Omake Week 2020, Day 5: One of the best things about GrimGrimoire is its great cast of characters. It's easiest, of course, to center stories around characters like Lillet, Amoretta, Bartido, or Margarita, but sometimes the side characters need their moments in the spotlight, too.

~X X X~

The job of a good servant was more than just to follow orders. Rather, one needed to anticipate the needs of one's employer, and see that those needs were met even before the master thought to ask for them. Sometimes, it was even necessary to be able to prepare for several possible options so that when the employer made their choice it could be fulfilled with minimal delay.

Of course, there were idiots who could take the concept too far. From valets and lady's-maids who tried to rule their masters' fashion with an iron fist, to clerks who set their employers' appointment calendars based on prejudices their employers didn't feel, to fanatical knights who rid their sovereigns of a troublesome priest only to find that Church and citizenry alike were ready to rise in open revolt over the affair, there was no end to the zealous fools who went beyond anticipation all the way to decision. Excellence trod a fine line between mere adequacy and arrogant usurpation.

Gaff, the majordomo of Mage Consul Lillet Blan, was a servant of such excellence. He'd been in Lillet's service for a decade and a half, after all, since she'd been an apprentice at the Silver Star Tower and he'd been the elf assigned to housekeeping for her room. He'd taken one look at the weather that morning (one of those bitter early-spring rains where one of winter's last ghosts crept in with a chill that combined with the moist air to bite at the joints), at Amoretta Virgine's schedule (final dress rehearsal before the opening of Winter's Lament at the City Theater), and at Lillet's own (no need to go in to the palace as the Council was out of session) and had concluded that right after breakfast Lillet would vanish into her laboratory, working on some esoteric magical project that three Archmages couldn't puzzle out. He assumed that she'd work right through lunchtime while forgetting to eat (which she had), and therefore would be in need of a pick-me-up if she didn't want to be half-exhausted when Amoretta came home from the theater and their daughter Cressidor was finished with her lessons.

This was where anticipation came in, because Gaff knew that after a full day away from Lillet's presence, her homunculus lover would be in need of comfort and the love that very literally sustained her, while Cress would want to see her mothers and show all the new things she'd learned (and her stories of woe at the effort of all that learning). He also knew that if Lillet was tired from eight straight hours of intense concentration and magical effort, she couldn't give either her lady or their daughter the full attention they deserved and she'd want to provide, and she'd feel bad about that.

Therefore, despite having no standing instructions nor previous orders to do so, Gaff was carrying a tray from the kitchens bearing a hearty cheese sandwich on thick, black ploughman's bread and a mug of cider (out of season, but again, magician) for Lillet's midafternoon snack. He could have sent a maid or footman, but while delivering food was not a job for the head of staff, bearding the Mage Consul in her den (metaphorically speaking; in the actual den there were no hazards and anyone could freely go in without trouble) was definitely no job for an amateur. And nagging Lillet into putting down whatever fascinating piece of magecraft had caught her attention so she could properly take care of herself definitely was the work of someone who had Known Her When.

He trotted down the hall, already planning out what to say. That was the difference between his younger self and the man he was now. The elf boy who'd been assigned to care for Lillet's room just acted on impulse; the young man who cared for her manor had learned to plan, to anticipate.

…Which was when six hundred pounds of wet dog came bounding for him.

"Gah! Shuck! Stay back!"

The giant black barghest jerked to a stop, paws scraping on the floor and catching on the rug. Water dripped off him.

"Let me guess. You didn't want to be toweled off when you came in from the yard?"

Shuck gave a little whimper. His eyes, despite being bright pools of flame, managed to look abashed somehow, a reminder that he was indeed, despite his size and origins, a dog.

"I know Meredith can be clumsy with the towel and tickle you, but we can't have you dripping all over the rugs. And if you even think of shaking yourself off anywhere outside the kitchen entrance foyer, you're going to be in big trouble."

Shuck dipped his head, abashed (and quickly quelling the shake that his trembling haunches had indeed been about to begin). Unfortunately, this caused several beads of water to fall free from the tips of his ears, strike his forehead, and run down his muzzle over the length of his nose.

His very sensitive nose.

A small-breed dog's sneezes are cute. A quarter-ton beast's, not so much. Particularly when one was standing in front of him. Particularly when the specific large breed is a fire-breathing breed.

Gaff coughed several times, clearing the smoke from his windpipe. Lillet Blan being a responsible pet owner, she kept both her staff and her home protected with fire-resistant wards in the event of just such accidents. So Gaff wasn't hurt, the rug hadn't caught flame, and one advantage of being a majordomo was that washing the soot out of his green livery would ultimately be someone else's problem.

The food, on the other hand…

"You know, boy, now that I think of it, you do have a point. On a cold, wet day like this one, grilled cheese and hot mulled cider really would be a better choice."

~X X X~

A/N: Thanks to my wife, Tarma Hartley, who when I was joking about a firebreathing pet sneezing said, "You should turn that into a GrimGrimoire omake." And so I did!