The Selection (Troyler AU)

♔Part X♔

Troye POV

A hand shook me roughly awake, rousing me from my sleep. "What?" I groaned, turning over to see who came into my room, since not many people had access to it whenever they pleased.

Before I even opened my eyes, a familiar voice grunted out in a rush,"Get up, Troye, we have to make the breakfast for the Selected right now."

With that, I sprung out of bed, as if I'd been electrocuted on the spot. "Shit," I muttered, vaguely noticing Connor shoot me a warning glance over my language, but ignored him as I rushed to grab a random combination of clothes for the day. I had the sweater, pants, and shoes gathered into my hands when I remembered that he was still standing there in my room. I glared at him pointedly. "What are you still doing here?" I hissed, while tearing my sleeping shirt off, and tossing it on the ground.

He brought his hands up in a placating gesture. "Calm down, I'm just making sure you didn't pass out before I left." He chuckled, and promptly turned to leave me to my privacy.

Shaking my head at his retreating back, I rushed forward and threw the door ( which he forgot to close ) shut, and spent the next two minutes hastily throwing my clothes on in a somewhat respectable manner, and putting my hair up in the usual quiff before practically leaping out the door to get to the kitchen.

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4:30.

That's what time it was, when I arrived at the kitchen to make breakfast for the Ladies.

Once I got there, everyone inside was already working, scrubbing pots and pans clean or moving boxes through to do other duties or tossing food around in sizzling pans. Almost all of Connor's group of Servants were there, excluding Connor himself, and a couple other stragglers that must've been in the same late boat as I was. As much as I felt bad for the late people, most likely being woken up just now, I just wished they'd hurry up and bring their asses in here; I wanted to lessen my workload as much as possible, and cooking for a grand total of thirty-eight people was one was to tax a person in the early hours of the morning.

Following my routine as of late, I immediately went over to Caspar, simply saying,"Cleaning silverware."

"Eggs and French toast," he replied easily, with a small, satisfied smile at our now normal exchanges. Ever since we switched jobs that one day a week or so ago, it's become a pattern of us to trade tasks, since it was the most convenient situation for us personally: I'm the better cook, and Caspar's the better cleaner. At first, we simply looked at our jobs, and asked the other if we wanted to switch, but since it became a daily ritual, now we just say what the other person has to do. It's a good system for us, really. Always cutting our workload nearly in half.

I nodded to him, eased by the almost monotonous task, yet intimidated by the fact that I had to cook for so many people and still manage to keep it all warm. They weren't eating until almost 7:00, for God's sakes. But I suppose that if the entire kitchen staff has to cook the rest of the food as well - bacon, sausage, potatoes, etc. - then I guess it has to be synchronized to be finished altogether by the time the girls are ready.

I grabbed the eggs first, silently grateful that I could use it for both the French toast and the actual eggs, and set to work for the toast first, since it took a lot more time. As I cracked a few of the eggs into a small bowl, Caspar sidled up next to me, scrubbing at the dirty silverware in the nearby sink. "So," he asked, starting a casual conversation, as he's come to doing whenever he was bored,"Did you bring dinner to one of the girls last night, too?"

I nodded, while reaching for the bread from the old-fashioned breadbox above the cupboard. "Yeah. I met Lady Bethany Mota. She seemed nice, I guess," I told him indifferently. She did seem nice, but she had an intimidating air about her that put me off. Something about her screamed radiating power, contradicting her rather dainty and girlish personality.