Chapter 262: Astraiae |
It’s a beautiful, beautiful day. In fact, it’s one of those beautiful, beautiful days when I can hardly think of anything more beautiful than being outside, basking in the summer sun, and playing ball with Princess Bianca. Ok, sure, having a generously gifted girlfriend—and I mean, gifted as in... personality, sure, that would be nice as too, wouldn’t it? I pick up Princess Bianca’s golden-painted ball and throw it onto the curb but not too far.
Yeah, golden-painted, buddy. It’s a Wallorian Treasurer, not a dog. My girl doesn’t move if it ain’t at least golden. Sometimes I think we should hit the Dungeon together, especially now that I have more magic at my fingertips than ever before. But then I remember that I actually prefer doing nothing. And that’s that. Like, why would you move from your house if you could live on your bed? Only to get girls and groceries, I’m telling you.
Maybe cooking.
Princess Bianca comes back after a good run. She scampers on her little feet like a goddamn train, I swear. Sometimes I think that if she got the right skills, she could turn into a literal cannonball. That would be fun.
I toss the ball again before running after her and trying to catch the little scoundrel with the golden ball in her mouth. At this hour of the day, there aren't many people on the street near my house. Morning, that is. It’s morning. The last day of peace. We have to deliver our essays for the History of Magic class tomorrow.
I pounce with my arms wide to snatch Princess Bianca from the ground, wishing I could cast some [Haste] spell. Body enhancement magic is much harder than you imagine. Plus, I have this hunch that it’s not really efficient, spell-matrix-wise. I don’t know. I kind of want to work on spell matrixes after my talk with Lord Juler, but, at the same time, I feel like I should probably--
Princess Bianca uses one of her infamous skills, [Mud Slap].
“JESUS!” I say while mud goes in my eyes and nostrils. Thank God my mouth was closed. “What are you, a damn Pokémon?” I say while wiping away the mud and looking at the smug white pig.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Come on; let’s go. We have to shop at the market. I promised myself I’d try out some new stuff today.”
Anyway, I spoke with Marcellus, and apparently, the sweetest fruit around the market is the Astraia. I think I already ate a couple and even saw Quintus and Tiberius adding them to their compositions. Basically, it’s a yellow strawberry with bigger seeds. And, for reasons that go beyond my understanding of food, the seeds are the sweetest part of it. Some sell them like candy.
Degenerate Elves.
As I walk to where the market is held, I wonder what I should do with it.
A cake? What am I, a housewife?
Like, why do people think that a true baker would only work with cakes? You watched the Cake Boss one too many times, pal. And you know what? If it were up to me, I’d douse anyone using that much sugary paste or gum paste in gasoline. Jesus, it’s just so disgusting. Are you a baker or a clown, for God’s sake?
Oh, but it’s for the kids.
I had so many fights with my mother about this topic. No, mom, I’m not going to print a stupid sheet of sugar with the kid’s favorite cartoon character. They want that? They should go to another bakery. Yeah, that’s what they should do. You know, I try not to be a strongly opinionated person, but if I find a stupid parent who wants to eat my cake and have it decorated with the kid’s favorite stupid cartoon character on top... Oh, yeah, they’d tried bringing that to other bakeries. They would have me do the base and then go to another bakery to put the drawing on it or decorate it with some stupid stuff.
So, first of all, I’m not your average Italian American from New Jersey. I’m to cakes what Giorgio Armani was to clothes thirty years ago. I banned people trying to mess with my creations. My mom always thought it would bring us more business if we acceded to the idiotic requests of our clientele, but that’s why she managed the taxes, not the cakes.
Man, just thinking about this stuff makes me angry.
“Princess,” I say to the animal frowning at me. Princess Bianca can read my mood extremely well. Yet another supernatural capability of her race. “Yeah, I know. I was just thinking about people who want weird stuff on their cakes. And why do they think that bakers only make cakes? What’s this about? You only go to a baker for your birthday? Is that it? Then you know what? I don’t want your business if you can’t appreciate my craft.
The Wallorian Treasurer starts ignoring me as soon as she realizes what I’m talking about.
As we enter the market, I start looking at the various stands selling the Astraias. Or is it Astraiae? If it comes from Latin, that should be the plural, I guess. It’s like Lidula and Lidulae.
The market in Elven cities is nothing like you would expect. Sure, there’s a non-trivial amount of fruits and vegetables, but it’s the same old dirty stuff that you would find in pretty much any medieval world. It’s not like ‘oh, wow, look at these Elves and their green eco-friendly magic that will definitely leave entire generations of fantasy-nuts completely enamored.’ And, in a way, I like it better this way. I just wish that more Humans could come to this world and, specifically, to Epretos. Man, imagine something like a club of LOTR fans coming here and realizing how stinky these Elves are; I’d really enjoy seeing a bunch of people on the verge of slitting their wrists when they don’t find Orlando Bloom in a blonde wig.
I do wonder if some of them would make comments like: “Well, some of these Elves should be black.” Imagine.
As I take a look around, I do envy those who have skills capable of predicting the freshness of something. [Freshness Monitor] is the name, I think. Instead, I have to do it like they did it in the old days on Earth. Just pick up an Astraia, feel up the consistency, maybe give it a sniff if the [Shopkeeper] is not watching. Princess Bianca looks around, mostly focused on the far-end of the market where the artifacts are being peddled left and right. She looks there, licking her lips. My pig is a white, grumpier version of Scrooge McDuck. Her dreams consist of pretty much wanting to take a swim in artifacts and not caring about anything else in the world.
“Excuse me,” I wave at the [Shopkeeper], “how much for a pound of these?” I point to a particular batch of Astraia.
“It’s one silver per pound,” he says with a warm smile.
One silver per pound? Is your mother pushing those out of her--
“Oh, that’s a bit steep. How about six coppers?”
I mean, just because I’m filthy rich doesn’t mean I should get robbed in plain daylight.
“No.”
Huh.
No haggling. The Elf just looks at me with barely hidden disgust. Now that I pay attention to it, I see people around the market giving me the stink-eye. This is not the first time I’ve come here, but I don’t remember the stares. Sure, the most plausible explanation is that I simply didn’t notice them the first time around.
“What about seven coppers, and I buy ten pounds of these?” I add a wink for good manners.
“No.”
I’m not a particularly violent person. Unless someone puts pineapple on pizza or uses twenty pounds of sugar paste to create a cake-monstrosity. But I am pondering blowing up this stand – but just for a few seconds before I give it a shrug.
“Whatever, pal,” I move on to another stall where the Astraiae seem to have the same quality.
“Hello, there. How much for a pound of Astraiae?”
A pudgy, ugly female Elf, one of the shortest I have ever seen, shrugs.
“Two silvers.”
“Christ,” I say with a beaming smile. “Have a good day, m’lady.”
I move onto a third stand, now more than aware of all the eyes trained onto me. I tip the huge hat on my head at an Elf with one of the largest displays of Astraiae. Their quality is definitely not top-notch, but this guy looks like someone who needs to offload the stuff at any cost. So...
“Hello, friend,” I say to the guy who’s currently not busy with anyone else, “how about selling me these Astraiae for eight coppers per pound?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, but those are one gold per pound.”
I mean, have I done something in particular recently to provoke this kind of reaction? I don’t recall, to be honest.
“Excuse me, would you mind telling me why all this animosity? Haven’t I shopped here before?”
“Piss off, Human. I don’t waste my time with Worms.”
Wow, touchy.
“I mean, my worm, that’s not really an answer. You are not doing much here, are you?”
I feel a weak aura starting to push against me as the guy’s face darkens. Is he trying to--
“Wow, are you using a skill to remove me from here, wommy-mommy?”
“What did you call me?”
“I mean, help me understand this,” I say while leaning a bit forward onto the stand and picking up a very good-looking Astraia. “I bought stuff in this market, and even from you, at least a half a dozen times. Now, I also killed one of the most talented [Mages] on the continent. If rumors are to be believed, the most famous [Mage]. And I don’t even like to bring that up! But, why would you be so disrespectful to me, my Worm? Help me understand.”
“Who are you calling Worm, Human?!”
The Elf becomes red, and I see a couple of [Bodyguards] putting their hands on their weapons from the corner of my eye.
“I mean, I get it if you’re pissed that I called you a wommy-mommy, but really, Worm? And where does that come from? I’m just trying to understand. Is it because I’m a Human and you’re an Elf? Is that it? We’re different? Because, as far as I can tell, we’re not that different. I mean, we’re both intelligent beings, we can both use magic, we both like to have sex with women, I mean, at least I do. I don’t know about you, probably--”
“Get out of here!” The guy yells at me as his [Bodyguards] start walking around the little stall.
“What? Why? We’re just talking!”
“Get the fuck out of here!”
Ok, now I’m getting pissed. These guys are really--
I’m about to do something when I see Princess Bianca jump on the mound of Astraiae and pop one in her mouth, calmly chewing as she looks at the guy.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he screams, beside himself. “Take your disgusting pig away from my merchandise!”
“What? She’s just eating an Astraia.”
“I don’t care!”
He’s really losing it. I see his [Bodyguards] coming closer and, before I know it, they’re already in front of me, trying to push me away.
“Look,” I say as I see the guy behind the counter picking up a knife, “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just--”
And then, everything goes to shit.
