Chapter Two: A Real Drossy Day

Part 2

Rubbing her hands together produced a cloud of white. With a smirk, Moira slapped her hand against the chalkboard, leaving a nice series of white outlines from the pads of her hands. It was in the corner of the chalkboard, and if they really wanted to make her come clean it off in the morning, it was just more of the school’s time wasted.

It took about ten minutes to walk to the front gate.

Despite the festering lemon taste of her mood, it was impossible not to smile when she spotted Sergei.

Sergei – her butler, her driver, her best friend.

Sergei stood beside a parked hover-car that was only six months old. Moira had asked for a new one, expecting her mother to finally put her foot down and engage in conversation with her rather than just throw money at her to keep her quiet and happy. It was a waste of money and of time, but Sergei had admitted to finding the leg room in this model more comfortable than in previous ones, and he never asked for things, so it fell to Moira to pay careful attention to even his passing comments. She loved Sergei, but even he fell victim to the Bulb’s expectations that a Mnolf should be grateful for anything that was given to them, regardless of consideration for basic people’s rights.

He waved as she approached, stepping over to open the back door for her. The door handle disappeared in his grasp, unsurprising considering that the car’s roof only came up to his armpits. Old enough to be her father, Sergei was a behemoth of a Mnolfan man, standing closer to seven feet tall than most of his kind, with the build of a professional wrestler. He used part of his off-hours to maintain his physique, a habit Moira assumed had formed during his childhood in response to being bullied. Any time she tried to get him to talk about his personal history with Snepards, he simply shrugged it off and stated that “Both sides have treated me well at times, and both sides have treated me poorly. I do not begrudge either, as there are plenty of those in the Bulb who have it far rougher than I.”

That was dumb. Other people having it bad didn’t negate how bad he had it. Yes, Moira’s mother was one of the few business Snepards in Ciphus who preferred to hire based on character rather than the physical appearance one was born with, but even her good intentions couldn’t ensure that he was treated as an equal by the rest of her staff. Hence it fell to Moira to remind him constantly that he was her equal. Of course, that got undermined almost immediately by his formal bow as he held the door for her.

“We’ve been over this Sergei, I don’t want you feeling like you have to open the door for me. I’m a big girl, and my wrist can take the strain of opening a car door.”

A small smile crept onto his canid muzzle, giving her a glimpse of incredibly white teeth. “Of that, I have no doubt, Miss Moira. Rest assured, it is my delight to get the door for you.”

Her mother required a certain level of presentation from her employees. That was at least the original reason for the custom extra-extra-extra-extra large suit Sergei wore and the well trimmed chin fur that he shaped into a regal point. But the gleaming cufflinks, the thrice-pressed crease line running the length of his pant legs, the conditioned orange and black fur that smelled like eucalyptus and felt softer than a stuffed animal, and the pristine teeth, those were all Sergei and his constant personal commitment to looking his finest no matter the circumstance.

She’d seen him wear that suit to a beach party. Not the real beach, obviously, as Ciphus wasn’t even close to any oceans; no, this had been a party at a neighbor’s place where they had imported sand to surround their personal swimming pool. The best part? When Moira had dared him to jump into the pool, he had. It’d taken him several hard days’ work to save the suit, but he hadn’t begrudged her for it.  He’d said it was worth it to put such a smile on her face.

“Is everything alright, Miss?” Sergei asked, pulling her abruptly from her nostalgia trip. Seedmother, she was reminded yet again how remarkably kind his face was. How could anyone look at a person like Sergei and write him off as a savage?

With a quick nod, she tossed her bag in the backseat. “Sorry to make you wait so long.”

“It was no trouble, Miss Moira.”

A scowl started growing out of her face and she turned to glare at the oppressive iron bars walling off the prison that was her highschool. “I told them to give you a pass so you could pick me up in front of the building, but they didn’t listen.”

“That is most thoughtful, but I do not mind waiting outside the gate. As you can see, I don’t really have to fight anyone for prime parking.” He gave her a wink, and her heart sank two inches lower in her chest.

“You’re also not willing to fight anyone for it, which is part of the problem. You can’t just let people walk all over you Sergei.”

“Of course not, Miss Moira.”

Despite her desire to give him a lecture on the spot, it would be nothing he hadn’t heard at her hands a hundred times, and truthfully she was worn out from her terrible day. With a sigh, she resigned to return to his tendency to roll over later and climbed in the back seat. Sergei shut the door with gentleness that belied his size. Wasn’t even his property and he still fretted over it.

Climbing in the front, Sergei powered on the hovercar’s repulsors. The car sagged in his direction, a necessary consequence of him being at least three times Moira’s mass, but he adjusted the compensators quickly. The plush interior made it hard to hear the car’s thrusters kick in, but she was only gently pressed back against her seat as he pulled away.

They’d made it about a block when he called back to her, “Was it a good birthday, Miss?”

Rolling her eyes, Moira scooted forward to rest her arms across the windowsill between them. “No, Sergei. School was dross. People at school were dross too. I had to listen to the principal lecture me on appropriate behavior for an entire brakking hour. So, no, my birthday’s just drowning in dross right now.”

She let her chin sink into the poofy sleeves of her jacket with a snort of frustration. To his credit, Sergei did not comment on her use of foul language. He knew better.

“Well, on the bright side, the school day is done, which leaves the remainder of the day to make up for it.”

“Right…because mom definitely remembered what day it is, and there’s totally going to be all sorts of stuff waiting to cheer me up back at home.” Her eyes rolled so far around her head, there was danger of them rolling out of her skull.

Sergei waited too long to respond, which was confirmation enough. “…She’s been most busy these last few weeks, but I myself snuck a reminder for today into her planner.”

Moira snorted into her sleeves again. “She shouldn’t need a reminder.”

“Perhaps not, though not all adults are gifted with such attention for others as you are, Miss Moira.”

“Don’t excuse her poor mothering.”

“I’m just…”

“Trying to take the middle ground, I know.” Moira sighed. “I thought you were on my side, Sergei.”

Shooting her a sidelong glance, he reassured her, “I am on your side, Miss Moira.”

“Then stop defending mom.”

“The problem with that is that I like you both very much, and would very much enjoy seeing the two of you get along like you used to.”

“I’m not the one who doesn’t get along anymore.”

“But you are the one causing trouble for attention.”

A growl settled in Moira’s throat and she buried her entire face in her sleeves. “I don’t know what they told you, but I promise it’s not what happened.”

She heard him give a particularly potent swallow then wait several long seconds before saying in a measured but still pleasant tone, “They said you brought your paints to school.”

A horrible thought occurred to Moira then, a conclusion he surely must have jumped to on his own. Panic swelled in her voice, sudden courage unburying her nose and bringing her eyes up to look at him, “Some dipdross tagged the library with extremely inappropriate stuff, but it wasn’t me. It’s repulsive behavior, so I did Ciphus a public service and painted over it. Then, because I tried to get rid of that dross, I’m the one who got blamed and forced into detention for misbehaving.”

His tone didn’t change when next Sergei spoke, but she knew him well enough to see the relief settling into his features. He probably hadn’t believed what they’d told him, but he’d wanted to be sure. “Sometimes doing the right thing can still get one in trouble. Even so, when that happens, there is great comfort in the fact that at the end of the day you did the right thing.”

“At least someone appreciates it,” Moira muttered, bringing her chin back down to rest on her arms.

“The right thing is not right because someone appreciates it. Nor is it right because someone even sees it. True courage is found in doing the right thing for its own sake. It makes me glad to see you growing in courage, Miss Moira.”

“Growing? I’ve got courage spilling out of my ears, Sergei. You should have heard me in front of the principal! I called him out on his double-standards to his face. Same with that sniveling terrible librarian with the awful hair and clumpy fur. Oh, and the stupid detention guard.”

“Teacher?”

“Same thing.”

As the ride continued on, Moira felt her mood lightening. Sergei had a way of lifting her spirits, no matter how terrible her day. He was about the only one in the house who could since her father…

She forced a breath. No sense in letting that memory spoil the moment. She stuffed it back in the mental box where her mother wanted her to keep it, and forced herself back into the present. No, this was her birthday, and all the stupid people in her life could go straight to Fahnina. Moira was going to enjoy herself.

“Sergei? Did you mean to miss our turn?”

“Hmm? Oh, I wanted to make a quick stop before we go home.”

She eyed him with suspicion. Sergei, the man who could fit every possession he wanted into a single suitcase and who never did anything extraneous, wanted to make an unscheduled stop, when she was already late because of detention?

“Where are we going?”

“That’s not the important question, Miss Moira,” he said, giving her a conspiratorial wink.

“No? Then what is?”

As they turned the next corner, a familiar building came into view, probably Moira’s third favorite building in the entire Bulb. A large display board depicted a waffle cone the size of a truck, with a scoop of ivory goodness threatening to spill out of its crunchy confines.

“The question, Miss Moira, is: ‘Is today a chocolate kind of birthday, or a strawberry one?’”

She could feel her eyes widening, her cheeks stretching of their own accord. “Both, obviously!”

His grin grew in response to her own and he nodded. “Very good, Miss Moira. Both, it shall be.”