It had been a week since the funeral processions started, and everyone in the laundry room was sick of the color black. Black suits, black gowns, black tablecloths and napkins. The upside was that the folding table was leagues better than wet fabric, so Chandler was at least a step up. Not high enough, but at this point anything was better than those stinking wooden tubs, lugging water over from the heater to get the stains out, skirts sticking to her legs from the splashing water. Plus, she got to talk to Lottie, and Lottie was easily her favorite in the laundry room.
"I heard the funeral is going to last for another week," Chandler comments as she and Lottie each took an end of a tablecloth, folded it in half, then half again, then walked over to each other to mee their halves into an organized black rectangle.
"That long? But I guess she did raise the duke after his mother died, so, another week of thetheir leftover beef broth with our potatoes."
"It is kinda crazy how much food they're putting out. My roommate works as a serving maid, and she says they don't have enough carts to load the platters in and out. So the head serving maid-"
"Helga?"
"Yeah, Helga. She's been busting their asses to rotate the carts on a strict time clock. If I were the head maid I would simply order more carts. They aren't that expensive. They could absolutely fit them in the budget."
Lottie snorted. "You would think. But for some reason, nobles are really stingy about buying anything that would make our job easier."
"That's why I want to move out of the laundry room. So I can convince people to make all these simple improvements that would make this place incalcuably more efficient."
Lottie shook her head, smirking a little, as she grabbed another large black tablecloth off of the clothesline and handed an end over to Chandler. "Good luck with that one honey."
"I can be persuasive. They loved me at school. I could always convince the teacher to extend out lunch time."
Lottie gives her a kind smile as she loops the ends of the tablecloths over each other and hands it to Chandler to place on the stack of finished tablecloths.
It's then that Lydia wheels a laundry bin into the room, and leans over it with a big smile.
"I'm baaaack!" she sings, swishing her new apron, a crisp white, proving she's no longer stuck in the unsightly stations of laundry of kitchen or worse, the stables.
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"Oh," says Lottie.
"Ready to give me your job?" Chandler asks.
Lydia places a hand over her chest in faux gratitude. "I've missed this comradery," she says. "I might have a job for you Chandler, but more importantly, I have so much news to share! You know how I'm in the north tower, well, it's not any lower noble staying there, but the fourth princess! We got a whole new set of guards and let me tell you, they're absolute gems. There's four of them, and one is SUCH a flirt. He keeps trying to make moves on me, but I've seen him trying to make those same moves on Princess Honor's handmaiden and you know I won't go for guys who don't have a smidgen of loyalty. I deserve better! Hehe..."
"Hold on. A job for me? What?" asks Chandler.
Lottie fingers some of the fabric in the bin. "This silk?" she asks.
"Oh girls..." Lydia says generously, spreading our her arms. "I've missed you both. Hugs?"
Lottie and Chandler both give her a side hug, allowing Lydia's enthusiasm to make up for their lack thereof. She squeezes them both tightly, then flounces over to her old stool, smooths her skirts and presses her hands together.
"Anyway. There's another guard who's much quieter, and I'm like, is he the strong and silent type? Because I might be into it. It's hard to tell though, because of the armor they wear, if he's like, actually cute or not. So I was wondering if you guys thought I should make a move of not because on one hand, what do I have to lose? On the other hand, what if I've just made up a version of him in my head."
"Go for it," says Lottie bluntly, giving a thumbs up and wheeling the cart over to the end of the dirty laundry queue. "You've got nothing to lose."
"I'd go for it, but not like, all the way. Gather some information on the guy first. Also, again, what is this job you speak of?"
"Chandler, I will absolutely do that. I don't like to cause the mess, I just like to watch the mess. And the job is working as a fitting model for Princess Honor. She's wheelchair bound and can't really stand up for long amounts of time. The seamstresses need to make her more mourning gowns, but they're struggling to get the measurements right, and you look about the same size as the princess."
Chandler considers the offer for a few moments, then a satisfied smile slides over her face. Being the princess's fitting model would mean spending time with the princess, during which she could befriend the princess and convince the princess to let Chandler be her most trusted advisor. Advising her on things like infastructure policy.
"That is excellent news," Chandler murmurs.
"I know!" Lydia exclaims. "And if you're up in the north tower, you can be my wingman on the guards. Now that I'm not confined to the laundry room all day, I get to actually meet people! Not that you guys are bad or anything, but more people. New people."
Lydia continues blathering on about how exciting everything is upstairs. It's not that exciting, and at least half of her words are her own contrivances extrapolated from minute interactions. But she lives for things like this, it's her own form of entertainment. Chandler can't even complain, because she knows she can be just as dull when asked about load limits for bridges. Everyone has their own issues.