Amber dragged Judge through the hall of their mansion all the way to the ground floor with the determination of a woman on a mission. Judge, on the other hand, was very much on a mission to stay still and contemplate his life choices.
"Where are we going?" Judge groaned. He was in no mood to put up a resistance. But he really needed a nice little bath now — he had been rolling around and getting bruised all over, he just hoped nothing had happened to his face. His face was important. His face was an asset.
"Out," Amber said so casually, as if that was all the explanation necessary.
"Out?" Judge repeated, his noble instincts tingling with unease. "What? ... I mean, don't we... like, need permission and things? And I really need a bath."
"Bath is easy," Amber waved her hands, and suddenly, all the sweat and dirt vanished as if it had never existed. The bruises, however, remained, bleeding out whatever dignity he had left.
"H-What?" Judge was dumbfounded. His sister had learned to clean. Now that was some nice character development. His only regret was that he couldn't say that out loud.
"Hehe," Amber grinned smugly, flicking her hand like she had just performed the greatest magic trick known to mankind. "I got something useful from Sera. This is a more sophisticated way compared to standard enchanted lint rollers."
Sera was her personal maid, a woman so efficient that if efficiency had a face, it would probably be hers. But Lediya took the first place in cooking, her Worrak steak was always the best, and he even got a new favorite dish — Smoked Worrak brisket.
"Good for you," Judge scoffed, brushing off the fact that his sister had just cleaned him up nicely, as if he felt it somehow offending. "That doesn't change the fact that we need permission."
"That's where things get interesting," Amber said as she yanked him along faster. "You don't need permission to go out... Unless, of course, you are leaving the city, which we are not."
"I have a feeling we might end up leaving the city," Judge muttered, half-skeptical, half-joking.
Both of them navigated the maze-like halls of the Drakonis mansion as if they had personally designed the place, dodging the occasional servant, dodging furniture that probably cost more than a small village, and making a beeline for the exit.
Finally, they arrived at the grand front door — closed shut, as it was only opened for special occasions or events. Instead, they took one of the side doors, which was the normal way in and out of the house when one wasn't trying to make an entrance fit for royalty.
Stepping outside, they were immediately greeted by the sight of the Drakonis garden, which by all means must have been made only a short walk to the gate.
But when it came to flaunting wealth, the Drakonis family had gone above and beyond. The garden was so unnecessarily vast that it had different sections based on themes — there was the "Regal Rose Retreat," the "Serene Lilac Sanctuary," and even a completely pointless maze where guests could get lost in luxury.
Judge sighed as they began their long, extravagant trek through what was essentially a museum of expensive plants. "You know, a normal noble family would have just had a nice, modest garden."
Amber smirked. "Normal noble families don't have our budget."
By the time they finally made it past the last gold-trimmed hedgerow and out into the city of Wistmere, Judge was beginning to think they should have taken a horse. Or a carriage. Or hired a group of people to carry them on a velvet throne.
"Alright," Amber declared as she adjusted the black wide-brimmed hat she had put on to disguise herself. "Time to shop."
Judge groaned. "You say that like it's a battle."
"Oh, it is," she said, eyes gleaming with the thrill of impending financial devastation.
Wistmere was the beating heart of commerce, and today, it was Judge and Amber's personal shopping paradise.
Their first stop was an exclusive boutique that boasted the latest in enchanted fashion. The moment they stepped inside, the shopkeeper, upon recognizing their noble status, nearly tripped over himself in an effort to impress them.
He never knew they were of the Drakonis house, but they were just children of some wealthy family he could get a huge business from, Of course, he had to serve them his best if he needed to get better sales in the future.
He presented an array of self-adjusting cloaks, self-warming gloves, and boots that guaranteed the perfect fit. Amber, unimpressed by standard luxury, demanded something custom.
The shopkeeper, nearly hyperventilating at the promise of such a lucrative order, vowed to craft a one-of-a-kind ensemble by the end of the week. Judge, meanwhile, stood to the side, idly wondering if he needed self-warming gloves when his hands were already covered in bruises.
But just as they were about to exit, he decided he did not have to worry about spending. He bout the gloves just to cover his bruises.
From there, they moved to a high-end jewelry store. Amber, exuding the aura of someone who already owned half the city, selected a necklace out of sheer spite — the shopkeeper had hesitated before showing it to her, which was, apparently, an unforgivable offense.
Judge examined a ring with a gemstone so unnecessarily large that he briefly considered its viability as a blunt weapon.
In the end, Amber left with enough jewelry to make a jewelry merchant envious, and Judge left with a single ring (Yes the blunt weapon one, it was not practical — but anything can be a weapon if used well).
"You should at least look the part of someone with money," Amber had said, forcing the purchase upon him.
By the time they reached a tailor renowned for bespoke suits, Judge had accepted his fate. Amber declared his wardrobe 'pitiful' and demanded an immediate upgrade. He was poked, prodded, measured, and swathed in expensive fabrics before he could protest.
The tailor promised a set of ensembles that would make him look 'appropriately devastating,' though Judge wasn't sure whether that meant in fashion or in sheer financial burden. But his sister somehow nodded in approval, smiling together with the shopkeeper.
He could not brush off the fact that he was being made fun of, but what was the problem? Was there something on his face?
Then came the cafes. One in particular caught Amber's eye, mostly because it had the audacity to claim it served 'The Most Exquisite Tea in Wistmere.' Naturally, she ordered the most expensive tea available. Judge, by sheer obligation, did the same.
When the tea arrived, its scent alone was refined enough to make them question their seating posture. Judge took a sip, contemplated, and deadpanned, "Tastes like leaves."
Amber gasped. "Of course, it tastes like leaves! It's tea! But it's expensive leaves!"
Their pastries, more artwork than food, were demolished in record time as they discussed flavor notes with all the authority of self-proclaimed culinary critics.
Next was the high-end perfume shop, where Amber sniffed her way through an entire wall of fragrances while insisting Judge pick one. He selected the mildest option, only for Amber to wrinkle her nose and replace it with something so strong it practically announced his presence before he even entered a room.
Now smelling like the embodiment of sandalwood and Patchouli essence, Judge trailed behind Amber as she declared they should 'see more of the city.'
Finally, they indulged in a stop at a rare antique shop, where they examined relics from past ages. Amber acquired a ridiculously ornate fan —' just in case she ever needed to dramatically conceal half her face while judging someone' — while Judge picked up a pocket watch that supposedly told fortunes, though it mostly just told him he was late to everything.
At last, after an exhausting spree of excess, they began making their way home.
"I know a shortcut!" Amber announced brightly.
Judge immediately stopped walking. "Define shortcut."
"It's faster," she said with unwavering confidence.
It was not faster. It was, in fact, a disaster.
Because the moment they turned into a secluded alleyway, they found themselves smack in the middle of a very lively, very aggressive gang fight between some men who looked like they were coming from a twelve hour shift from a coal mine.
Judge exhaled slowly. "I jinxed it, Didn't I."
There were fists flying, bodies crashing into crates, and at least three people holding broken bottles in a way that suggested they had no idea how weapons were actually supposed to work.
One guy even had a frying pan. Why did he have a frying pan?
The fight screeched to a halt as both sides noticed the two impeccably dressed nobles standing at the entrance of the alley.
Silence fell. Eyes darted toward them. Someone coughed.
Judge blinked. "Amber."
Amber slowly turned to him. "Yes?"
"Is this what you meant by shortcut?"
She cleared her throat. "...Maybe."
A gang member with a black eye cracked his knuckles. "You two lost?"
Judge smiled. "No, actually, we were just leaving."
The frying pan guy took a menacing step forward. "Oh, I don't think you are."
Judge sighed, looking at his sister. "Amber."
"Never pick the shortcut again."