#the cat king would join in with a cup and saucer of cream

[moderndaypandora]

the most devastating part of ghosts not being able to eat or drink? now edwin can’t watch the world judgmentally while holding a teacup. if it was possible, forget his magnifying glass and detectives’ journal, there’d never not be a teacup in his hand. charles would have to dedicate an entire compartment in his bag of tricks to edwin’s collection of tea services.

THIS GIF SHOULD HAVE BEEN EDWIN AND CRYSTAL FROM EPISODE TWO ONWARD

[misiwrites]

Beyblade Week Day 3

for the third @beybladeweek2021​ oneshot set in the 4kingdoms-verse, i have a silly little story from the west. takes place at some random point before the beginning of the main fic.

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Fashion / Flowers / Autumn

“Underplates… napkins… saucers… and the cup handles to the right.”

Mathilda places each piece of the set with meticulous care. After the cups and cutlery are in place, she arranges the jam and cream dish on the tray, and then, of course, the centrepiece of the table, the golden cake stand for the treats.

“Handmade by Sir Olivier!”

She giddily sets the macarons and finger sandwiches on the stand. Then a freshly brewed pot of black tea from the kitchen, and everything is ready to go. Her butterfly heart flutters with nervous excitement as she carefully lifts the heavy tray and slowly makes her way out of the servants’ quarters. She has to focus on each and every step to avoid making any silly mistakes that could end up in a tea-stained catastrophe.

It’s a lovely day in early Harvestmoon. Pleasant and still, perfect for having tea outside – not something that could be said about most days in the Country of West, usually so drizzly and grey.

Whatever the weather, Mathilda never grows tired of the beauty of the Tiger Maple Palace, and although acting as a maid isn’t exactly part of the royal page’s routine and the tray is so heavy that it leaves her arms sore, it’s an honour to be asked to serve afternoon tea to her favourite guests at the palace, Lady Chen Mao and her handmaid Julia from the mansion on Kuí.

She finds them under a canopy of branches of blazing orange and yellow, hunched over some papers and magazines on the patio floor. Mao’s holy beast companion, Galux, is having a nap on its designated cushion a few feet away.

“But there are so many different types of zan zi… Oh, look, the tea has arrived!”

Mao is stunning as always. The wide sleeves of her blue-and-orange ruqun dress billow along as she jumps to her feet; she wears her rose colour hair on two long braids today, their shape resembles chains of traditional Western paper lanterns, and Mathilda has no doubt that the style is in accordance with the latest trends of high fashion in this kingdom. The handmaid, Julia, is more composed than Mao and rises to her feet with more dignity, politely nodding at Mathilda who approaches them with the tray.

“Good afternoon, Lady Mao, Miss Fernández,” Mathilda greets them, her cheeks slightly flushed. Relief washes over her as she successfully lands the tray on the garden table. No casualties this time, and the tea is still hot.

“Hi, Matty! Is it okay if I call you Matty? It was Julia’s idea.” Like a robin, Mao soars over to the table, then quickly turns to face her handmaid. “Jules, bring the papers here so we can keep planning while eating.”

When Mao is distracted instructing Julia, Mathilda hurries over to pull a chair out for her. “Um, um, feel free to call me as you wish, milady.”

“Aren’t you one considerate sweetheart, Matty! And how lovely the tea looks! Are these macarons by Olivier again? He’s such a weirdo – I’ve never heard of a knight who’s also a cook before, not to mention a damn pastry chef! Sword in one hand, a rolling pin in the other, how reassuring.”

Mathilda says nothing; hearing Mao talk about her master in such a manner always makes her ears burn, but she can’t not admire her audacious nature all the same. That boyish edge in Mao’s behaviour must have rubbed off on her from her older brother, the Duke of Kuí, whom Mathilda has always found nothing short of intimidating.

As Julia joins Mao, Mathilda can see that the papers she has brought along include several volumes of fashion-related magazines and what look like blueprints for a fashion design project of some sort. She tries not to snoop too much, not wanting to cross her boundaries as an outsider, but she hasn’t even finished pouring the two cups full when Mao is already deliberately pulling her into the conversation.

“So about the zan zi – I was thinking I’d want it to follow the flower theme, but I don’t really want there to be too much gold… you know… and a chai would be a bit meh… Matty, what  kind of hair ornaments do you like?”

“Me? Oh…” Mathilda, who always wears her hair short and simple, racks her brain for an answer of any substance. “Well, um… um... Oh, I went to the Tianguan market square earlier this week, and there was a stall with wonderful flower zan zi from the East… made of fabric… The vendor said that they were created to commemorate the Seiryuu-ou’s late mother… They looked very lovely.”

“From the East? That’s an amazing idea!” Mao darts a triumphant look at Julia across the table. “That’s really unique! You should go check them out with Matty.”

“Of course, milady.”

“But tea comes first, obviously.”

Mathilda ends up spending a long while with the other girls in the garden, leafing through the magazines and following along in curious silence as they (mainly Mao, although she clearly holds Julia’s opinions about fashion in high regard) build their design piece by piece, element by element, carefully considering each detail to complement the big picture. Mao is sketching the design on paper herself as they go, and it’s obvious to Mathilda that she’s quite used to doing this kind of thing.

“Lady Mao,” she asks after a while, “are you perhaps planning to launch your own fashion line? A whole catalogue? You are very good at design.”

“Wow, thank you! You know, that’s actually an amazing idea!” Mao claps her hands together in excitement, her golden eyes positively sparkling at Mathilda. “Let’s make a whole line! This lotus daxiushan can be the first one. Oh, oh, Jules, we need to do the hair next!”

“Glad you brought that up, milady, I actually have several styles bookmarked that I thought you might like.” Julia whips out a HoloPad, and soon the mid-air above the tea set is filled with an array of images of the most intricate braidwork that Mathilda has ever seen, so fantastical that it’s hard to believe that these are photos of real people’s hair. (Perhaps they are not.)

“Oh my cats. Jules, you are the best.”

Mathilda chuckles in content and delight, her hands nested in her lap. These two girls are so entertaining and so eccentric, she never knew the nobles could be this fun. She enjoys their company so much – perhaps a bit too much, even, for someone in her position...

But, for now, she decides to simply go with the flow and worry about it later.

 * * *  * * *

 “Mao, what is this?”

“Shhh! Stop talking, you’re ruining the image! Stay totally still. Be like... what was the word again? Esoteric! You need to look esoteric, Rei-nii.”

Rei has no idea how a person is supposed to look esoteric, especially when he’s forced to stand still while posing in whatever unnatural stances Mao keeps coming up with, currently holding what he thinks is some sort of traditional brass instrument but the name of which he has no idea about.

The only reason he even agreed to a fashion photoshoot was that it’s Mao’s birthday and he wanted to please his childhood friend – but he wasn’t aware that in doing so, he agreed to a day-long session of acting as a doll designed by Mao and her handmaid, in a studio that they have somehow managed to build inside one of the pavilions of Tiger Maple, complete with several landscape backdrops.

It’s not that the clothes Mao is making him wear are bad; in fact, this outfit of a burgundy yichang dress and a dark blue daxiushang robe with a serpent-like lotus pattern adorning the broad yet lightweight sleeves feel rather comfortable in comparison to his usual formal robes that have an unnecessary abundance of coating, thanks to whoever in the past decided that the number of layers was a status symbol and therefore imposing a life sentence of drowning in a sea of layered silk upon the Byakko-ou... but the uncomfortably tight lace braids winding around his skull to form an enormous rosette of hair in the back of his head are a bit too much, as are the flower hairpins that nest above his temples and create a drooping curtain of red and white petals to frame his face; and, after several hours have already gone by, his arms and feet are beginning to hurt from standing still while holding whatever prop items the girls are sticking in his hands, from parasols to flutes and swords and whatever this newest addition is. He’s not used to standing around this much in his monotonous everyday life.

And even worse, Rei has already seen that Mao has an entire catalogue of self-made fashion concepts waiting that she wants to take pictures of him in.

The smallest of sighs escapes Rei’s lips. This doesn’t feel appropriate for his status. Incredible but true, he wishes he was instead having tea with Olivier right now.

“Stay still!” Mao immediately condemns him, “And stop looking so bored! You need to look more dramatic. You’re the king, Rei-nii, act more like it.”

What a long, long day this would end up being.