Chapter Fifty-Nine
Rafferty was nervous when she pushed on the door to the little room that Becka called her office. The note had said that Katrin and Rafferty would be joining the Priory at a dinner hosting Bentley Blufton, and that they should see Becka to prepare in advance. This sort of work was not Rafferty's strong suit, and having to see Becka didn't make her feel better about it.
Becka's job was never clearly defined. Max would only ever say that she "kept everyone on point." She was basically in charge of who should be where when, and what they should be doing when they got there. As a result, she was a combination of stressed and bossy that didn't exactly put Rafferty at ease.
Becka started talking before the door even swung shut.
"Good morning, Rafferty. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how important events like these are to procuring donations, and I'm even more sure that I don't have to tell you that procuring those donations is a necessary and constant struggle. Mr. Blufton and his family are due to arrive in six hours. You will report to the third floor in five hours. You will wear this dress and these boots," Becka said gesturing to clothes placed on a chair.
"It looks awfully tight," Rafferty said, looking at the dress.
"Yes," said Becka as if Rafferty were hopelessly naive.
Rafferty picked up one of the boots.
"Don't these belong to Maxine?" she asked.
"Not tonight," answered Becka.
"You will start the evening with your hair sandy blonde. Just before dessert you will change to a dark, fiery red. You will, under all circumstances, avoid greens and purples" Becka continued.
Becka stopped and stared at Rafferty.
"What?" Rafferty asked cautiously.
"Will you demonstrate the sandy blonde, please?" Becka asked.
Rafferty shook her hair out, and switched it to the color she thought Becka wanted.
Becka's eyes narrowed in thought.
"Sandier," she said.
"It's not an exact science…" Rafferty trailed off as Becka's eyes narrowed further.
She tried to tweak the color of her hair.
"Perfect. Yes. Like that. Now the red," Becka said.
Rafferty switched again. A lock of dark red hair fell in front of her face. Becka studied it for moment, and then nodded.
"Just before dessert. And you should shake your head more when you do it. Like this," Becka said, demonstrating a dramatic head swish.
"I don't actually have to—"
"Do you think Bentley Blufton knows that?" Becka asked.
"I guess not," said Rafferty.
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"Correct," said Becka. "The Bluftons will be bringing several bottles of a wine they make themselves. You will drink one glass before dinner, and another throughout the meal. You will describe it as robust and complex."
Rafferty's stomach turned a little as she thought about the night before.
"Sometimes the dark reds go purple. Especially when I drink," Rafferty said.
"You will under all circumstances avoid greens and purples," said Becka.
There seemed to be no point in arguing this any further.
"Mr. Blufton will tell jokes. Bad ones. You will need to laugh," said Becka, and again looked at Rafferty expectantly.
"What?" Rafferty asked.
"Laugh," she said.
"But nothing is funny," said Rafferty.
"It won't be tonight, either," said Becka.
Rafferty tried to forced a short, hoarse laugh.
"That was terrible, bordering on frightening," said Becka.
Rafferty's shoulders constricted in embarrassment.
"Picture Blaspheme falling in mud. On her face," said Becka.
Rafferty laughed, in spite of herself, pulling her hand up to cover her mouth.
"That was perfect. Cover your mouth even more. He'll love that," Becka said.
"So I'm just supposed to picture Blaspheme falling all night?" Rafferty asked.
"Of course not. Only when he tries to tell a joke," Becka said.
Can't I just fight something instead? Pretty please?
"We encourage use of the words duty, teamwork, and tradition, as well as the phrase "but, of course, the fight is never over." We discourage use of the words blood, lucky, and moist, or any variation of "kicking ass." Near the end of the party, you will invite Mr. Blufton up to the roof in order to see your Class Four token up close. You will act as though this is your idea, and that you are bending the rules. Do you think you can pull that off?"
Not really.
"I guess," said Rafferty.
"Good. He will most likely be drunk by then anyway, so he will believe almost anything. Please do not let him fall and die," said Becka.
What if I fall and die? Would that be ok? Because it's starting to sound appealing.
Rafferty was nervous when she pushed on the door to the little room that Becka called her office. The note had said that Katrin and Rafferty would be joining the Priory at a dinner hosting Bentley Blufton, and that they should see Becka to prepare in advance. This sort of work was not Rafferty's strong suit, and having to see Becka didn't make her feel better about it.
Becka's job was never clearly defined. Max would only ever say that she "kept everyone on point." She was basically in charge of who should be where when, and what they should be doing when they got there. As a result, she was a combination of stressed and bossy that didn't exactly put Rafferty at ease.
Becka started talking before the door even swung shut.
"Good morning, Rafferty. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how important events like these are to procuring donations, and I'm even more sure that I don't have to tell you that procuring those donations is a necessary and constant struggle. Mr. Blufton and his family are due to arrive in six hours. You will report to the third floor in five hours. You will wear this dress and these boots," Becka said gesturing to clothes placed on a chair.
"It looks awfully tight," Rafferty said, looking at the dress.
"Yes," said Becka as if Rafferty were hopelessly naive.
Rafferty picked up one of the boots.
"Don't these belong to Maxine?" she asked.
"Not tonight," answered Becka.
"You will start the evening with your hair sandy blonde. Just before dessert you will change to a dark, fiery red. You will, under all circumstances, avoid greens and purples" Becka continued.
Becka stopped and stared at Rafferty.
"What?" Rafferty asked cautiously.
"Will you demonstrate the sandy blonde, please?" Becka asked.
Rafferty shook her hair out, and switched it to the color she thought Becka wanted.
Becka's eyes narrowed in thought.
"Sandier," she said.
"It's not an exact science…" Rafferty trailed off as Becka's eyes narrowed further.
She tried to tweak the color of her hair.
"Perfect. Yes. Like that. Now the red," Becka said.
Rafferty switched again. A lock of dark red hair fell in front of her face. Becka studied it for moment, and then nodded.
"Just before dessert. And you should shake your head more when you do it. Like this," Becka said, demonstrating a dramatic head swish.
"I don't actually have to—"
"Do you think Bentley Blufton knows that?" Becka asked.
"I guess not," said Rafferty.
"Correct," said Becka. "The Bluftons will be bringing several bottles of a wine they make themselves. You will drink one glass before dinner, and another throughout the meal. You will describe it as robust and complex."
Rafferty's stomach turned a little as she thought about the night before.
"Sometimes the dark reds go purple. Especially when I drink," Rafferty said.
"You will under all circumstances avoid greens and purples," said Becka.
There seemed to be no point in arguing this any further.
"Mr. Blufton will tell jokes. Bad ones. You will need to laugh," said Becka, and again looked at Rafferty expectantly.
"What?" Rafferty asked.
"Laugh," she said.
"But nothing is funny," said Rafferty.
"It won't be tonight, either," said Becka.
Rafferty tried to forced a short, hoarse laugh.
"That was terrible, bordering on frightening," said Becka.
Rafferty's shoulders constricted in embarrassment.
"Picture Blaspheme falling in mud. On her face," said Becka.
Rafferty laughed, in spite of herself, pulling her hand up to cover her mouth.
"That was perfect. Cover your mouth even more. He'll love that," Becka said.
"So I'm just supposed to picture Blaspheme falling all night?" Rafferty asked.
"Of course not. Only when he tries to tell a joke," Becka said.
Can't I just fight something instead? Pretty please?
"We encourage use of the words duty, teamwork, and tradition, as well as the phrase "but, of course, the fight is never over." We discourage use of the words blood, lucky, and moist, or any variation of "kicking ass." Near the end of the party, you will invite Mr. Blufton up to the roof in order to see your Class Four token up close. You will act as though this is your idea, and that you are bending the rules. Do you think you can pull that off?"
Not really.
"I guess," said Rafferty.
"Good. He will most likely be drunk by then anyway, so he will believe almost anything. Please do not let him fall and die," said Becka.
What if I fall and die? Would that be ok? Because it's starting to sound appealing.