"SO, Avanessa, right?"

       She scoffed. "What, are you deaf? It's an infamous name covered by the media. I doubt you're measly cheap TV has not mentioned my name more than three times."

       Avanessa whipped her hair, resting on the sofa she had just laid on. "I'm hungry. Cook something. Since I'll be your guest for the annual time, I'll at least consider whatever peasant dishes you have, fishstink."

       The nerve of this witch! She did not even ask for his name!

       "It's Larson, by the way."

       She surveyed him from head to toe. "Plain. But for our deal's sake, I'll try my best to remember."

       He may start regretting his decision from now on. But at this point, there was no going back to his word, and she proclaimed to keep her promise.

       She has leverage over him, and he over her. Reminding her of that may not put her on edge, as seen from the outright brash attitude she shamelessly displays not long after sparing her from giving her identity away. 

       "Do hurry though. I have been starving for days. Travelling by boat on days is exhausting."

       Larson grimaced, sparing the witch a sight of his sour face. Yearning to fill his stomach just as much, he put on his patron and went on with the kitchen work.

***

       "Mhmmm..." Avanessa hummed, slurping the meat off the chicken bone leg one after the other. "Tish gud!" she said with a mouthful. Her delicate fingers were covered with soy garlic sauce, as well as smeared her lips with it.

       In no less than a minute, she has already finished gulping five chicken legs out of the bowl. 

       For a slim woman, she eats like a beast.

       Larson has finished his plate long before. Probably out of the bemusing sight before him. Or he had been too tired to eat that he lost his appetite.

       "You gonna eat these?"

       Lars shook his head, in which Avanessa gave a gleeful, ravaging smile.

       "Aight. More for me." She poured the whole contents of the bowl into her plate, and ravaged down on them.

       Like the wild animal that she is.

       He didn't know why he had bothered to watch her finish. Only when she let out a roaring belch did it indicate she was full.

       Lars gave her a tissue paper, in which she gladly wiped her lips with, polishing her bold red lipstick along with.

       "Tell me, Arse," she began after cleaning her hand with more tissue, "what do you think about becoming one of my private chefs in Vanischia? Though your plating and choice of serving dishes need some more refined touches, I believe you're better off than those who climbed the ranks just to cook meals for the Supreme Leader." 

       She had been chugging the whole pitcher of orange juice, gulping down its last contents. "I tell you it's a rare opportunity many would die to take the position for it. I can promise an even finer pay."

       He kept a stale face, lips thin, and eyes too weary to display any expression. "I don't think that's gonna happen any time soon." He yawned. "And first of all, it's Lars."

       She flicked her hand, leaning on the furthest back of the chair. "Eh. Suit yourself. You don't know what you're missing. Must be a tough life living the rest of it in poverty when you're given the chance for something better."

       Lars bent forward. He was never one to be described as tempered. Not even when it is appropriate. It was an emotion he did not intend to touch on, and instead, dealt with certain triggering situations with a calm demeanor and rational thinking.

       But this girl was testing him.

       "Alright, you entitled missy" he calmly said, voice sizzling with venom, "if you're going to stay in my house, you're going to have to follow my rules."

       Avanessa cocked an eyebrow, scoffing. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"

       "If that's how you say it." He kept a level eye with her. "Maybe you're forgetting that I can contact the authorities anytime and say that 'The missing Varischian dictator is in my house.'"

       The flinch in her face indicated he pierced through her shield of ego.

       "I can't let a feral creature go around my territory and make a mess out of everything. Isn't that how you also do it in your country?"

       The young dictator kept a silent glare. Seconds passed, and she bobbed her head back, sighing with her lips jarring. "Fine." She crossed her arms, avoiding his gaze, almost pouting.

       That was enough to calm him down.

       "Good." He stood up and sorted the plates, depositing them on the sink. "First rule: no littering, dirtying, or making any kind of mess inside, outside, and near the house."

       He threw a towel at the table, signaling for her to take it. 

       "You break that, you're responsible for it. Everyone should clean their own dirt. But  since you will be staying for a long time, you will have to help to do the chores, which brings us to the second rule."

       She still hadn't picked up the towel yet. Lars keened his eyes on her, forcing her to pick it up with a roll of her eyes.

       "You will be helping with the housework. Even though you didn't dirty it up, it's still obligatory to clean whatever pollution there is."

       "That sounds a load of bull."

       "It's how a household works." He pulled out another towel from the counter, doing a circular move hovering above the table. "This is how you clean this one. Gather up the scraps with the towel as you wipe it and throw them in the trash."

       Sighing again, she was about to do as he said, when she crinkled her nose down as she looked at the meat and juice-splattered table.

       "This is disgusting!"

       Lars shrugged his shoulder. "Wasn't my mess."

       Internally whining, she put her hand with the towel on the surface of the table and started wiping. Afterward, she tossed the scraps picked by the towel into the trash bin directed by Lars, shaking it to remove it all, and put it on the side of the sink and washed her hands.

       "Good. Though it wasn't in a circular motion, it's still decent enough."

       She gave a disgruntled look, hands on her hips. "Glad that made you happy, fishstink."

       He had almost considered prohibiting the unpleasant name-calling for the third rule but decided against it.

       With a foul mouth running like hers, it may even be harder to apply than prevent it, coming from the certain fact that she had developed that habit throughout her growth. It was not like she was insulting him either, but it does demand a little respect.

***

       Done with the dishes, Lars headed to his room. From the desktop to the bed, all the way from the floor to the fan on the ceiling, everything was speckless to the tip. It's a shame he had to give the comfort of it all for what he hoped would only stretch for a year.

       After taking a relieving shower on their bathroom, the dictator was left with no choice but to wear his old shirt and shorts. Lars imagined she was crinkling her face inwards as she did.

       Not that his clothes stink; he washed the old attires every three weeks, too. But that she was just not used to wearing commoner clothes.

       If she were going to survive living here, she will have to suck up a few adjustments.

       She lay flat on the couch. The remote control in her hand as she flipped channels on the television. "Are you done yet, Lermy?" She called, following a yawn. "I'm not getting any younger here."

       Lips submitting to silence, Lars picked up the pace in grabbing the pillows and blankets in his room that would suffice him a comfy sleep in the living room. While Miss Donyalita would find herself a decent resting place in his personalized quarters.

       "There." He emerged from the room, carrying his sleep necessities. "I've already cleaned it up since this morning."

       Baring another yawn, the dictator stood up and went to her borrowed room, shutting the door and locking it without any more words, cutting Lars off with the presumed request for caution.

       Sooner or later, she might just have flooded his room in the middle of the night while he slept.

       He could only pray that wouldn't happen.

***

       Despite yesterday's events, Lars had a good night rest. It seemed that even the dictator tired herself out that his room and the whole house was still in one piece.

       Avanessa might have been still asleep even at this time--she wasn't answering the door when he knocked.

       The building's hallways were as normal as if the absurdity of yesterday was a forgetabble nightmare. Students milled about the marble tiles, sometimes gathering on the peach walls to conduct friend group discussions he often hears tackling on this town's awaited located festival. The sun beating down on them through the translucent window glass.

       While here he was, walking alone on his way to class, textbooks at hand. It wasn't that he doesn't have friends. He did. Just that he had a more narrowed focus on some things else.

       "Lars!" A voice called on him. Steadying his gaze upfront, it was none other than his one of few active friends.

       "Irene."

       She reached out to hug him, which Lars reciprocated. It has become one of their greeting gestures developed within their circle as the best of friends.

       "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?"

       More like on the hard, thin seat of the sofa.

       "How can you tell?"

        The nosy girl whipped her mid-length hair, a blend of natural dark and chestnut. One of the traits that makes her beautiful aside almost everything about her. "Would you believe me if I told you I'm actually a descendant of a lineage of psychics and witches?

       "Haha." Lars gave a sardonic laugh, but couldn't resist a smile, nonetheless. "No. As I said, you can't contaminate me with your childish fantasies and fairytale enthusiasm, Ire."

       Irene scoffed with a fake disappointment, leading the way as they walked in pair. Her bright smile returns. "Alright, Grumpy. But I'm not giving up."

      Lars rolled his eyes. "When do you not?"

        "Okay, enough with that." She chuckled, brushing away the topic. "So, I've been thinking... Since the weekend is near I've been planning on organizing a study group with..."

       The sunkiss caresses her moving peach lips. He can only assume they were soft in sensation.

       It was a wonder how her Cinnamon skin stood out against the peach vibrance of the environment. Her small ginger eyes shone its brightest at the slightest touch of sunlight.

       From what she looked in her blouse and simple slacks, her radiance could not compare to those pompous cheerleader girls.

       "Um, Lars?"

       "Yes?"

       He had not realized Irene was snapping her out of his muse with her inaudible voice suppressed by the glowing face in front of him. Still staring into her glossy lips.

       Until a terrifyingly recognized holler did the trick.

       "Larry!"

       Aw, mother of--

       The witch actually came to his school!

🏫

       
Don't forget to vote🌟 and comment💬your thoughts. I would love to read and reply to them! 
Your mere support means a lot! Thank you and remember to drink your water😉