Snippet #1205135

Giles glanced over at the clock, straightening his collar as he strode over to the kitchen’s counter. The tea was at perfect temperature for drinking; not too hot, not too cold. He knew he was a few moments late, and that his Lady’s patience would be wearing thin. It wasn’t that he did such things on purpose, but sometimes he wanted to see how she reacted. The tea of the day was specially ordered high oolong mountain tea, a masterpiece in the art of Chinese tea. It was sometimes amazing how far he’d gone to collect the most delicious, hand-picked teas for Marceline. The tea had an alluring, tangy scent and he’d prepared it the way his master liked it. With a small bowl of sugar cubes next to the steaming kettle, and matching tea cups, he scooped up the tray and expertly balanced it in one hand.

The other maids and servants bustled about, doing whatever chores there was in the morning—he knew that Marceline hated them, and wished only for him to serve her so he strode down the heavily decorated hallways with purpose. As Marceline murmured her words of how slow her butler was, Giles opened the door gently and was at her bedside, peering down at her with one amused golden eye. The other eye was hidden beneath a black, embroided eye patch with her family emblem. He wasn’t like many of the other demons—of course, he believed in business and results, but he also made an effort to seem more “human” to Marceline, even if it meant mimicking strange emotions. Other just saw him as a dedicated butler with an odd sense of humor. He held out the tray with his left hand, pouring the tea into the porcelain cup. "Sorry to keep you waiting,” Giles greeted smoothly, looking at her expectantly. He smiled, and it looked odd on his face. The black choker around his neck with the silver hoop hung as he craned his neck, holding the tray for her to take her morning tea. "High Oolong mountain tea, My Lady."

He wondered what his Lady would wear today, whatever it was, he would match her.
___

Today would be another one of those days; bitter. Felice slipped from her bed, it was too big for her, and she didn’t know why she insisted on one so big. It was empty. Her bright eyes stared angrily at the mess of blankets she left there. She stood anchored in the middle of her chambers, in her parent’s old room, only wearing a long white shirt that could have passed as a night gown. White hadn’t woken her today, and she wondered where he was. Tapping her barefoot on the ground, she stomped over to the curtains hiding the morning sun and dragged them open, nearly pulling them off their metal hinges. The house itself sickened her; she was a poor girl living in a robbed rich house, and the place made her sick.

“Shitty house.” Felice cursed under her breath, her language was far from being how a distinguished lady should talk. It was her curse. She didn’t grow up in the place, so etiquette didn’t matter. She was only glad that her servant, her demon, wasn’t a stuck up prat. She shook her head, and ran her fingers through her brown locks. Maybe they’d find something good to do today. Maybe. “White?! Where are you?”