“Hey, thanks for coming out. I know you were probably hoping that… well, never mind. How’ve you been?” Anna asked.
“Hmm, fine, you know?” Jordan waved off her concern. “Things are going well enough. I’m a little behind on, eh, stuff, but you know how it is. You’d think a degree could have gotten me a better job than a damn hotel, right?” Jordan laughed awkwardly.
“Yeah… well, you know, if you wanted to move in with me, I’ve got a spare bedroom. My friend, Becca, her dad owns a business over by—”
“Hey, I said it’s fine!” Jordan scoffed. It was just like Anna to always bring this kind of crap up. Didn’t she realize this was why he blew her off all the time?
His annoyance was clear as day. She dropped it, looking a little guilty and hurt, triggering similar feelings in Jordan, so he tried to change topics, “Uh, so why coffee anyway? I thought you didn’t like it?”
“What? I love the stuff!” Anna enthused. “I think you might be thinking of Elle, ya know? Have you even talked to her since you guys, eh…”
“Had our falling out? No. She doesn’t want to talk to me.” Jordan griped. He’d put up with so much anime for that ungrateful—
“S-sorry. Guess I didn’t think it would be that bad…” She said.
“What do you mean?” And why does she look so guilty all of a sudden? He thought.
“N-no reason!” She replied quickly. “Hey, so are you going to go out later tonight? To celebrate and all that?”
Jordan nodded his head, wincing as he took a drink of coffee. He liked the stuff well enough, but it never felt like it was made quite right. There was always something wrong with it. Maybe it was the way he mixed in the sweeteners? Nah, probably the slackers behind the counter, he concluded.
“Yeah, all the guys insisted on it, and as long as they’re paying, I won’t complain.” Jordan said with a smile. It wasn’t very convincing.
Anna clearly saw through him. She didn’t say anything—obviously trying to be polite—because she was well aware of how anti-social he could be. Jordan would have been far happier to stay at home, drink, and play games with friends rather than go out to celebrate something as stupid as his—
“So, I hope you don’t mind, but I got you a birthday present.” Anna pulled out from her purse a wonderfully wrapped package. Small, thin, and rectangular—Jordan knew instantly it was a game case. Even after everything went digital people still fucking loved those, even though the case would only have a download code in it rather than a CD.
“Really? You know you don’t have to.” After moving to the city next door, Jordan had hoped for a little space from his family. Especially given how Kate had been acting around him since… well, he took the meticulously wrapped gift, and once again marveled at it. He could never match the sheer perfection of her gift wrapping, even after decades of Christmases and Birthdays. His always looked like the results of a drunken toddler rampaging through arts and crafts.
He gently pulled at the tape, opening the package while preserving the wrapping. He knew his sister would want it back so it could be ‘reused.’ A ridiculous notion in his mind, but he figured if she wanted to horde it, she was welcome to it. The game underneath the paper, however, was not what he’d expected.
“Is this… His Majesty’s Immortal Academy? Seriously?” He looked up at her—equal parts awe and… irritation on his face.
“Yeah, I saw your post ranting about not being able to afford it,” she chuckled. “I know times are tough, but I hope… I hope you can enjoy a little bit of fun when you can. Okay?” She gave him a warm smile.
That smile. That stupid, perfect smile of hers. Jordan sighed as he lied smoothly.
“Of course! Thanks sis—I’ll install this as soon as I get home.” He added a smile and laugh of his own to seal the deal.
Did she believe it?
“Awesome! You know, the campaign mode is made for solo play or even up to a dozen people simultaneously. Would you want to play sometime?”
Would he have?
“Of course! Are you free this weekend?” She agreed to his false offer, reaching out a hand that he never took.
They chit chatted for a while, before splitting off. She was only on a lunch break from her work in some offices nearby. Some sort of receptionist job at a law firm? Working her way up so that one day she could fight the good fight or something. Jordan wasn’t sure on the specifics as he’d never really asked. If it were important, she’d tell him after all. Until then she could play at being a hero.
Instead, he called an Uber, and shortly thereafter found himself sitting behind the mechanized controls of the drivers spot. Automated rides like this were common and cheap, but he’d still laid on the guilt over the inconvenience of having to pay for a ride out this far, so she’d left him some extra money. He sat there staring at it in his hands, shame welling up inside him. A flimsy excuse to disguise begging for money.
Putting the cash away while he tossed the card it came in aside unread, he held up the HMIA game case and sighed in frustration as he looked it over. Of course he’d wanted the game—everyone was talking about it nonstop! But really? Buying it for him just so she could guilt trip him into playing it with her? Seriously?
The case cracked a little in his hand as he gripped it in anger. He’d still install it, just so she’d see it was in his accounts, but then make excuses. Game requirements are too high, or possibly just make something up saying he was busy. He could think of something when the time came.
He… always did. Why… why am I doing this? Jordan thought to himself. He looked around, at the bustling streets outside the car’s cab. People milled about, living their lives as they so loved to do, and he sat there. Moving along, without doing anything himself.
It’s a self driving car, not a metaphor! He complained to no one. Irritated he… he did the unthinkable.
He turned the steering wheel. Why am I doing this? Why!? His actions seemed… strange?
His efforts did nothing, of course, because the driver control was turned off. Incensed, and filled with a welling sense of confused panic, Jordan tried to override it. It didn’t work, obviously—if self-driving cars could just be switched out of automated mode then what would stop people from stealing them?
“Fucking piece of shit!” He pulled at the wheel. He was… he was furious and… crying? But he didn’t cry, that wasn’t—
He pounded on the controls of the vehicle. Surprisingly, the dashboard sparked, crackled, and flickered wildly as automated mode deactivated. But that… should have been impossible?
“Yes! This is my chance!” He exalted.
My chance… for what? He asked himself, confused why he wasn’t just going home. He had to get ready to go out—which mostly meant moping around and slowly psyching himself up to have to deal with more people later.
Instead, he twisted the wheel, and turned around. He barely remembered to turn on the indicators. His father had insisted he learn to drive when he was in high school, and Jordan could remember this much at least.
Wait… hadn’t he been working at the hotel back then? He was the backup driver for the shuttle in case anything went wrong with it. There to help with luggage, greet with a smile, and—
What… what did he mean by back then? When was—
Cars nearby honked, and pedestrians kept looking at him weirdly. Was he swerving erratically? What were they—
His car slowed down. He looked at it with consternation, smacking at the petals below him. The engine roared in protest, but the car didn’t speed up. He kept the pedal pushed all the way down, and he danced left and right through the rows of cars just sitting there in his way. Yet the more he tried, the more his vehicle slowed down. What was happening?
Fuck it! He dug his phone out of his pocket, spilling the bills over the floor. Money didn’t matter though. There was something important he needed to do. And he needed to do it now!
“Anna? Anna, pick up dammit!” He held the iPhone to his ear. He’d started dialing as soon as… when had he dialed?
“Hello, this is Anna. Who’s this?” Her sweet voice chirped on the other side. Yes!
“Anna? It’s Jordan! Are you going back to work? I need to talk to you!” He shouted into the phone. The car kept getting slower. What the hell is going on!?
“Jordan? Ah…” She trailed off.
“Yeah, Jordan! Your brother?” What the hell was wrong with her?
“Um, sorry but I think you have the wrong number, miss.” She replied before hanging up.
“Miss?” Jordan asked.
The engine finally quit, though the car continued to coast. Jordan looked around in panic, trying to find a place to pull off as a woman standing in the road directed traffic. He glared at her as he spun around, annoyed at the giant glowing shield on her back. Cars continued to honk, especially one really pissed off bitch flipping him the bird. Spinning around he got—
“Things have gotten pretty weird, haven’t they?” A man asked from the back of the car.
Jordan jumped, nearly scared shitless by the sudden appearance. Adjusting the rear view mirror to see the stranger, he saw a young man obscured by a baggy hoodie and with tight fitted jeans visible as he lounged holding a leg lazily. His face was hidden by the shadows of the cloak making Jordan think of Judges. All he could see from the boy was dark hair, spilling out, long with a light tint.
Great, a goddamn scene kid!
“Who the hell are you!?” Jordan accused him.
“I should be asking you that, really.” The boy laughed. “I was sleeping until… well, I guess this makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Like hell it does! Who the fuck are you!?” Jordan screeched. It was… oddly high pitched.
“I’m sorry… Aureliana. I really am.” The man said, shaking his head sadly.
“What… what did you call me?” Jordan accused the man, but he pointed a gloved hand towards the mirror. Jordan turned it towards himself and saw—
Red villainous eyes with black soulless pupils. The Brat smiled, and Jordan woke up to the sounds of screaming.
----------------------------------------
“Oh, fuck-widgets!” Jordan screamed as the early morning light seared into his unprotected eyes. While it wasn’t overly bright, the darkness of the room had been so near-absolute, that the sudden change was more than startling. It didn’t help that he’d been in the middle of a… dream?
Chuckling from nearby, Jordan could hear the Harlot pulling back another curtain, and more light flooded the bedroom. Cursing loudly, Jordan pulled his sheets over his head. The fluffy prison was warm, and felt strangely familiar in its weight and heat. As much as it had been a terrifying presence in the days prior—at the moment he found it a comforting balm against the cold that still sat in his core.
“Good morning, Young Miss. Did you sleep well?” The maid called out cheerfully, as she moved onto the next window. Jordan could hear several sounds all over the bedroom, and assumed additional copies of the Harlot’s Horde were at work. If his ears could be believed, they were likely beginning some daily chores. That, or one of them was ‘watering’ a corner rather than the multitude of flowers that still filled the room. He wouldn’t put it past them after what he’d seen.
“Hmph.” Jordan responded only with a small, defiant noise, which elicited additional giggles from the nearby maids. Yup, definitely a gaggle of harlots in here.
“Still not a morning person, eh love?” A more coarse maid approached, and began to tug at the covers shielding Jordan. He did not let go.
A brief struggle occurred as they began a tug of war, but unfortunately the maid cheated by bringing in a second copy to help. Jordan, exposed now to the piercing light of dawn, alternated between blinking, and glaring at the Succubi in the room.
“Ooooh, she’s just so cute!”
“Like a wee little sloth demon. I could just—”
“Eh eh eh! Hands off the Young Miss. We’ll not be ‘avin an’thur repeat uf the otha day, hear me?” One of the maids pounded fist to palm menacingly as the nearby ones scurried off like puppies scared of a vacuum.
Spared for the moment, Jordan flopped backwards into the Brat’s bed—his now, he supposed—and sighed. All things considered—he actually felt good. He was such a light sleeper in his old life, that he was used to waking up multiple times a night and struggling just to fall asleep. Yesterday evening had been… difficult, emotionally, and intellectually, but he’d still managed to drop out like a light when head met pillow. A few dreams tugged at his memories, but faded quickly away.
He watched the maids bustle around curiously—most were slacking off while only a few worked. Much like construction crews he’d worked with, he reckoned. He still didn’t understand the full specifics of the multi-faceted Succubi. He stopped watching them after a minute or so when one of them noticed and began to pose suggestively. Jordan rolled his eyes and turned away from both them, and the light of day.
He still felt cold inside. Cold and hollow. The revelations of his new world being a game, the guilt over having not played it because of his selfish desire to spite his sister… all of it still weighed on him. It had been far worse last night, and must have shown, as even the She-Devil, Usoo or whatever her name was, had been gentle and quiet when it had come time to strip Jordan and prepare him for bed.
Looking back on it now, he was surprised a demon like her had shown such empathy—but perhaps it had just been the lack of mewling protests on his end. That, or the blank, empty stare he gave everyone.
Much like the one he was giving Mt. Pillowmore now.
Jordan stared at the overly-embroidered pillows in front of him. A mountain of fluffy items, each unique and separate beautiful works of art. They were really just a waste of space, in his mind, but they reminded him of the tasks ahead. A mountain of them. The more he dwelled on them, the more the optimism he’d briefly had the day before seemed to fade. His goals loomed over him, threatening to collapse and crush him. Just like the damn pillows.
Gain a class. Enter the Academy. Avoid getting married. Avoid dying. Make a team or something. Go to parties. A ridiculous series of impossible tasks, in which he had no idea where to start. He had six months, and he was on, what, day four? The last week had felt like it dragged on for months. Though that could have been a side effect of his constant use of his Time-Out power. Or skill? What had she called it… enhanced contemplation or something? Unless it’s due to something else I don’t know. Regardless, he decided to try and cut back on its use for the time being.
Then again, he thought, it could just be the contrast of activity between lives—he’d had months go by in his old life with little to show for it. Of course a sudden change like this would seem… overwhelming.
Jordan sighed out morosely when he noticed an unwanted feeling building inside him. His pitiful little noise caused one of the maids to cast him a concerning glance. She asked a question, and he reluctantly nodded. No matter what was in store for him, there were some things that were unavoidable. Some actions that would haunt him, again and again. For the rest of his life in this world, no matter how grand or how… miserable.
He had to go to the bathroom. Some things were inevitable, after all.
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Inevitability.
Jordan vaguely recalled a marvel villain known for that. Thantos or something? Jordan had been about the Brat’s age when the big movies with him came out, but being a DC fan he’d only watched the Avengers once and moved on. But just like the purple chin antagonist from those stories, and the meme’s they still occasionally generated, there were some things that were just… inevitable.
Like how he was going to cry.
It was all but a guarantee. It was—inevitable. The only question was: what would cause it?
What would bring the proof of his sorrow into the world? His suffering? His pain?
It was The Bidet. Obviously.
All things considered; Jordan was proud of the stoic way he’d carried himself through his early morning tribulations. While, yes, he had cried when The Bidet VIOLATED, er, bothered him, he had managed to stay calm when given a choice of whether to clean himself or be cleaned by one of the demons.
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It should have been an easy choice, not unlike the choice the day before for freedom over thorns, but just like the day before, he ended up going the unexpected route.
He’d chosen to let one of the demons clean him.
After all—how the hell was he supposed to be expected to clean a pre-teen Brat’s body? Somethings were best left untouched.
Plus, it had almost been worth it to see the Harlot’s downcast expression when he picked Usiu to do it. She was the lesser of two evils in his mind if he didn’t challenge her, and the worst she ended up doing—he found to his gratitude—was pine over Jordan’s ‘adorableness’ or ‘doll-like features’ as he sat in front of a bathroom mirror, ass stapled to a stool for a more ‘proper’ cleaning.
Usiu’s constant screams of ‘YES’ and remarks over how ‘precious’ Jordan was, had brought some amusement to him. It conjured an image in his mind of a deranged, Amazon-warrioress version of Golem, that guy from the Lord of the Rings movies. Or books? He’d never read them so he wasn’t sure. Was he a hobbit that had gone bad? It annoyed Jordan that he couldn’t just jump online and double check.
The online world had been part of his life, in almost every way. All his music was done through online services, he had multiple social media accounts he used (and mostly ignored), his email, his games, his friends, hell some of his jobs had been entirely online. Those had been the good ones, though long hours of sitting at a desk being sedentary had not been good for his waistline.
Another thing I won’t have to care about I suppose, he thought as he stared blankly at the Brat in the mirror being scrubbed. He smelled like a little flower now, or something equally stupid and girly. God damnit, his fingers itched for a phone he’d hated carrying around. How sad is that?
After being freed from the early morning requirements of living as a brat, Jordan made his way out of his bedroom, scowling at his outfit. He made for an annoyingly cheerful view.
The She-Devil had dressed him in a pink ‘casual summer’s outfit,’ which meant a simple three layers rather than six. Jordan assumed from this, that the less layers meant the more relaxed his day would be. And thankfully, when he met Catella outside his room, he was not tackled into paste. She was dressed in a yellow dress herself, the perfect little image of sunshine as she beamed. It… actually brought the first smile of the day to Jordan’s face.
Heading down the hallway, adopted sister in tow, they ventured into parts unknown of the Mansion—for Jordan at least. Expectantly, doing so still elicited feelings of uncomfortable dread, like his first attempt to pass through the Brat’s bedroom door. Though it was more muted compared to the raging tsunami of emotions from the day prior, and he was able to easily dismiss it.
Arriving somewhere on the first floor after a near ten minute walk when Catella got lost and Jordan refused to call the maid for guidance, Jordan found that the Brat’s father and mother had apparently decided to join their daughters for breakfast.
“Good morning sweethearts,” Constantine said, “How are you doing?” While his question was given to them both—and Catella happily babbled morning pleasantries she was far too enthused over—the way he stared into Jordan’s eyes left little question as to his true target.
The fire’s… still gone, Jordan noted. It felt… sad. Lonely. Like he was staring at a photograph of the man rather than the real deal.
“I’m fine,” Jordan lied. The brief glance between husband and wife left no doubt for Jordan that they didn’t believe him. Stupid skill things.
“What’s for breakfast, anyway?” He tried to change the subject, and—
Nearly screamed when a goddamn tiger-dude came barreling into the room!
“Good Morning, Young Miss! It’s a pleasure to see you again, and,” the feline man looked between the Brat’s parents, “if I’m not mistaken, make your acquaintance?”
“Ah… yeah, um, hi?” Jordan stuck out a hand dumbly, but squeaked when he was suddenly struck by rigor mortis as his body went into full rebellion mode. Clenching his jaw, one Brat foot slid smoothly behind the other, as both knees bent lightly. Both hands pinched at his pink garb, lifted, and with a slight tilt of the head and spine Jordan… curtsied.
Curtsying? Really!? He fumed.
Through those same clenched teeth, he then said, “I’m honored to make your acquaintance, good Sir.” His smile was forced, and far from perfect towards the cat-man.
“Of course, My Lady. The honor is all mine!” The man bellowed loudly as he spoke, his large pudgy middle bouncing jovially as he bowed deeply. “My name is Duan Meng, and I am the Chef for both yourself and your sister, Lady Catella.”
Chef Duan motioned smoothly towards the tiny brat who responded by bouncing in place beaming more radiance into the room. Jordan hid his scowl to the best of his ability, aided by the very etiquette ability that had embarrassed him so suddenly. Both he and Catella took a seat as the conversation continued.
“If I may say so,” Chef Duan said, turning towards the Brat’s parents, “I’m honored to be serving both you, Duke and Duchess Freyhell. I apologize, however, if the meal is… not to your tastes, as I’m still preparing desaturated food for your daughters, Your Graces.”
“It’s no bother,” answered Constantine, “I apologize for not giving you more notice.”
“Oh, ah of course not, Sir. Of course not! Um, I apologize for any impertinence in the question but, eh, will you and Duchess Freyhell be joining the Young Miss for meals… often now?”
Constantine looked at Mercia, who nodded, and responded with his own nod directed towards the Chef. “For the time being.”
“If you’d like, I can prepare—”
Mercia lifted up a hand, interrupting the Chef “It’s no bother Chef Duan, please calm yourself. We’ll share in her meals—that’s fine. Thank you for allowing us to impose.”
The Chef smiled brightly, cheering up in a heartbeat, though Jordan wasn’t entirely sure why. Rolling his eyes with a huff, energy rushed through him, and he knew that the Chef was grateful to not have to juggle preparing food of differing qualities(?) In the same kitchen. And because the Duke and Duchess never had meals here, he was unprepared for their palates, which further added to his anxiety.
Jordan blinked, barely catching his own use of Ki, as it was still incredibly… instinctual. He worried, at first, that it could have possibly been the Brat’s mother, but as he watched with more than eyes on the energy within, he found himself mesmerized by its hypnotic nature. The Ki flowing through him was snagging, catching in the river of his soul on a pattern inside himself, a dozen bright pebbles in the river creating ripples and eddies, glowing as others remained dull.
As he watched, he realized the pattern they formed was the skill itself. Like a constellation in a river of stars, there were many bright points but only where the lines drew various pieces together could he see it all for what it was. It was easy enough to see when it was active—it was just all weird to understand. It’s not like he had experience with this kind of crap!
And it always seemed to revolve around breathing. Was that just for Jordan, or was that common for everyone?
The tiger-man made an odd, but happy sounding stuttering-cough noise, as he ushered in a small herd of Harlots. As he moved around them, Jordan stared at his striped orange-and-black-furred ears and tail. Aside from those and a few other features, such as yellow, slitted cat eyes, a few notable long whiskers, and patches of more striped fur-like hair along his arms and head, the man seemed normal.
Chef Duan took the first plate brought forth by one of the maids, determined to sweep down in front of Jordan and present his masterpiece personally. As he leaned beside Jordan, he placed the large silver plate down with a toothy grin, showing off his pointy canines but otherwise human looking teeth.
With a flourish the dishes’ covering was removed, revealing a dastardly new series of creations. It really was… inevitable. Jordan should have seen it coming, the Chef was a damn cat-man after all!
The main plate had slightly upturned edges and was packed with some sort of fried rice. On top, it had a fat, squishy looking oval shaped object that was yellow and smelled eggy. It was covered in what looked to be lines of ketchup, and rested almost like a water-filled blanket on top of the rice, which, at its head, was shaped like a sleeping kitten. Jordan’s toes began to curl traitorously as the Brat’s natural reactions began to initiate.
Above the main dish was a dozen fruit slices, all perfectly cut to the same precise size and crescent shape but arrayed by color in an arching pattern reminiscent of a rainbow. On one side, the rainbow started from a fluffy ball of white rice pressed down into a flawless cloud, and on the other end was a small pile of beans with some sort of lightly colored sticky substance clinging to them. On top of them rested a crown of tiny diced green onions and a single yellow core of an egg. To either side of Jordan was provided steaming cups of teas and various colorful fruit juices.
It was a veritable paradise of food, like a welcome home, and it was taking every ounce of willpower Jordan had not to let the Brat’s instincts win and produce a squeal. With a heated face and rapid, heavy breathing through his nose—his teeth clamped down on his tongue to steady himself—he turned towards the Chef, determined to finally voice his protests to his unacceptable treatment.
“My dear Lady Aureliana!” The boisterous Tiger-man shouted with his deep resonating tones, “I’ve been looking forward to the day you’d be able to join us at the table. I hope you will enjoy this small offering, though please do not push yourself to finish it all. I know you are still recovering, and while this is still only a quarter Essence saturation, it may be a tad overwhelming still. Please, enjoy! And let me know if you requirrre anything else.”
While he didn’t purr, per se, the portly, giant of a man stressed his last ‘r’ rather heavily as Jordan craned his neck to meet his eyes. Why is everyone so damn tall in this world!? Before Jordan could say anything in response, however, Chef Duan picked up a knife and cut into the yellow oval of egg-stuff.
As it split open, pure temptation wafted up to fill Jordan’s nostrils as his eyes bulged out from the sudden rush of odorous bliss. The warm, gooey egg substance spread over the sleeping kitten, causing it to sparkle with motes of energy like an edible glitter and the kitten sighed cute tendrils of steam. Delicate spices laden with an intoxicating fragrance drifted up and shattered all of Jordan’s resistances. The fucking kitten was dreaming under a sparkling blanket of stars! Nuzzling up as it purred in satisfaction. And it…IT. WAS. SO. FUCKING. CUTE!
Jordan was in trouble. He was in serious trouble.
“Does this meet to your tastes, My Lady?” The Tiger man asked.
Jordan’s hands felt clammy, despite the lack of sweat his new body produced, and his cheeks flushed with heat. Breath hitched, struggling out as he hunched over, shaking in his chair. Knuckles turned white as he strangled the railing, tears threatened to form as he damn near snapped the wooden supports with curling toes. But… it was inevitable that he would lose this battle.
He squealed.
High pitched and loud, that caused the Brat’s body to tremble alongside it in excitement as his arms shot up and waggled on their own damning accord as he eventually gave in and shouted to the Heavens in joy like a tailor demon.
The food was so cute Jordan wanted to die. Literal thoughts of death! But that could have also been from embarrassment.
“I’ll take that as a yes! Ha ha ha!” The tiger man laughed before finally taking his leave. Catella also squealed in delight, both at her own food and at Jordan’s reaction, as the Brat’s parents chuckled before beginning to eat.
This isn’t even fair! I should be able to control my damn reactions, shouldn’t I? Jordan moaned internally.
After a few additional drooling moments of heavy panting, his face bathed in the enticing steam of the food, Jordan gave up caring. The food will be great, so… I can live with the Brat’s stupid squealing.
He sullenly reached out to grab a fork. Lifting it in the air, he made to begin eating only to freeze in place. He set the fork down, and then sat there… unmoving as he blinked wide eyed at the wonderful paradise of food before him. He felt as tortured in spirit as he had the day before at the unexpected denial.
Oookay… what the fuck is going on this time? He reached out again, determined to dig in before he went mad with desire for the rice omelet, but frowned as he found his hand freezing midair, hovering over the largest looking fork to his side.
There were several to choose from, but every time he went to go for the one he wanted, he just… couldn’t. His mind kept screaming at him—something’s wrong! Alert! Alert! Something’s wrong!
Jordan’s eyebrow twitched in irritation as he stared at the rebellious hand. What the hell was going on this time? With concentrated effort, furrowing his brow, he pushed at his arm, forcing his hand downward.
It grasped the fork and brought it up well enough, but it felt wrong. Something was wrong. It was screaming from his guts, crawling up his spine, and rang in his mind like an alarm bell. He stared at the fork, wondering if it were magical and doing something weird. It was, however, just an average, if not overly large, fork. Well, one made of what looked to be pure silver and covered in more decorative detail than the Notre Dame Cathedral, of course.
“Ahem.” A polite noise from a maid standing over his shoulder caught Jordan’s attention.
He looked back at her in annoyance, and saw her make a subtle nod and glance over towards Catella. Jordan swung his head around and glared, not so subtly, at the tiny brat as the maid behind her pointed at something.
Catella had a closed eye, dumb looking grin on her face as she happily ate her food, humming audibly in sunshine bliss. At first, Jordan looked between the maids and the tiny brat in confusion, before his eyes picked up that the fork she was using was much smaller, and slightly different in shape and design.
He looked back at his own fork, and frowned. His body still screamed that something was wrong, and he gave his hand, the tiny brat, and the maids all death glares. This is that fucking etiquette thing again, isn’t it? Can’t go five FUCKING minutes without it! Jordan was sorely tempted to just eat with the fork he had to spite them all, but in the end the incessant screeching alarm in his head was just too damn annoying to deal with.
In a huff, he dropped his big fork onto the table, clattering it noisily to the silent eyes of judgement from the Brat’s mother. He picked up the correct utensil thinking sarcastically what, no chopsticks? His body moved with surprising grace, almost like on autopilot, as it picked up and held, with a ridiculous pinched finger grasp, the smaller fork. The big fork probably wouldn’t have fit in this stupid Brat’s little mouth anyway, he grumbled internally. He just always went for the big forks because he was a big man!
With a melodramatic sigh that earned him another warning glance from the Brat’s Mother, Jordan plopped an arm onto the table and set in to eat. However, no sooner had he done so than the familiar alarm bells went off in his head, so he attempted to rearrange his off hand into a comfortable position.
None seemed to stop the mental nagging, though his spastic arm flails did elicit tiny, barely repressed laughter from Catella when she noticed. He shot her a dirty look that did absolutely nothing to quell her bright mirth, before finally giving up and putting his arm down and into his lap. With a second, much more drawn out melodramatic sigh and an open get-your-shit-together stare from mother-dearest, he was finally able to eat.
The first mouthful was a mix of the egg and rice. The fried rice was oddly reddish, making Jordan think it was going to be some sort of Mexican rice blend. He was familiar with the style, growing up in California before moving further East, after all. It was most certainly not, however. While there was a slight spicy, tangy flavor hidden within, the fried rice was jam packed with various vegetables that he lost in the overall sweet, savory mix. A bit of meat hit his tongue after another few desperate mouthfuls, and while it wasn’t as impactful as the meat from the hot cat-buns, it was startling in its own way.
Tears began to actually form this time—to no one’s surprise, least of all Jordan’s—but this meat was… chicken! It was chicken! He was sure of it! How to even begin to explain the difference between a life time of processed, poorly cooked, or preservative-stuffed imitations though? Jordan never knew that chicken could have its own flavor!? After all, wasn’t everything that lacked flavor supposed to taste like chicken? If that was the case, then the whole world had fucked chicken up and needed correction—immediately!
Jordan’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as his body gave an inadvertent arch alongside a humming squeal of joy with Catella-levels of vibrating. Despite his awkward situation, his hand moved with practiced form, continuing to feed him. Fuck yeah, autopilot engage!
He ate half the fruits, crying out in delight as they melted into his mouth with sweet flavors. He ate some of the white rice, wondering if it would surprise him—it did. What could be more bland than white rice? Yet this short grained food was steamy, delicious, and was fun to eat! The texture was chewy, wonderful, and he bounced his mouth merrily to the pleasures of the world’s oldest staple food. And that was before the maid poured some sauce onto it. The dark liquid was salty, slightly bitter, but went so damn well with the wonderful, fluffy munchiness of the rice he wondered why he’d never tried it before.
“Ifff that thouy thousse?” With a stuffed mouth Jordan articulated elegantly his question on the exact nature of the sauce blessing the splendor of his meal. The maid nodded in stoic agreement—it was indeed soy sauce. Jordan missed how Mercia’s eyebrows spazzed in annoyance as the Brat’s father struggled not to laugh, covering his plight with a faux cough.
Hanging over his plate, a slave to the food, Jordan cleared his palate with a tea that had a… meaty texture? It felt like he could practically chew on the liquid! How was that even possible? It’s clear, delicate flavor was cleansing in a way coffee never could be, despite its slippery, almost-bitter taste.
After that, he made his way round to the beans, but hesitated as he saw the tiny brat staring sullenly. She was usually beaming tiny solar flares… what was wrong?
Worriedly, he followed her eyes and saw she was staring at his beans distastefully, eyes flickering to her own, smaller pile as well as to the family nearby. Jordan noticed her beans weren’t on her plate, instead sitting in a small serving bowl next to it.
Jordan snorted lightly at her facial expression, and then gave an internal curse at yet more Ki accidentally burned inside his guts before he could stop it. Jordan knew that Catella wasn’t a fan of the beans. It was served separately as she wasn’t likely to eat them, and had… complained about them touching her food?
Jordan blinked, still confused by the odd insight he could get with that skill. What was even the limit on it anyway? Eh, whatever, I’ve got food to eat here!
Jordan dug into his beans. As the laden fork came up, he noted the beans had an oddly pungent smell. While the sticky white stuff holding it all together was certainly far from appealing, he ate the beans without further hesitation. The tiny brat recoiled from her side of the table, but Jordan munched thoughtfully. He drew in a breath to speak, but then decided to take another bite instead. In a matter of moments, to the horror of the small child across from him, he’d eaten all of them.
“H-how did you… do you actually like natto, Aury? Really?” Catella fidgeted, glancing between Jordan’s mouth and bare plate with open mouthed shock.
“Hmm? What’s a natto? Is that… like a potato? A patto?” He gave a small snort of repressed laughter at his own awful attempt at a joke, but Catella just shook her head.
“No! It’s like… like half rotted bean stuff.” Catella’s face grimaced, causing Jordan to do so as well.
“Wait, seriously? But it just tasted like… weird cottage cheese?” Jordan shrugged, struggling to find a comparison. The taste was hard to pin down.
“Cheese? Cottage cheese? Really?” Catella was looking at him like he’d sprouted tentacles.
“Well, yeah. I didn’t think it was bad.” It really wasn’t to Jordan. He’d drank beers far worse than that, and… he may have been desperate enough at some points in his life to eat moldy bread. He took the mold off first though!
“They’re good for you darling. Go ahead, give them a try? You want to be strong like your Big Sis, don’t you?” Mercia said.
Catella just shook her head adamantly, glaring at her beans. It was as though they were the entirety of her life’s suffering condensed into a small pile. Then with the least amount of grace ever attempted at a dining table, Catella slowly turned her head to the side, humming softly as she stretched and ‘accidently’ pushed her small bowl of beans towards Jordan.
Jordan saw the incredulous look on Mercia’s face. She was clearly stunned by the most brazen, awful hoist-off ever performed. Struck by a sense of mischievousness he didn’t bother to stamp down, Jordan turned his head opposite of the direction Catella was looking, and hummed loudly. Mercia’s face snapped to look at him in horror, and in full view of both of the Brat’s parents and God, Jordan reached out, grabbed the bowl of natto, and dumped it on his plate.
‘Accidently,’ of course.
“Oh my Princes…” Mercia said softly, burying her head in her hands. The Brat’s father choked on some food trying not to die laughing as a maid smacked him on the back, while Catella turned and radiated pure joy and love towards Jordan. He gave her… a [Perfect Smile]. He couldn’t help it.
And the room just… changed. Tension Jordan didn’t realize had been there, melted away, and Mercia laughed. She laughed! The Bitch Queen herself! The Maid had to be scolded for getting a little too handsy with Constantine of course, and Catella bounced merrily in her seat bursting with sunshine. It was a beautiful moment, and Jordan savored it, because—
It was better than the meal ever could be.
Tears welled up and fell down his face unbidden. Tears of… joy. He was happy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so… full of happiness. It almost hurt just to think about, but as he ate and laughed with the rest of the family, he lived in this moment. Breathed it in, to never forget it.
Maybe… maybe life would get worse. Maybe moments of sorrow and pain would plague him, but… moments like this would pull him through. Moments like this… they made him grateful, made him realize he’d never even understood what that feeling had meant before. But now he understood how lonely he’d been, just how empty inside he’d been. He knew how having this family in his life, caring about him, fixed something inside. And it filled him.
It made him grateful.
So even if the dark times came, he would hold onto moments like these. Memories like these. He’d draw his strength from them, and fight his way to the next happy moment—and that would be enough. One happy moment at a time. One meal, at a time. Hopping between these moments like islands in a stormy sea. A sailor heading home.
Because now he knew just how different a meal with a family could be if he just… let them in. He knew how good food could taste if he stopped ignoring it. How wonderful the sound of laughter was if he listened. How a smile could light the room if he just stopped scowling. It was his turn to beam perfect sunshine into the room as his tears glittered brightly in the light.
It was wonderful. Glorious. It was… Inevitable.
Catella, laughing herself silly, paused as she finally noticed the streaming tears on Jordan’s grinning face. She hadn’t seen them when he’d been eating, perhaps from steam or her own engrossment, but now that she saw them… she panicked.
And when Catella panicked? Well… it was inevitable, really.
“Catella? Darling? Darling no…!” Mercia lunged. Constantine lunged. The Maids lunged. Everyone lunged. Everyone… except Jordan. He just sat there smiling.
“AAAAAUUUURRREEELLLLIIIIAAAANNAAA!” Catella shouted in panic as the chair beneath her exploded and the Yeeting of the Missile Child, Mark II ignited for take off.
As Jordan laid smooshed on the ground, burbling up at the child who shook him anxiously trying to get the ‘awful natto’ out, he was grateful, in this moment, that he had a magical corset. It was the only reason all the food in his guts weren’t expelled by the small child’s aggressive attempts at first aid.
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