Chapter 301 – Fors: Just a Common Young Lady, That's All
The afternoon Sun was warm.
"Meow~"
Lachi lounged contentedly on the soft back of the golden retriever, eyes half-closed as it basked in the Sun. It found this big fellow—both friend and personal mount—utterly satisfactory.
Today was another day of freeloading at Count Hall's estate.
Their milk was always fresh, the meat always tender to just the right degree.
"Where exactly is this new friend you mentioned?" Susie asked in a clear voice, tongue lolling.
"Meow~"
Lachi gave a lazy cry, making no attempt to speak. Unlike Susie, it felt forcing human words through a cat's mouth was far too troublesome—and beneath a cat's natural elegance and dignity.
Moments like this made Lachi suspect that this seemingly silly golden retriever was actually much smarter than she appeared.
Thanks to the Instigator's abilities and Susie's Spectator Pathway peculiarities, a few simple mews, a look, or a flick of the tail were enough for Susie to grasp its meaning precisely—no laborious "explanations" required.
"Meow~" It leapt lightly from Susie's back, twitched its tail, and signaled the dog to follow.
Cat and dog crossed several streets and arrived at a shop tucked into a rather out-of-the-way corner.
"Sniff, sniff—" Susie habitually drew in air; the pungent, unpleasant smell of medicine flooded her nose.
An apothecary?
"Are you sure this is the place?" Susie sounded dubious.
"Meow." Lachi gave a firm nod, telling her to be patient.
Beep-beep-beep—
"Idiot! You absolute idiot!"
"Shut up, you stupid bird!"
"Where did you even learn that line?"
A clamor burst from within. A portly man in rustic Warlock robes flailed a broom, furiously shooing a wide-eyed owl.
"Idiot! Idiot!" the owl shrieked, flapping to dodge while repeating the word.
"Woof? That's the one?"
Cat and dog arrived just in time to witness the chaos.
"Meeeow—"
"The charity foundation—"
Fors lay splayed on the sofa, staring blankly at the mottled ceiling, murmuring without conscious thought.
"Fors, what are you saying?"
"Hup!" Fors pushed herself upright, indignation plain on her face. "It's about that charity foundation."
"Who'd have thought Scott would want that young lady—Hazel—to work at his foundation."
""
"Why weren't we offered a sweet gig like that?" she added, voice tinged with sourness.
"That Miss Mahert's father is a Member of Parliament, isn't he?" Hugh mused aloud. "Scott's probably after the political clout and connections. Running a public-interest fund means constant dealings with government and Church."
"Politics—so tiresome." Fors sighed and flopped back, once again a limp fish. A charity mixed with politics naturally needed a politician's banner; it made perfect sense.
Still—she couldn't help feeling aggrieved! Why not me? I was first!
And of all people, it had to be some high-society young lady.
"Ah—forget it." Fors quickly reverted to her lazy, salted-fish state.
Even if Scott had asked, she'd likely have declined. She knew nothing of fund management, and from what she'd overheard there was nothing improper between Scott and Hazel. His teasing seemed playful; Hazel's face had been full of resistance—whether genuine dislike or the "tsundere" type Roselle described in his novels.
Either way, it didn't matter. If it was the former, great. If the latter, no worries—Roselle himself wrote: the tsundere always loses!
"Thank goodness—she's just an ordinary young lady."
Fors's sudden remark made Hugh blink.
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said." Fors shrugged. "That Hazel Mahert may be an upper-class miss, but she isn't some untouchable goddess."
Compared to Miss Audrey, she's simply not in the same league. Miss Audrey is the kind of perfect young lady who doesn't seem to belong to this world at all!" Her tone carried undisguised yearning and a hint of self-deprecation.
That was the truth. If her rival were Miss Audrey, she might feel disheartened, because she couldn't see any chance of winning—no matter the aspect, she seemed inferior. But if it were just an ordinary young lady, there was nothing to worry about.
Wait—by helping Hugh, had she indirectly created a connection between Scott and Miss Audrey—
A nameless fear suddenly surged through Fors's heart; she realized the problem in a flash.
It's fine, it's fine, I'm just scaring myself—Fors patted her chest to calm herself.
The fear lasted only a moment before she reasoned it away.
Leaving aside that their Intersection was limited to Hugh and herself, from a social-status standpoint alone it was impossible.
Although Scott now bore the title of "East Borough Hero," it was only an empty honor. He wasn't nobility, and compared with Count Hall, the kingdom's top banker, Mr. Scott's little factory was nothing. The two men lived in completely different worlds.
Still, those businesses were more than enough to support an Author—Fors thought with a squirm, her cheeks warming.
True—she can't compare with Miss Audrey, and she can't compare with the old me either—Hugh returned from her thoughts, instinctively making the comparison.
"Fors?" She looked at her friend, whose expression had suddenly turned odd. "Your face—what's with it?"
"Ah—I was just lost in plotting my new book." Fors quickly wiped away nonexistent drool.
"But, Fors," Hugh continued, dropping the teasing tone, "I'm curious—lately you seem overly concerned about Scott?"
"I—" Fors was caught off guard. "Well—he's my friend too! And I'm counting on him to find a cure for the Full Moon Speech Disorder!"
"Really?" Hugh sounded skeptical.
"Of course!" Fors waved a hand and gave an awkward laugh. "Before he left today he told us that if we can find someone from the Abraham Family, we might be able to lift the Full Moon curse. That shows he keeps it in mind."
"True, Scott does take it seriously." Hugh nodded, half-convinced.
Whew—Fors breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
Looks like some feelings really shouldn't be shown too clearly.
Sigh, it's all the Fool's fault! If not for Him, I wouldn't be so awkward!
Fine—though Mr. Fool did shield me from the Full Moon Speech Disorder and deserves thanks—it still feels awful! For one thing, she's now nervous about bathing, always sensing strange eyes spying on her.
"Drip-drop—"
"It's raining." The patter outside pulled Fors back to reality.
"Speaking of which, it's that time again.
J
Mrs. Amrisa—
"Tomorrow, let's visit the cemetery.
The card room of the Brave Bar.
Shouts, screams, and curses rose and fell.
"Straight flush!"
As the suited cards landed softly on the felt, the room's atmosphere peaked.
"You don't want it?"
—
"Fine, a three."
Game over.
"I win again! Pay up! Pay up!"
"Hmph!" The broke gambler glowered—this was the third straight loss.
"What, trying to welch?"
"You shuffled and dealt; if you won't pay, you just can't take losing!"
Boo—
Amid the chorus of jeers the man reluctantly pulled crumpled bills from his pocket and slapped them on the table.
"Just you wait!" He stalked off, fuming—not unwilling, but out of money.
Lorne, restored to his usual look with only a simple disguise, took the cash and counted it casually.
"Drinks on me—one beer for everyone here!"
"Whoo-hoo!"
To hearty cheers Lorne lifted a stout and savored a sip.
Being a Winner really does feel good.