Submission (#6339) Approved

-Act 2/3
-Bellmoril AP
-Include an adult Mini Requirement (1 of 2) instead of a 4th act [Eln685]
-Adventurer rank mini unlock requirement (include an exploration/adventure outfit and kit)
-For MYO-Eln526
-1174 words

updated!

When Yuriy was younger, he wanted to open up a bakery.

He’s always had a sweet tooth, but baking had been a favorite pass-time of his. The aunties who doted on him as a toddling kittom taking its first steps had given in to his cute, chubby face and taught him everything they knew.

Cupcakes and cake pops quickly became his favorite gift to give to others in the parlor. Back when most residing there actually liked and put up with him, Yuriy was known for showing up with food in paw at any moment.

Sometimes, though, this turned out to be a bad thing. One of his last memories of baking was when he had crafted a small tart in celebration of the Madam’s birthday. She never celebrated it outright, but it was a well known date normally acknowledged with an increase in tips from clients and a perfectly behaved staff.

Yuriy had blended a selection of freshly picked mangoes and peaches for the tart, and topped the pastry off with sliced strawberries. He had to fend off a couple wandering paws, but eventually he was left with a perfect sweet treat.

Placing it in front of her, Yuriy waited until she looked over at him before babbling about the gift.

“I hope you like it!” Yuriy shouted, before letting out a small eep! and repeating the phrase quietly. She seemed to look between the tart and Yuriy for the space of a minute before her expression twisted.

Yuriy won’t forget the look on the Madam’s face for the rest of his life. The tired annoyance, the resentment, the genuine disappointment—

“Won’t you try a bit, mama?” Yuriy asked quietly. This, most likely, was his biggest mistake.

Between one space and the next, she reached out and crushed the pastry in her paw. Bits of fruit and custard dripped out between her fingers. Yuriy’s smile slipped off his face, and he felt a wave of betrayal rising in his chest.

The Madam rose and walked around her ornate desk to stand in front of Yuriy. Grabbing Yuriy’s chin with her clean hand, she forced him to meet her gaze as she shoved the crushed tart into his mouth.

“Have I taught you nothing?” The Madam demanded. “What use is your tongue if you cannot speak properly?”

Yuriy bit back a gag and a cough, and swallowed as much as he could. “I— I’m sorry, mǔqīn.”

The Madam scoffed, then turned back to her work. “Clean that mess up. We don’t have the resources to waste on your little hobby.”

And Yuriy had hurried to obey, struck in a state of what was probably shock.

Nowadays, though, Yuriy has buried those bakery dreams deep below the surface. It’s nothing more than a childish fancy he was once attracted to.

His current dreams consist mostly of becoming a hermit and living off the land; specifically, Yuriy would love to escape to the wild autumn forests of Bellmoril. That’s also where his first actual mission is taking place, and the Madam herself is taking the lead on it.

Their client has a particular soft spot for family. Yuriy supposes this is the only reason why he’s being tasked to accompany the Madam, despite her general unwillingness to admit their familial connection.

They’re currently stationed in a small hotel in Il'durahn where their client lives. The window gives a great view of the beautiful sea of red and orange forest, bleached trunks cresting up and over hills and mountains. The Eldertree looks upon its region with a gentle presence, pure white suffused branches reaching towards the sky.

The buildings around them have a older sense of style, brick walls and ornate roofs spilling onto cobblestone streets.

In his mind he builds a cottage deep in the forests, foraging and harvesting fruits and vegetables. Yuriy imagines himself sharing the home with someone who genuinely cares about him, one who will go on hikes up the nearby mountains and into the surrounding villages. The Eldertree remains an ever-present guardian over them in his fantasy, whimsical and ethereal in its greatness.
The sound of the Madam’s voice pulls him out of his reverie.

“Quit dawdling and get ready,” the Madam commands from behind him. “And don’t pack anything unnecessary.”

“Yes, mǔqīn,” Yuriy murmurs, tearing his gaze away from the window. The Madam pats his cheek, then drags a finger across his neck. The spot shivers as she digs a nail on it. Finally, she lets him go.

Once she’s turned around, Yuriy steals one last glance out the window. Fleeting thoughts of growing old enough to leave the Madam and build a small cabin in the fiery woods dance in his mind before he tucks them away.

Yuriy turns back to his bed. He’s pulling together a generic mission pack and outfit, one that will serve him well while the Madam and himself are out and about.

The first thing to go into the leather bag is a map of the city and surrounding forests. Next is the general handbook guide that the Madam requires all workers of the parlor to learn and memorize. A couple of protein bars and a water flask are deposited in the outermost flaps. One mallet, a coin purse, and three vials of poison are stashed in the secret compartment, and a change of clothing is piled on top.

Yuriy pulls a loose, cotton blouse over his head and a pair of brown gloves over his hands. His pants are thick and contain a wealth of hidden pockets, a belt slipping through the loops and tightening snugly. Yuriy grabs a corseted piece to finish the mission outfit, threading the strings with ease.

Lastly, Yuriy throws a cloak on and drags the bag over his shoulder. Does he look dashing? Yuriy thinks he does, but it’s not like he can ask the Madam.

Speaking of, it seems she’s finished with her preparation as well.

Years of resentment makes it hard to admit, but his mother is genuinely beautiful. She’s got a deadly grace about her that makes it hard to look away, especially when her outfit has been hand tailored to match his for this mission. They almost look like what he imagines a mother and her son would look like if they… if they truly cared for each other.

Or, at least, cared enough to wear matching outfits. Yuriy can almost picture her alongside himself in his dream getaway, baking pastries for her as she works from home.

Then the Madam looks up at him, and he freezes. Without moving, she’s pinned him in place. Yuriy can feel her scrutiny like a physical weight. For all but a second, the Madam’s gaze softens and he almost feels like he’s looking at his mother again.

But she blinks, and the moment is gone.

“It’s time to move out,” the Madam says. “We wouldn’t want to keep our client waiting.”

And so Yuriy packs away the last vestiges of his imaginary future, and follows the Madam out.