Before the early rays of the sun could even pierce the household, the young and eager Alvarez began his daily routine. It was difficult for him, to acclimate to the difference in time zone that the islands of Japan offered. He was accustomed to European routines, and it costed him a few times to get as early as possible. To him, waking up earlier than the rest was imperative; he would be the laughing stock of the house if he didn't woke up. He had to check for the group of maids that lived in the very same house as he did, fearing that their...quirks would offend the young Master.
He was still astonished by his first attempt to wake the young Master Kitayama. He was trained in the elite art of diplomatic awakening, but that day he simply had to run into bad luck. He still remembered the day vividly, when he feared that his master had been possessed by a foul demon, an "oni" as the locals call it. He was shaky all day long, and his faith still shakes whenever the dreaded task was on hand. He made a small custom of at least commending to God before the task, praying an entire cycle of the Lord's Prayer, the Ave Maria, and the Gloria before entering. Which was bizarre, as he wasn't as faithful as his father, who was a devout Catholic who worked with such talent so as to have enough time to visit a Catholic parish at England.
He prepared his clothing as swift as he could, with the rigor that a military soldier would do. He took a good amount of time ironing his clothing with as much care so as not to burn his uniform, and gave special shine to his leather shoes. There was no time for bath like he believed the other maids had; the sun was already rising. He blitzed through the shower without even turning the heater on; his body met with the unforgiving cold water of Tokyo, but his burning desire to serve was hot enough to compensate. So much, that the very bath was steaming from the contact of cold water and burning desire. It was almost as if he actually had turned the heater on...and lo and behold, the heater was already turned on!
"HOOOOOOOOOOSTIAAAAAAAAAAA!" His still flourishing Spanish accent uttered one of the native expletives of the land, making the birds tremble and fly in fear. He exited the room with his body all red, the drips of hot water falling into the wooden floor. His face was all dour, his eyes closed slightly, but his hair was standing defiant to gravity. "That must have been one of the maids. I hope the young Master isn't awake yet. Oh Santa Zita, guard this poor butler's soul and ward his master from the dark demons of sleep!" He invoked the name of St. Zita, the patron saint of butlers, as a precaution.
Seemed that Saint Zita wasn't very comfortable with Alvarez's lip service, as the rays of the sun were already forcing their way into his own room, albeit shielded by the nearby mountains. "I must have taken longer than I expected..." With haste, he took but a moment to fully dress himself, in near-impeccable style. The redness in his face had receded, even though his skin was still ailing from the steaming water, making the act of towel-drying and speed-clothing a veritable torture. As if a knight was arming with his shield, Alvarez swiftly drew from the drawer his weapon of utility; the cleaning cloth. It was specially designed with the main emblem of the family...which really wasn't as the Japanese families had no coat of arms to speak of. He finally agreed to have the emblem of the young Master's samurai ancestor, an act which his master's family took as an insult. Or would, had they came to actually visit. Tightening his vest and opening the door with confidence, he stationed as tight as a soldier would, placed his arm as if saluting an officer, and with steadfast determination he braved forth towards the side room, towards his Master's room.
As he made short steps, almost as if marching, he recited in Spanish the verses of the Lord's Prayer. The drops of sweat poured as if drops of rain, quietly falling into the floor, almost like explosions in the ears of the young butler. Then, the verses of the Ave Maria. The explosions of sweat were accompanied by the symphony of his beating heart, a funeral march if he could imagine. Finally, at the very front of him laid the door of his master; the verses of the Gloria ran swiftly by his lips. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and opened the master's door with trembling hands.
To his relief, the master was yet asleep, perhaps profoundly enough to ignore the sounds of bombing at ground zero. The room was dark, and full of clothing all over the place. The several drops of sweat almost combined into a singular sweatdrop at the side of his temples, with the shame of finding the room as the epicenter of a disaster. Shaking his sweaty face, the drops almost flowing from him as sparkles in slow motion (and swiftly captured by the cloth which he waved around), he sighed at the amounts of work for the day. He dashed all around the room, gathering as many pieces of clothing as he could, moving at speeds which at times could not be glimpsed by human eye. Finally, the smelly clothes of the master were in his possession, wondering how he found the same situation daily. He marched with a sense of pride for the achievement of duty, closing the door with utmost care and traveling through the vast mansion to the south wing, where he would take most of his time just tending to the master's clothes.
A traditionalist by heart, Alvarez took utmost care to clean each and every bit of his master's clothing by hand. His vest and jacket placed aside, with sleeves fold towards him, he began the arduous task of throughly cleaning each piece of clothing from the dust of the streets, the stains of the food, and the sweat and wet dreams of his Young Master. He could feel the maids waking up, moving around the house. His relationship with them was rather dry, for he was quite the overachiever and sought to be very independent in the execution of his work. He thought, even as he tried his best to place the utmost care in leaving the clothing sparkling, of the odd troupe of maids living alongside his Master. He wasn't a long-standing member of the household; in fact, he was a novice, an inexperienced young butler on his first true house experience. He watched them from afar, at the very few moments of leisure and at brief moments at work. He appreciated the maidservice for the food, as he was yet unaware of the effect his mastery of Spanish cuisine, with the large amounts of ham and cured foods, would have on the stomach of his master. He was unaware of how his master would react to the Asturian paella, or to the tapas, or even to the strong-flavored Galician soup he learned from his grandfather. But aside from that, he wasn't very fond of them...or rather not merely fond, but still wasn't comfortable around them. Especially one of them, whose mere presence unnerved him. What that maid had that made his spine chill as if Death passed its hand?
He struck his cheek, reminding himself of his work. By the moment he realized, he was already at his master's underwear, which were left sparkling white. Oddly enough, his master's underwear wasn't white at all! With a foreboding sense of dread looming around, he tried as much as he could to remedy the situation by looking for dye; his trembling hand made a swift mixture of colors until what seemed was the original color appeared. Taking more time than he expected, he began re-dyeing the clothing as swift as he could. At the end, the underwear had regained their color...or at least at a glance. A real good glance, though, but it was eventually evident this wasn't the real color. Again, he made a small prayer to Saint Zita to cover the small mishap.
After placing the young Master's clothing to air-dry, he returned to his master's room, ready to undertake the usual duty of choosing his clothing. Though, it was really usual in context, as it was more of a duty he felt he was the only one to follow, but in reality it seemed that some maid ended beating him up to it every now and then. He puffed his chest with pride, as he believed today he would dress his master with the finest clothing he could find. Today, the young Master would look impeccable.
He opened the door, his eyes closed, his arm upon his chest as if saluting, his cleaning cloth as if presenting his shield. With eager voice, he muttered a hearty salutation:
"Goooooood evening, my young Master!! I expect you to have a fresh and pleasant sleep! What would you desire to wear...!"
When he opened his eyes to meet the eyes of his, in his mind, eagerly awaiting master, he unhinged his jaw in surprise. He shocked at the very sight, and his sense of duty awakened, feeling guilt and anger at the same time. He was ridiculed, played for!!
It seemed one of the maids had already reached the young Master's room. And the sight wasn't so pleasant...
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