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The first breakfast was at nine in the morning. And it consisted of the worst version of the old northern cuisine: boiled eggs, fried bacon, stewed beans and buttered toast. It's the morning when you don't want to eat yet! Moreover, there is no greenery, and without it, there will be indigestion from such food.
Was no one around here smart enough to make oatmeal or cereals filled with milk if they are so drawn to traditions? In general, I prefer a southern breakfast, from a bun and coffee, which I often replace with juice.
But then I found slices of black pudding (I love it) and baked tomato (it's good for the stomach, especially with heavy foods, and keeps you young), and they reconciled me to the local cuisine.
Fortunately, the TV-shows didn't lie about breakfast: there were two tables — one with ready-made food, which everyone put on their own plate as much as they wanted, and at the second table they sat down to eat. There were drinks on the second table: tea and juice.
I took a slice of pudding and a large tomato. James, who was behind me, wanted to put toast on my plate, but I pushed his hand away. Moron! Black pudding is half made of oatmeal, why do I need bread?
I went with a plate to the table. Dave — he was at the head of the table, I greeted him earlier — was watching me gloomily. If he hopes that tying himself snout in a knot will deprive me of my appetite, then let him make his ass with a corkscrew.
I tried black pudding. The hell's bang! I have never tasted such deliciousness. There are many places in the city where they sell black puddings, there is a good shop with traditional handmade puddings in our area but this is just a masterpiece! And I went for the second piece.
Judging by the reaction of my convoyers and Dave, I did something wrong.
"You bring — you feed," — I said to Dave. "Tell the chef that this is the best black pudding in Alnoria. But I'd rather tell him myself. The heiress has to look after the household too, right?"
"It's disgusting!" said a young female voice from the door. "Such a plebeian cannot inherit TGS!"
I looked at the speaker. A pretty blonde in her twenties, in an expensive dark blue business dress, two guys in tuxedos stood behind her.
"Take and eat your breakfast, Eleanor," Dave ordered. "And don't talk until I ask you."
The girl obeyed. Who is she here if she climbs to indicate who can inherit? Judging by the convoy, she is no ordinary pig in this barn. However, I don't give a damn. I own my father's property, I will take its value, and the rest can burn with blue fire.
I, along with an extra portion of black pudding and tomatoes, sat down at the table and said: "I want to visit my granny today. And I need a worker in a candy shop and a tenant for a flat. And the flat itself must be prepared for rent, things dismantled. Or I live at home, work in a candy shop, and study lady style in evening courses."
Dave was saying something, but I didn't listen, just raised my voice a little, setting out my terms. Eleanor's eyes bulged like those of a deep-sea crab. Her retinue even leaned forward a little, listening. Dave's valet, standing behind his chair, pierced me with an evil look. And three men in expensive suits froze like statues of amazement in the doorway. Dave threw me: "You don't have a candy shop or a flat. Everything is mortgaged. And the bank will not extend the loan."
All are mortgaged. Oh how! Looks like Dave talked to the migration lawyer yesterday and he said I had a better chance of winning. This is good. But when did granny manage to mortgage the property? Why didn't she tell me?
It's all covid. There were interruptions in the supply of raw materials due to lockdowns, prices of it rose, and courier companies that delivered orders to customers on drones also didn't come cheap. And medicines for the granny have become expensive. It seems that government compensation to support small businesses was not enough. However, now isn't up to it.
"Mrs. Kelvin," Dave underlined the granny's name venomously, implying that it was not real, "will be fine as long as you do what I say. You're going to ballroom dancing today and…"
"It’s you who is in the shit, not me," I cut off all the orders.
Dave even twitched at those words. I smiled amiable and continued, trying to speak calmly and indifferently: "Investors and shareholders do not demand an heir from me. And I'm not barren. But even if Albert's blood made me incapable of reproduction, I don't care. A plebeianess has the right to be child-free."
None of the convoyers answered my questions about the blood relationship between Albert's mother's parents. And this silence explained everything better than any words. I smiled contentedly and put the last point over the i: "And unlike your jackal pack, I will always earn myself and my granny a bun with jam and housing."
"Work under a red light!" Eleanor commented with a snake smile.
"A whore is a job for noble ladies. You have nothing to sell except body holes. And I am a confectioner and chocolatier."
Eleanor looked at Dave.
"Chairman, do you want this bastardess to defile some important meeting with her behavior?"
"I didn't allow you to speak, Eleanor," Dave said. "You will spend the day in your apartment. Go!"
Eleanor, to my surprise, immediately and silently left with her retinue. And she even made a farewell curtsy.
Those men who were near the door began to approach the table with food. And they sat down at the table where Dave and I were.
I decided to quickly finish the tasty treats and get out of here. To listen to talk about a business that I don't need, getting this from goats who didn't deign to introduce themselves to the lady — it must go to a distant dark forest.
But Dave introduced all three to me — the director of advertising, the head of legal, and the head of logistics — and a few moments later I had a heated and useful discussion with them about Internet trade. They thought too globally, my judgments were unnecessarily small-town, but we got in the end the same golden mean that works best.
It turned out along the way, that Eleanor is the only child of Dave's cousin, and before my appearance was the heiress of all the Terrent's possessions. She graduated from a prestigious boarding school in England, after which she studied business under the guidance of top managers of TGS and their assistants.
"Well, this isn't the exact wording «Lady Eleanor was the heiress»…" said the lawyer. "Her status has never been officially announced. And when it became necessary to name a successor, the Chairman brought you. But also without an official announcement of your status."
I didn't say anything out loud, and it's clear that Dave is trying to put the two granddaughters against each other and see who devours who. And it’s also clear that Eleanor is the best way to get a smartphone, all the lawyers I need, and regular dates with my granny. Eleanor will shit herself with joy when she realizes that I want to get out of here as soon as possible.
But it's strange that Dave suddenly decided to change everything so cool and he found me.
And even more surprisingly, his assistants approve of this. Or at least they do not condemn such a decision. There they sing like nightingales, explaining how important it is for me to quickly start studying business in order to catch up with Eleanor in education. They even complimented me that it would be easier for me to study since I had already established myself as a smart businessperson. Yes, yes, they said in a modern and smart way, out of gender. And Dave while it kept silent like his plate.
It looks like Eleanor was caught using drugs or gambling, and how else does the trust fund kids like to have fun?
And why is she homeschooled instead of going to an Ivy League business school? There are also business schools in Alnorria, and they are not bad if they are full of foreign students.
"All right, gentlemen, all the best to you," I said and left the dining room. Helmut and James tried to stop me, but I slapped their hands and they backed off.
Helmut began to keep harping in the corridor, saying that one should not get up from the table without the permission of the Chairman, but I cut off this rave in mid-sentence: "If Herr Terrent doesn't like something, then I don't impose my company on him. I will quickly find a job, and a lawyer to sue my father's inheritance and compensation is also not a problem, and I won't die within a couple of weeks in a hostel."
There is no doubt that Dave has wiretapping and video surveillance everywhere. So let him watch and listen, if he didn’t understand things the first time, which I told him through that half-baked lawyer.
"But your grandmother…" Helmut began.
I interrupted: "My granny is okay! If you didn't understand yourself, then I'll explain: Terrent’s idea to blackmail me with illegal migration failed miserably. The problem with a TBC-friendly bank that does not want to renew the loan is solved with a business loan from a competitor bank. Restoring a candy shop after a crisis is a troublesome task, but not difficult. Any questions? No questions! Take me to Eleanor."
"What for?" James was surprised.
"I want to talk with her."
"But she won't talk to you," said Helmut.
"So I'll talk to her secretary, the maid, anyone who can find her brain and put one simple idea into it: if Eleanor helps me get out of here along with my rightful share and compensation, then the entire TGS will be hers alone."
"No!" Marco groaned. "Signorina Eleanor should not get TGS under any circumstances. She will destroy everything and everyone."
"Then let Terrent adopt you or some of the top managers," I snapped. "Or let the shareholders' meeting appoint management that is beneficial to them, and send Dave's relatives to live on dividends away from the company."
James was about to say something, but I got ahead of him: "That's how things are done. If you didn't know things that every high school graduate has learned from economics lessons."
And I went through some hall to another hall, wondering how to find servants here who have better thinking than my convoy.
The lethal motley and sharp shine, capable of causing toothache, made it difficult to think, but I still realized that if the staff should always be invisible, then the building must have additional corridors. And there are doors in them.
It is most logical to disguise service doors under wall panels and full-length mirrors.
And for the devil to eat them all, the convoy intercepted me on the way.
"Dona Alex, why do you need a corridor for servants?" Macro asked. "This is no place for a dame."
"If you don't know where Eleanor's secretary's office is, I'll ask someone more knowledgeable."
"Madame," Raoul intervened, "this is a really bad idea. Mademoiselle Eleanor will not listen to anyone."
Damn it! I won't get out of this cage on my own. I hope my friends will do what I asked: lawyers of migrant rights, fem-activists and tabloids. But so far there is none of that, otherwise, Dave would twitch like a pinch-down rat.
But Marco and Raoul called Eleanor "Signorina" and "Mademoiselle". Such a derogatory reference cannot but matter in this hornet's nest. Especially if the disparaging words were twice. Can I use it? I don't know.
"Okay," I said. "Let's go to my apartment."
"It's time for your training, Herrin Alex," Helmut replied. He had a smartphone in his hand. "The ballroom is waiting for you."
"What?" I was surprised. "I need to learn business, not waltzes."
"And waltz too. A lot is decided in an informal conversation during a dance at charity balls."
"Oh, I'm dying to see Dave Terrent waltz with a man!" I exclaimed with derision, hinting at the fact that in the higher financial spheres there are much more men than women. Extras at charity balls are created by the wives of businessmen, and their opinion is equivalent to the chirping of a sparrow.
Helmut, to my surprise, laughed and spread his arms.
"Actually, you need dances no more than the history of Mesopotamia, but one lesson is necessary to attend so that you are not pestered by the Chairman. Old money has a lot of ancient stupidities that are cheaper to underfulfill than to ignore or cancel. And when you have only one dance lesson, it's pretty fun."
I got a little frozen on this, looked at Helmut and blinked my eyes. Why did he suddenly become wiser and humanized? But what difference does it make if I almost missed my chance to break free? There will be an instructor at the lesson! And even if he isn't an invited hourly worker, but is part of the local state, then I can definitely bribe him.
And what about bribing the convoyers? How did I not think of this before?! They are complete assholes — they kidnapped me, humiliated me until Dave announced that I was the heiress, and then immediately changed their tone to lackey but they continue to be convoyers at the same time, I am a thing that belongs to Dave for them — such people can't but be corrupt. And how to send Dave's money to their wallets, let them think for themselves.
…Alas, nothing happened with the instructor: the same convoyers were the teachers. The music was from the phone, and they tried to lead me in a waltz, but only I wasn't subleading, so they were in for a bummer. And a portion of vile sensations awaited me: it is disgusting to a flash of rage when someone tries to take control of me even in small things. But I restrained myself, smiled sweetly and conscientiously tried to dance the waltz on an equal footing with my partners. It turned out that this was impossible. Shit! I will never go to any balls! Trampling in an embrace with someone to music in a nightclub is much more pleasant.
And I began to goad my convoyers to show a same-sex version of the waltz. They laughed it off, I teased them more and more, we laughed all the time (except for James) and even played a little bit of catch-up — I not only ran away from my catchers, but I tagged all of them. It was fun, Helmut didn't lie. Even if my convoyers are immoral to the infinitely, this is no reason for me to deprive myself of pleasure. So I went to lunch in a great mood. And even I with this wave easily accepted the need to change for lunch, although I don't like unnecessary fuss with rags. By the way, here everyone says not "lunch", but "second breakfast". And the estate is called Terr-Court, and the house's name is Joyterr.
The marasmus! But I won't have to sit in the same trench with this audience, so I don’t care.
The convoyers wanted to choose clothes for me, but I commanded them to get out to the trolls under the bridge and admired for a moment how obediently all four sat down on the sofa in the living room, and I went to the dressing room: this is the large compartment next to the bedroom. I opened the door and a wave of blood splashed on my face.
**********
Ajax, thanks for the beta reading!
**********
Modern urban fantasy, our world, mythical creatures in our world, adventures, an active heroine, maybe a slash, but more than a Gen.
The name of the novel may be changed.
All work on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/42443127
Was no one around here smart enough to make oatmeal or cereals filled with milk if they are so drawn to traditions? In general, I prefer a southern breakfast, from a bun and coffee, which I often replace with juice.
But then I found slices of black pudding (I love it) and baked tomato (it's good for the stomach, especially with heavy foods, and keeps you young), and they reconciled me to the local cuisine.
Fortunately, the TV-shows didn't lie about breakfast: there were two tables — one with ready-made food, which everyone put on their own plate as much as they wanted, and at the second table they sat down to eat. There were drinks on the second table: tea and juice.
I took a slice of pudding and a large tomato. James, who was behind me, wanted to put toast on my plate, but I pushed his hand away. Moron! Black pudding is half made of oatmeal, why do I need bread?
I went with a plate to the table. Dave — he was at the head of the table, I greeted him earlier — was watching me gloomily. If he hopes that tying himself snout in a knot will deprive me of my appetite, then let him make his ass with a corkscrew.
I tried black pudding. The hell's bang! I have never tasted such deliciousness. There are many places in the city where they sell black puddings, there is a good shop with traditional handmade puddings in our area but this is just a masterpiece! And I went for the second piece.
Judging by the reaction of my convoyers and Dave, I did something wrong.
"You bring — you feed," — I said to Dave. "Tell the chef that this is the best black pudding in Alnoria. But I'd rather tell him myself. The heiress has to look after the household too, right?"
"It's disgusting!" said a young female voice from the door. "Such a plebeian cannot inherit TGS!"
I looked at the speaker. A pretty blonde in her twenties, in an expensive dark blue business dress, two guys in tuxedos stood behind her.
"Take and eat your breakfast, Eleanor," Dave ordered. "And don't talk until I ask you."
The girl obeyed. Who is she here if she climbs to indicate who can inherit? Judging by the convoy, she is no ordinary pig in this barn. However, I don't give a damn. I own my father's property, I will take its value, and the rest can burn with blue fire.
I, along with an extra portion of black pudding and tomatoes, sat down at the table and said: "I want to visit my granny today. And I need a worker in a candy shop and a tenant for a flat. And the flat itself must be prepared for rent, things dismantled. Or I live at home, work in a candy shop, and study lady style in evening courses."
Dave was saying something, but I didn't listen, just raised my voice a little, setting out my terms. Eleanor's eyes bulged like those of a deep-sea crab. Her retinue even leaned forward a little, listening. Dave's valet, standing behind his chair, pierced me with an evil look. And three men in expensive suits froze like statues of amazement in the doorway. Dave threw me: "You don't have a candy shop or a flat. Everything is mortgaged. And the bank will not extend the loan."
All are mortgaged. Oh how! Looks like Dave talked to the migration lawyer yesterday and he said I had a better chance of winning. This is good. But when did granny manage to mortgage the property? Why didn't she tell me?
It's all covid. There were interruptions in the supply of raw materials due to lockdowns, prices of it rose, and courier companies that delivered orders to customers on drones also didn't come cheap. And medicines for the granny have become expensive. It seems that government compensation to support small businesses was not enough. However, now isn't up to it.
"Mrs. Kelvin," Dave underlined the granny's name venomously, implying that it was not real, "will be fine as long as you do what I say. You're going to ballroom dancing today and…"
"It’s you who is in the shit, not me," I cut off all the orders.
Dave even twitched at those words. I smiled amiable and continued, trying to speak calmly and indifferently: "Investors and shareholders do not demand an heir from me. And I'm not barren. But even if Albert's blood made me incapable of reproduction, I don't care. A plebeianess has the right to be child-free."
None of the convoyers answered my questions about the blood relationship between Albert's mother's parents. And this silence explained everything better than any words. I smiled contentedly and put the last point over the i: "And unlike your jackal pack, I will always earn myself and my granny a bun with jam and housing."
"Work under a red light!" Eleanor commented with a snake smile.
"A whore is a job for noble ladies. You have nothing to sell except body holes. And I am a confectioner and chocolatier."
Eleanor looked at Dave.
"Chairman, do you want this bastardess to defile some important meeting with her behavior?"
"I didn't allow you to speak, Eleanor," Dave said. "You will spend the day in your apartment. Go!"
Eleanor, to my surprise, immediately and silently left with her retinue. And she even made a farewell curtsy.
Those men who were near the door began to approach the table with food. And they sat down at the table where Dave and I were.
I decided to quickly finish the tasty treats and get out of here. To listen to talk about a business that I don't need, getting this from goats who didn't deign to introduce themselves to the lady — it must go to a distant dark forest.
But Dave introduced all three to me — the director of advertising, the head of legal, and the head of logistics — and a few moments later I had a heated and useful discussion with them about Internet trade. They thought too globally, my judgments were unnecessarily small-town, but we got in the end the same golden mean that works best.
It turned out along the way, that Eleanor is the only child of Dave's cousin, and before my appearance was the heiress of all the Terrent's possessions. She graduated from a prestigious boarding school in England, after which she studied business under the guidance of top managers of TGS and their assistants.
"Well, this isn't the exact wording «Lady Eleanor was the heiress»…" said the lawyer. "Her status has never been officially announced. And when it became necessary to name a successor, the Chairman brought you. But also without an official announcement of your status."
I didn't say anything out loud, and it's clear that Dave is trying to put the two granddaughters against each other and see who devours who. And it’s also clear that Eleanor is the best way to get a smartphone, all the lawyers I need, and regular dates with my granny. Eleanor will shit herself with joy when she realizes that I want to get out of here as soon as possible.
But it's strange that Dave suddenly decided to change everything so cool and he found me.
And even more surprisingly, his assistants approve of this. Or at least they do not condemn such a decision. There they sing like nightingales, explaining how important it is for me to quickly start studying business in order to catch up with Eleanor in education. They even complimented me that it would be easier for me to study since I had already established myself as a smart businessperson. Yes, yes, they said in a modern and smart way, out of gender. And Dave while it kept silent like his plate.
It looks like Eleanor was caught using drugs or gambling, and how else does the trust fund kids like to have fun?
And why is she homeschooled instead of going to an Ivy League business school? There are also business schools in Alnorria, and they are not bad if they are full of foreign students.
"All right, gentlemen, all the best to you," I said and left the dining room. Helmut and James tried to stop me, but I slapped their hands and they backed off.
Helmut began to keep harping in the corridor, saying that one should not get up from the table without the permission of the Chairman, but I cut off this rave in mid-sentence: "If Herr Terrent doesn't like something, then I don't impose my company on him. I will quickly find a job, and a lawyer to sue my father's inheritance and compensation is also not a problem, and I won't die within a couple of weeks in a hostel."
There is no doubt that Dave has wiretapping and video surveillance everywhere. So let him watch and listen, if he didn’t understand things the first time, which I told him through that half-baked lawyer.
"But your grandmother…" Helmut began.
I interrupted: "My granny is okay! If you didn't understand yourself, then I'll explain: Terrent’s idea to blackmail me with illegal migration failed miserably. The problem with a TBC-friendly bank that does not want to renew the loan is solved with a business loan from a competitor bank. Restoring a candy shop after a crisis is a troublesome task, but not difficult. Any questions? No questions! Take me to Eleanor."
"What for?" James was surprised.
"I want to talk with her."
"But she won't talk to you," said Helmut.
"So I'll talk to her secretary, the maid, anyone who can find her brain and put one simple idea into it: if Eleanor helps me get out of here along with my rightful share and compensation, then the entire TGS will be hers alone."
"No!" Marco groaned. "Signorina Eleanor should not get TGS under any circumstances. She will destroy everything and everyone."
"Then let Terrent adopt you or some of the top managers," I snapped. "Or let the shareholders' meeting appoint management that is beneficial to them, and send Dave's relatives to live on dividends away from the company."
James was about to say something, but I got ahead of him: "That's how things are done. If you didn't know things that every high school graduate has learned from economics lessons."
And I went through some hall to another hall, wondering how to find servants here who have better thinking than my convoy.
The lethal motley and sharp shine, capable of causing toothache, made it difficult to think, but I still realized that if the staff should always be invisible, then the building must have additional corridors. And there are doors in them.
It is most logical to disguise service doors under wall panels and full-length mirrors.
And for the devil to eat them all, the convoy intercepted me on the way.
"Dona Alex, why do you need a corridor for servants?" Macro asked. "This is no place for a dame."
"If you don't know where Eleanor's secretary's office is, I'll ask someone more knowledgeable."
"Madame," Raoul intervened, "this is a really bad idea. Mademoiselle Eleanor will not listen to anyone."
Damn it! I won't get out of this cage on my own. I hope my friends will do what I asked: lawyers of migrant rights, fem-activists and tabloids. But so far there is none of that, otherwise, Dave would twitch like a pinch-down rat.
But Marco and Raoul called Eleanor "Signorina" and "Mademoiselle". Such a derogatory reference cannot but matter in this hornet's nest. Especially if the disparaging words were twice. Can I use it? I don't know.
"Okay," I said. "Let's go to my apartment."
"It's time for your training, Herrin Alex," Helmut replied. He had a smartphone in his hand. "The ballroom is waiting for you."
"What?" I was surprised. "I need to learn business, not waltzes."
"And waltz too. A lot is decided in an informal conversation during a dance at charity balls."
"Oh, I'm dying to see Dave Terrent waltz with a man!" I exclaimed with derision, hinting at the fact that in the higher financial spheres there are much more men than women. Extras at charity balls are created by the wives of businessmen, and their opinion is equivalent to the chirping of a sparrow.
Helmut, to my surprise, laughed and spread his arms.
"Actually, you need dances no more than the history of Mesopotamia, but one lesson is necessary to attend so that you are not pestered by the Chairman. Old money has a lot of ancient stupidities that are cheaper to underfulfill than to ignore or cancel. And when you have only one dance lesson, it's pretty fun."
I got a little frozen on this, looked at Helmut and blinked my eyes. Why did he suddenly become wiser and humanized? But what difference does it make if I almost missed my chance to break free? There will be an instructor at the lesson! And even if he isn't an invited hourly worker, but is part of the local state, then I can definitely bribe him.
And what about bribing the convoyers? How did I not think of this before?! They are complete assholes — they kidnapped me, humiliated me until Dave announced that I was the heiress, and then immediately changed their tone to lackey but they continue to be convoyers at the same time, I am a thing that belongs to Dave for them — such people can't but be corrupt. And how to send Dave's money to their wallets, let them think for themselves.
…Alas, nothing happened with the instructor: the same convoyers were the teachers. The music was from the phone, and they tried to lead me in a waltz, but only I wasn't subleading, so they were in for a bummer. And a portion of vile sensations awaited me: it is disgusting to a flash of rage when someone tries to take control of me even in small things. But I restrained myself, smiled sweetly and conscientiously tried to dance the waltz on an equal footing with my partners. It turned out that this was impossible. Shit! I will never go to any balls! Trampling in an embrace with someone to music in a nightclub is much more pleasant.
And I began to goad my convoyers to show a same-sex version of the waltz. They laughed it off, I teased them more and more, we laughed all the time (except for James) and even played a little bit of catch-up — I not only ran away from my catchers, but I tagged all of them. It was fun, Helmut didn't lie. Even if my convoyers are immoral to the infinitely, this is no reason for me to deprive myself of pleasure. So I went to lunch in a great mood. And even I with this wave easily accepted the need to change for lunch, although I don't like unnecessary fuss with rags. By the way, here everyone says not "lunch", but "second breakfast". And the estate is called Terr-Court, and the house's name is Joyterr.
The marasmus! But I won't have to sit in the same trench with this audience, so I don’t care.
The convoyers wanted to choose clothes for me, but I commanded them to get out to the trolls under the bridge and admired for a moment how obediently all four sat down on the sofa in the living room, and I went to the dressing room: this is the large compartment next to the bedroom. I opened the door and a wave of blood splashed on my face.
**********
Ajax, thanks for the beta reading!
**********
Modern urban fantasy, our world, mythical creatures in our world, adventures, an active heroine, maybe a slash, but more than a Gen.
The name of the novel may be changed.
All work on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/42443127
