Chương 55: Vol 1. The Long Quest For Brisket: Part 2

"Um… S… Sir Christian?" The pile of blankets shifted. Tavi's ears perked. Then came a heavy, rumbling growl somewhere beneath them. Tavi yipped and hopped a step backwards, her tail going rigid. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then those blankets rose. Sir Christian emerged from them, wearing a sleeping garment far too small for his corpulent frame. He ran a hand through the fur atop his head.

Tavi looked up in awe; yep, that was certainly the type of person who would duel Lady Korra: he was tall and sinewy, and the womanly ruggedness of his face showed he had lived anything but a comfortable life in silk sheets. She stepped forward, a bit of a quiver in her cautious step, and, clearing her throat, she said in the courtliest cadence she could muster:"Good morning, Sir Christian. I shall be accompanying you this morning as I prepare you to engage with today's happenings." Morton eyed her.

"Huh?" Oh Seroth, did she offend him somehow?

"I, uh…" Tavi said, flustered.

"So sorry I was being too forward—" Morton chuckled.

"Ah, they won't let up with that, hey? Ah, it's alright, kid, let's get this over with." He flipped over the blanket and planted his feet on the stone floor.

"Ah, well, let me, um…" Oh gods, did she really have to ask this?

"Let me… bathe you, sir…" As she reached one paw out to take his hand, Morton made a gesture that signalled stop.

"Hold your horses there, kid," he said.

"I ain't too sure I am comfortable with all that. If ya' want, you can start the bath for me." She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Very well, sir." Then she remembered.

"Oh, but your injury, sir." Morton looked down at his bandaged arm.

"Ah, I'll clean it in the bath; it should be scabbin' over by now. It was just a blade slice." Just a blade slice? Tavi thought. She had been sliced by a sword once, as a cub. A town guard had not been looking where he was swinging it and jabbed her in the arm. That had been 12 years ago, and she remembered the pain vividly enough that anyone who said getting sliced by a blade was just a blade slice was utterly mad.

Tavi went over to the private bathing chamber attached to the guest room; the bath water was still fresh, having been sealed and untouched for a long time, so that made that part of her job easier. She lifted the trap door, climbed down, and took logs and brushwood from the dusty shelves, placing them neatly into a criss-cross stack. Then, taking a flint and steel, she struck it until little sparks flew off and ate away at the wood until they grew to a massive flame.

When she came back up, she saw Morton still patiently sitting on the edge of the bed.

"My apologies, Sir Christian," she said.

"The water will take a while to heat to a respectable temperature." The fire beneath heated the surrounding room's stone flooring, warming Tavi's paw-pads through her leather shoes. Morton waved a hand dismissively.

"Ah, don't sweat it, kid." Well, he certainly isn't aristocracy, Tavi thought. His manner and tone were too casual and unrigid to be those of the upper echelons of any society—human or elf or Kharani. So why did Lady Korra want him to be treated as if he was one? That was unlike her; she was not a royal known for her kind-heartedness. She was not ill-willed, but she was not Seroth himself either. Tavi stood rigidly beside Morton for a good long while, then the man said:"So, what's yer name, kid?"

"Hm? Oh, it is Tavi, sir."

"Tavi? Hell, y'all got some hella interesting names if I do say so myself."

"Is that so?" Tavi said.

"Ah, may just be cuz they're new to me and all that, but they got a nice ring to 'em, lotta harsh sounds, I reckon."

"Interesting observation, sir," Tavi said. Morton smacked his lips, sighed, and said, "This is my first time in a castle of sorts."

"Is it?" Tavi said.

"Yeah, I always wanted to go see those castles over in Europe and the like."

"Of course," Tavi nodded, not knowing what Europe was.

"You know," Morton said, "my daddy, he was never the type that let others fix his car—er, uh, wagon, you know? But when he did, he always went to the one woman he was not ashamed to admit outbeat him in tinkerin' with shit: old Jan Pacha'.

"Now old Jan, she was from a place far, far, far, far away from here, even farther from where I come from, called Poland, and she used to tell my daddy how when she was a young kid, her parents took her on a tour of all the ancient castles of their country, places like, uh… I think it was called Malbork or somethin'. Anyhow, my daddy used to say if we ever had some extra pocket change lyin' around, he would do the same with me, but that never happened." Tavi was unsure of how to respond to that.

"Interesting, sir."

"Have ya been anywhere special?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Ya know, seeing the world and such?"

"Oh… me?"

"Ya, who else would I be askin'?" Morton said with a smirk. Tavi thought about how to respond for a moment.

"No, no, I have never left the town of Torren."

"Why is that?" Morton asked. Tavi opened her mouth, closed it again, then opened it once more, and said: "I … I will be honest with you, sir, I do not know how to answer that regally." Morton scoffed.

"Regally? Kid, who cares about all that fancy-smancy rich people stuff? Just talk to me normally; I ain't exactly one for fancy words myself. I ain't gonna judge the way you talk or anythin' you say."

"Yes, sir," Tavi said.

"We never had the money to travel. Before a few months ago, I was a farm girl. I worked on my parents' farm. And well, we never were very well off, but times got really bad a year ago when we had a bad harvest. We only had just enough to feed ourselves and to afford the taxes to our landlord, and so Mother took out a loan from the landlord, and the interest was too high, far higher than we could ever pay. We are forever stuck on his leash.

And so, I took a job here at the Seran Estate; I just have to get through another two years of serving…" Tavi growled, finally breaking her façade of nicety.

"these rich asses before my parents can finally be free of the landlord's tyranny." The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Tavi felt her eyes watering.

"Oh Seroth, it is so unfair." Morton sat there quietly for a moment, then said softly:"I know how you feel, kid. Before … everything, we weren't too well off ourselves. We were damn lucky in that we bought our property, so we ain't never had to deal with any slumlords like that." You weren't well off, but you owned your land? Tavi thought incredulously.

"The bath water should be ready by now," Tavi said.

"Great!" Morton grunted as he lifted himself off the edge of the bed.

"Welp, see ya' in a few!" When Morton closed the door to the bathing chamber, Tavi collapsed onto her rump and leaned against the bed, letting out a frustrated grumble. Had she really just said all that to him? Ugh, why was she such a loudmouth? Tavi's ears pricked. She heard a gruff, feminine humming coming from the bathing chamber. Was that…

Tavi found herself utterly entranced by the little tune as it seeped through the bathing-chamber door, muffled by stone and steam; there was a melancholic aspect to it that just soothed her worries. Morton's voice was rough and low, clearly aged, but the melody wandered softly. She made out some words, though she couldn't fully pinpoint what the lyrics were exactly.

She gathered it was a ballad about grace itself, and how awesome and wonderful it was, how it saved them, and how the Male-Lady promised good to the person singing. It reminded her a lot of an old church hymn she used to sing back when she was a choirgirl. She found herself sitting there for minutes on end, moving her head back and forth, taking in the tune. Then it stopped. She blinked. The bathing chamber door creaked open slightly, with Morton poking his head out.

"Hey, kid," he said, "can ya' pass me a towel there?" Tavi just sat there blankly for a moment. Then, when his request finally registered in her mind, hitting her like two tons of bricks, she jumped to her feet, quickly sputtering a "yes, sir!" before reaching into the closet, grabbing a linen towel, and handing it to Morton. Morton chuckled.

"Thanks." The door closed again.

"Uh, Sir Christian," Tavi said.

"When you are finished up, I will need to groom you."

"The hell I need groomin' for? You tellin' me I'm ugly?" Before Tavi could answer—"Ah, I'm just messin' with ya, kid, yeah, that should be fine, I reckon." Morton opened the door wide open. Tavi's mind went blank. She let out a little yipping noise. In front of her, Morton stood with a towel around his waist, but nothing on his upper portion.

"I… uh…" Her ears unconsciously flicked excitedly as she stared at the sizeable bosom covered in a thin layer of loose fur that water droplets clung to, at his nipples, small but very visible with such a lack of hair, as well as at his skin, which was still a bright red from the hot water. She didn't even know men could have pecs that massive. His shoulders were absurdly broad for a man. His arms looked like they belonged to a woman who hauled grain sacks for a living.

"Something wrong, kid? You look like ya've seen a ghost."

"Hm?" Tavi felt her blood run cold and heat rise from her lower region up to her face when she realized what she had just been doing. Her head whipped to the side, and she buried her muzzle in her paws.

"I … I am sorry, I didn't mean to! I swear!"

"Hm?" Morton said in confusion.

"Oh! Ha, I forget y'all ain't too keen on shirtless men. You got another towel I can wrap around?"

"Yes, sir." Tavi went over to the closet again, found the biggest towel she could, and threw it at Morton; though she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she tried to take a quick peek once more before Morton had wrapped the towel around himself.

"Right, so, uh, groomin'?" Morton asked. Tavi composed herself, her posture straight, her tail straight, and her visage refined.

"Yes, come sit on the floor near the bed; you are quite a bit taller than me."

"Heh, that's what Martha used to say whenever she tried leanin' in for a kiss."

"Is that so?" Tavi replied politely. Morton sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed. Tavi opened her kit and began to work. Grooming was something she was at least familiar with; even before working for House Seran, she had been grooming her younger brother since he was a cub. She started by feeling the fur atop his head: it was surprisingly fine and stringy, black fading toward charcoal where grey had begun to take over near the roots. She felt it along the scalp and down the back of his neck.

Did she have a brush for such fine hair? Digging through her kit, she found a brush that was meant for cubs and slowly began tugging at the knots of Morton's hair.

"Hey!" Morton growled.

"Go easy there."

"I will try, sir," Tavi said. She did her best, though his hair was so knotted that going completely easy was impossible. It was as if he had not brushed his fur in over twenty years. After she was done brushing, she got out a knife and slowly cut the edges of the strands so that they lay evenly across his neck and looked as if they connected with his mane. She hesitated over a sparse patch near the crown. Was that intentional? Was human male grooming supposed to look like that?

Perhaps mentioning it would be impolite, so she decided to go the safe route and simply not ask. When she was all finished up, she asked,"Are you wanting any braids in your hair, sir?"

"Oh Lord no," Morton said.

"Very well. Turn around." Morton did so. His rugged face was staring directly into hers. As uneasy as she felt, she continued to do her job, brushing out the knots of his mane. The little cub brush did not work on it. She pulled out one meant for adults, and as she brushed it, the coarse hair made little scritch noises. Morton winced twice. Tavi had never seen a man with such a luscious mane before: not only did it cover most of his neck, it covered his face all the way up to his eyes.

And unlike his head fur, this fur was far thicker, though a lot more grey. Most men, in her experience, wouldn't want a mane this thick and long. It would be considered quite unmanly, though nothing about Morton really screamed "normal man" in any capacity. The knife sliced along the overgrown edges of the mane, and when she was done, it was mostly even, though a little bit of messiness remained.

"Alright, you can turn back around now." Morton did so.

"Do you want any makeup or anything, sir?"

"Nah, I'm good," Morton said.

"Very well, then, all that is left is to get you dressed, and we can head down to the dining hall for breakfast."

"Ah, I can do that myself," Morton insisted.

"Ah, well…"

"Don't worry, I won't get ya in trouble or anythin'."

"Yes, sir." Morton reached under the bed and pulled out his clothes. He looked over at Tavi.

"You, uh, you want to, you know…?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Tavi said, turning around and closing her eyes. A moment later, Morton bellowed, "Right, let's get a move on; there is definitely something I want to do today." Tavi turned around and saw Morton placing that odd hat atop his head. She bowed slightly.

"Right, let us get a move on then, sir." They left the room, walking into the hallway where they became surrounded by polished marble, enormous portraits, decorative gold fixtures, and breakfast smells drifting from the dining hall. As they walked along the hallway, Morton turned to Tavi.

"Whatcha gonna be doin' when we get over to the dinin' room?"

"I will probably go back to the servant quarters and see what my next assignment of the day is." Morton chewed his lips, as if mulling over something.

"And when do you get to eat?"

"This afternoon, sir."

"Oh, no you ain't if I got a say! How about you come eat at the dining hall with us?"

"Uhhh… what?"

"Yeah, I bet Korra wouldn't mind if ya' joined us." In Tavi's mind, she was repeating: YESSHEWOULDSHESHEWOULDYESHEW—"I… I would love to, sir." Why did she say that? It just slipped out! Oh gods, oh Seroth, oh the Great Mother, or whoever else is out there, please come save her!