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It’s been an okay day so far at Harré — not too busy, not too quiet either. That is, until he walks in.
Alois Rockmann, of course — who else?!
The minute his tall frame appears in the entrance doorway, the excited whispers and giggles begin. The women, especially — guild employees and sorcerers alike — start rustling about, trying to look their best to catch his attention. Some of the bolder ones are even going straight up to talk to him.
I scowl at him. What a chaos creator!
None of this is anything new, of course. Even since we were in school, Rockmann has always attracted attention like the way light draws insects. So you could say I’m pretty used to it, after ten years of knowing him. But that doesn’t mean I have to find it any less annoying.
What’s even more annoying — or embarrassing, depending on how you want to interpret it — is that he seems to be heading straight for my counter, gently extricating himself from the grabbing hands and overzealous attention, as he’s been doing since we, um, started sort of seeing each other from time to time.
I’m still attending to a sorcerer selecting a job, though — and there’s another sorcerer in line after that. So, Rockman just casually joins the queue like it’s nothing — much to my surprise, as I stare wide-eyed at the absurd sight.
“Ah, but Captain,” calls another receptionist, waving him over, “my counter is open — why don’t you come over here?”
“Captain, are you here for the records of demon sightings and stats?” Zozo asks cheerfully. “If you need those, we can get them for you quickly. But feel free to queue for as long as you like at Nanalie’s counter, kay?”
My already heated cheeks practically combust at this. Trust Zozo to be the one who leads the teasing!
Rockmann just thanks them politely and insists he’s fine.
To my irritated amusement, seeing Rockmann in line behind them gets the sorcerers at my counter in quite the fluster. The one still indecisive about which job to take practically yelps and grabs a random job request form without even double checking — even though he’d been dilly-dallying for the last twenty minutes or so. Meanwhile, the one next in line squeaks and tries to duck out of line to make express way for Rockmann — but Rockmann himself holds out a hand and insists they keep their place in the queue.
What a headache!
Once I’m done processing all the paperwork for the sorcerers, Rockmann steps up casually to my counter and raises an eyebrow.
“What?” I snap defensively, folding my arms.
“You’ve got ink on your uniform,” he replies, tapping a spot on his own chest to indicate where. “Kind of hard to miss on all that white.”
“Huh? Where?”
I quickly try to wipe it off. Thankfully, the guild uniforms are magically equipped to stay clean; if dirt or stains get on them, all it takes is a gentle wipe and it’ll all come off.
“Not there — slightly to your left — no, you’ve overshot. Go back to your right, and down by a finger’s breadth. Up a bit — almost — no, too far,” he sighs. “Here, let me.”
And before I can protest, he leans in and uses one finger to rub at a particular spot just above my left breast.
“H-h-hey!” I splutter, following his finger and finally spotting the smudge of ink. “I can do it myself!”
“Yeah?” he mutters, quietly amused. “But standing here just watching you molest yourself is kinda awkward.”
At a loss for words, I flush and glance up at his cool and composed expression. The size of my breasts is nothing to write home about. He’s even noted, or rather, made fun of my flat figure after the Orcinus Operation — though at the time, he had been trying to give me that crown of couplet flowers …
This close, I can make out every detail of his ridiculously long, fine and golden eyelashes — not to mention every refined angle of that perfectly symmetrical face.
“There, all gone now,” he says, withdrawing his hand but not stepping back. “Have you had lunch? Or made any lunch plans?”
“Huh?” I blink at him in bafflement.
It’s not like we haven’t gone out for lunch together at random before — he used to do that all the time in the earlier days. It’s more like, lately, we’ve been exchanging letters — and he’d invite me out for meals in his letters, which I find much easier to accept without the merciless attention of all my teasing colleagues.
“Wh-why all of a sudden?” I stammer.
“It just so happens I need to go into town today,” he replies nonchalantly, “so I thought I’d drop by and ask if you’d like to join me. Is that a problem?”
“Not as such,” I grumble. “But you could’ve given me some notice through one of your letters. In fact, didn’t you just write a couple of days ago?”
“Well, I didn’t plan for someone else’s baby to be born on any particular date and time, just so I could give you advance notice,” he quips.
“What?” I stare at him in confusion.
“The wife of one of my subordinates just gave birth to their first child last night,” he explains. “The birth came earlier than expected. Thankfully, both mother and child are well and safe. I plan to pay them a congratulatory visit this evening, so I’d like to go into town to get them a gift. If I’d written to you about it, you’d have probably read it long after my letter reached you. Say, maybe ten days later — that sound about right?”
“Argh! I get your point already!” I huff. “Fine, then! Let’s go for lunch. But what do you expect me to do? Pick a gift with you? I’ll come with you, but you know I don’t have the first clue when it comes to your aristocratic gifting practices.”
“That’d be for the official gift, which will be presented during the baby’s official introduction party,” says Rockmann, finally straightening up. “But that won’t be for a while yet. Today is just a friendly visit. So I thought getting them something homey and casual would be nice.”
“Huh?” I blink at him.
Much as I’d like to deny it all I want, Rockmann is actually surprisingly thoughtful, especially in small ways like this. Well, maybe it’s not that surprising. I’m just so hardwired to think of him as the infuriating bastard from our old school rivalry days, I guess …
“So? What do you have in mind?” I ask, rising to join him.
“Some flowers would be nice,” he replies with a small smile. “A fruit basket, too. Portakali’s in season right now. “Hmm, and maybe a soft toy or a blanket for the baby…?”
I sigh and roll my eyes, fighting a stupid smile. Is he trying to charm even the new born baby?!
“Alright, alright — let’s get going,” I grumble, finally giving in and smiling despite myself.
As we walk side by side out of Harré, we continue to debate what sort of soft toys or blanky would be best for the baby.