Servant

(Chariotnote: Actually been writing at lunch and doing planning at home, so my mind is not as barren as you might be thinking. 8V)

Today's fish was bland and a chunk of my rice was dry to the point of being lightly burnt, but the winter greens and rice vinegar were quite good. Our focus at the moment wasn't on the food, though. It was on the group that had been sat among us.

It was Mitsube's idea, as one might expect. He had invited some of the Ginga including, to my surprise, Buichi, to sit and eat with us at dinner.

The conversation turned to our home lives. A lot of the Ginga had what I expected of them - some had manses in forts atop mountains and couldn't even muster a farm - their head-taxes were so small that they could be effectively waived.

A short man with an airy voice and an unoiled coif that I could only guess maintained its form through magic or hairpins said, "I have neighbors at Arashidou that have you all beat - they don't even have trees. Their fort is made entirely out of dirt and gravel and sticks that they had to forage from miles away. There are two knightly families in there, and they have to share a single long wooden house that the Nanzo built centuries ago. I saw the inside once - it doesn't even have rooms."

There was a peel of laughter across the table. He continued. "It's fortunate that they get a stipend for defending the pass, otherwise they wouldn't have had the money to buy screens from the mainland. Could you imagine, having to hear your own servants snore?" Another round, though not as strong.

A broad Ginga, young and well-built but already balding, piped up here. "Mm, one of us here knows how that feels. Mister Matsuzono!" Here the discussion quieted. "When are you going to send your assuredly lovely servant-girl out into the world?"

Kirima, one of the few Utani 'veterans', a sea-plains gentleman of around 25, piled on. "Yeah! Protecting her may be honorable, but we won't touch. Couldn't we at least have a look?"

At this, Buichi's face fell and his eyebrows rose. "You will see her when I deem that she ought to be seen," he growled. As if a morning mist rolled in, the table went damp and cold.

The center of attention turned away from the center of the table, and we drifted into our uncomfortable conversations.