My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

"In." 

Peaches and roses. 

I could feel my lungs begin to swell full with these sweet pleasant scents the moment I clambered into Amanda's car; the smell of sweet, soothing serenity… just very nearly potent enough to make one forget about what awaited in the drive ahead. 

"Already dressed for your part, I see," Amanda noted, eyeing me wholly without a regard for tact or subtlety. "I'll crash. Distractions are dangerous, you know." 

"Then don't stare," I advised, settling into the passenger seat. "Think you can manage that?"

"Do you think I can manage that?" She repeated the question with dubious intent. 

She jokes, she smiles, her expression radiating with that shimmer of joy I adore so much so. But I knew better than to see only what she showed. We're driving down this road together, after all. So despite the dangers it may pose, distractions were just what were needed in abundance.

"Guess we'll see," I said, promptly buckling my seat belt and taking another whiff. 

Jokes and smiles. Peaches and roses. 

After putting on a playlist for the road, Amanda set us off on our journey set to the orchestral remix of Asteria's theme song which only sounded all the more delightful as she enthusiastically hummed along to the melody, her fingers dancing atop the steering wheel keeping perfectly to the pounding rhythm with a faint little thunk every now and then as a silvery band around her ring finger interjected into the medley.

I noticed she had her hair all fixed up already—the usual waves and ripple of long ample blonde hemmed into a single braid of bright gold. Her eyebrows were a little darker too, fuller even. There was also a rosy flush to her cheeks, a glossy shimmer on her lips. Just little things here and there that revamped her natural beauty into something a bit more otherworldly. 

She definitely looked the part, except for… 

"Is that my shirt?" 

Amanda was wearing a Transformers shirt. I could recognize the spots where wear and tear had taken its toll, scattered little holes, ones she apparently had taken the time and effort to sew every single one close.

I distinctly remember Dad gifting the shirt to me some time ago, seemingly under the impression that I was still somehow eight years old and Bumblebee was all I lived and breathed. 

There he was now—his metallic mug plastered all across the shirt, his eyes bulging and stretched thin, doing their best to accommodate the many extra centimeters of Amanda's chest. 

Lucky metal bastard.

"I think the sooner you understand what transfer of ownership means, the better for the both of us," Amanda said to me. "Unless you wanna have this conversation each time I wear something new that was yours." 

"Was?"

"Yes, was," she battered her eyes. "Something wrong?" 

"I'm just saying—like, you don't see me swiping your dresses for myself, do you?" 

"Well, yeah, because you know that will never be a fair trade. You wouldn't look as cute as me wearing mine as I am wearing yours," she said simply, arching up a brow. "Am I wrong?" 

I glanced at Bumblebee again, his newly 'transformed' self so hard to deny, and I was left with nothing to offer but a silent begrudging admission of defeat, of agreement.

"No." 

"Then, just enjoy the mutualism," she said, beaming. "I know I am." 

After a while, we entered into busier intersections; the jerk and stop of congested traffic increasing at a dull and mind-numbing rate. In a span of two minutes minute, we've probably moved about two cars worth of gravel and asphalt… the same time it would have taken me and my pair of legs to have walked the entire block. 

I miss my bike. 

"So, what is up with your bike anyway?" Amanda asked, eyes forward at the eternally red traffic light and thinking the same thing I was. "Did you puncture a tire? Any news on it yet?" 

"None too hopeful," I said. "Place I sent it to—they said they haven't figured out the problem just yet. Still working on it."

"Definitely doesn't sound like a punctured tire," Amanda leaned onto her steering wheel, contemplating. "Nope. Nothing here. Can't think of anything. Unless, well, you did buy the bike second hand, right?" 

"Fairest deal I could find."

"Then, maybe it's just that," she said, shrugging her shoulders and tilting herself back upright. "Maybe it's just old." 

Like a creepy crawly creature of thought, the photo of my disemboweled bike crept its way into my mind. So many different parts scattered and scrutinized and yet not a single piece visibly out of order. 

Old, huh? 

"Mmm," I murmured in agreement. "Maybe."

"And then there's the matter of today's shoot," Amanda said, shifting gears immediately at the first glimpse of green. "You did finish reading the script I gave you on Sunday, right?" 

As if I could forget that behemoth of a PDF. The scene we were shooting was definitely a big one, with the biggest ensemble of cast members out of all the shoots we've done. 

Starring Leon as Leonardo, Amanda as Tressa Yar. Hayley as Maltrisar the Elf. Amelia as Qredrar the Elidna, Me as the Chester Krester himself, and last but not least, Celine playing Terestra the VIle. 

I know. Celine who, am I right? 

From what I've been told, Celine was the lucky gal who finally scored the elusive role of Terestra that had been left unfulfilled all this time. And now that we've found a face and voice to our main antagonist there was no better moment than now to see her perform in the limelight. 

All things considered, it was a fairly straightforward scene. 

Leonardo, upon learning of the portal home and its relation to the First Divine, began seeking Tressa out in hopes of reactivating the portal, and together with his merry band of less-than-friends, started making their way to her… only to then stumble upon more than they bargained for. 

"It's a good scene," I said. "Except for, well, y'know…" 

"Hmm?"

Amanda whirled around blankly at me. Is she being serious right now?

"You know how you all have lines?" I asked.

"Yes." 

"Noticed how I don't have any?" I said, exhaling hard. "Again?" 

"You never needed them." 

"Because nobody wrote them!" I exclaimed. "I can't keep improvising forever, y'know?" 

"Well, the Director said that's part of the charm of your character, sets you miles apart from the rest—watching you adlib your way through the story. And frankly, I agree. You act better when you're free." 

Seeing the sincere admiration she held for me twinkling in her eyes kinda fizzled the rest of the complaints I had back down my throat. No point complaining, I guess. Life is just one big ad-lib performance anyway. 

I took my phone out of one of Chester's many suit pockets. Since we're still quite a ways from our destination, I decided to do some last-minute skim through of the script again, feeling my heart sink more and more seeing all the instances of Chester having to speak but also having nothing to say. 

So many. Too many. 

Then on the very last page of this accursed script, sat all the cast members' photos and info. 

There's Leon and his Prince Charming grin. Amanda, as breathtaking in portrait as she was lifesize. Hayley, smiling sweetly like the vicious Elf she was. Amelia's scowl sending shivers down my spine and with the dreadful wonder of whether the photographer even made it out alive. I'm next, no comment. And then, finally… 

"Y'know, she looks nothing like my mother," I said, tilting my phone to Amanda at another eternal red light. "Just putting that out there. My two cents." 

"Yeah, I know," Amanda said, chuckling, finding amusement at the many discrepancies. "Your Mom's taller, skinnier. Her eyes are a lot sharper too. A little scary the way she looks at you—something you must have inherited." 

"I get that a lot." 

"At any rate, Celine doesn't need to look like her exactly, okay?" she said. "It doesn't matter how different she looks so long as she manages to act just like her."

I stared at Celine's photo again. Indeed, her eyes were rounder here. A lot younger too. I'm aware I'm nitpicking, I know, but… even the way she smiles felt all wrong. 

"So, does she?" I asked, turning again toward Amanda. "Can she?" 

Amanda's grin began to stiffen. 

"Well," she said, a sudden edge in her happy tone. "Why don't we have your mother be the judge of that?" 

And just like that, the elephant was protruding out of the backseat, pulling everything down with its immense weight. 

"How are you feeling?" I asked her after a moment of silence.

"Paranoid," she admitted, the smile stuck on her expression in an almost deranged fashion. "I don't know how I'm supposed to act, what to say, what's wrong, what's right… or what they'll think." 

"Well, if you really wanna know—they're feeling pretty grateful," I told her, trying to assure her. "Being allowed on set, my mother's quite excited. So you got that going for you." 

"Mmm…" was all I heard back, making her sentiments pretty vague. 

"How'd you do it anyway?" I asked. "Knowing the Director, I didn't think he'd like family staring by the sidelines. Was honestly sure he'd say no." 

"I asked," Amanda answered simply, somberly. "And I couldn't take 'no' for an answer. Simple as that. And you're right—he really wasn't happy about it." 

"And yet you got him to comply anyway." 

"What's the alternative? A 'No'? To your family?" Amanda fluttered her eyelids, gripping the steering wheel tight. "Like I said, I couldn't afford to take 'no' for an answer, could I now?" 

Well… she wasn't wrong there.