This is for the Meira Date for the Wayfort.
Before you know it, you've made a full round of the Wayfort, and a pair of maids come up to you with a pair of mugs that you recognize to be from Rumie's. The two are clearly not taking this seriously, giggling, tittering and just about outright spilling the drinks as they come up to you with a tray between them. "A drink for you and your date, Lord Braunson? You've been doing a lot of walking and talking... aren't you just a bit thirsty by now?" Instinct strikes you and your hand pauses midway to the mug, but you tell yourself that's silly. Poison in the cup is for the heir, not the spare, and you're far, far away from anytime where this might ever matter. That an old reflex that you thought long-buried might surface, though... maybe you really are coming into your own as lord of the Wayfort. You lift both drinks off the tray, then present one to Miera, who accepts it with a smug smirk. "Must be nice, having maids wait on you hand and foot. Hmm, I could get used to this." Just to be clear, they're here to keep the place in order, not to serve her every whim. Having so large a place means there's a lot of cleaning up to be done, and hence as many hands necessary for it. "Which is why they wear those absolutely tantalizing outfits while on the job?" No reason why they can't look good while about it — gives them a sense of purpose and boosts morale to boot. But she doesn't seem to understand your point here, which is she's not the boss of them, you are.
Meira is misspelled as Miera.
Before you know it, you've made a full round of the Wayfort, and a pair of maids come up to you with a pair of mugs that you recognize to be from Rumie's. The two are clearly not taking this seriously, giggling, tittering and just about outright spilling the drinks as they come up to you with a tray between them. "A drink for you and your date, Lord Braunson? You've been doing a lot of walking and talking... aren't you just a bit thirsty by now?" Instinct strikes you and your hand pauses midway to the mug, but you tell yourself that's silly. Poison in the cup is for the heir, not the spare, and you're far, far away from anytime where this might ever matter. That an old reflex that you thought long-buried might surface, though... maybe you really are coming into your own as lord of the Wayfort. You lift both drinks off the tray, then present one to Miera, who accepts it with a smug smirk. "Must be nice, having maids wait on you hand and foot. Hmm, I could get used to this." Just to be clear, they're here to keep the place in order, not to serve her every whim. Having so large a place means there's a lot of cleaning up to be done, and hence as many hands necessary for it. "Which is why they wear those absolutely tantalizing outfits while on the job?" No reason why they can't look good while about it — gives them a sense of purpose and boosts morale to boot. But she doesn't seem to understand your point here, which is she's not the boss of them, you are.
Meira is misspelled as Miera.