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“Right. You asked how people find a place to live. You either turn in paperwork in order to claim a house that is already built or you provide a request to claim a slice of land and build your own. If you want a specific house but don’t want to build it yourself, you can ask for help with construction on the task board.”
The task board is too powerful. It’s a quest board. Like in those isekai shows Alana likes.
Ollie continues, “If you need help with anything, you put it on the board. Faeries love the board.”
I love the board.
The ability to get a shiny new quest whenever you’re feeling somewhat off with whatever you’ve been doing? The ability to know you’re helping out your community? The ability to feel useful without wanting to cry yourself to sleep each night?
It sounds magical. Too magical. I’m still stuck in a state of disbelief.
Tracing a painted flower on my menu with a fingertip, I say, “And this board of various tasks that require various skills doesn’t lead to amateurs accidentally breaking things when they don’t have the right knowledge?”
Ollie’s lips purse. “Usually not. Most seelie fae have a high sense of justice, and especially those beneath Cael’s banner. They aren’t going to take on something and do a poor job of it. That’s a breach of integrity. And breaches of integrity feel icky for…” He blinks. “…ever.” Smiling, he says, “If someone doesn’t know how to do something that they want to do, generally they’ll know everything about it by the end of two days.”
Heavens. I feel that. I feel that more than I think I should. Or maybe, if I belong here and I’ve got this kind of fae crack blood in my veins, I feel that the perfect amount.
Wetting my lips, I ask, “What if it’s not knowledge? What if it’s skill?”
“No one will ever get any better if they don’t try, right?”
He’s not wrong.
Ollie rests his cheek in the palm of his hand. “At least here, we are allowed the grace to fail. It may take time, or energy, but almost everything is fixable. Mistakes are how people learn. Turning them into something to fear stifles a community.” He smiles. “Are you ready to order, beautiful?”
My attention flicks down to the menu and the tiny flower petals I’m still tracing. I’ve barely looked at the text. It’s all blurred together with my thoughts. “I’m struggling to concentrate.”
“Would you like more time or for me to order in your stead?”
I fold my hands together. “Please spare me from needing to make a decision. We could be here for days.”
The corner of his mouth tips into a dimple. Moving to the petal wall that we used to enter this glorious cubby earlier, he slips his hand out and pulls a little pad back inside. The wooden back has been carved into the shape of a leaf, with pale green paper to match, and I wonder if the lovely piece is another case of some faerie wanting to do something…and then this world just…letting them.
Without ridicule.
Were there at least a thousand forms to battle through?
Probably not, right? The way Ollie talks about this system, complexity doesn’t seem to be the goal. The fae can simply rely on the honesty that saturates their entire existence and thrive.
“Can you show me the task board after we eat?” I ask, lost in the idea of it all. The moment I hear my own voice, I regret having spoken.
Great job, Brittny. You asked Ollie to take you on a date, and now you’re asking to go see a quest board? Why don’t you grind slimes together in the woods until you level up, too? Excellent plan. Deeply romantic.
“Sure,” he says without a care in the world. “I’m getting you pasta, like I mentioned earlier. Is that okay?” He glances up off the pad, and I realize the little pen is shaped like a tiny tree branch covered in minuscule white flowers. Another art project. Is it clay? Ceramic? Glass?
It looks like it was so much fun to make.
I drag my fleeing thoughts back into focus. “What?”
“I’m get—”
“Pasta. Right. Yes. I love pasta. You know I love pasta. Amazing stuff.” I fill my lungs with air and clamp my hands together, tighter. “To…clarify, if I want to make pasta one day…I could walk into a restaurant that serves pasta and ask someone to teach me, then just…do it?”
“Yep.” He tucks the little branch pen back in place on the pad, takes my menu, and stacks everything up before setting them outside the tulip petal entrance.
My knee bounces under the table. “And that…and that would suffice as my work, keeping me from being a leech on my fellow citizens?”
“Yes.”
