Hello, Nagi here. I present to you, 'An Iris of Winter Frostbites'. And very minimal comedy (I think?), so don't get fooled by the summary trolololol-

I feel like I won't do it justice, however, because this just practically screams for comedy, while my sense of humor is... well, downright pitiful. Nonetheless, I hope you, my reader, enjoys this little misadventure.

For this first chapter I'm testing out the use of present tense - don't be alarmed by the sudden change to (possibly) past tense, I'm still slightly shaky with it.

Rated T for Aisha's (excessive) swearing tendencies.

Not many people will read this Author's Note anyway, so whatever. :T Imma shoot y'all.

The Fool's Ballad

Fingers began drumming casually against the open leather-bound book with big bold letters: 'A Guide to Perfecting Manners and Etiquette' printed over the surface, the yellowed pages gently plucked by slim fingers and turned over to reveal a new sea of decrepit black text as bright amethyst orbs glided over each letter, each word and every paragraph diligently, absorbing the knowledge.

This is, however, a bluff. The girl could not concentrate for the life of Lady El.

Swinging her arms outwards (and almost socking a waiter in the face in the process), the girl heaves a sigh of exasperation for the umpteenth time that day. With a loud and satisfying bof!, she closes the blasted thing and tosses it back into her basket of a fading beige alongside other useless belongings. She makes no effort to suppress a monstrous yawn, and swings a leg over the other as she grows quickly bored - easily deciphered from the indifferent expression knitting her delicate but otherwise sharp and guarded features. Well, being bored is better than... reading, she thinks. An arm is draped lazily over the back of her chair.

One simple glance is all it takes for any sane person to know she is dangerous and not someone to mess with; a delinquent, so to speak, in the eyes of onlookers.

The waiters and waitresses pays no mind to such categorizations, however, and she is thankful for that. She couldn't help acting like a delinquent; once you start a fight, even in self-defense, you are thought to be just another rebellious teen out of many who is trying to make a name for themselves. And she is far from that, she knows that. The area is a rough place to live in, after all.

No traces of hot chocolate is left in the tall glassware that she cradled in her hand.

She toys with her hair now, the striking strands of subtle lilac tousled effortlessly into twin tails - a timeless trend - that she pairs with her favorite onyx ribbons that fetters them in place. A heartbeat after wondering if she should slot in her bat-shaped hair clip as well, she chooses to leave it in her pocket.
The hairstyle is often thought to be childish, reserved only for the little girls flaunting themselves in frilly dresses of pink (or some other color that is equally girly), but no one dares to tell her so. Not that there were many out there who talk to people out of their circles. The truth of the matter is, however, that this girl, always seen dressed in boyish garbs, looks far from the image of a young child, even with an undeveloped body such as hers, and none can deny that. Maybe it is the way her hair spikes outwards in dangerous arcs, or the indignant scowl she wears that is a default guise on her face.

Or perhaps it is her vulgar manner of speech she carries around like she does her pride - it is hard to say.

She stands with a flourish of her petite hips, slings the basket round to loop onto her arm, and ambles away, remnants of the shiny pennies left on the table gone as a pink-haired waitress pockets them gingerly and ushers two other regular customers of the cafe - Luciela (fondly nicknamed Lu) and Ciel, she recalls - into the seats nearer to the windows as they shake off their snow-dusted scarves and coats (quite expensive looking ones for citizens around these parts, she always notices) and orders for the usual warm drinks and wild array of sweets.
The girl remembers them from a short conversation a few months back, and how their bond reminded her of close-knit siblings despite their eminently distinct characteristics, such as their different hair colors and the hues of their eyes. She did not delve any further into their business after that, however, and kept her distance instead. She is not fond of playing 'Friends' with strangers.

Just outside the windows, the sky begins to graduate to a darker shade of ashy gray. Winter - the season for days to grow solemnly minuscule and nights to be painfully dark and lonely. She is not fond of this season at all; it was depressing, cold, constantly wet and almost always warranted a few blocks of firewood to be wasted on wading off the damp, freezing temperatures back... 'home'.

She quickly shrugs off the thought of a moth-eaten house, and instead takes a good look at her surroundings.

The cafe is always serene with the furnishings simple and modest, and she prefers it that way; it's always easier to relax in the welcoming peace of simplicity, and the heady aroma of lemon and coffee is calming. The girl takes with her the untouched slice of mint-flavored cake that they serve every Friday afternoon, and asks for it to be boxed away - she just so happens to know someone who adores just about anything minty. The confection happens to be free, anyway, and she hates to let perfectly lovely delicacies go to waste.

Adjusting the buttons of her over-sized, threadbare cardigan and deep violet hand-knit scarf - now wrapped around her neck and half her face - she takes the box in hand with a 'thank you' and hovers to the door, the customary farewells and bells chiming cheerily as she opens the door.

The girl hurries along the cobbled tracks lined with layers of virgin snow, fingers already bitten by the frosty gales of the Winter horrors. Quietly wishing she had wasted a few more coins on a second round of hot chocolate and some new gloves, she cuddles the box with two naked hands from the icy pellets with eyes downcast to the fluffy white road ahead.

Broken down houses, splintered and rotting planks of wood dusted with snow, countless of lonely living corpses huddled in the dark corners of homelessness, the men and women intertwining their bodies together as they were lost in their lust, drunkards lumbering around with their tiny, expensive bottles of smelly beer; she ignores them all, just for today.

They are all insane, she thinks, they are all so lost. She, too, was one of them, but she does not revel in the idea - she does not want to. Instead, the young purplenette drowns it all out with quiet sighs, watching the swirling clouds of transparent white cotton emerge with each breath.

Just for today, she will be ignorant to the world that she has grown to loathe.

And tomorrow, she will sink back into the merciless and shitty world of shitty adulthood.

"Could you sorta like... stop staring like I'm fodder?" The purplenette mumbles, delicately running a finger over the edge of the leather binding of the book and rubbing her forehead as her eyebrows were knit with forced concentration. Although barely visible, her lips were trembling.

Not that it helps much, of course, but with the owner of the book itself watching over her like a hawk as she spears the mint cake with more strength than actually required, she finds herself slightly shaken and feels the need to at least try and read the words...

Ah, yes, the woman who practically shoved the thick tome into her face when she was half-asleep, wearing that dark smile that terrified her witless after dunking a bucket-load of freezing cold water onto her; Rena. A gentle woman with a heart of gold and boundless happiness that she shares with unrivaled kindness and a smile that runs a mile long. She is loving even to the weirdest and evilest of men, and knows when or when not to kick someone's child-bearing potentials away with a powerful kick. She has a rather... questionable temper. Beautiful locks of shimmering emerald tumbles down her back effortlessly, with wispy strands framing her porcelain cheeks after having spilled from her wing-like clips. Many were jealous and swooned over such an angelic woman of perfection, the purplenette being one of them. Even now, she envies the otherworldly glow of her viridescent eyes and flawless skin under the slightly dim lighting of the kitchen.

She happens to be a spectacular chef as well, mostly excelling at baking - she runs a bakery, as a matter of fact, and is constantly out of goods to sell by the time afternoon swings around, even with Aisha's help as part-time. She has her ways with knitting and crafting clips, too, and gives away her works as charity to the younger children of the town. The purplenette's bat-shaped clip happens to be hand-crafted by Rena herself as a Christmas gift, actually.

A cotton towel blankets over her dripping amethyst tresses - now unbound from the restricting ribbons and instead tied around her wrists - as she lets out a small but fitful sneeze.

"Oh, how cute! Bless you, dear; I'm just making sure you aren't slacking off~ Don't mind me and carry on. Concentrate Aisha, concentrate!" Rena plops another dainty portion of the sweet into her mouth, savoring the exquisite taste, humming quietly to fill in the silence before piping up, "Page 49, Proper Greetings; how does one voice their goodbyes? Aisha?" The ghost of a smile blossomed innocently on her womanly features. Aisha knew better than anyone that that smile... was deadly.

The sixth question that night. Aisha swallows a large lump in her throat at the dreaded quizzing, the cold sweat running along the back of her neck sending involuntary shivers down her spine as she fumbles with her words with hands clamping the book nervously.

"Um... You- I mea- w-well, I do believe one says... 'I bid you a fine...' Um... Let's see... 'f-farewell'?" She sneaks a quick glance at Rena's stoic expression and laughs uncertainly. Well fucking played, Aisha! She wills her head to bury itself inside the aged papers so she could escape from the woman's consistent mood swings, but to no avail. A groan sounded inside her mind as she waits for the explosion...

Silence. She rakes a hand over her shoulder, massaging away the non-existent tension as she laughs again.

Rena suddenly beams brightly, proceeding to finish the last of her minty treat, "Well done! I knew you can do it once you set your mind to it~ See? It's not so bad now, is it?" The frosty atmosphere quickly returns to comforting, and Aisha sighs in relief as she flies against the back of the wooden chair. Normally, she would not be as anxious as just now, but it happens to be... 'important' for her to learn to show some degree of good-manners. Not that she wants to, honestly. "At this rate, you'll be soaring up to get a good job up there with the nobles, and maybe find yourself a dashing and gentlemanly hubby~"

Aisha offers a blink, two blinks when the woman sighs dreamily, her hands cupping the mug of once-steaming ginger and green tea. "Seriously? Marriage? Rena, please, the day I get married to someone is the day I'll start talking to a fucking wall. Holy El, I'd rather shit bricks outta my ass than have to spend the rest of my life with a rich bastard while having to put up with being around classy sluts and... nobles, or whatever the fuck you call 'em," the purplenette rolls her eyes, ignoring the exasperated gape of Rena's lips, "And besides, I have waaaayyy better things to do than bend down to a fuckin' man."

Rena shakes her head, "Watch your language, Aishy. Marriage isn't so bad, once you find the right person~ It's a maiden's ultimate dream to get married, if you didn't know!" She flashes her a knowing smile, taking a sip of her aromatic tea calmly.

"Who the El are you calling 'Aishy'?!" She crosses her arms over her chest, flushing a faint cherry and puffs her cheeks slightly, "I'm not a kid anymore, you know..." the purplenette notes the tufts of snow still spilling outside the window.

"Ah, that's right!" The woman claps her hands together joyfully, eyes sparkling, "I finally found you the puuurrrfect job! You will not be disappointed!" She fishes through her apron pockets, before flourishing an envelope in hand.

"R-really?!" Aisha hungrily lunges for the ,envelope, promptly shredding the paper case and eagerly reading through the contents.

It has been two months since Aisha's hunt for a new job, and once she knew it all to be fruitless, the girl had asked the woman to nose around for a job that would support the young teenager's finances.
Of course, Aisha has tried several other jobs; farming, a desk job dealing with taxes, a waitress, even a lowly bin collector, for holy El's sake! And she was fired after two days each time, without fail, thanks to her short-temper, general clumsiness and vulgar language each time any one person ticked her off. The people probably wrote in a complaint of some sort each time she blew up in their faces. She did consider being a nurse at the one single clinic in town just round the corner of Rena's bakery, but considering the drunkards constantly starting fights and getting injured and the low pay, she decided against it. She honestly did not want to deal with any more of them.
She could very well keep her job as a baker alongside Rena, but she did not fancy the thought of troubling the woman anymore than she already has. This will be the final time she'll ask Rena for a favor, she promises to herself triumphantly.

The smile on Rena's face widens, "Let's see here... Well-paying, fairly easy labor, clean environment, kind and hardworking peers, and from what I heard, handsome and single men lives there, too~ Oh! And I think they'll have chambers for the people who work there as well," she lists them all off happily as pride sweeps through her. It is fleeting, however, as she watches the face of Aisha contort from absolute delight and excitement, to squinted eyes of confusion, then a frown, back to a stoic face, and lastly furrowed eyebrows with her head tilted. Rena frowns now, too, a rare expression that wrinkled her face as she did not expect such a... well, unique reaction. In fact, it was the last thing she imagined in her head, "Is something wrong, dear? D-do you not like what I-"

"Um... Rena..." Aisha looks up from the paper, her lips quirking on one side shakily as a small, unsure chuckle leaves her throat.

"Yes? What is it?" She knows where this is going... sort of.

"What the fuck is a... maid?"

Silence.

Maybe not.

"...Oh dear El."