meatball?" Angie interrupted from atop the rocking chair. You paused, grimacing that they (or just Angie) would draw that conclusion first. The Lady's face, you presume, was fixed on you.
"Uhh, no I....I'm wearing them so I don't get blood all over your shit. Your stuff," you hastily corrected. "Soz. Didn't mean that."
The doll threw her head back and cackled.
"You'd already be dead four times over if you were in the castle! Luckily, Donna isn't into cannibalism anymore."
Who the fuck was Donna?
You carefully filtered that thought before speaking.
"Donna..?"
You hoped the tilted head and quirked eyebrow would indicate you were a clueless slime right now.
Angie gestured animatedly with both stiff little arms at the veiled woman, mechanical jaw hanging open comically. Huh, ok.
"...Sweet. Sorry, Lady uh... I really didn't know a thing about you or your business before being yeeted here...Before being summoned here." Having to correct everything you said was getting tiring.
There was a silence as she seemingly didn't react, only her now-empty hands drawing your attention as fingers gently flexed against the other hand in a wave-like pattern. You shrugged and hefted the table onto your shoulder with a gentle knee-up, carefully turning towards the main door, being sure to not hit anything on your way out. Time to rock n roll.
As it would turn out, Lady Beneviento had a lot of shit to move out. You were starting to suspect that every time you shifted a cabinet from one room to the next, a new one would regrow in the previous room again, only this time with a different arrangement of drawers or glass panes. You couldn't entirely say truthfully that you knew that Angie wasn't putting things back in place either as she skittered from room to room, giggling or making inane commentary. Still, you pushed yourself hard, the tension of a new environment and 'colleague' granting you enough adrenaline to stave off the inevitable crash as the sun made its way proper across the skies.
Come half ten, you were a sweaty mess, long having thrown your jacket haphazardly somewhere by the doorstep, the back of your work shirt clinging to you, your cap boiling your head alive as it humbly did its duty of keeping your hair out of the way. Being more slippery than useful at this point, you carefully peeled off the gloves, hoping not to agitate the wounds below. The ones on the back of your hands - mainly the knuckles - seemed fine enough, but the pair across your palms still grumbled a glowing red, unhappy at being pressed against repetitively. You were partway through wiping off the lingering dampness when you saw a shadow loom in your peripheral vision.
"Oh hey wassup bro...My Lady," you greeted, simply accepting your fate at this point. The two of you had worked in relative peace, either taking separate furnishings out or you instructing her on what you planned next in regards to navigating a particularly large or heavy piece through the home, but this was the closest thing to a real conversation so far. You really needed to start thinking before you spoke.
The Lady didn't respond, not at first, and certainly not verbally. It didn't bother you too much, having worked with plenty of people whose first language wasn't yours, eventually reaching understanding by hand gestures and simple terms. Maybe she wasn't confident in speaking another language?
Whatever the case was, she seemed to just observe you for a moment before gesturing to see your hands, which you proffered, if somewhat confused. She didn't touch, instead her fingers shakily hovering above your skin, almost in a mimicry of touch. Alright, so no physical contact for her - worked fine for you. She was tracing above the palm cuts when you decided to ruin the silence.
"Give me like a day or so and they'll be fine. These buggers go through the war and are still in one piece," you said, wiggling your fingers.
If she heard you, there was no reaction. Instead, her wrist adjusted so that her hand was 'holding' your arm above the wrist, where a couple of longer cuts and a greenish-purple bruise were happily healing.
"Got that at work. Don't worry about it." You laughed for a moment, carefully shifting your arm from between her hands without touching.
"Check this bad boy out too!"
You pulled the short sleeve of your work shirt up to your shoulder and held your arm out to the side, where a great violet bruise ran right across your inner bicep, almost hidden by your tattooed sleeve. The lady's hands fingers twitched inwards almost imperceptibly.
"Don't worry 'bout me, seriously. I can take a beating," you reassured, rerolling your sleeve and deciding to cut the show short and get back to work. You strode past her and without thinking, clapped a hand to her shoulder, only realising your fuck-up a second later, turning back to her fast.
"Shit! Sorry sorry, bad habits. Won't happen again, really. Sorry."
You swivel back again, trying to play it cool but maintain a wince as you keep striding away, expecting a knife to plunge into your back at any moment, or to be thrown over the nearby waterfall by an unstoppable force. But as you made it past the doorway, past the foyer, past the staircase, into the next room to be cleared...Nothing came.
Maybe she was waiting to shank you when you headed back out again.
Turns out, that wasn't the case at all. In fact, she'd disappeared completely for the rest of the afternoon. God, maybe you killed her. You had to laugh out loud as the thought crossed your mind. Silly rabbit, of course not. She was probably pissed at you and had rescinded her offer to help. You shrugged. May as well plug the headphones in then.
The remaining pieces were the unwieldier ones like large closets, empty bookcases and a sofa. Ok to be fair, the sofa wasn't too difficult to shift, but it was just in a tight spot, so you thought to treat yourself and leave it till last as you wheezed and dragged everything else several times larger than you out on a mixture of sliding sheets and sheer willpower. You were just grateful Lady Beneviento had indicated that nothing that could only be accessed by the house lift needed to be moved, and thank god; you don't think you'd have the patience waiting for the journey every damn time.
Growling, you wedged your hand between the wall and sofa, pushing just enough so you could fit a forearm down the gap before pivoting over, back to the wall.
"Crouch girl, lift with ya knees," you muttered through gritted teeth, willing the sofa legs not to grate the hardwood so harshly as you tipped the piece up. However, the backing of it was a lot weightier than you anticipated and you fought against the vicious tipping, the amenity and tight space forcing you to either careen into the back wall or crush your right hand. You chose to keep your balance but was caught in genuine surprise as you heard a hollow snapping as the sofa leg stump hit the ground, broke off, and promptly squished your hand under the weight of the sofa.
"COCK-sucking motherfucking piece of SHIT you WANKER jesus goddamn fuckin christ bollo-"
You cut yourself off as you yank your hand free, elbow bashing into the wall, palm and fingers throbbing, upset. Your fuming is cut short by a hysterical laugh somewhere across the room.
"By Mother Miranda! You put Donna to shame, and I've seen her when she's REALLY pissed!" crowed who you're pretty sure is Angie, or what you can hear of her as you take an earphone out.
"Huh- fuckin ow -...So she can talk?" you ask from your spot on the floor, opting not to move for now and self-pityingly cradle your hand.
"Yup yup!" The doll had floated over and plopped herself down on the now-lopsided couch. "Not much. Mainly to me. Sometimes to herself. Barely ever to strangers," she replied, eyes unblinking as she sat above you.
"Eh, I don't mind. As long as she don't hate me for being a slang-slinging rat or some shit," you mutter, tentatively flexing your thumb. It protested angrily.
"She thinks it's funny, meatball. Don't have much of a filter, do ya?"
"Weird sense of humour she's got then. She tell you or something?" you return, opting to gracefully ignore the doll's question.
"Yeah, but not out loud. We're special like that." Angie giggled from her spot, which split open into unashamed peals of laughter. Weird little shit.
"Aight whatever, I'd suggest you move before I drop the sofa again, but on you," you say, moving to get up before remembering you need to lift from this position anyway. From the hours spent together so far, Angie seemed to not command the unwavering respect a Lord demanded, which was nice for just having a regular conversation. Or at least as close to regular a conversation you could have with a sapient, floating doll.
You leaned harder on your right leg this time as you lifted the couch, Angie levitating off and opting to hover by your elbows rather distractingly.
"Angie, please, I already don't have much room to work with, and I don't accidentally wanna bonk you on the head."
"I wanna see! I wanna watch! Ooh, what about-"
You felt the alien sensation of wooden limbs digging into your shoulders and sides.
"This?!" she proclaimed from her new piggyback position. You know what, you'd gotten this far; being a pack mule to a doll was just another bullet point on the agenda, you thought, straightening up and setting the couch upright on its side.
Satisfied, you grabbed it across its depth in a tenuous bear hug and carefully stepped out of the alcove it had called home before gingerly winding your way back to the front door, which only took a few attempts to get through, seemingly entertaining Angie further, who had taken on the opportunity to actually treat you like a horse.
Only when it finally joined its brethren in the very sizable stack of amenities did you huff loudly, proudly, tiredly.
"Fuckin hell, my arms are gonna feel that tomorrow," you mutter to yourself, moving your elbows out of the way as Angie clambered down and back inside, singing absent-mindedly. According to your phone, it was just about three in the afternoon. During a normal week, you should've been asleep six hours ago, which elicited a tight grimace from you. You'd been ignoring your exhaustion for a while now, purely spurred on by finishing the first basic step of a job, but it was threatening to make you listen to it by force. And c'mon, you'd been up for, what, twenty one hours? Certainly not a record, but maybe a bit of a rocky start for what is absolutely going to be a tough week.
Stretching, you collected your jacket after relocating it in the shrubbery before circling back round to a rather plush armchair you had pushed out earlier. A quick rest would put you in better working condition for sure.
Kicking off your boots and ditching your hat, you dropped yourself into the cushioning heavily, groaning from your general soreness. You did your best at curling up into a sphere under your coat, set an alarm for an hour's time, and nodded off like it was a competition.
It'd been a while since you'd had a bad dream. Like a bad bad dream, that could stoke genuine fear from you, and not some tired foreboding.
The sensation of suffocating was what eventually woke you though, realising you were trying your best to smother yourself in your jacket as a sleep-logicked line of defence. Well, that's what woke you, but still being outside on the armchair in the pitch dark is what woke you.
"Shit! Shit shit shit!" you hiss, fumbling blindly for your boots, pulling and tying them on before stumbling towards the front door, trying to piece together an apology from what little vocabulary was available in your freshly-woken state. You carefully tried the door, which was unlocked to your genuine surprise and you stepped in carefully, trying to decide between the line of I-overslept-on-the-job-and-I'm-here-to-apologise-in-the-dead-of-night or I'm-here-to-rob-your-house levels of sneaky.
You paused, heartbeat pounding, as you strained your ears for any sign of life anywhere. What time was it anyway?
Your eyes widen at the phone screen.
03:23
Fuck.
It took a totally of 15 seconds for you to decide to remove your boots to avoid clomping around at motherfucking 03:23 in a house that only had hardwood flooring. You tentatively called out Angie's name before feeling stupid and just decided on checking the rooms one by one.
No regular person would be up at this time anyway. Maybe you should just leave and come back tomorrow morning? But that felt like taking the mick. You should at least try and make up for lost time now, however that was possible.
You'd rounded into the kitchen as one of the final rooms when a folded note propped up like a tent caught your attention on the main counter. Approaching, you were surprised to find it addressed to you in neat cursive. You carefully picked it up and unfolded it, handwriting illuminated by the gentle yellow of the bulb above.
"Please find a portion of our evening meal in the fridge and help yourself, should you wish. You haven't eaten all day.
Regards, D. Beneviento"
Huh. Wait.
She was right! You hadn't eaten! Well no wonder you felt like shit. Slightly giddy, you peeled open the fridge, trying to find what looked most obviously like leftovers to avoid snooping in on whatever else the Lady had stored away. Sure enough, on the middle shelf was a clingfilmed dish of...
Wait, was that spaghetti?
You barked a laugh to yourself as you extricated it.
It was probably wrong of you to think of her as a stereotype. Hell, you of all people should know better. But it was a bit funny. Just a little bit.
You quietly placed the plate by the note, your current quest of finding the house's occupants temporarily forgotten. Worrying your lower lip between teeth, you realised there were still hurdles to jump.
First off, you couldn't just invite yourself to the Lady's kitchen appliances. You didn't know where she kept her pans to heat this up again, or what pans were non-stick or spaghetti-repellent or Donna-only pans. On a similar tangent, you couldn't just root around her shit under the excuse of finding cutlery. It was the truth, but still invasive. Not to mention adding to her gas bills.
With a slight smirk, a silly little voice told you exactly how to avoid all that, and quite frankly, in your current state, you were inclined to agree.
Sighing, you propped your weight onto your elbows on the counter. Eh, what the hell.
You dug in with your hands (which you should have washed, you guiltily think), the sauce much harder to pick up than the pasta, resulting in you essentially shovelling the meal into your face. It was cold, sure, but you were pretty sure you'd eaten worse food in worse condition than this. Speaking of, if the Lady made this, she was a bangin cook. Even in this state, the slight salt in the sauce brought out a new level of hunger in you as you essentially started scarfing down like an animal, not really caring for the not-ideal wet chewing sounds and the pesto-based chelsea grin you had undeniably granted yourself. Fuck, you weren't a huge fan of garlic, but thi--
A polite clearing of the throat froze you dead still.
Against your will, your eyes looked up.
Fuck.
It was Lady Beneviento.
Shit.
Bollocks.
You sheepishly finish your mouthful, wiping your face with the back if your hands, which then went to hover politely over the plate so as not to drip everywhere.
"I swear I don't usually eat like this," you started, barely able to look at her covered face.
"Really. I just didn't wanna go rooting through your shi-stuff to find cutlery, or something to heat this up in, or wake you up with cooking sounds-"
You cut yourself off as you can feel yourself beginning to rant, trying to avoid further embarrassment. You breathe out long and hard, trying to weigh your next words carefully.
"Is there anything I could say that would make this less mortifying for me?" is what you eventually squeak out.
Almost as if to save the Lady from speaking, Angie comes speeding into the room, about a foot off the ground.
"Whhhhheeeeeee oh my GOD," she screeches, her path cutting to a juddering halt before winding up onto the counter so she could see your disgraceful feast in all its glory. Her little mechanical jaw falls open as her face hovers inches above yours, eyes darting back and forth in their sockets.
You straighten up a little, going to wipe your chin again.
"Morning Angie."
There's a beat before she throws the head back, shoulders heaving.
"AHAHAHAHAAA!! Donna! She eats just like ME!"
You breathe a silent sigh of relief as Angie continues her little soliloquy to her...owner? Creator? Friend? Meanwhile, you awkwardly suck your fingers into your mouth, keeping your head down, even when you saw the Lady move past and behind you. It took everything in you not to flinch.
Your hands are mostly clean when you see a fork hover into your vision. Turning your head, you see it's Lady Beneviento offering it, though you can't tell if she's looking at you or not. You gently take the utensil, careful not to touch her. She had painted black nails and slender hands. They were nice hands.
Suddenly paranoid that your taking in of details could be interpreted as staring, you tear your eyes away back to Lady Beneviento's veil, and murmur a 'thank you', imagining your attempt at eye contact was somewhat successful. It probably would have meant more if you didn't have sauce all over your face anyway.
She doesn't respond, only folding her hands back in front of her, lowering her head a little before moving to another cupboard to look for something.
"You gonna eat the rest of that cold?" asked Angie from somewhere behind you as you went to rinse off, just to feel somewhat cleaner.
"Yeah, why not. Most of it's gone now anyways. The chef has my compliments," you add, feeling for anymore food on your face. You completely miss as Donna ducks her head.
Returning to the plate, you watch from the corner of your eye as Lady Beneviento prepares herself what looks like tea, pausing to lean on the counter and rub her temples as the kettle boiled.
"Long night?" you ask, wanting her to maybe feel a little more at ease.
She pauses, and nods slightly, shoulders slumping a fraction. Your heart tugs, wanting to hug her. Being vexed and alone was far too familiar to you.
"You should sleep at some point. You've had a long day," you offer, ever the advocate for the temporary version of a coma. At this, the Lady's head lifts a little, as if to look at you.
"We've already napped a bit today. Not long after you, actually!" Angie giggled from a different table where she was stacking apples.
You grimaced, suddenly remembering why you came back in the house.
"Ah. Yeah. Uh, sorry for dozing off on the job, my Lady. I also had a bit of a long day, but that's no excuse."
She actually held her hand up a little, almost as if gently telling you to stop apologising. So you held your tongue.
The Lady rose as the kettle clicked, and you carefully timed when you thought she couldn't see you with licking the plate clean. No reason to waste, right? You threw a wink at Angie and held a finger up to your lips as you finished.
Lady Beneviento eventually settled at the counter, grip tighter than what would be normal around the cup. Hating being idle, you rose in turn, heading towards the sink with your plate, but the Lady's hand holds up by your side, as if to stop you. So you paused.
Her head tilts up to look at you, or least you assume, before you see a slight shake of her head.
"You don't want me to wash this?"
You're doing your best to fill in the blanks, and she nods in response, bringing her hand down as if to motion you placing the plate back down. Ok, maybe you couldn't bite your tongue over this.
"Forgive me for speaking out of turn my Lady, but washing up is a favoured past time of mine. Please let me clean up after myself."
(Hopefully she'd respect fancy speak)
At this, her hand retracts a little as she tilts her head slightly. To your surprise, she stands and jesus it wasn't fair that she was way taller than you. You watch with bated breath, honestly expecting to get slapped round the face, but she instead reaches into one of her sleeves and pull out a handkerchief. She turns slightly, dipping a corner of it into her tea before turning to face you again and so carefully, so slowly, so delicately, wipes at a spot under your jaw. You spy that it comes away orange-red as her hand withdraws, which confirmed that you had indeed managed to get sauce fucking everywhere. But more importantly, you needed to dissipate the tension of receiving any form of quasi-intimacy. Easily done.
"Cheers broski," you say, voice maybe a little cracklier than you wanted, but whatever. Spurring into action, you decide you were gonna wash your plate whether she liked it or not; you really didn't like where this indignance was coming from, because it was usually the first sign of falling fo--
You ran the water, scrubbing your neck as well this time, determined to be completely sauceless without exterior aid. You waited patiently, fingers under the stream as the water took its sweet time heating up, thunder booming in the distance. It occurred to you that Angie hadn't said anything in a while; was she-
"SHIT."
You didn't mean to say it out loud, but you bounded out of the kitchen and straight to the front door just as the beginning pitter patter of a violent shower started tapping at the panes.
The flat packs! The fuckin flat packs!
You could just about make out where they still were by the light tiredly beaming through the doorway as you raced outside, shoving a boot on before deciding against wasting more time. From there, you were a frenzied storm of grab, run, drop, run, grab, run, drop as the rain rapidly picked up in intensity, quickly soaking through everything you had on. You almost lost your footing several times as the mud gleefully worked against your equally muddy sock, the cardboard of the packages quickly giving way to become mulch, and in fact violently rolled your ankle at one point that had you swearing into the night.
The residents of the estate had since joined you at the door, Angie whooping and cheering with each box dumped in the doorway and Donna doing her best to take the goods from you, but some of the heavier or rain-melted ones she faltered with. Upon passing a cube-shaped parcel over, your fingertips brushed mistakenly, but you had soggy priorities waiting for you in the rain. Or at least you did until the Lord dropped the box upon snatching her hand back from the contact like you burned her. From your rushed limping in and out of their doorway, your body was offset, ready to dash back into the night, and it seemed luck favoured you for once as the package landed wholly on your boot.
"Yeowch, you ok?" Angie asked, her little doll face contorting into the closest thing to a wince it could. You laughed, the adrenaline kicking you up to a new level as you stood soaked to the bone. Bending a knee, you knocked on your protected foot, injured ligament yowling, running a hand through your hair to stop the water dripping directly into your eyes.
"Steel toe caps, baby."
You were still grinning as you turned back into the night, hauling the last two plank-like shapes onto your shoulder, laughing at your frankly atrocious luck with the weather. Only Angie saw how red Lady Beneviento's ears had turned.