Chapter Text
“Mistress, I know it is not my place to make demands of you, but you must rest-”
“You insufferable slave, I’ll rest when I damn well feel like it!”
Such echoed the words down the corridors of the Hive. In as much as the great, feared Mistress of the Hive was powerful and unrivaled in magical skill, there were some things that magic simply did not have the power to heal. One such thing...were head colds. Capable of healing scratches, cuts, and even mending organs together, but viruses and illnesses remained unfazed at even her most aggressive healing chants. In her head, she imagined that effigies of the sickness scoffed at her magic. “Oh pish posh,” they said. And so, the servants of the Hive found themselves holding the Mistress back, keeping her bedridden.
“Guys, maybe we shouldn’t be keeping her locked up like this...?” One servant meekly offered, simply standing in the doorway twiddling her fingers together.
“Dear, I know you don’t want to anger the Mistress,” another servant started, this one aged and wizened. “However, if she should die, you would have no place to go, would you?”
“I...I guess not, but-”
“Listen to Orja, servants! She has the most sense in her head out of any of you all! Let me be, and-” Qira’s angered yelling was cut off by a short, rasping cough, followed by a series of ones not unlike it. Inwardly, she cursed her throat for being so raw from the cold. A hush fell over the room; her servants did not know the severity of her sickness and so had assumed the worst. Indignantly rubbing her hand over her neck, Qira started to speak again, quieter this time.
“This is an inconvenience at worst, a simple cold. There is no need for such concern. I will say it as clearly as I can: I. Will. Be. Fine.” She shot every servant, save Orja, a dangerous glare. The one she would have given to her was instead redirected to Yansur, who cringed away. “Am I well understood?”
“Yep, we all understand completely!”
A voice that did not belong to any of the dark-cloaked servants rang out in the room, and a gentle breeze coalesced from behind the group. Blue wisps of air carried by this breeze wafted in, swirling into the unmistakable ghostly form of Gale, whose tongue was stuck out towards the enraged Mistress.
“We all understand that you’re a workaholic who can’t deal with the thought of...” She gave a theatrical gasp, hands coming up to her cheeks in an over-exaggerated expression of shock. “...taking a day of rest! Oh, the horror!” Qira’s face contorted, but she didn’t dare speak. Her throat was feeling dry, and if she did she surely would have just lapsed into another coughing fit.
“Don’tcha worry, all of you,” Gale continued. “I know just how to take care of Miss Pouty-face here. You just go back to what you’re doing and let the big girls take care of it! That’s an order~” She punctuated this statement with a wink and a waggle of her finger. It took a few moments for this to sink in with the crowd, but once Yansur scurried away, the rest were decently quick to follow. Orja was the last to go. Only after everyone was securely down the corridors and out of earshot did Qira finally speak again.
“Did you...really need to perform those ridiculous theatrics, you...?”
“Heehee, yup! Just cause I know it peeves you when I do~” Gale turned around to face her Mistress with a little twirl on one ethereal foot.
“Urgh, you can be insufferable when you want to be. You know that, right?”
“Oh, you can’t fool me. I saw you trying to keep down that smile!”
And with that, Qira was rendered speechless. The spirited girl was right; as annoying as these antics could be on a good day, there was something familiar to them that managed to brighten up a poor day in turn. She knew she wasn’t getting out of this one, not without a very persistent ghost following her around and telling her to just go to bed already. With a groan, she shuffled over to the bed, clambering under the covers. Not like I’d had the chance to change out of my nightdress anyways, she idly thought to herself. Gale threw her hands together, smiling. The inimitable wall of work-obsessed stubbornness that was Qira had been subdued- and with a minimum of fuss, too!
“I know you want to make sure the challengers are overseen right, but the servants can do that too, and it’s not like they can’t just wait for a day or two if one does somehow manage to actually clear out all the divisions.”
“It only makes me angrier that you are correct.”
“Yeah, everyone hates admitting that Yansur can do anything right.”
A short giggle was shared between the two, unfortunately sending Qira coughing again.
“I’ll be bringing up Pleiades to watch on you for now, since they’re coming to try the Air division in a little while.”
“Urf. Why not bring up the Psycho while you’re at it. Maybe he can erase the part of my mind that controls the feeling in my sinuses.”
“Heehee! Maybe I will, just for you~”
A pillow was lobbed. It missed horribly. It was then lobbed back, with pinpoint accuracy, landing in the face of an indignant Qira.
“I always was the better archer, y’know!”
“Gale. Shut up and bring the Vanguard here already.”
“Heehee, on it~”
Gale’s form dematerialized with the breeze flowing through the chamber. The air went still as she left. For a few minutes, Qira contemplated of nothing in particular. She simply wanted to keep her mind off of that insufferable scratchy sensation in her throat, gracelessly letting her head fall back against the pillow she didn’t throw, then nearly screaming in exasperation when a particular thought crossed her head.
Colds always take a long time to heal...