I'll admit it, I was not terribly comfortable in the room the Master had given me to rethink my actions. That was likely because said room consisted of a glowing pink ball that continued to shrink smaller and smaller until 'Spike' rolled over with a snort and the Master realized he was only napping.
In retrospect, the oven may not have been the best location for keeping him warm. The fireplace would have been much better since I could have added more logs.
But, all things considered, the week wound up fairly well.
'Spike' and I have a kind of understanding going. We're both the Master's 'helpers'... as Spike puts it... and we're both a bit too resilient to kill each other outright, so we're at a kind of mutually non-violent alliance for the time being.
Which works out for me since the little engine of calamity is a pretty good cook and if all else fails, he knows the Master wants me alive.
That being said, the Master has decided that the orange sweat-stink's assessment was correct... so she's attempting to punish me into being a better minion. Her 'lessons' involve long periods of sitting still, not burning things, and pretending that her make-believe 'guests' aren't all plotting her imminent death.
Spike keeps smiling and brought us little chalices for offerings, but when I threw felfire into the cup, he yelled and put it out.
He put out felfire. Not even going to attempt to figure that one out. Stuff burns like a nun at a candlelight vigil after 'sampling' 30 bottles of communion wine, and he just snuffed it out.
But then he went and taunted me with this little speech about being 'good company.' The Master nodded the whole time.
He's better at sucking up than I am.
Anyway, the Master calls it "etiquette."
I'm supposed to sit still and 'be good'... listen to mindless whining and act interested about whatever her imaginary 'guest' is talking about. I'm supposed to offer them..... tea.... and ask if they want any 'sugar' and pull out their seats for them and answer the door and....well, it's not as bad as Marfritz got with polishing his master's belt sander with his face, but it's pretty bad.
The Master keeps 'correcting' me, giving me these little glances when she sees me reaching for the knives, sniffing softly when she saw me trying to heat the tea with molten lead, even going so far as to clearing her throat when she saw me idly cutting little notches into the chair legs to make them break.
She says I have a ways to go, but she's not giving up on me.
Oh, she calls them 'etiquette' and despite the horrible nature of the lessons, I'm starting to wonder if she's testing me again.
Well, obviously she's testing me. She's crazy and she loves tests. But it happened while I was idly practicing my 'interested face' while Spike was lecturing me on table manners... the moment where I understood so very clearly what she had been trying to beat into my head with the doily-clad mace of 'polite conversation.'
I was wondering just what she hoped to gain by getting me to be 'polite' and 'helpful' and 'friendly' with potential threats that happen to waltz into her sanctum.
And there it was, right in front of me the whole time! The Master is brilliant. The Master is devious. The Master is evil beyond Gul'dan and his little uprising or even Mal'ganis and his vicious magics. Oh yes... the Master is truly wicked... and when I figured it out, everything became so much easier.
I pulled out the chair and smiled up at her.
I hopped off into the kitchen and brought out the teapot while keeping it warm in my fiery grip.
I sat at the table and listened for hours as she related her, simply riveting, trip to the market for a bag of carrots, all while seated atop my tiny tower of etiquette books.
Oh yes, I even helped Spike do the dishes... though that worked less well, given that my methods of drying them seem poorly suited to wooden tableware.
But at the end of the day, the Master was positively beaming at me and told me that it had been a rough start, but that I was making great progress.
And then she went to bed and left me to prepare for guests tomorrow.
I had smiled. After all, I had figured it out.
The Master needs me to lull them into a state of comfort. I'll open doors, help them get seated, engage in polite banter and conversation, stroking their egos and lowering their defenses. They'll ease into a lazy stagnation and I'll offer them tea and cookies, offering to take their hats and coats. Oh yes, I'll laugh at their jokes and fetch them small trinkets to appease their appetites.
I will be, for all intents and purposes, a good little butler.
And they'll never see it coming when the poison hits from the tea. They'll never realize as I lock their weapons and armor away. They'll sputter and choke as the cookies turn to bitter ash in their mouths, silencing their spellcasting. They'll writhe as the Master descends from above, a grim specter of wrath, only to spare them all a wicked smile and instruct me to bring them to the holding cells before lighting the sacrificial fires.
Oh yes. I see where the Master's lessons go. She's preparing me to enslave more minions.
And Spike probably never figured it out, so she's training me.
My Master is evil, and I love it.
Today is a wonderful, terrible, gloriously agonizing day.
Today, the Master is having 'guests' over.
We started the day with a three hour refresher on etiquette and manners, good behavior, and the difference between helping someone and springing traps meant to maim and kill. I'll admit I don't recall the last one from any of the books, but the Master assures me it was in some of the earlier editions and was simply assumed in the ones we had gone over.
I'm pretty sure she's just seeing if I'll argue with her since I was required to copy down the tables of contents in triplicate for all 26 volumes of the guides we had gone over.
Regardless, the table has been set, the meal prepared, the lair, ~parlor~, swept, and all the incriminating evidence disposed of or hidden behind false panels in the lower bookcase shelves. So far, I've only found the one, but I'm sure there are more hidden around the place.
I was even reminded of my contractual obligation to "not be naughty" as the Master decided to give me a 'bath' in the upstairs washroom.
... A full basin of sudsy water, not even boiling, and I was alternately scrubbed and drowned for nearly half an hour until the Master was confident that I was no longer a flight risk. She called it "filthy," but I think we all know what she meant. The look she gave me only confirmed it as I floated in that little pink glow of hers: a smile.
I got the message. Today was a preliminary assessment of the new help. I was to follow the plan, to the letter, and let her or Spike handle any situations that came up.
And if I didn't... she'd likely not even heat the water next time, or worse yet, line my 'bed' with fluffy pillows or give me a pastel blanket or something equally threatening.
Don't think that's a threat? Have you ever seen a dragonhide boot be mistaken for a washrag or a spring loaded bear trap attacked by wild wolves? Of course not! No one is blind enough to try cleaning up flesh-eating fungal spores with a boot and no predator is ever going to mistake a bear trap for a delicately swaddled morsel of a one night stand.
Oh no, I know how warlocks think. Nothing is safe or soft or comfortable unless its a deception of the most agonizing kind. Stitchface gave a little orphaned gnome a stuffed teddy once... never even asked why before hugging it tight and crying into its felt for comfort. Heh.... little thing started really crying a few seconds later - shrieking really - when the fire ants started swarming.
So no, I'm not planning anything at all for today. Just a simple little bit of recon. I tiny bit of observation. A teensey little pinch of brown nosing.
And a staggering pile of contingencies for when it all inevitably goes up in flames.
...
The Master's gonna love it!