Love Crafted, page 7
Daphne eyed her some more, then carefully placed the jar onto her desk. “If it’s as real as it looks, and I can pull out my alchemy set to test it later, then this jar might be worth a thousand marks or so. Enough to cover your tuition for the next four years and then buy a little house,” Daphne said. She shook her head. “Okay, let’s pretend that I believe that your Dreamer here is some sort of… not a god but close enough. What now?”
“I, I don’t know,” Abigail said. “Do you think we could just… go to the Academy and pretend she’s a normal Familiar?”
“I am more than normal!” you declare.
“There’s no doubting that,” Daphne says to acknowledge your superiority to mere normal people and things. “And yes, you might be able to get away with passing Dreamer off as a strange Familiar. It’ll raise some suspicions but your background is banal enough that you probably won’t get into any trouble.”
“That’s not important,” you say before pointing to Abigail. “We’re here because Abigail is broken and you need to fix her.”
The girl leans back into her splush chair and lays a hand on its arm. Her nails click-click on the armrest for a moment as she thinks, then her eyes lock onto you and narrow a little. “Dreamer, do you care for Abigail?”
What a silly question. “She’s my summoner,” you say.
“Yes, she is,” Daphne agrees. Her ability to point out the obvious is incredible. You wonder if it’s a mortal skill. “But do you care for her beyond that or do you only care because she’s your summoner?”
You blink. “Of course I care. She gives hugs and pats.”
“Others can give hugs and pats,” Daphne says. “I happen to care a lot about Abigail too.” There a faint reddish tint to her cheeks as she says that. “She’s a very close friend, one of the best. I hope that we’re friends until both of us are old decrepit gossips, just like our moms are, and that we always stay close. But she’s not just my friend because she gives good hugs.”
For some reason, Abigail giggles as if that’s funny.
“I could get my hugs from others,” you say. “But they’re not Abigail.”
“They’re not,” Daphne agrees. “So you care for Abigail more than just because she’s your summoner and because she can give hugs.”
“And pats.”
“And pats.” She nods.
You frown as you think on this, then you look over to see Abigail staring at you, her eyes wide behind her thick glasses. There’s concern in her eyes, and a bit of a blush that makes all of her freckles stick out from her pale skin.
Why do you care about Abigail? She’s just a mortal even if she gives the best cuddles. There has to be a reason. So you decide that it’s because she’s Abigail. Abigail has an Abigailness that makes her worthy of your caring for her. Just like you have a tentacleness that makes you the most cuddleable.
“I like Abigail because she’s Abigail,” you tell Daphne.
She grins at you, the smile very unladylike. “I like her for the same reasons. It’s a good thing that no one can like Abigail too much. Unless they’re icky boys, right?”
You feel as if you and Daphne have just sealed a secret pact, one to protect Abigail’s hugs from anyone that isn’t one of you. Perfect.
“Yes!” you agree.
“Good, then in that case I’ll ask that you always try your best to make our little Abi as happy as she can be.”
“Daph,” Abigail whines. “That’s so embarrassing. Couldn’t you say it some other way?”
“Nope!”
Daphne finishes her tea and looks out the window of her study. “It’s late,” she says.
You suppose that she’s right, the sun is setting outside and Abigail has already finished her own tea. You’re on your second cup, though this one doesn’t taste as good as the first. The first had little bits of gold leaf on the outside that gave it a nice rich texture.
You finish chewing on your cup and look around. “Are we going home?” you ask Abigail.
Abigail nods and stands up before brushing down the front of her skirts. “We probably should,” she says. “We’re actually pretty far from home, especially if we’re walking through the city at night.”
Daphne shakes her head. “Nonsense, you’ll sleep here for the night. We have plenty of guest bedrooms that are just there to give Edmund and the maids more rooms to dust, it would be a shame if you had to walk back home.” She glances at a tall clock that’s ticking away in the corner then back at you and Abigail. “Supper ought to be served soon too, though I would appreciate it if you ate what was on your plate without eating the plate itself.”
You think about it, but free yummies in exchange of not eating some things is an okay trade. “Alright.”
“Are you sure, Daph?” Abigail asks.
“Don’t be daft Abi, you know I love having you sleep over,” Daphne says as she reaches a hand out and pats Abigail on the arm. “Now come on, we should get cleaned up. I’ll tell Edmund to prepare two extra sittings.”
The next few minutes are a mess. Abigail forces you, with threats of withholding pats and snuggles, to wash your face and hands and even the ends of your tentacles in a basin full of warm water, then you both shuffle off to the big room with the long table and the straight backed chairs.
Daphne is sitting at the head of the table already, a small book by her side. There’s two more places set up with plates and silverware to Daphne’s right, and to her left is a perch with a big fat bird.
The bird turns its head way way around to stare at you as you enter. “Who?” he asks.
“I’m Dreamer,” you tell it.
“Who?” the birb asks again.
“That Which Dreams Eternal Between Space and Time.”
“Who?”
“I’m Hypnos’ cousin?” you try.
“Whooo?”
“The Forever Napper. The one which Rests. Cuddler of Causality. Snuggler of Space and Hugger of Tsathoggua.”
“Who?”
You glare and turn to Daphne who has a hand pressed over her mouth and who is busy choking while her shoulders shake. “This bird is supper, right?”
“No, no that’s Archibald, or Archie for short,” Daphne says.
“He’s Daphne’s Familiar,” Abigail says as she sits next to Daphne then pats the spot next to her. “Kind of like how you’re my Familiar.”
You eye the black and white bird who looks smugly at you with his big eyes and his puffy chest. “I could take him,” you say.
Abigail pats your head. “Please don’t eat Daphne’s Familiar. Archie’s actually really nice once you get to know him.”
“Nice is one way of putting it,” Daphne says. “He thinks he’s more clever than he is and spends the whole day sleeping. I loath to imagine that he’s a reflection of myself.”
You ponder over that. On the one tentacle, it’s obvious that the birb thinks too highly of itself. It’s a bird after all. No tentacles and all feathers. On the other tentacle, it spends the day sleeping, which is a great way to spend the day. “I won’t eat him, for now.”
“Who,” Archie agrees with a croon. It’s probably bird for ‘thank you’ and ‘please be merciful.’ Or at least that’s how you choose to translate it.
Edmund walks into the room with a tray and lays out three bowls before each of you. It smells savoury, like some of the roots you ate at the shop. “Sweet porridge with basil and pork,” he says as he places the last bowl before you. A smaller bowl filled with little grains is placed on a mechanical arm thing tied to the pole Archie is sitting on. “And seed for the avian sir.”
“Thanks Edmund,” Abigail says as she flashes the man a smile.
You narrow your eyes. This man brought Abigail tea, then he gave you food, and now he’s being extra nice in front of her.
He’s flirting with your Abigail! If he didn’t just bring you snacks you would be piercing him through with your tentacles!
“You are most welcome, Miss Abigail,” he says with a perfectly flat expression that probably hides all his devious flirtiness. “May I enquire about any special dietary needs your Familiar may have?”
“Um,” Abigail says. She pauses with her spoon hovering before her bowl and turns to you.
Your bowl is already empty except for the tentacle rubbing out the yummy porridge from the bottom. “Hrm?” you ask.
“Uh, do you have any special dietary needs?” she asks you.
“Lots,” you tell her.
“You do?” she asks.
You blink at your summoner and she blinks back.
“No?” you try. “I eat lots.”
Daphne starts choking again.
“In that case I will be sure to bring the young lady a large helping of tonight’s veal.” Edmund bows and the waist and walks off. You huff as you watch him go. He might be right that you can be bought off with yummy food, but eventually he’ll run out, and then you’ll be onto him.
“So, Dreamer, most Familiars are from somewhere, and I do like hearing about their original homes. Faraway lands and so on,” Daphne says as she eats her soup really slowly. “Can you tell us about your home?”
You nod, but before you can talk about your home, you start picking away at your meal.
You pick all of it, and put it away in your mouth.
Soon, you’re watching as Daphne sets down her fork and knife, picks up a piece of cloth from the table, and dabs at her lips.
It’s terribly disappointing, but ever since you finished eating all of your meat you’ve been staring at Daphne’s plate and hoping that she wouldn’t be able to finish it all. She is, after all, really thin and doesn’t look like she eats that much.
“So,” she says and it snaps you out of your daydreams of eating more meat. “You were about to tell us about your home?” Daphne asks.
You nod along. “Yes. I can pat pat the information into your head, that way there’s less talking and more time for eating,” you say. Hopefully she will reward this ingenuity with more food.
“Um,” Abigail says, her fork pausing over her plate. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” She’s not even halfway through her meal yet, eating it with little nibbles and humming happily over every bite. You don’t think she notices that she’s doing that, but the smile on Daphne’s face tells you that she did.
You would never steal food from your Summoner, of course. She needs it to grow bigger and stronger and even prettier than she already is.
“Has she… done that before?” Daphne asks.
Abigail nods. “Yes, she has. It was… not quite painful, but still a lot to take in.”
“And Abigail died too,” you say and immediately regret it when Abigail, Daphne and Archie all stare at you. “I made her better.”
“In that case, maybe you can tell me with words instead?” Daphne says.
You harrumph. These mortals are always so worried about their mortality that they’re forgetting to live a little. It’s very silly. “Fine. My home is, uh.” you pause. It’s only now that you realize that describing your home isn’t that easy. “You know how this place is made of things?” you ask as you gesture at the stuff around the dining room. “My home has none of that. It’s a lot of nothing.”
“Like… space?” Daphne says. “Astrologists say that there’s a great void between the planets and stars.”
“Kinda, but at least you have stars and planets and other things to eat,” you say. “Where I’m from there’s none of that, but a lot of nothing that goes on forever.”
“That sounds…” Abigail shudders, then pulls you into a hug against her side, hand rubbing up and down your back. “That sounds awful.”
“It’s not that bad,” you say as you burrow into her side. Not literally, more like squishing your face into Abigail’s warmth. “There are others there. Like… conceptual things. They make it less lonely. It only takes a few eons to bump into something in the void.”
“Right,” Daphne says. She shares a glance with Abigail, then looks towards the door just as Edmund comes in.
“Will the ladies be taking dessert before bed?” he asks.
“Not me,” Abigail says as she gestures to her plate. “This is too rich for me already.”
“I’ll skip too,” Daphne says, “but bring something for Dreamer. The way she was eyeing my plate…”
Curses! You were spotted.
“Very well. The guest bedroom next to the Lady’s is ready, as is the one next to it.” Edmund bows. “When you are ready tell me so and I’ll find nightclothes for our guests.” He steps out of the room and you watch him go for a bit before turning back to the others.
“What’s dessert?”
“It’s something to eat when you’re done with your main meal,” Abigail explains before taking a bite and chewing. “Usually it’s something sweet, or a pastry.”
Food for when you’re done eating your food? These mortals are geniuses!
You eagerly await your dessert while Daphne and Abigail start talking about the Academy again. Abigail is very cute when she gets all excited about classes and teachers and lessons. You’ve eaten none of those, so you’re not sure how you feel about it.
Then Edmund arrives with a plate that has a slice of something that smells yummy and a glass of milk. You take one sniff, then chomp down on the triangular thing. It’s moist and soft and melty and great.
Edmund is forgiven for flirting with Abigail. If he provides more of this he can flirt all day.
When you’re done eating your plate you look up to Abigail and smile. “Done!”
“You’re all messy,” she whines before taking her napkin and rubbing your cheeks. “We can’t have you going to bed with a dirty face.”
“Is it time for bed now?” you ask. You can’t quite deny the bubble of excitement in your tummy at that. Bedtime is the best time.
“Yes,” Daphne says with a laugh. “It’s bedtime.”
You nod and push away from the table then stand up. Tentacles, the cuddliest sort, spear out from under your dress and wrap around Abigail and then Daphne. She screams a little, so you place one over her mouth. “No screaming,” you tell her. “It’s bedtime.”
Moving out of the room with both girls cocooned behind you, you start searching for the bedrooms when you find Edmund standing in the corridor. “May I enquire as to what is going on?” he asks.
“Yes, where’s the beds?”
“Upstairs and to the right,” he replies easily. “Will you be putting Miss Daphne and Miss Abigail down?”
“Yes,” you tell him. “In bed. It’s bedtime.”
He nods slowly. “Very well then, I shall lead you to Miss Daphne’s chambers.”
Daphne makes weird grumbly noises as you follow Edmund upstairs and into a big room. In the centre of it is a huge bed with four posts on each corner and a mattress buried under a layer of blankets.
You nod approvingly. This is a good sleeping place.
“Sleeping clothes are here,” Edmund says as he lays out three gowns onto the edge of the bed. Two are long and one is shorter. “I took the opportunity to find one of Miss Daphne’s older sleeping gowns for the young miss.”
“Thank you,” you tell him because being polite is nice. Then you start stripping the girls with your tentacles and, like the okay sort of person he is, Edmund turns around and stares at the wall.
“D-Dreamer!” Daphne screams as you take off the last of her clothes. “What are yo—” she’s cut off as you slip her sleeping gown on.
Abigail seems a lot less combative about the whole thing.
Soon, everyone is dressed and, with a tentacle or ten, you pull up the blankets and stuff a protesting Daphne and a sighing Abigail onto the bed and then climb in. You’re sure to drape them in as many tentacles as you can so that they’re nice and warm.
“G’night,” you say before tucking your face in the crook of Abigail’s neck.
Abigail sighs. “I’m so sorry Daphne,” she says. One hand reaches over and starts running over the back of your head.
Daphne mutters something then squirms a little in your tentacular grasp so that she’s closer to Abigail’s side. “Good night, I suppose,” she says.
Chapter Eight
You wake up with a stretch that has your toes curling and your back going snip-snap. It’s a good stretch, one that makes all your limbs wiggle in post-nap happiness.
“Finally,” says a voice from off to your side.
You blink the evil eye crud away and take in the person tucked up against your side. Daphne is laying there, her black hair which is usually all neat and tidy poking out every which way and her eyes fixed on you in a low simmering glare.
She has Abigail tucked up against her in a hug from behind, and you are pressed up against Abigail’s tummy. There are of course tentacuddlers all over because you are the best at hugging. “Hrm?” you ask.
“Can you let me out?” Daphne asks.
She doesn’t seem upset about hugging Abigail, which is normal. Hugging Abigail is fun, if you do it hard enough she lets out these little squeaks that make you want to hug her even more.
Daphne sighs. “I really need to use the ladies room.”
“But you’re a lady, and we’re in your room,” you say.
Abigail giggles. She was awake the whole time, even though her eyes were closed. Was she stealth napping? All is forgiven when she pulls you closer and into her warm chest and squeezes you tight-tight. “Good morning Dreamer,” she says a moment later when she lets go. “Daphne is right, I need to go to the bathroom too.”
The next few minutes are a blur. The girls run off to the bathrooms, because this house has more than one, then Daphne insists that Abigail can’t wear the same thing two days in a row and there’s a big kerfuffle about finding her a dress that fits and isn’t too Daphne-ish.
You, of course, have lots of your own dress left around. Actually, you have over nine hundred million to the power of none. You know because you counted all one of them, and they’re all the same; brand new and extra swooshy. So you wear one of those and spin-spin a few times to break it in while the girls get dressed and ready.
