Chương 60: The Long Quest For Brisket: Part 8

Tavira sat quietly next to Morton in the cart, the sun beginning to set beyond the cart window. They had dropped Ressa off, allowing her to go free, and they were now heading back to the Seran estate for the evening. Rickity-clickity-rickity-clickity. Silence. Eventually, Tavira turned and said to Morton:"Sir Christian, may I ask you a question?"

"Ask away, kid."

"Why did you… do that?" Morton breathed out of his nose.

"Well, kid, sometimes, when you see an injustice, ya gotta resolve it yourself."

"But why? You don't even know them."

"Do you got to know someone to help them out?" Morton asked. Tavira looked away.

"I don't know."

"You helped me out this mornin' without knowin' me."

"I was being paid," Tavira said softly.

"And?" Morton said with an eyebrow raised.

"You still helped me even though you didn't know me. Whether we are paid or not, I reckon helpin' someone else is what we oughta be doin' more, just as the good Lord commanded."

"But what point—no. Sorry I said anything."

"Ah, go on."

"What point is there to helping someone without any gain? There is usually always something: coins, obligation, family, loyalty, religion, something. People like Ressa, they are doing what they need to do."

"No, they ain't."

"What do you mean?"

"There ain't ever a reason to start hatin' each other."

"Did you not feel hatred for Ressa?""'Deed I did."

"So why do you think hatred is bad?" Morton looked out his window. Tavira could tell there was a glint of sadness and longing in his gaze.

"Back home…" He let out a sigh.

"We really started hatin' each other, and it is because we started hatin' each other that… that Texas just ain't what it was. Used to be, if you broke down on the road, somebody stopped. Didn't matter who you voted for, what church you went to, what colour you were. Maybe they thought you were a real asshole, and hell, maybe you were, but they'd still help push your damn truck. Those days are long gone, kid, and I miss 'em so damn much." Tavira didn't know what to say.

"When… I was a little girl," Tavira said, "the priests at the church always said the greatest virtue Seroth ever gave our people was the virtue of kindness." She fidgeted with the digits of her paw.

"I always thought it was just one of those, um, well, adages they tell children—something you know is theoretically true, but as you grow older, things get more complex than that. But perhaps they had a point; kindness is Seroth's greatest virtue."

"Yeah," Morton said solemnly.

"It was Jesus's as well." Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"I do not know who that is," Tavira said.

"Perhaps they were just as wise as Seroth was."

"Yeah." Silence.

"Helpin' others, kid, I stopped doin' it for a good long while because I kept gettin' hurt. There was nothin' left in that place for me—no good point. Like pushin' a boulder up a hill."

"I feel that way sometimes too," Tavira said.

"You got your parents and the other servants at that big ol' mansion, don't ya?" Morton said.

"Yeah, but, well, my parents, they love me, I love them, I love my brother; the other servants never seem to treat me as an equal."

"Who cares!" Morton said evenly.

"Unless they are hurtin' others, treat 'em with kindness. Who knows, maybe they will eventually come around."

"Yeah." Silence. The estate emerged above the trees, the windows glowing gold in the twilight, with guards approaching them with torches clasped in their paws. Tavira was still contemplating Morton's words when she saw that he had a mirthful grin plastered on his face.

"Welp, looks like we are here!" Morton and Tavira stepped out of the carriage, and the guards led them back in. Morton was pushed towards the dining hall, whereas Tavira was pushed back towards the servants' quarters. When she opened the door, there were eight girls all sitting cross-legged in a perfect half-circle, cult-like in its perfection, all staring at her intensely, sixteen ears swivelling in her direction.

"Uh… hi?" Tavira said.

"Don't just stand there!" It was Rava. Swiftly, Tavira found herself swiped off her feet and placed on a bed. Everyone, even Rida, was staring at her intensely.

"I… are you guys all right?"

"What was it like?" one of them blurted out.

"I… like what?"

"Don't play dumb!" Rida said.

"You dined with Her Highness. Was it scary?"

"Did it look like she was about to kill you?" another person said.

"What was the guest like?"

"Yeah, what was the elf like?"

"The human," another corrected.

"Whatever, I just want to know what they were like. They're a man, right?"

"What? No way, they look like a warrior!"

"We have been over this; that is what men of his culture… the, uh, Texas, look like."

"Whoa, I need to visit that place sometime."

"Yeah, yeah, we don't need to hear about your weird fetishes, Turita."

"Just because I like femboys doesn't mean it's a fetish!"

"I said what I said."

"But did he really call Her Highness ma'am?"

"Uh, yes," Tavira said.

"And he survived?"

"I… I guess so, yeah," Tavira said.

"What is that weapon he is carrying? Is it actually a repeater?"

"Pffft, no, it's not."

"Do all the Texans dress like that?"

"Turita, stop trying to get her to answer questions about your fetish."

"Did he tell you about his duel with Her Highness?"

"What?! He duelled Her Highness?"

"And won."

"No, he didn't."

"Is he married?"

"Turita!"

"What? A girl can dream." Tavira looked back and forth, overwhelmed by the sudden interest in her. She cleared her throat, and the entire room focused on her. She started with a stiffness in her demeanour but, slowly but surely, opened up as the story continued, mimicking Morton's odd cadence as he said something absurd. Rava laughed so hard she was lying on her back like a dead insect. Rida would occasionally interrupt to point out what she thought was an incorrect statement, only for Tavira to insist it was true.

At some point, someone threw a pillow at Turita after she made a lewd comment about how "he can undress in front of me anytime." When she saw Turita fall onto her back from the impact of the cotton casing filled with feathers, Tavira let out an unexpected laugh—one so hard she had to cover her muzzle. She regained control of her composure and continued the story.

As the night went on, Tavira felt a warmth she had not felt in a long time: one that was a mixture of the many cramped bodies in the room and the happiness she felt deep within her heartmeat core. For the first time, she felt as if she could call this mansion her home.