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Isabella wouldn’t exactly be lying when she said she knew what she was doing.
Really, she… didn’t. When she wasn’t hammering out the details of her move over letters upon letters or desperately trying to keep up in school work, she had spent most of her free time reading up on farming. Isabella had probably borrowed just about every book on farming and building and architecture that the university had and then some.
After all, she only had one shot at this. She wasn’t about to start a new farming life without doing some research on the new work she was planning to base her livelihood on.
But reading was far different from experience. Isabella had no experience in farming, and only a little bit more in gardening, mostly from having grown plants and vegetables in clay flowerpots to sell for a small profit or to save on grocery money.
Isabella was thankful Hayden and Celine were so willing to share advice and information. Book readings didn’t exactly cover pests, or how much to water certain crops, or how backbreaking it was to deal with weeds.
Still, March’s words irk her more than they should.
The door slams shut behind her as she storms out of the blacksmith’s, the bell ringing faintly from the other side. Isabella closes her eyes, leans against it for a moment. A part of her wants to take the hoe he just gave her and smash it into the door.
She’s not sure why it bothers her so much. So March is rude, so what? So were half the people she went to classes with. So he didn’t believe in her abilities, so what? Isn’t this the exact opposite of what she’s dealt with her entire life?
March didn’t know a damn thing about her; nor did he care to, based on this interaction alone. It wasn’t like he knew that she left university to come here.
Isabella groans, burying her head in her hands, cursing her stupid brain for fixating on this. The hoe clatters to the ground.
“Something wrong, Farmer?”
Balor’s voice cuts through her thoughts, and Isabella looks up to see the merchant staring at her from a few feet away.
Normally, Isabella tries not to badmouth others. But the whole conversation she just had set her so on edge that she ends up blurting out, “March is being an asshole.”
“Ah, so he is,” Balor muses, closing his eyes. “In other news, grass is green.”
“You know, it’s one thing to not like a person. It’s another thing entirely to say that I’m somehow scamming the town simply by being here.”
If this was Olric, or Adeline, or Ryis, Isabella would guess that they’d say something like give March a chance or don’t take it personally. An easy thing to do in theory, but hard in practice.
Balor, however, is like her. He doesn’t have the same hometown connections that most other people here do, connections that would lend to kindness.
Instead, he simply raises an eyebrow and says, “Well, sounds like you have prove him wrong.”
“Of course I will,” Isabella huffs, bending down to pick up the copper hoe. “I just— ugh! I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I’ve dealt with people like him all my life.”
She tries not to think of how she can’t afford to not prove him wrong. Isabella had staked everything she had on coming out here. If March was right—if she couldn’t fake her way through running a farm—then her proving him right was the least of her worries.
“I need a drink.”
It was probably a little early for alcohol, but Isabella figured one glass of wine wouldn’t hurt, and pushes herself off the door.
Balor smiles, falling into step next to her. “Mind if I join you? I was on my way to lunch already.”
Isabella shrugs. “Be my guest. Though I doubt I’ll be good company at this moment.”
“Trust me, I’ve dealt with much worse company over the years.”
“Really?” She wasn’t sure if Balor was intentionally throwing her a bone or not, but she sees an out and she’s going to take it. “What’s the worst company you’ve dealt with, then?”
A thinking expression crosses Balor’s face as Isabella waves hi to the kids playing in the fountain again. She should probably tell someone about that, but… No. Isabella isn’t going to be the one to ruin their fun.
“Oh boy… where do I begin? Hmm… well, I suppose one of the worst would be a salesman named Wheedle.”
The name seems familiar, and she frowns.“Wheedle?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve heard of him before. He’s… rather infamous in the Capital, and is about as slimy as a merchant can get. I’ve worked with him before, and I’d rather cut off my own foot than work with him again.”
Isabla hums. “That bad, huh?”
“Oh yeah.”
As they walk to the Inn, Balor entertains her with some of the characters he’s had to work with over the years. Isabella wishes she could contribute more, but unlike Balor, she managed to avoid having consistent contact with annoying and unpleasant people. Aside from the occasional group project, that was.
“What about you?” The merchant asks after they’ve gotten a drink from Hemlock, with a plate of garlic bread on the way. “Is March the worst person you’ve dealt with, or is there someone worse?”
Isabella huffs, tapping her finger on the glass. “March isn’t the worst… he’s just.. ugh. He doesn’t like me, and the feeling is very mutual.”
And it means he comes off as an asshole sometimes. Though, it seems more like he’s being an asshole on purpose to drive her away, but the joke’s on him. She’s stuck here whether she wants to be or not.
Balor raises an eyebrow, leaning forward on the table. “So that means there has to be someone you dislike more than him.” He smiles, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ears. “Don’t worry, I won’t snitch.”
Despite herself, she smiles, too, and hopes he didn’t notice her eyes following the movement. “I don’t doubt it.” Even if he does go to the capital a lot, I doubt he runs in the same circles I did.
“I suppose the worst person I’ve had to deal with was an old professor of mine from university. He was a triple threat of not thinking women should be in university, caring only about his own work and not teaching, and frankly just being a plain old bully.”
Just thinking of it made her cringe. His class was the first class she had failed since middle school, though the blow was softened a little by the fact that she was far from the only one. Even her parents weren’t as mad when, after a little research, Isabella found out he had only a 47% passing rate.
Which, at that point, makes it seem like he shouldn’t be a teacher, considering it was an entry-level class, but. Well. Her parents were still mad at her either way. Just not as much as they could’ve been.
“That sounds awful,” Balor agrees, taking a sip of his wine. “What did he teach?”
“A history class. Entry level, which really only made it worse. It wasn’t even meant to be one of those classes that weeded out the people who weren’t seriously into the subject.”
Too late does Isabella realize she had started veering towards the main topic she hadn’t wanted to discuss with anyone when Balor raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you studied history. Though I guess that makes sense, given how you’re helping Eiland with all his archeological work.”
“Yeah, well, uh-“ Thankfully, she’s spared the action of having to divert the conversation away from her school years when Hemlock comes over—with a basket of heavenly-smelling garlic bread.
“Here you go, you two,” the bartender says, setting it down in front of them, along with two small plates. “Fresh out of the oven! Hope you enjoy.”
“We will, Hemlock. It smells amazing.” Certainly better than anything her university cafeteria sold.
“How are the drinks tasting? Can I get you anything else?”
“No, I think I’m good,” Balor agrees, reaching for one of the plates.
“Me too. Thanks for the extra lemon in my hot toddy, by the way.”
Hemlock winks. “No problem. If you need anything else, just holler.”
Isabella quickly tears into the garlic bread afterwards, saying around a mouthful, “I really need to get the recipe one of these days. You think Reina would be willing to show me?”
“Probably,” Balor agrees. “She’s tried to teach me how to cook before, but it can be hard when you live on the road most of the time. It’s why I’m glad that Hemlock, Reina and Josephine are kind enough to leave something out in my room when I’m out late.”
The words touch something in her heart. She finishes chewing, swallows. “That’s… really nice of them, actually.”
A soft smile crosses Balor’s face as he raises his wine glass to his lips. “Yeah. It really is.”
Maybe that’s what she should do, she thinks to herself as she reaches for another piece. Maybe March will warm up to her a bit if she gives him gifts. But he also seems like he’d take it the wrong way, too, and she doesn’t know well what he’d like. For his birthday she got him a beer because that seemed simple enough. Maybe if she got him ore of some kind? It’s something he could use, at least.
Well, it probably couldn’t hurt. Sure, March seems prideful, but not so much so that he would turn down free ore, right? Isabella knows she always liked getting gifts growing up, especially when they were unexpected.
Something to consider, she muses as she tears into another piece of garlic bread. After all, she was staying no matter what he said.
She couldn’t afford to do otherwise.