“This feels weird, like I’m not supposed to be able to do anything in it,” Calvin said, shrugging inside the stiff silk outfit. It was, according to Ella and the tailor, ‘the height’ of Bolesian fashion.

It was definitely ostentatious and expensive, given the spun gold and brilliant sheen, but how was Ella supposed to know what was in fashion? And the tailor couldn’t exactly be trusted, either. He was trying to make a sale.

Nobody could be trusted in these murky waters.

“With your skin, you needed a darker green,” Ella said, running her gaze up and down his body. “Or at least, that’s what I like.”

“Happy to oblige,” Calvin said, holding his hands out while the tailor made the last few adjustments.

The man in the mirror looked nothing like what Calvin had grown to know. The ‘height’ of Bolesian fashion was a stiff vest of layered silk that created a ‘V’ shape out of his chest. There was a good three inches between his nipples and the fabric, which was weird, before it cinched down to a tight belt around his waist.

“I feel like I’m walking around in a bubble or a baby stuck in a man’s armor,” Calvin said, staring at himself in horror. He still had a little movement in his arms…a little.

His arms sported impractically long sleeves, and his pants were similarly oversized.

“How am I supposed to walk in this?” Calvin asked the tailor with a scowl.

“It is a sign of an Elder, who can wear something like this without difficulty.” The tailor said reassuringly, scanning Calvin’s sleeves for imperfections.

“So your advice to me is…deal with it?”

“You are perceptive.”

“Ella, I love you, but the height of Bolesian fashion might not be my thing.”

Say what you like about Juntai society, their clothes were comfortable, although Calvin would always be partial to scratchy wool Gadveran farmboy chic.

“Alright, the final adjustments are done. Would you like me to cart you to the back door so your servants can carry you to your palanquin?”

Calvin stared at him.

The man stared back.

“…What servants?”

“The servants who carry your Palanquin?” The man said with a questioning lilt to his voice.

They stared at each other for another moment.

“I don’t have any servants.”

Barring Kurawe, I suppose.

“But…you bought the ensemble. How could you not afford servants to carry you above the filth of the street?” The tailor seemed genuinely perplexed, as if Calvin had broken some kind of unspoken law of the universe by being rich and not carried around like luggage.

“Didn’t say I couldn’t afford them, just said I didn’t have them,” Calvin said, before turning his attention to Ella.

Shifting

53/54 Bent remaining.

Calvin shoved the vast majority of his mass into the floor beneath his feet. His feet felt like they would lose contact with the ground if he sneezed.

“Ella, This outfit was literally not meant to be walked in. I need you to carry me outside.”

Ella picked Calvin up and carried him out of the shop.

Once they were outside, Calvin used Gradual Split with some compressed air and began floating along crosslegged beside her, his sleeves and legs trailing just above the ground.

“I’ll admit, I like their dresses better,” She said, inspecting the impractical clothes he’d been swaddled in.

“That makes two of us, I guess,” Calvin said with a chuckle.

Now that they’d gotten ‘presentable’, it was time to greet the people in charge and politely ask ‘what the fuck?’.

If they stood out before, they definitely stood out now. The general feeling he got from the people staring at them had gone from curiousity at something unusual to complete befuddlement.

Not to be confused with awe. Sadly, not as many people were in awe of Calvin and Ella as they should’ve been. They were mostly dumbstruck at the floating ball of expensive silk.

Well, whatever.

It only took them a single question to get directions to the lord of the city, and from there, another fifteen minutes of being gawked at in order to make it to the man’s castle.

Yes, literal castle, Calvin thought, gazing up at the stone construction in the center of the city.

From there, the process went pretty smooth. They were greeted at the front gate by a servant, who welcomed them and guided them to a guest room, seemingly aware of who Calvin was and why he was there.

The gaze that had been stalking the two of them had split off shortly after they entered the castle, so Calvin took the momentary lull in observation to create seven Kurawe manservants. It seemed like if he wanted people to take him seriously here, he had to have servants.

In this case, they served another function, as every single one of them had the ability to detect beeswax.

If he could expect any country to have beeswax in everything, this would be the one.

They do like their animal byproducts, don’t they?

“Ravager,” Kurwe said.

“Eh?” Calvin asked, turning to see Kurawe’s hand on his shoulder pad.

“The stiff crease of your shoulder, and the hard parts of the vest have been treated with beeswax in order to stiffen them.” Kurawe said. “I would advise not getting hot or sweating more than absolutely necessary.”

“Son of a bi-“

“Greetings, Elder!” The servant said, opening the door not five minutes after he’d first left. “Most humble apologies for making…you wait.” He paused for a moment as he saw seven identical clones staring at him, but shook it off quickly.

“You’ve been invited to a dinner party with the lord and his court. You may bring a guest and a servant.”

He backed out and motioned.

“Right this way.”

Calvin grumbled internally as he floated along in front of the servant, who told him which direction to go.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Left up ahead, then straight and you will have arrived,” the man said from behind him. “With your permission, I will resume my other duties. I wish you the best, Elder.”

“Thanks,” Calvin said, waving. He felt the man turn away and leave.

They hung left and entered a gorgeous room make with artfully composed decorative stone. The tone of the hall was tan rock set with blues and greens in intricate patterns.

The room itself stretched far above their head, with thousands of strange creatures flitting above their heads, so many of them that the light that shone from their abdomens blended into a constant light that covered every inch of the room, without a shadow to be seen.

Calvin must have been gawking a bit too much at the floors and living lighting, because he felt people watching him with barely suppressed ridicule.

He glanced down and spotted dozens upon dozens of wealthy Bolesians staring at him.

True to the tailor’s word, the richest men among them wore clothes that prevented them from taking care of themselves, with a servant taking care of their every need. Even feeding them.

Who the hell wants to be treated like a swaddled infant their entire lives? Nevermind, don’t answer that. I’ve seen enough age-play to know where that could go.

What the tailor hadn’t mentioned mentioned, however, was that green wasn’t exactly in vogue.

Scanning the floor, Calvin couldn’t make out a hint of green, which made his Playboy senses tingle. There had to be a reason. There were primarily crimson reds and blues, and even the occasional orange and yellow, but no greens.

There had been plenty of green silk available, so it couldn’t have been because of rarity.

Is it a commoner color, I wonder? Calvin thought, glancing back at the quietly tittering women whispering to each other behind their hands.

“Calvin Gadsint, Royal of Juntai! Come, sit!” the leader of the city-state said, motioning to Calvin to sit beside him at the empty seat to his right.

Ah well. If the entire evening goes poorly I can kill everyone involved. Thoughts of purging everyone present did wonders to put the situation in focus. They were laughing at the wrong person.

They just didn’t know it yet.

Kurawe pulled out the seat for him and Calvin floated into it, settling down beside the ruler of the city.

Ella took the empty seat beside Calvin, to the apparent distress of those around her.

The man had a baby-face. His cheeks were pudgy, his body rotund. He was waited on by no less than three women who carefully tipped his cup to drink from and fed him spoonfuls of the soup between speaking.

Once, he roared with laughter at a joke one of the courtiers spoke, and his attendant deftly wiped up the soup from his chin before it could drop and stain his clothes.

Wow, I hate him already.

He was wearing crimson and gold, with a series of bone and ivory carvings pinned to his chest.

He looks like a Christmas ornament. Elliot commented idly.

“I’m pleased to be here,” Calvin lied for decorum. “Your banquet hall is lovely…”

Kurawe, what’s this guy’s name? Calvin asked, realizing he hadn’t bothered to ask anyone who wouldn’t be offended.

zhin’er

“Mr. Zhin’er,” Calvin said.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said, jiggling as he smiled. “I’m very proud of my family’s legacy, and hearing that a foreigner appreciates it from their own mouth is a splendid thing.”

Calvin stiffened and bit his tongue, avoiding the urge to corrupt the man’s values.

“So,” Calvin said once the moment had passed, glancing at the dark orange soup with greens and meats, along with fried strips of meat, with rice and bread beside them. “Dinner or business first?”

“Dinner, absolutely,” The man said with a grin.

“Allow me,” Kurawe said, taking the soup and bringing it to Calvin’s face.

This is making me distinctly uncomfortable, Calvin thought.

Apologies, ravager, I wanted to check the spread for beeswax. It’s clean. There is, however, a mild poison in the soup that makes it harder to concentrate.

“Thank you, but I can feed myself,” Calvin said, taking spoon out of Kurawe’s hand with one of his nine ghost hands.

Calvin didn’t care about poisons. They hadn’t affected him since he’d woken up as a Maculat.

“This is good soup,” Calvin murmured, enjoying the heavy spices in the rich broth, the food in front of him seemingly moving by itself as he sat with his hands folded across his lap in their silk prisons.

The assembled Bolesians watched his floating tableware curiously for a moment before dismissing it, returning to their conversations.

“Your Bolesian is excellent, Calvin, where did you study it?” the fat man asked, his servant dipping a spoonful of rice in the soup before feeding it to him.

“I ate someone’s tongue.” Calvin said.

Silence engulfed the audience for a moment before Zhin’er broke into a bellowing laugh.

“Indeed? I’d heard that Foreign ‘royals’ had strange quirks, but you’re far beyond my expectations!”

“…dressed like a whore…” Calvin’s ears caught the edge of a conversation in the distance. In front of him, three Bolesian women were whispering to each other, glancing between Calvin and Ella

“…What other use would he have….”

“…They couldn’t possibly condone…”

Seeing Calvin studying them, they stopped speaking and quietly went back to their meals, hiding their mouths behind their palms as they ate.

Calvin could easily read the derision in the glances that Ella was receiving, but the Genosian didn’t seem to be bothered by it, motioning for the servers to bring more meat. Her eyes rolled back in her head with pleasure as she ate the thin-sliced, lightly grilled mystery steak, sparking another wave of tittering conversation between the ‘noble’ ladies.

“Your ogre is rather well behaved,” Zhin’er said, reading Calvin’s gaze. “You’ve trained her to have something approaching manners.”

Calvin sighed, the flame of anger growing just a bit. He kept a lid on it, though, since he needed to project a sense of control.

“Mr. Calvin,” the woman directly in front addressed him, hiding her mouth as she did.

What is it with these people and covering their mouths?

“Yes?”

“Your ogre’s dress is positively lovely, where did you get it?”

“Well, miss…”

“Nng’er,” She said.

“Well, Nng’er,” Calvin responded. “We visited a tailor on the way into the city, and she liked the way green looked against her skin.” he said.

“You let the ogre choose?” The woman asked, eyes wide.

“Makes sense,” another one said. “She probably knew her place from the beginning, otherwise why would she pick the color of a comfort woman?”

“He’s wearing it, too. Does that make him a comfort man?”

“I could see that…he’s so pale.”

The women tittered to each other.

This is a test, Kurawe said in his mind. The lord of the castle is baiting you into making an ass of yourself. Remember, the oath you signed and the consequences for breaking it.

“You’ll have to forgive my fashion faux pas,” Calvin said, relaxing back into his seat. When he reframed his thought process from being utterly humiliated, to a struggle for dominance, things became a lot clearer.

“This is the first time I’ve visited Boles in person. I was unaware you whores wore green at night. I haven’t had the honor of visiting you at the pleasure district, after all.”

The women went red, glaring at him.

“Did I say something wrong?” Calvin asked, raising a brow. “I’m still mastering my Bolesian. It is a little lackluster and sometimes my possessive pronouns slip.”

“No, nothing wrong,” the woman said, feigning a smile. “Bolesian is a very difficult language, after all. You’re naturally forgiven for being incapable of perfecting it.”

“Very gracious of you,” Calvin said with a smile, nodding a salute before drinking some of his wine.

“I think it’s cute the way he dresses it up like a person. My daughter likes dressing up her pets too.”

“They’re making fun of you,” Calvin muttered to Ella. “You sure you want to be here?”

“I figured as much,” Ella said with a bored tone, resting her elbows on the table as she gnawed the meat off of an oversized bone they had brought her to feed her monumental appetite.

“You knew?”

Ella burped before dabbing her mouth daintily, a move she’d learned from Kala.

“It’s pretty obvious. Listen, Calvin, growing up in the deep jungle, you learn to get your priorities straight. Everything in this world falls into two categories: Things that will kill you, and things that will not kill you. What is the point of worrying about things that can’t hurt you? These bitches can’t do anything to me with their words and glances, so I’m not gonna worry about it. I can’t even understand them.”

“They made fun of your dress.”

Ella froze.

“…I’m slightly less calm about this than I thought, but we’re still okay.” She said.

“Well, if you’re okay, I’m not going to stress about it,” Calvin said, returning his attention to the assembled Bolesians.

“Still, leave it to a foreigner to bring something this unrefined to a dinner party. I feel as though I’m watching a circus animal perform tricks. She looks like a walking Peravor stuffed into a gown.”

Kurawe.

Yes Ravager?

Find out who that was. Burn her home to the ground. Shed your body at the scene. No evidence.

Yes, Ravager.

Calvin leaned forward, feeling a cathartic smile bloom.

“I respectfully disagree.”

“Oh?”

“Refinement and manners help a person survive and thrive in the culture to which they were born,” Calvin said. “It’s all about context. In some places, they are very polite, even to strangers, because it behooves them to be. In those places, offending strangers can be very dangerous. In the place where Ella was born, she is actually quite ‘refined’. Were you to be transplanted to a different social strata, they might not consider you to be refined.”

“More meat!” Ella said, waving the bone at the exasperated server.

“Refined…For an ogre!”

Another wave of tittering laughter swept through the massive wooden table.

Calvin sat back and let the dinner conversation evolve as they ate, participating to the best of his ability, giving as good as he got, and hopefully making a good diplomatic showing as a Royal.

The highlight of the evening was when an unfamiliar servant arrived and whispered in the ear of the woman who’d insulted Ella, causing her to turn pale and shoot out of her seat, begging to be excused.

She rushed out of the room, the edges of her dress fluttering behind her.

“Wonder what happened?” Calvin asked aloud, idly chewing on a piece of bread.