House Grace

Every time Sinead actually got to talking, Seamus found he liked to listen. It made him smile to hear how much unjaded wonder she had about the natural world.

"You don't feel the clouds when you're up there, but they get you wet as the vaporized water molecules condense on your body. And you can feel it in your nose and your lungs, like when you step in a sauna, but instead it's cold. It's difficult to describe."

"I have experienced exactly one earthquake, and I should very much never like to experience it again! But rain, thunder, even hurricanes when you're safe inside a secure building -- I love those. The way lightning flashes across the sky is unforgettable."

He didn't chastise her for speaking and even expanded on the topic. Sinead had so many questions swirling inside about where he had been, what those nations and planets were like, the culture, the people, the environments, the language, and everything in-between and beyond. Louder, breaking though it all, was the knowledge that to barrage him with said questions would be impertinent. She was not his pupil and certainly not his equal.

She settled on one that felt appropriate, making sure to tame her voice back to something demure. "Do you have a favorite world that you've visited, my Eldarin?"

Seamus tilted his head, wondering why she was asking.

"I am fond of temperate forests."

Then, it occurred to him to ask: "Do you?"

Sinead nodded. "I am, though... I am even more fond of the rainforest. I've only been once, but the water falling from the sky, pattering on the ground, splashing across the surface of the creeks, dripping down the leaves of trees was unlike anything I had felt, heard, or seen, anywhere else on Thol. I makes me wonder what it's like on far off worlds where gravity itself holds the air like a protective bubble around the planet and natural cycles of heat and cooling form clouds and rainfall. Real clouds. Not the projections on our skies. If you were to fly up and touch them, the real clouds, would they be soft? Or would they be sharp like ice? Or cool like water? Or could you feel them at all?"

She realized she'd been talking far more than intended. He asked her a simple question and she'd hardly given a simple answer. Her grandmother would have chided her by now. In any case, she'd come this far. She decided to take a gamble and finish her thought. He had responded well to such things the other week in the library. "Nothing here on our world is so wild and uncontrolled. Even our Park District biomes with their attempted facsimile are safe from lightning, tornados, hurricanes, earthquakes... It's terrifying to imagine being on a natural world, but I find myself so drawn to even our smallest local instance of its imitation."

Well, that was a relief. After five suited him just fine.

"Seven o'clock," he told her. "After dinner, perhaps."

He had the brief thought that they could go out and buy something, but it wasn't prudent to be seen on something that could be misconstrued as a date yet. Even if things were starting to feel dismally locked in, the rest of the world didn't need to know that. A walk in the park district was much more chaste than sharing a table.

Sinead was equally relieved that he agreed. It would have been terribly uncomfortable had he not.

"Seven o'clock," she agreed. That would give her plenty of time for her meeting with Bai Maggie and to eat and get dressed for the outing.

After some hesitation, she tentatively asked, "Did you have a particular biome in mind, my Eldarin?"

"Good," Seamus said. "I was thinking of going this evening. Do you have anything planned or do Ultana and Maggie have something for you to do?"

If so, it would have to wait until the following week. This was his only free evening. Which, really he ought to have asked her earlier to give her time to plan ahead. That would've been courteous. He'd just been putting it off.

Sinead was grateful that he asked at breakfast rather than a later point in the day. It at least gave her time to mentally prepare for an extended time in his presence.

"No, my Eldarin. My evening schedule is clear today." She hesitated before softly adding, "...after five? If it is acceptable. If you would prefer earlier, I can rearrange as needed."

Eldina Ultana wanted her to shadow a follow up with Maggie on how the new additions to the staff were settling in. They would doubtless concede to the Eldarin's schedule, but neither would be happy about the inconvenience.

Ultana and Maggie were pestering him to spend more time with his little prospective wife. They liked her, apparently.

Great, just great.

It meant his self-imposed and greatly enjoyed bachelorhood was about to come to an end.

Still, they had a point. If he was going to have to marry the girl then he'd better get to know her a bit so he could gauge how miserable an experience it was going to be. The time in the library hardly counted. They'd barely talked.

So, over breakfast one day, he elected to say:

"I'd like you to join me for a visit to the park district."

Over the past few weeks, Sinead had settled into a routine in the house of En. Seamus O'Neill. She would rise, take breakfast with the Eldarin in silence, then attend to whatever duties or activities were expected of her on that given day. Most free time was spent in the library, garden, or her room trying to be as inobtrusive as possible.

So it came as a great surprise when out of seemingly nowhere the Eldarin asked her to join him on an outing. She finished chewing and swallowed her chapati.

"If that is what my Eldarin wishes," she softly replied with an assenting nod. She then reached for her coffee and kept any indication of puzzlement from showing in her voice or face.

Still the same sense of humor, he found himself observing. There was a sense of warmth to the thought that he immediately doused.

[Ah yes, with those he is unstoppable.]

[Yet, if so, he fails to understand that I would love him all the same if he revealed himself to be some monstrous polymorph]

She snapped a photo of Edgar, little pink tongue out, sitting most ungracefully as he groomed himself in a beam of sunlight and sent it to the stranger.

[A monster. And I Echidna]

Seamus texted back:

[Perhaps he is simply trying to warn you about the heartbeat under the floor that only he can hear.]

[What man, or creature, with vulture-like eyes has he slain? Can a cat truly hide body beneath a flat's floorboards? Perhaps only dear Ed. If so, one can only imagine when no eyes are on his feline form he takes a new one bearing the most fearsome of physical attributes]

[Opposable thumbs]

Seamus couldn't help himself. He laughed.

Edgar Allen Poe.

[What a good name!! 🥺]

With Edgar fed, Sinead was able to go back to cleaning up and getting dressed for work. She briefly considered calling out sick, but she had two meetings today that unfortunately couldn't be rescheduled.

Damn Keiran again for breaking up with her on a work night.

The ibuprofen was finally taking the edge off her headache.

The text response made her smile. She sent back:

[He certainly lives up to it. Composing morose poems verbally in the dead of night through his yowls and mews]

Ultana laughed at that.

"You give me too much credit, chami."

She sat down on the nearest couch and beckoned Sinead to sit with her, and then began calling out names one by one for interviews, asking each prospect about the information provided to her and their histories first, but slowly and expertly easing them into something that resembled a conversation, away from short, polite answers -- putting them at ease as best she could so she could get a measure of their true personalities. Some went so far as to test a joke or two with her, or a bit of sarcasm, which she was careful to encourage. All of it was vital information about how they might perform alongside their coworkers.

Sinead watched and listened as Ena. O’Neill conducted her interviews. It was surprisingly personable why maintaining professionalism - a far cry from the cold, direct practicality of her grandmother. She tired her best to pay attention not only to the questions and terms of phrase, but also the way the Eldina held herself, her tone of voice, her intonations, how she did her best to put each candidate at ease.

It was admirable, Sinead thought, how she could simultaneously radiate such warmth and wield such confidence. Everyone spoke well of the Eldina, from Wetan to Shanah to even her reputation Below (as Sinead had heard secondhand at least). The more time Sinead spent with her, the more she understood why.

Another text came through. This time indistinguishable nonsense.

Why did she even still have this text conversation open? He assumed it to be a mistake and simply ignored it.

But then ping!

Sinead had a cat? He supposed she always had liked Bastet.

He really shouldn't respond. He should let the conversation die.

[You have a cat?]

Sinead expected a simple acknowledgement, if even that. But they asked about her cat and that was a request she couldn't ignore. After swigging some water with an ibuprofen, she found her beloved cat sitting grumpily by his empty food dish, swishing his tail.

She snapped a photo of him glaring at the camera then went to open a can for his breakfast.

[This is Edgar (Allen Poe). He's three years old and a right mischief maker when he wants to be. Currently he's cross with me for not feeding him the moment I woke.]

"A little," Ultana admitted. "Which is why I do take such great care to find the right people for the right positions. And, you know," a shrug, a little laugh. "The gods wouldn't have put me in charge if I couldn't handle it, and they gave me a good mother who taught me how to run a house."

It was a pleasant sentiment, if faulty. Plenty of people had failed at plenty of weighty things throughout history. It was not to say the gods were blindsided by the weakness of humanity, but rather that human measures of success were not always their will.

Sinead wasn't certain she wasn't cut out for being a Wetan Eldina. She had neither the pedigree or the experience to be worthy of the position. If she were on the other side of the interviews they were about to conduct, she had no doubt Ena. O'Neill would write her off on account of poor training.

The only glimmering hope was that she was, by providence or circumstance, beside the Eldina now and permitted to learn from her rather than face her meticulous judgement.

"Then I suppose I should thank them for giving me a good friend from whom I can glean her wisdom," she said.

Seamus was already at work by the time the text came in, and he instantly regretted not blocking Sinead's number.

He ought to just ignore her and move on. This was far too conversational, and it felt unfair when Sinead didn't know it was him on the other side of the screen.

But...it was also so very her, he thought with a twinge of something like fondness. So very Sinead to feel the need to give such a longwinded apology and be so conversational with a stranger. In that, at least, he supposed she hadn't changed.

He decided for a very succinct [No problem.]

Sinead saw the text and decided to take that as an end to the strange encounter, leaving her phone on the bathroom counter while she washed her face.

When she opened the medicine cabinet to grab some ibuprofen, a mrrrp and eck eck sounded from the living room, followed shortly by a streak of black fur and a rumbling purr.

"'Morning, Ed. I'll feed you in a minute," Sinead muttered.

Edgar jumped up on the counter with greater rudeness and instance. Sinead lightly batted him away. "I could have sworn I had--"

Her phone clattered to the floor.

"Edgar!" she exclaimed. He scurried away from the scene of his mischief.

Sinead sighed and picked up her phone. The screen wasn't cracked. In fact, it wasn't even locked. In fact, Edgar had seen fit to send a message.

[Ihdfugrbic ibex owner brr]

She swiftly amended:

[I'm so sorry! That was my cat!]

Thank god, she would finally quit texting him, get sober, and hopefully wake up in the morning and never speak to him again.

[Goodnight.] he texted back, just because it felt strange not to.

He ought to just block her number. That would be the smart and reasonable thing to do. Instead, he put in a new contact for, "Sinead", and then went back to his book for the night.

Sinead woke the next morning to her alarm and a splitting headache. Her mouth tasted rancid, her hair was a mess, and she was curled up on her couch in yesterday's clothes. Two empty bottles of wine sat on her coffee table. A third open, but relatively untouched. She winced at the light from a lamp she didn't turn off last night.

Sitting up, her stomach lurched. Thankfully she didn't throw up.

The haze of last night gradually came back to her, if foggy. The breakup, the book, the letter that set her off sobbing and drinking 'til midnight. Pathetic really.

She grabbed her phone from the floor to turn off the alarm.

[Goodnight] from "??? (NOT Seamus)"

Sinead flushed red to her ears and buried her face in her hand. "Oh no, no, no... shit."

That part hadn't been a dream or faulty memory. Reading back over the texts she was overcome with wilting embarrassment to the point of texting back the poor stranger.

[Good morning. I'm terribly sorry for dumping all that on you last night. It was quite inappropriate. I suppose this is why people say not to text drunk]

[I hope it didn't cause any trouble]

[Thank you for the reminder to drink water, by the way. The hangover is hellishly bad enough without dehydration in the mix. You're a lifesaver]

[Realizing now that I should probably stop bothering you, as you don't really know me and I have no idea who you are. It just felt wrong to not apologize. Sorry. Again. I've edited my contacts so this is no longer my ex's number. Should be the last time we have that mix up]

[Drunk or not]

With groggy determination, she peeled herself off the couch and shuffled to the bathroom to start making herself presentable for work.

Ultana shrugged as she thumbed through the list on the tablet, scrolling through names, ages, titles.

"A bit of both, really. Sometimes a certain slave is listed with a particular skill that they actually aren't good at, or hate doing. They were just trained for it. They're unsuitable in my opinion for the work, then. Somebody who hates their job rarely ever puts forth their best effort. And temperament and personality is essential. They can have all the qualifications and skills in the world but if they're too anxious, or too snippy, they'll eventually become a liability."

It was all still so business-oriented. By the sound of it, Ena. O'Neill's regard for personality was as pragmatic as her assessment of utility. Sinead supposed it was important to keep that managerial mindset when helping run a great House of such size.

It occurred to her that En. O'Neill could dismiss her as easily as he could an unwanted slave - and for as small a reason. Temperament and personality. Neither was a strong suit of hers. Her temperament when left to is own devices bordered on masculine and her personality was almost as bad.

As time went on she wasn't sure which was more frightening: that he would send her away or that he wouldn't. To be a matriarch was no small burden.

"It's such a responsibility - deciding the fates of their lives. Having so many people under your management and care. Does the weight of it ever get to you?" she quietly asked.

[You know, generally it is not a good idea to get drunk when you feel down about things.] He texted back.

And then, [I don't think you're an idiot.]

What is he doing? Why has he not ended this stupid fucking conversation.

[Go to bed. You'll feel better.]

The last thing Sinead wanted to do was go to bed. If she slept then it would be morning and morning meant she would have to go to work. She didn't want to see anyone right now.

Damn Kieran for breaking up with her on a work night.

And damn that book for turning up after a decade on a work night.

And damn herself for letting it all get to her head and getting drunk on a work night.

The wine was dizzying her head and casting a drowsiness over her that begged her to succumb to sleep despite these protests.

She settled for shifting to lie vertically on the couch.

[ok I'll try]

[Goodnight]

She edited the name on the contact to "??? (NOT Seamus)" clicked off her phone, and closed her eyes. It wasn't long before the two bottles of wine lulled her off to drunken sleep.

ex boyfriend number.

Seamus was overcome by the urge to hurl the phone into a corner of his room.

That could be so many people. But then again, there was only one ex whom he had ever trusted enough to lend out his books to.

[I see. It's fine.]

And, compulsively.

[You'd better drink a lot of water. Your liver will thank you later.]

Sinead had thought of that after the first bottle, but hadn't actually touched the glass of water she set aside. She took a generous swig then texted back:

[thanks]

[you seem nice like f a very very kind person sorry I texted you]

[I just wanted to give this books back because its malting me sad because I deadly miss grin which is srufouf because it's been ten years and to feel pathetic so I got rely drunk]

[miss him]

[I really miss him even thrif gut he cheated on me. I'm an eegit maybe]

It occurred to her through the drunk haze that she was pouring our her troubles to a complete stranger.

[Soeey for bothering you. Your a really nice strabgee]

Well, he wasn't going to tell this person that and confirm his number like an idiot.

[No. Wrong number.]

Sinead was struck by a wave of embarrassment and a compulsion to apologize.

[oh gos sorry sorry this number used to be my ex votuwediebss and I have his dbok to don s]

[shite]

[ex boyfriend number]

[book I want to give ba k]

[Inn very fdruk]