Chapter 3: Bruting

Clara didn't sleep very well, waking up three times in the night to stare at the dark ceiling for a while. She wasn't really surprised about it; she remembered hearing somewhere that people often have trouble sleeping in an unfamiliar environment. What she was surprised about is that she never once considered that the entire process of meeting Sorean and moving to Alcamoth was all just a dream.

Once she woke up a fourth time, the sky outside was bright, visible through a single arched window. A quick look at her watch told her it was five to eight - she had about an hour to get ready for her first full day in the lap of luxury.

Slightly more comfortable with her surroundings now that she woke up in them, Clara moved into the bathroom and started getting ready for a shower. Not wanting to waste too much time with the selection of shampoo and so on, she picked whatever was easiest to get out of the cabinets and stepped into the tub. It didn't take long to confirm that everything was just better than down in Colony 9 - the water pressure was perfectly consistent, it took no time at all to find the perfect temperature, and there was no danger of slipping despite the tub's smooth appearance. It was difficult to will herself back out from inside the curtain, followed by using a towel that still felt dry afterwards.

With step one complete, she returned to the bedroom and started fishing through her clothes. She knew that she was about to get an entirely new wardrobe, so she figured she might as well go with her favourite and best-looking outfit - a green dress with an aqua waistband and blue socks. It was pretty firm in her mind that, if she had a choice, she would be asking for all her new clothes to be various shades of green, her preferred colour. She then started heading down to the kitchen on the third floor. It occurred to her that it was a little silly to have half the villa connected by transporters but the other half restricted to stairs - there must be some limitation to how many transporters can be put too close together or something.

The empty kitchen was both alluring and daunting. Clara opened every cabinet door one by one to find something suitable for breakfast. Most of the stuff in the cupboards was unfamiliar to her, either in the form of strange-looking plants or illegible packaging. After a bit, she found something she knew: three Sour Gooseberries. It wasn't long after that before she found a drink - the cupboard after that was actually a refrigerator, identical to all the other cupboards except for the temperature inside, and among other things housed some plastic bottles that according to the picture on the label were grape juice. Further searching led to where the glasses were kept, and breakfast could finally be enjoyed.

Once her meal was finished, Clara remembered something and went back to the bedroom, picking up the immigration package envelope she had left on the desk.

I should probably at least open this before anything else happens today.

She slid her finger into the flap and tore it open, followed by taking everything out and spreading it across the desk. The first paper that caught her eye looked to be her incomplete identity document, listing the attributes she had filled out on the form in Common text on the right side and presumably also in Erythscript on the left side, with a large empty space in a top corner intended for a photograph. The next paper looked to be a sort of cheat sheet for converting between the two writing systems, which would be most immediately useful if she wanted to read any of the labels on the food in the kitchen. Another conversion chart listed several lengths of time and their equivalents between Homs and High Entia age rates - for example, a 25-year old Homs is equivalent to a 112.5-year old High Entia, while a 25-year old High Entia is like a 5.56-year old Homs.

This chart's going to be super-useful if I can't figure out the rate in my head.

The remaining papers seemed to be all legal junk, and were therefore probably not worth bothering with at the moment.

Clara returned everything to the envelope and took it back downstairs with her. She much preferred the airy look of the second floor to the fiercer first floor, so she decided to wait for Sorean there, who would be arriving in a few minutes.

Just after a distant clock tower chimed, what was presumably a doorbell rang, sounding like a church bell playing two different ascending arpeggios.

Uh-oh. I didn't know there was a doorbell. Why isn't he coming in on his own? Isn't it just a transporter? Do I have to go get him? If he can't get in then how will I know how to?

Flustered, Clara staggered down to the first floor and walked up to the transporter. Standing on the transporter was Sorean - but he was tinged blue and translucent and didn't react to her presence, waiting patiently with his hands clasped.

She waved her hand in front of Sorean's face to no result. "Uh, hello?"

Sorean reacted to her voice, but still seemed to be effectively blind. "Good morning, Clara. Would you be so kind as to allow my passage?"

Now quite confused, Clara looked around as if expecting a doorknob somewhere. "Er, huh? How...but you're already in here kind of? What?"

"Oh." A moment of realisation struck; he put a hand on his chest while shaking his head. "I must apologise; I neglected to inform you of how your front door transporter functions. What you see is merely a projection of whoever is waiting to be allowed entry. A holographic peephole, in essence. You must simply declare that you wish to allow entry."

"...okay." She thought she understood. "So, you can come in."

The blue projection vanished, shortly replaced by the actual Sorean appearing on the transporter pad.

Clara shook her head a bit. "There's that rich-people-overcomplication again."

Sorean chuckled. "A deserved mindset to have. However, I suggest that this case provides additional security beyond a simple door: very few can enter your home without your direct permission. I am one of those few, of course, but I prefer to remain polite about it."

"Very few? Who else?"

"All members of the royal family, in addition to pre-approved guards and service staff, such as chefs and cleaners."

Clara nodded slightly. "Makes sense. Why would a guard need in here though?"

"All imperial property is patrolled on a regular basis. They are not mandated to enter the villa proper, and generally will not unless something prompts it, but you will see them in the gardens daily."

"That kinda sucks but I can deal. Shouldn't be much different than the Defence Force guys patrolling around in Colony 9."

Sorean decided it was a good time to change the subject. "So, what do you recall needs to be done today?"

Clara held up the envelope in her hand. "I need to go get my papers finished, I need to go get new clothes, and...and I should probably meet the rest of the family."

"Indeed. I suggest you acquire your wardrobe first, so your identity photographs do not immediately become outdated. In addition, there are a few other minor, less-involved tasks to add to today's list. Most importantly, you must meet with the captain of the guard to make his acquaintance and begin the process of making yourself known to the guards at large. But for know, let us focus on one thing at a time."

"All right. I'm assuming I won't need money, but is there anything else I'll need to bring to get clothes?"

"Nothing but your body and your preferences."

"Great. Let's get going then."

Clara placed the immigration envelope on a nearby table and followed Sorean outside. The gardens looked even more spectacular by day and didn't seem to smell as bad, with the Ether Roses in retreat from the direct sunlight, but she didn't have time to enjoy it for the moment.

The palace halls felt about the same as the previous evening: a jumbled mess of corridors full of strange people. As she had yet to go down the same hall twice (she thought), she couldn't yet form any sort of mental map; all she could do was recognise what compass direction the windows were pointing. She wondered if a map was available, but figured otherwise - anyone in the palace would either have been there long enough to not need one, or be escorted by someone who was.

After a while, the pair arrived at what was clearly a tailors' workplace. The walls were lined with an astounding collection of fabrics, of every colour and pattern imaginable, both in raw rolls and completed outfits clearly suitable for the upper class. The floorspace was dotted with half a dozen complex devices that were probably advanced sewing machines, in addition to further racks of fabric and clothes. A satisfyingly crisp smell filled the air.

Clara felt almost like a kid in a candy store, strongly compelled to just dash about and try on the most expensive-looking stuff with no care for consequences. It took a fair bit of self-control to keep herself stationed behind Sorean as he rang a bell for assistance.

After about twenty seconds, a middle-aged woman appeared from around a corner in the back of the room. She was wearing a burnt orange dress, had her hair tied back in a rather large bun, and much to Clara's surprise, had small wings that only reached down to her shoulders.

"Good morning, Your Highness," she said. "What brings you here today?"

"Good morning, Ms. Len." Sorean stepped aside to bring attention to Clara. "This young lady requires a new wardrobe befitting of a consort."

Clara could see the tailor's eyes light up, noticing for the first time that High Entia seemed to have some sort of dark ring imprinted into their irises.

"We'll begin straight away, Your Highness."

"Excellent. I cannot wait to see the results." Sorean turned to Clara. "I have several other things to do for you which do not require your presence. I shall return later."

"Uh, okay. Bye then." She watched him disappear around the corner into the halls.

Ms. Len had already dashed away, returning a few seconds later with five other tailors: three women and two men, all with normal-sized wings.

"Prepare for the traditional cuts first, we'll do the simpler day-to-day things later." She turned to Clara as the sewing machines started up, her face beaming. "Oh I've always wanted to meet another Homs. What's your name?"

"I'm Clara."

"Nice to meet you, Clara. You can call me Derri. I'll be your tailor for as long as you want. Come over here so we can measure you." She directed Clara to a clear area with a tape measure in hand.

Clara followed, a bit uncomfortable with the enthusiasm. "Um, excuse me, but what did you mean by "another" Homs just then?"

"Well, my father wouldn't really count, would he?" Derri moved Clara into position by the shoulders and started by measuring her height.

"Your dad is a Homs? So...OH, okay, that explains the small wings. I was wondering actually, but I thought it would be rude to just ask."

"Ah, so I'm the first half-blood you've seen in Alcamoth? Well, the first you recognised, anyway. We do tend to have small wings, but if the genetics dice roll just right, we can look almost identical to a pure-blood. Like Terl here." She pointed to the most distant of the seamsters, who indeed looked to have nothing unusual about him.

"Interesting." So is my child going to have big or small wings? I don't want a kid flying around the house, but it'd be best if they fit in with everyone else.

Derri continued measuring, collecting numbers for Clara's arms, legs, bust, hips, neck, and more. "I can't wait to get started on your wardrobe. Prince Kallian hasn't had a growth spurt in a while; it's been some time since we've had to do major work. Do you have any colours or patterns that you'd like us to focus on?"

Thanks for the easy go. "How about green? I like the bluer greens."

"Excellent. The rest of the royal family is quite blue, so you'll fit in well while still being distinct. You'll still have some other colours, of course, but we'll make sure that green is the focus."

With the measuring complete, Derri took her page of numbers and fed it into each sewing machine in turn, causing the data to show up on a small screen on the front for the seamstress to read. "Now just sit tight for a moment, Clara, and I'll make you something to wear for today. We'll deliver the rest to the villa as soon as it's ready."

Clara was about to ask how it was known that she was living in the villa, but upon considering it she didn't need to - Sorean had introduced her as "a consort", she was obviously Homs, and it was probably known through the palace that there was a villa designated for a Homs consort. "That's great. How much is there going to be?"

Derri had settled into the remaining sewing machine and had it running at full speed. "We'll start you with 5 formal outfits and 30 day-to-day ones, that should cover you for now."

The number was a pleasant surprise, with Clara used to having seven or maybe eight outfits at a time, with only one for special occasions. "Awesome."

"You can go ahead and have a look around, we'll be a few minutes. Tell us if you see anything you like, and we'll make it in your size."

"Okay." Clara started moving around the room, investigating what hung on the racks. Even the simplest garments had some sort of pattern or texture to them, and the fabrics simultaneously felt light and airy while also sturdy and warm. She also noticed that all of the female tops had breast support built in, suggesting that she wouldn't be using bras anymore. She collected half a dozen things that caught her eye and placed them on an empty rack close to where she was measured.

After what didn't feel like very long, Derri's machine stopped whirring and she stood up with a pile of fabric in her arms. "Here you go, your first outfit!"

Clara expected it to take about twice the time. "Wow, really? That was fast!" She stepped forward to take the pile.

Derri pointed to a back corner. "The changeroom is over there. You won't be needing any underwear, that's not something we use around here. Just leave what you're wearing now in the room, and we'll take care of it."

"Okay then." Clara scampered towards the indicated corner to find a door with no handle. She poked a few different places trying to find a way in, quickly landing on a coloured square to the side that caused the door to fade away to nothing.

The changeroom was fairly large for one person; presumably it was designed to accommodate royals who demanded aides to dress them. A mirror was on the left wall while several pegs stuck out of the right wall. A chair and a stool were against the back wall.

Clara excitedly closed the door and got to work. It was only moments before she had donned her new getup: a greenish-aqua knee-length dress with elbow-length sleeves, trimmed with navy and covered with a maze of cyan stitching in swirly patterns, accompanied by cyan leggings and socks. It wasn't quite as ornate as Sorean's or Kallian's clothing, but she was fine with that.

An unpleasant realisation struck. Crap, I don't have matching shoes for this. Did she measure my feet? I don't remember. She opened the changeroom door and poked her head out, confirming that the floor looked safely free from pins (did they even use pins here?) before walking out towards where Derri was working.

"Uh, Derri, do you have any shoes?"

Derri's hands immediately flew up in the air. "I knew we forgot something! Don't worry, I'll get you some, just sit tight." She paused her work and hurried into the back room.

About two minutes later, she reappeared holding a pair of grass-coloured shoes with heels four centimetres tall. "The cobblers' is next door, I've got them making a dozen pairs for you."

"Wow, thanks." Clara bent down to put on the shoes. She'd never worn high heels before; it felt like she was perched on a ramp composed of tripping hazards. At least they're kinda short, so I can get used to it. I'm probably going to be given something as tall as a pencil sometime.

As if on cue, Sorean appeared at the door. He took a moment to look over the situation. "Very nice. The craftsmanship on display almost equals the brilliance of the model."

Derri's wings noticeably fluttered. "I'm glad you approve, Your Highness. This outfit is complete; the rest should be done before supper."

Sorean looked over the other five seamsters to see that five other garments were almost finished. "Excellent. Am I correct in thinking that Clara's presence is not required for you to continue?"

"Indeed you are. We can finish the rest without her."

"Splendid." He motioned to Clara. "I must say, Clara, that your new clothing has outpaced your current hairstyle. I strongly suggest we rectify that."

"Makes sense, okay." She'd also noticed in the mirror that the curly brown mop on her head stood out a bit too much from her newly-crisp look. She already had what she wanted in mind - turn the large block of frizz into a smaller number of large thick spirals, a style that she loved in the past but wasn't worth the hassle of the upkeep at the time.

Sorean nodded. "Then let's depart." He turned and left without further word.

"Uh-" Clara hurriedly followed while she turned back to wave at Derri. "Bye then!"

Derri waved back wordlessly as she continued to sew.

Clara's heels may have only been four centimetres tall, but she felt a lot taller as she inexperiencedly stumbled through the palace halls. Luckily, this walk was only about a minute long.

The new room was clearly a barbershop, though it was surprisingly small. Two counters along the side walls were each equipped with a mirror, a chair, a sink, and mounds of bottles. An elderly man with a very sharp and short hairline was cleaning the left mirror, wearing pure white robes.

"Ah, welcome, Your Highness." He made a small bow and straightened up. "What brings you here today?"

"Well met, Mr. Iridu." Sorean motioned towards Clara. "You have a new customer."

Mr. Iridu scratched his chin with interest. "I see. Very well." He stepped to the chair on the right and spun it to face outward. "Right here, if you please."

"Okay." Clara placed herself into the chair.

"I shall return later." Sorean nodded and left.

Clara raised her hand and got off a two-fingered wave before he was gone. He must be pretty busy to be so impersonal today.

Mr. Iridu clapped his hands together with a restrained excitement. "So! What are you looking to have done, madam?"

"Uh, I'd like my curls to be...how do you say...more distinct. Less of them, but bigger. Grouped up and blockier."

"Ah yes, ringlets." The barber reached down into a drawer and extracted a booklet of promotional images, turning to a page featuring a young woman with the desired spirals of hair tumbling down past her shoulders.

"Yeah, that," Clara nodded. The image looked funny to her - seeing a High Entia with curly hair just didn't look right in her mind, somehow. Maybe it was because everyone she'd seen so far had straight hair.

"Then let's begin."

Mr. Iridu fished through the drawers to find some sort of rod, presumably a curling iron. He then began clustering Clara's hair into sections and wrapping each one around the rod in turn, harmonising their curls together into big spiral chunks. It held together much better than whenever Clara had tried it herself; either her technique was faulty, or the rod itself was providing more than just heat.

Minor hair-related conversation was had during the process. Clara asked why the barbershop was so small, which led to learning that High Entia hair growth slows down significantly once it reaches ear length, meaning haircuts were more of a once-a-decade event than a regular occurrence. Indeed, some women considered it fashionable to never have their hair cut, but to simply gather it up into ever more elaborate designs. It was not unheard of for High Entia to dye their hair, with blue and purple being the most common colours, but doing so was generally seen as eccentric at best. Finally, children were born blond, with their hair turning silver between the ages of eight and ten.

It took about an hour to round the entire hairstyle together, and the results were impressive. Instead of a foamy mess of tangled hair, she now had about sixteen distinct clumps of perfect spirals, with two positioned as earlocks, and a perfectly straight part in the middle. Even more than her new clothes, it made her feel an order of magnitude richer.

"I love it." She bounced the clumps around, enjoying the springy feeling. "How long will it stay like this?"

"Up to a month, should you use the correct products." Mr. Iridu pointed out some specific bottles of shampoo and conditioner from a shelf. Clara couldn't read the labels, but she did recognise their designs and colours.

"So I should be coming in here about every four weeks to keep it in?"

"That is correct."

Like magic, Sorean entered the room as if he knew in advance exactly when to arrive. "Ah, a most excellent choice of hairstyle, to accentuate your most unique features. You have top-notch taste, Clara."

"...um, thanks." She didn't think it was anything too special. Maybe curly hair was indeed rare and unusual for High Entia.

Sorean nodded at Mr. Iridu and motioned for Clara to join him. "Our next destination is the jeweler's. As radiant as you appear, I recommend donning at least one accessory to complete your look."

"Sounds good." Clara was pretty neutral towards precious stones and the like; the only shiny rock she ever had was in the wedding ring she left behind in Colony 9, and while she occasionally showed interest in collecting more, she wasn't interested enough to brave the price tag. But here, where it looked so far like everything was free, she could probably get something pretty impressive.

It was another short walk to the next destination, as if this wing of the palace was a miniature mall. The room was decorated with many panes of glass, behind which were dozens of sparkling gems and jewels of various shapes and designs.

The jeweler behind the counter had a refined mustache, a navy cloak, and a selective disposition. "Hello, Your Highness. What brings you here today?"

"Hello, Mr. Quince. I am here for the final piece of this young lady's ensemble."

"Ah, very well." Mr. Quince cast a critical eye over Clara. "I would recommend a pendant, Your Highness. A loose chain with a vibrant core. Have her command attention with a clear focal point, a splash of the same distinct colour as her curls." He reached down to pick up and hold out a large triangular earth gem on a silver chain.

Sorean placed a hand on his chin and thought for a moment. Clara got the impression he didn't agree with the recommendation. She also wondered if she should interject; a necklace with five round water gems had caught her eye.

After about twenty seconds, Sorean had his decision. "I appreciate your input, Mr. Quince, but I disagree. Her hair does not need any extra accentuation. On the contrary, I believe a touch of a cooler colour on a headpiece would tie her overall look together quite nicely."

"But of course." The jeweler quickly put the pendant back and retrieved a silver tiara formed of two wing shapes with a circular wind gem between them. "The artificial wings of this piece are historically popular with Homs in Alcamoth."

"Indeed, this is quite fetching. But it would be even more so were it to be centred by a gem of ice. One's inner beauty is always focused best with a birthstone."

"Then allow me a moment." Mr. Quince replaced the tiara and walked into a back room.

It took a bit for Clara to realise why she felt the exchange was a bit out of place. "How did you know my birth-...oh, you probably saw the July on the form I filled out, right, okay never mind."

Sorean nodded. "Tell me, how much stock do you place into the practice of astrology?"

"Uh, well...not really. I mean, I don't really get the idea that if you're born just a minute later into a different month, your get a whole different personality." Her genre-savvy intuition struck. "But I know where you're going with this. You want to say it's a great omen that your prospective mother was born under the Elder constellation. Right?"

"You are correct. It is indeed a portent of future success in our endeavour."

I'll take it I guess, but I still think it's pretty well bunk. A lot of stuff affects peoples' ether, but it's hard to believe the positions of the stars could be on that list.

Mr. Quince reappeared holding a tiara that looked exactly the same as the previous one, but with a white stone in the centre instead of a green one. "Larudio mornale, Your Highness."

"Ah, perfect." Sorean carefully took the tiara and gave it a thorough look-over. Satisfied, he held it out for Clara to take.

Apprehensive, Clara picked up the silver wings. It was a lot lighter than it looked. The round ice gem in the middle sparkled quite well; it was probably at least rank IV. She'd never held anything above rank II before.

She figured it was an appropriate time to ask. "Mr. Quince? What kind of gem is this, exactly?"

The jeweler took a few seconds to recall. "It is a rank V Heat Sink gem, madam. Perfect for those who wish to keep a cool head in the most trying situations."

Clara nodded and moved the tiara up to her head. It was pretty easy to find the correct resting place for it - it fit onto the brim of her forehead with the band slipped under her hair. It felt a lot sturdier than the flimsy costume pieces she'd paraded around in during childhood Halloweens.

"Brilliant." Sorean had the largest smile seen out of him so far. It looked like he was trying to come up with something else to say, but wasn't succeeding.

"I couldn't agree more," said Mr. Quince.

Clara located a mirror on a near wall and turned to face it. She almost couldn't recognise herself by now; she looked so much cleaner and primper that it was hard to believe this would be a permanent look and not just a temporary measure.

"So where to now?" she asked. "Lunch, I'm guessing?"

Sorean checked the time from a clock on the wall. "Indeed, that would be best. Let us return to the villa." He turned to leave.

I wonder if this is normal for royals around here, to just leave rooms without saying bye to anyone. Clara waved to the jeweler as she followed. She was pretty satisfied with the day so far, but she did have one question at the moment.

"What does...uh, what does "lah-roo-dee-oh-moh-rr-nah-lay" mean?"

"It can be translated as either "centrepiece" or "masterpiece", depending on the context." Sorean turned his head back as he lead her through the halls. ""Larudio" is the noun, while "mornale" is the adjective; Hightongue places the roles in reverse order compared to Common."

"...huh. That makes sense actually, to say what the thing is before you describe it." She paused to think. "Man, our language is weird. Adjectives come first, every letter makes a bunch of potential sounds, there's more spelling exceptions than rules...is your language any simpler?"

"In some ways. Notably, all consonants and most vowels make a single sound in all situations."

Man, I feel kind of excited about that, actually. Makes it sound easier to learn. "Can we do some more alphabet practice during lunch?"