Servant's Story - 02

27 March
Good Evening, Diary,

Forgive me, but I'm not used to confessing myself to a journal. As you may have noticed, I've only just started writing in you six days ago. You happen to be the first diary I've ever claimed, so I'm a bit uncomfortable. Perhaps if I gave you a name we'd come to know each other better. What do you think of Peter? Yes, from now on I'll address you as Peter.

Well, Peter, that irritating maid seems to have taken a liking to me. I believe her name is Celeste (perhaps she is gypsy-born?). She's been trailing me, and I find myself making mistakes wherever she goes. Something about her personality grates on my nerves so intensely that I become clumsy and destructive. I've taken to avoiding her, but it doesn't seem to do me much good.

Yesterday, when I was asked to help carry a young man's things in, she didn't hesitate to volunteer herself to go along. You might be thinking I'd be glad for more help, but you are sorely mistaken, Peter. The only thing she moves is her mouth and I was made to do all the work.

Sadly, the one time I would have been glad to have her along, she was nowhere to be seen. I was told to move yet more baggage, this time for a family. The father seemed nice enough, and while I moved their things the wife chattered on at him. I was in my best serving form. That is, until the daughter showed herself.

My God, Peter! You'll never in all your life see something half so horrifying! I'll see that you never have to, for I fear you'd simply rot in her presence. She rolled into the room, and after one glance at her I nearly dropped my burden. Her hideously fat face seemed to jiggle with excitement at the sight of me. My stomach squirmed likewise at her sweaty gown and face. Her oily cheeks seemed to contort into some kind of smile in my direction, and I made any excuse to leave.

I'm still afraid, Peter. Afraid I might be called back there. I've no authority to decline, but I break into a cold sweat at merely the thought of it. Peter, please lend me your strength in this desperate time. I'm not sure I could do it without you.

Faithfully yours,
Charles


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30 March
Dear Philip,

The ball will begin in two days. The amount of work they put to us is staggering and I fall asleep much too quickly to express myself to you. Tonight I'm pushing myself, however. It wouldn't be good to neglect you for too long, as we might begin to grow apart. I've been working my best through the assignments, but I can only hope that our responsibilities will ease after the ball is ended. I'm not sure how long I can hold up in this way.

You'll be glad to hear it, Philip. I've been lucky enough not to run into that daughter of the devil again. I've been called to deliver their meals once or twice, but since it's acceptable, I leave it outside their door. I knock once then run down the hall as fast as my legs will allow. The fear that possesses me is no joke. It's easy to run, despite my fatigue, if I only think of her protruding eyes bugging out at me, turned on me as if I were a meal.

Also, I'm happy to announce that I've met a fellow servant boy who seems nice enough. His name is Philippe and he shares my disdain for Celeste, if only partially. He even shared some of his bread with me the other night. Perhaps before long I'll tell him about you, Philip. I'm sure we'll all be good friends.

I'm much too tired tonight, so I'll have to talk to you more next time.
I'll be thinking of you,
Charles

Introduction

Story of Servant
Genre: Semi-serious Comedy
Type: Contest fan-fiction, diary entries.

Charles has just begun working as a servant at the Count's manor. It's not long after he starts that a contest begins and he's thrust into the stressful world of homosexuals and rapists. His time in the manor will leave him bewildered and abused, and soon he'll be the one being served, when the manor delivers strange observations, awkward encounters, and the occasional molestation!

These entries are meant to be a humorous alternate view of the events which take place in The Contest-- a story being written by Calix. Any characters that are not hired help were created and are owned by her. Then again, this is bad fan-fiction, so I suppose respectful owners somehow don't matter.

Servant's Story - 01

19 March
Dear Diary,

I only started my service at the manor but a week ago, and already there is something exciting happening. My fellow servants do nothing but gossip and speculate about the contest that is to be held in weeks to come. Apparently the Comte wishes to have a portrait of himself painted, and is calling on artists from all over the country to enter.

The maids never seem to stop wondering at the artists that might be attending, and I find myself tiring of their constant chatter. The other day, I happened to hear a particularly lively maid say that not many women were expected to make it into the final circle. When I asked what she meant by that, she merely burst into a fit of giggles and went on with her work. Perhaps she thinks that women aren't as good with artistry as men, which I find a rather primitive thought.

Either way, the contest requires a lot of preparation, which doesn't leave me with much time to write to you. I have a long day of work tomorrow, so I'll end it here for now.
Good night, dear diary.

-Charles


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25 March
Dearest Diary,

Preparation for the contest has kept me so busy that I fear I've had no time to dedicate to you. I'm sure once the ball has ended it will allow me more time to spend as I please. As much as a servant could hope for, anyway. I promise to devote myself fully to you as soon as I find the time.

The ball is only a week away, and hopeful contestants are already arriving. I helped move a gentleman into his room just today. He'd brought so many cases that it took fifteen of us and three trips to deliver the luggage to his chamber. He lay on his bed and read while we toiled to move the heavy items, pausing only to instruct us as to where we should set them down.

Though we're expected to know all our guests' names, his gladly escapes me. I should be careful of him, however; I've a feeling he wouldn't be reluctant to send a beating our way, should any of us slip up in even the slightest. After we'd finally departed his room, one of the maids couldn't help but remark on his looks. I groaned inwardly as she managed to go over every feature, starting at his jet black hair.

I've since made a note to myself to avoid that particular maid. Her endless inane chattering never seems to end. She even dared tell me I have the face of a girl. How I'd like to tell her she's the face of an old milkmaid's sow. Perhaps tomorrow I shall, but for now I'll get some rest. There's no telling how many cases the next arrival will boast.
Until the next time.

-Charles

27 March