Chapter 026: Lunch & Literature
[It's like watching a man drown while you're dying of thirst]
Support me on Ko-Fi, and commission NSFW content or advanced chapters
Join me on Discord, where we share memes and sometimes l-lewd images
PLEASE ENJOY THE CHAPTER
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
{TURDAS, SOLYRA 26, 999 – 12:53}
{LUCIAN GILFORD}
Lunch had faded into the sort of lazy afterglow that always made me want to nap, but I found myself staring—not at the empty plate or the sunlight curling through the glass, but at Rose. More specifically, at her ears.
Not that I meant to. They were just there, all red-gold and soft-looking, the inner fur almost white against the sun. They twitched every time someone dropped a dish or raised a voice, and the little flicks of movement had been catching my eye all through the meal. Now, as the Hostess settled back into its midday rhythm, I couldn't help myself. I stared a second too long.
She noticed. Of course she did. Her ear flicked toward me, and her gaze sharpened, the faintest trace of amusement or suspicion in her eyes. "Is something wrong?" she asked, keeping her tone light, but I could hear the warning in it—guild inspector's voice, the one that brooked no nonsense.
I scrambled for a response, caught halfway between honesty and embarrassment. "No, nothing wrong. I was just… uh, wondering about your ears." Instantly, I wished I'd said nothing.
Rose's expression didn't shift, but her ears did—flattening slightly, then angling back up, as if she were listening for trouble behind her. "You're not the first to ask," she said, tone even. "Yes, they're sensitive. Mostly to sound. I hear more than most people, especially sharp noises or voices behind me." She tapped one, almost absently. "Makes the city a bit much sometimes."
I nodded, grateful for any explanation that would save me from digging deeper. "Right. That makes sense. Must be handy in a crowd."
She studied me, then shook her head with a sigh. "You looked like you wanted to ask something else. Most people do."
I hesitated. There was no way to admit that, in my world, every anime and half the stories about beastkin insisted that ears like hers were… well, sensitive in another way. But there was no way I was bringing up erogenous zones over leftover gravy and honey cake crumbs. Not in public, not even with Rose.
So I just shrugged, tried for casual. "No, nothing weird. Just… curious, I guess. I've never seen anything quite like them before."
She seemed to accept that, letting her hand drop to the table. "It's fine. Curiosity's better than staring."
"I'll try to keep the staring to a minimum," I said, not quite able to hide my relief. "Can't promise, though. They're a little mesmerizing."
She raised an eyebrow, but the corner of her mouth softened, a flicker of that rare, unguarded smile. "Careful. You're starting to sound like you want to write poetry about them."
I laughed, still a little red around the ears myself. "If I do, you're allowed to confiscate my pen."
The Hostess hummed with life around us, but in that little moment, it felt like the table and the sunlight and her red-tipped ears were the whole world.
Lunoire wove back through the crowd, pausing with a practiced smile as she slid the bill onto the edge of our table. "Take your time," she said, but there was nothing patient about the way she eyed the plates, sizing up who'd eaten what and who was likely to tip.
I reached for my wallet—old habit, now a little ritual. I thumbed through the bills, counting out the exact amount owed for two lunches, two drinks, and—because Rose had actually finished her honey cakes—a slice of that strawberry tart Mia had set aside for us. Then, without really thinking, I laid a bright 500Ʌ̶ coin on top of the bill, sliding it across.
Lunoire's eyes flicked to the tip, then back to me, her grin widening. "Someone's feeling generous. Should I tell Mia it's for her, or are you just trying to make me your personal waitress?"
I grinned, shaking my head. "You can tell Mia if you want, but I'm hoping it'll get me a seat by the window next time."
She snorted, swept the coins into her apron with a practiced flick, and saluted Rose. "Inspector, always a pleasure. And if he gives you trouble, let us know—we have ways of dealing with troublesome merchants."
Rose just rolled her eyes, but her tail flicked in quiet amusement. I watched Lunoire slip away, letting the warmth of the Hostess and the light pressure of Rose's knee against mine anchor me in that moment, money well spent for an afternoon that already felt like a memory I'd want to keep.
I stood, pushing my chair back with a low scrape, and offered Rose my hand—a little formal, maybe, but it felt right. She slipped her fingers into mine without hesitation, the pad of her palm warm and sure. We threaded through the maze of tables, drawing a few looks as we went, but nothing I couldn't weather with her beside me.
The moment we stepped through the Hostess' big double doors and into the bright city bustle, someone barreled around the corner—almost straight into me. I barely managed to keep my balance as I looked down and found myself chest-to-face with a pair I'd recognize anywhere.
Loki—sharp grin, copper hair wild as ever, dressed with the careless flamboyance of someone who never paid for her own clothes. Beside her, a silent shadow: Ais Wallenstein herself, golden hair falling in perfect sheets, gaze unreadable and quiet as snowfall.
Loki swept an exaggerated bow, her eyes flicking between Rose and me with the unholy delight of someone handed a fresh scandal before noon. "Well, well! If it isn't the merchant prince and his—" her eyes glinted "—favorite inspector. Out on a lunch date, are we?"
Rose stiffened but didn't let go of my hand. I just grinned, figuring it was better to own it than squirm. "Something like that," I said, voice easy. "You know how it is, Loki. Got to keep up appearances."
Ais regarded us in silence, her gaze slipping down to where our hands were still joined. She didn't say a word, but her lips twitched—just a fraction, just enough to let me know she'd registered the whole scene.
I managed a smile that was just this side of cheeky and dipped my head in Loki's direction. "Loki," I said, "good to see you out and about. If Rose is my favorite inspector, I'd say you're my… least unfavorite god."
That got a bark of laughter from her, sharp enough to turn heads halfway down the lane. "Least unfavorite, eh?" She grinned, showing canines. "You've got a dangerous tongue for a merchant, kid. Careful where you wag it, or I'll have to start charging you for my company."
I feigned offense, clutching my heart. "And here I thought your company was the real reward."
Ais's expression didn't shift, but she gave a tiny nod of approval—just a slight movement, but it felt like a medal from the Sword Princess herself. Rose, for her part, squeezed my hand in silent warning, a signal not to push my luck with Orario's most unpredictable goddess.
Loki leaned in, eyes bright. "By the way, my kids love those rations you sold us—what did you call them? MREs? They tore through almost the whole pallet already. Honestly, if you can get your hands on more, I'll buy a mountain of the stuff. Money's not an issue."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Tell you what. Buy ten pallets, and I'll knock ten percent off the total. Consider it a loyalty discount."
She grinned, unbothered, tossing her hair. "You've got a deal, kid. Just tell me when and where to send the payment."
I muttered, just loud enough to be heard, "Buy one pallet for the price of two and I'll throw in a second pallet absolutely free."
Loki cocked her head, confusion flickering. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I grinned, trying not to laugh at my own joke. "Just an old sales pitch from back home. Two for the price of two, but it sounds like a bargain if you say it fast."
Rose snorted, and even Ais's mouth twitched at the corner, which was about as close as she ever got to laughing. Loki just shook her head, but she was smiling all the same.
Loki gave us a lopsided grin and a mock salute, stepping back just as Ais melted into her wake. "Go on, you two. Don't let me keep you—gods know you look good together." She winked, then disappeared into the Hostess in a flurry of teasing laughter and off-key humming.
For a moment, the street felt quieter—just Rose and me, still hand in hand as the sun climbed higher over the rooftops. I started to step forward, but then realized something soft was brushing against my shin, moving in a slow, unconscious rhythm.
I stiffened, squeezing Rose's hand as I glanced down. "Uh, Rose… your tail is rubbing my leg."
She blinked, startled, and looked down to find her tail doing exactly that—curved behind her, the white-tipped end swaying against my calf. Her ears flattened in mortified realization.
"What?" she said, color blooming in her cheeks as she quickly tried to will her tail back under control. "I—I didn't mean—sometimes it just… does that." Her eyes flicked up to mine, half-defiant, half-apologetic.
I tried to hold in a grin, but it leaked through anyway. "I didn't mind. Just didn't want to start rumors. Or give Loki more material."
She huffed, flicking her tail back behind her, but she didn't let go of my hand. If anything, her grip tightened as we moved on down the street, the city's buzz swelling around us, our own little bubble holding strong.
"Where to now?" I asked, falling into step beside her, hands still lightly linked.
She hesitated, glancing toward the heart of the city. "I'm supposed to check on some requisitions for the School District. Paperwork, approvals… not exactly exciting."
I shrugged, giving her a crooked smile. "Lead the way. I'm not in a rush."
She squinted at me, skeptical. "Are you sure? My work isn't exactly thrilling. I'll be in some old office, double-checking numbers, signing forms, asking the same questions three different ways. Most people would run the other way."
I squeezed her hand, catching her gaze. "Nothing with you is boring. Besides, you might need someone to make smart remarks from the back of the room. Or get you a honey cake when you start drowning in signatures."
She laughed, shaking her head, and her tail flicked behind her—under control this time. "You're going to regret saying that."
We cut across half the city, drifting from the market lanes to the quieter stone roads bordering the School District. The air changed; instead of food carts and merchants shouting prices, there was the hum of children's voices and the distant clang of a school bell. Teachers in gray smocks hurried past, trailing ink-stained students, while older boys lugged crates of paper or stacks of borrowed books.
Rose led the way through a small side door, greeting the guard by name and showing her badge. I trailed after, feeling oddly out of place—a merchant, not a scholar, with city dust on my boots and a mind full of numbers. Inside, the office was cramped, all wooden shelves and the dry scent of parchment. Sunlight cut through leaded windows, striking the cluttered desks and boxes of ledgers stacked like unstable towers.
She introduced me to the quartermaster, a stooped man with a nose for ink and a visible fear of paperwork. "This is Lucian," Rose said. "He's… helping me today."
The man eyed me with suspicion, but Rose's presence smoothed the way, and he busied himself with a ledger nearly as thick as my arm. Rose moved to the next desk, sifting through requisition forms for ink, paper, and even a few battered slates.
I leaned in, curiosity getting the better of me. "Mind if I take a look?" I asked.
He shrugged, passing the ledger over. I thumbed through the columns, brow furrowing. The math was… bad. Not criminal, just messy—figures scratched out, rewritten in cramped hands, credits and debits swimming together until I wondered if anyone actually balanced the thing. Rose peered over my shoulder, concern flitting across her features.
I traced a row with my finger. "You know you have the same expense listed twice here, right? And this column—see how it jumps every other month? That's not just inflation. Someone's rounding up."
The quartermaster looked lost, and Rose sighed. "We have trouble keeping a proper clerk. Most who know numbers well enough get snapped up by the Merchants' Guild, and the rest don't want to live in a school full of kids."
I nodded, passing the ledger back and pulling out my phone on instinct. The screen glowed in the afternoon gloom, app icons neat as a toy chest. I navigated to the warehouse catalog, searching "books," and instantly found a dozen listings under Education & Development. Glossy, bright-colored covers: basic arithmetic, spelling, even a series about manners and cooperation. There were even workbooks for teachers—lesson plans, guided reading, starter math for ages four to ten, all bundled together.
My mind spun with possibilities. "You ever think of ordering books from out of town?" I asked Rose, tilting the screen so she could see. "Look—basic math, stories, even science books. Easy to read, lots of pictures. I could get you enough to stock every classroom here."
She stared, at first baffled, then slowly realizing what she was seeing. "You mean—new books? We haven't had new copies in years. We just patch the old ones, copy them out by hand, or wait for a donation."
I flicked through more titles: Counting with Critters, My First Atlas, Why the Sky is Blue. Some even had bundled activity kits—paper, pencils, flashcards. The prices were… not cheap, but compared to the mess of their current books, it was night and day.
Rose took the phone, scrolling with a tentative finger. The quartermaster looked over her shoulder, jaw slack. "Can we really afford that?" he asked, voice shaky.
I shrugged. "You don't have to buy a library all at once. Start small—a few classes' worth. I'll eat the shipping costs for the first order. Call it a merchant's gift."
Rose shot me a look—a real, searching look, the one that told me she wasn't sure if she should hug me or scold me for being too generous. "You're making a habit of that," she said.
"Just smart business," I said, smiling a little. "A city's only as strong as the kids it raises. And if they get smarter, maybe they'll grow up to buy out my whole shop."
She laughed, the sound bright as glass bells, and I felt a little of the city's weight lift from my shoulders.
For the next hour, I watched as she and the quartermaster debated, compared booklists, and made a tentative selection—a handful of reading primers, math workbooks, a teacher's kit. Rose had a knack for wrangling details, but she let me handle the numbers, trusting me to tally up the cost, add the fees, and write the receipt. The quartermaster signed, looking a little dazed at the ease of it all.
When we stepped out into the late afternoon, the sun already gilding the rooftops, Rose was smiling—a rare, open smile I'd come to crave. I tucked my phone away and matched her stride, the city bustling around us, a hundred stories overlapping with ours.
"You know," she said, glancing sideways, "I think you're going to make a lot of enemies in this city. But you'll make friends too."
I grinned. "As long as you're one of them, I think I'll manage."
She didn't answer, just let her tail brush my hand as we walked, both of us already thinking about the next problem to solve, the next afternoon to steal together.