“Get to
the point. The ice cream’s melting.”
“I have
some more in the fridge so bear with me. You’re some sort of celestial being,
probably immortal and so on and so forth. Aren’t you supposed to, I don’t know,
dress the part? I mean, aren’t you supposed to descend down to earth and blind
mankind with your utter magnificence and splendour?” She took the spoon out of
her mouth and set it down on the table beside the half empty tub of Rainbow
Paddle Pop. Clearing her throat, she folded her hands and rested her chin upon
them, her sparkling brown eyes piercing mine.
“I don’t
expect you to understand, being a mortal and all but do you even have the
faintest idea on how long it takes to weave a bloody piece of kain songket to
match my stature? Since you’re so interested, why don’t you take a guess.” She
sneered the way only a goddess could. I should be thankful that it didn’t
include any malice.
“Don’t know.
A year? Maybe two?”
“A
YEAR?!” she boomed, ever the one to have a penchant for the dramatic. “A year
to set up the weaving thingy, maybe. Then there’s the appointment of a tailor
that obviously has to be some sort of magical creature. And then the selection
of silk, that takes, what, another two? Oh, of course, can’t forget the motive.
The weaving takes five. Making the cloth shimmer takes ten, hiring mages to
infuse whatever crazy shit they want to bla, bla, bla boring.” She sunk into
her seat and grumbled. “There’s a tailor in the other world under patronage of
our family, she’s supposedly making this outfit for my Mom. She’s been there
for over 80 years. Doing nothing but weaving. Let that fact sink in.” I was
about to interject when all of the sudden, she continued rambling.
“Do you
know how fucking uncomfortable a completely magical set of silk kebaya is? It’s
like being wrapped in foil and then thrown into an oven which happens to be the
god damned planet. Ohh but if we just wear some normal kebaya, it won’t be
special to all you people. It won’t be divine, it won’t move you cunts. We have
to be all full of grace and speak in some bloody ancient dialect and wear
shimmering, shiny clothes that weighs a fucking tonne and only then you
acknowledge us as magical.” She began to mock the people in a hilariously nasal
voice. “Ooh tuan puteri, ooh turun dari kayangan, ooh, ooh, give me a fucking
break.”
I grit
my teeth to prevent the laughter from escaping. I was sure that she wouldn’t
take offense; however, it didn’t seem smart for me to push my luck. Especially
considering the stories about them being very fickle beings.
“Well,
yes, okay, I get it. But really, don’t you have normal clothes? You know, some
that aren’t as magical as the others?” Her attention had already returned to
the tub of dessert, half melted by then; islands of stubborn ice cream floating
in a homogenous sea of what used to be their brethren. She soaked a piece of
bread in the thick liquid and hastily stuffed it into her mouth.
“These
are my normal clothes,” she managed to say before swallowing.
“Really.
An oversized t-shirt and shorts. That’s the normal, everyday clothing for a
princess?” It’s not the strangest thing, I’d say but I enjoyed taunting her.
Yes, there’s a chance that I might get turned into a piece of furniture but
still, I’d take my chances.
“I don’t
understand; what do you expect me to say? Do I have a stash of traditional
clothing that are less magical and splendid? Yes, I do. Do I wear them
occasionally? Yes, when there’s nothing else to wear or I want to feel a bit
pretty and classy. Is it strange that I prefer to wear normal fucking clothes
like the ones I have on right now? No, it is not because there are a lot of
things that I need to do which does not allow me to bloody draw attention to
myself. Draw attention to myself how, you ask? By wearing a fucking kebaya in
the middle of the fucking day, in the middle of the fucking city, maybe.” She
brandished the spoon as a weapon and waved it in front of my face. “Now, do I
need to beat you with this and turn you into a monkey or are you still going to
ask me vaguely insulting questions?”
I
raised my hands in mock defeat and laughed, hoping that it might calm her down.
This was how it had been for the past year, she’d somehow appear in my kitchen
in the middle of the night and then we’d talk about stuff. It freaked me out
the first couple of times but things were better when she’d arrive outside of
the front door. Nowadays she made my home a getaway place and would appear inside
of my house without permission, all of the sudden asking for something to eat
or drink. I got used to it eventually.
“I want
more of this. If there’s one thing you people are good at, it’s making crazy
food,” she said, pushing aside the empty tub of ice cream.
“I
honestly think that you’ve had enough, shit woman, that’s a whole tub.”
“I’ll
have you know that I, Putri Intan Cenderawasih, have cursed a whole village for
much less than being denied food,” she smiled demurely while she said it but it
would have been no different if she had a dagger pressed on my throat. “Let’s
not ruin this nice little arrangement we have here, hmm?”
“That’s
a blatant abuse of power and you know it,” I tried to act as if I was unfazed
but she saw through my act in an instant.
“The
laws of man holds no sway over my power. Now, get me the ice cream.” I decided
to give it one last shot, just to see if I could get away with it.
“Say
please.” She rose from her seat and I could see the swirling hurricane of rage
developing beneath the façade of her smiling face.
“Get me
the fucking ice cream, mortal, and I will spare your family from being feasted
upon by the creatures that lurk in the corner of your darkest nightmares,” she
bellowed and then, somewhat surprisingly, a small squeak appeared at the end. “Please.”
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