Euotioa: Fallen Lands Draft Chapter 3

Euotioa: Fallen Lands

Draft Chapter 3

         Dominique Donald took in a deep breath as Hiran adjusted the vest around the waist. "Let me know when the seams rest on your hips, sir." said Hiran. "If I'm reading the instructions right, the drazzles should rest around your ankles." Dominique looked into the mirror, shocked at the man looking back. He had a tall build, very slender with none too much weight. The outfit was silly with it's bright orange vest and darker green suit atop it. The light strips of purple seemed to confuse his eyes even more. "Is that what these are, these 'drazzles'?" he said. Dominique brushed the strips hanging along the edges of the suit. It looked as if the bottom half was actually purple, then sliced shrewdly, leaving bits to dangle off the clothes. "Yes sir, drazzles." Hiran repeated. His old gnarled fingers were now moving to adjust the collar. "They are a sign of good luck in the Southernlands. There's a legend of a wealthy pig farmer who used to string strips of bacon around his shirt to display his wealth." Dominique smiled. "What did they call this man? The bacon king?" "No sir, I do believe it was the bacon fool. His own dogs tore him apart when they weren't allowed to get too close." Dominique smiled. The outfit was silly, but at least he wasn't going to the party as the Bacon Fool.
         "Alright sir, stand up straight, let's have a look." Hiran said. In the mirror once more, Dominique saw two men of distinct walks of life. He had a boyish face at thirty years of age, with slim black hair and dark brown eyes. He smiled, letting a small array of teeth and lips bring his dampened cheekbones taught. Dominique wasn't the most charismatic looking man, but he had an innocent appearance, making those around him feel at ease. Behind him stood Hiran, who looked to be his polar opposite. Hiran had dark grey sprouts of loose hair on his bald head. His skin was a dark orange; Dominique had wondered if that was the sun's doing or how all Southerners had looked. "Ha! You look like a true representative of the Southernlands!" Hiran gently patted his master's back. "Yes, except for the skin," Dominique replied, a little dissapointment showing in his face. "I've only been born in the Southernlands, Hiran. My parents moved me when I was a child. I don't think anyone down there would recognize me as their own." Hiran moved down to adjust Dominiques bootstraps. "Nonsense sir, if I may. A true Southerner doesn't just come down to his appearances. It's the demeanor of gentle hospitality, of love and celebration of life. You're a pleasant young man, sir. They will recognize that and welcome you as their own."
         In his heart, Dominique had his doubts. The world had it's fair share of judgemental sorts and the frustration of prejudice had followed Dominique most of his life. His superiors had mocked him for everything, be it his fragile stature, gentle voice, or timid, panicked manner in dire situations. "Dominator" or "his Dominions!" had been spoken in sneering manner, referring to him and his colleagues. Still, Dominique nodded, outwardly agreeing with the old man's compliments. Hiran had a wise presence that Dominique has learned to take heed from. This man had walked a life completely separate from his, seeing the world for longer and at a different angle.
         "Wonderful, sir. You'll be the talk of the town!" Hiran had now finished the outfit, circling Dominique to inspect any last details. Dominique rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms. The outfit was snug, yet fit his figure in a perfect, comfortable manner. "You're a genius, Hiran, plain and simple," Dominique said with a smile. "Where'd you learn to fit outfits like these? Did you wear clothes like this in the Southernlands?" Hiran laughed, a little too excessively, causing a short burst of coughing. "Not on my life sir!" he said finally. " I fit rags on myself, more like. You remember I came from Doogesville, down by the harbor? A very poor place, a working man's place. Anytime we saw an outfit with Dazzles we used to cling onto them for dear life. Sometimes you'd get lucky and the owner was a wealthy merchant with a few coins to spare. Other times it was some mingy little highborn's son, who'd kick your teeth in right in front of your father." Hiran spoke like he was in Dominique's position, hearing it from an old friend with a pang of guilt, but no real concern for your legacy's past. Dominique wondered if he would persevere in Hiran's place, scraping his way through every line of work, getting paid only just enough to pass the term slave. "Hiran, would you like to accompany myself and Penelope this evening?" he burst out. The words didn't mean to come out, but his conscience had suddenly pushed them to the brink of his brain and onto his tounge. "I beg your pardon sir?" Dominique began to ask again, before Hiran hushed him. "I thank you sir, but in the Southernlands it is rude to take one's servants to another's home." "But Hiran you aren't my-" "I know sir, thank you." Hiran's voice had now gone determined. "True, we aren't in the Southernlands, but you are a representative to our culture. Of which, I know you shall make us both proud." Dominique's hands felt sweaty and he could feel a chill in his chest. Hiran should be the one in these clothes, ruling over this house, going to that party. He was generous, grateful, and a true representative of the Southernlands. He even looked the part.
         "I, well...I thank you, Hiran. I will do my best." Hiran's smile returned and he bent his elbow, extending his hand outward towards Dominique-the traditional shake of trust. Dominique took a deep breath, doing the same before clasping his hand onto Hiran's. The two exchanged favorable glances as Dominique honored the traditions of his countrymen. "Tighter sir. Grip tighter, like pulling a rope," Hiran said. Dominique was broken from the surreal few moments they shared. "The books said to hold the hand like an egg." Hiran brought himself to laugh and cough once more, breaking the grip. "No sir. A simple misinterpretation." Hiran held up his hand and Dominique grasped, much harder. Hiran's hands were squeezing with all their strength, bending Dominique's fingers in. "Squeeze back, hard as you can sir. You squeeze your other like a rock, not an egg. The more effort, the more trust." Dominique smiled, now matching the old man's feeble strength in his hand.
         "Master Donald," came a voice outside his bedroom door. Dominique was startled, addressing his head handmaiden whilst crossing the room to properly address her. "Is there a problem Elisa?" Dominique asked. "Yes sir, Penelope's clothes have arrived. They've been washed and ironed; she is ready for fitting." "Very good, thank you. So then, what's the problem?" "There's no girl to fit them in sir," said the young handmaiden with a smile. Dominique blushed, half handedly wiping his brow. "Hold on one moment, Elisa."
         Dominique crossed the room again, pulling out a necklace from his work desk. "Hmmm, it's about midday," he said, placing the necklace around his neck. "My geuss is that she's...at the Lucid Fawn." "The Lucid Fawn, sir? You told her there'd be lunch served here," Hiran mentioned. Dominique sighed as he folded one hand around his forehead in frustration. The other hand gripped the necklace. "Trust me, she's there. If there was one key temptation Penelope would test me for, it would be food. Elisa, could you send one of the girls to fetch her for me?" "Right away, sir," said Elisa. She disappeared from sight, shouting for a lower handmaiden. Hiran stretched, then sat upon Dominique's bed. Most masters would be offended by the negligence displayed to their property, but Dominique let the large quantity of his generosity be displayed. He said nothing.
         "Sir, I advise you that the necklace does not match your outfit in the slightest." Hiran spoke the words as good advice, with serious intent. Dominique chuckled. "I know Hiran, thank you. But it is a gift, one that I display proudly." Hiran simply nodded behind. He'd seen the necklace on Dominique thousands of time; his servitude required that he keep his curiosity to himself.