[PRP] Playing Hostess (Deborah and Aloisia)

[Syusaki]

Aloisia carefully adjusted her eye patch as she dusted the antiques that lined the hallway. Nearby she heard a couple of older maids murmur to each other, their judging gazes boring into her back while the girl minded her own business. They were probably speculating about her eye patch and her dubious upbringing. She set her lips into a preoccupied frown and forced herself to keep delicately cleaning the vases with her feather duster. A maid raised on the streets certainly raised concerns; she couldn’t question that, but she was a good child! She was an obedient child. Mister Moreau knew that. It was why he had taken Aloisia into his care in the first place.

She brought a hand to her mouth and nervously chewed on her news, the bandages brushing against her face. Her fingers weren’t actually injured. It was a peculiar habit she couldn’t shake off for some rea—

“Aloisia.”

“Yessir.” An automatic response. The maid bowed her head at her employer, who smiled politely.

“A friend called me up requesting for some additional assistance. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

She pursed her lips, mulling it over. “Of course not.”

The man’s grin stretched wider as he moved forward to hand her a sheet with the address along with directions on how to get there. Although he would have preferred to have given her a carriage it was bit of a silly idea to give a ride for a group of servants. There were other women who accompanied Aloisia on her way to the Griffith residence, but for one reason or another they were quickly pulled away toward other duties as soon as the group arrived.

Aloisia fidgeted before reluctantly reaching out toward the first authoritative person she saw. Gaze downcast, she meekly spoke, “Is there anything you would like me to do…?”  

[Syusaki]

Had Aloisia been a mind reader, she would have gladly informed Deborah a gift would not be necessary, but if she insisted Mr. Moreau probably would not have gleaned much on any double meanings behind it. He was a nice, albeit at times clueless, man like that. If the blond woman gave the child any bewildered looks she did not appear fazed by it. Rather she smiled politely, accustomed to the wordless glances. To be truthful she wasn’t completely sure why she donned the eyepatch. She had always worn it, and she assumed she always would. Aloisia never took it off. It was weird to say, but she liked wearing it. It had nothing to do with street thugs or any sort of violence.

“Yes ma’am,” she answered with a nod, hands folded behind her back. Deborah quickly looked at the clock, causing Aloisia to purse her lips as she awaited further orders. She felt guilty about wasting the woman’s time, but the maid had no idea what task to begin with. Yet idling around would do no one any good.

The request startled her. “Ah. Um. Yes m’am. I can read and write somewhat.” If Deborah threw unfamiliar words at Aloisia for her to write down they were sure to be misspelled, but not completely butchered. It would be a workable list. Aloisia nodded understandingly. “I will help as much as I can, m’am.”  

[Syusaki]

“Yes ma’am.” Aloisia didn’t need to wait long for the young woman to hand her a notebook and pencil. She took it with a timid bow and began to flip to the newest page. The servant attempted to keep her composure calm as Deborah already began to rattle off things to jot down before she even managed to ready herself. Her eyes widened just a bit as she started to hastily scribble down the items she mentioned. It was fortunate she had neat writing, but the spelling still could use some work. Equally fortunate was that the blond paused, allowing the young girl to catch up as she slowly ambled behind her.

“Food…working…” She muttered as she finished writing and looked up expectantly. Aloisia began to scrawl the next set of notes, but inside she began to panic. Did the woman expect her to write all of that? Ummm what were her exact words? The girl pursed her lips before timidly repeating the gist of Deborah’s words. “Move band twenty feet to south hall. Less close to dining area and more dancing is better?” Her attention constantly flickered between the notepad and the woman and nearly ran into her when Deborah turned to look at Aloisia.

“Oh! Um…” She held the notepad and pencil close. “Aloisia, ma’am.”  

[Syusaki]

When she finished jotting down the notes and found herself waiting for the next set of commands to copy down, Aloisia went back to double check her writing. She crossed out a couple words and rewrote them in a different spelling that she hoped was the correct one. The maid rewrote certain words she found difficult to discern. Hopefully the notes would be legible for Deborah once the young child handed it over to the blond woman.

Aloisia shifted in place at the mention of her name. She pursed her lips together, debating whether or not if she should answer before cautiously explaining, “I don’t know if my father was English. I don’t know my parents.” It was only part of the truth. She actually didn’t know what she had done for most of her life. The farthest memory she could reach was of her waking up in the busy streets of England, nameless and confused before a group of street orphans picked her up and gave her the name “Aloisia.” It seemed like the green-haired girl would have continued her explanation, but she zipped her lips when she heard someone shrieked. She awkwardly stood as she observed the exchange between Deborah and another woman. Aloisia stared down at the notebook in her hands, meticulously looking over the lines until she found Deborah was done conversing. She shrunk back when an older man entered the conversation. Instinctively, Aloisia took a step backwards to distance herself from the gathered group.

“Um, yes!” she meekly called out as she stepped toward Deborah. Aloisia glanced at the man, presumably Deborah’s father, and politely curtsied before devoting her full attention to Deborah. She glanced at Deborah than at the shrinking figure of the other woman. “I think you will have a wonderful party.” It was the only words of reassurance she could offer. She was only a young maid, after all.  

[Syusaki]

The pad and pencil were tightly clutched in her tiny hands, the tip poised over the paper like Deborah would continue to rattle off a list for Aloisia to copy down, but the words never arrived. Instead, she received startling words of gratitude. She blinked, cheeks flushed pink. The maid curtsied to hide her red face. “Your—Your w—“ The only person of rank who ever bothered to thank her was Mister Moreau himself. Other noblemen and anyone else with stature did not bother for such trivialities. It was odd to receive them, especially from a woman a few years older than herself. She held out the pad and pencil for Deborah to collect. Aloisia kept her eyes downcast. “Yes ma’am.” Once the items were taken out of her hands she held onto her dress and hurried off to join the rest of the other servants.