My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

Chapter 932 Pleasant Shocks

Derrick was as aloof a driver as he was a talker, that is to say, he was barely ever even present for either. 

Just me giving directions, as he, in turn, turned toward them. And I'd clutch onto my seat and hold on for dear life. 

If I had known I'd be riding shotgun with a man that takes red lights as mere two-cent suggestions, shooting past them whenever he's run out of his three collective seconds of patience… yeah… I'd rather be walking… rather the chance of spraining my ankle than spraining my freaking neck. 

But too late now. There was absolutely no way out of this lovely gesture of goodwill. Especially not at the speed we were going, clocking in at fifteen traffic violations per hour. 

And counting.

"Want one?" He asked, shaking a carton of cigarettes at me, one hand on the wheel. "You look like you need it." 

Gee, I wonder what gave him that idea. 

"Nah, I'm good," I said, declining. "Don't smoke." 

Derrick went ahead and lit himself a piece, and I could feel the ethereal heart of my soul drop into the incorporeal chasm of my soul's stomach when I saw him take both hands off the steering wheel to light his piece of manufactured serotonin. 

Man's gonna kill me. One way or another. I just know it.

"So… your boss," I spoke up, desperately trying to cling onto something with some ground to the reality I once knew and cherished. "...he was nice. Does he always go above and beyond like this?" 

"Dad," He corrected, tapping his ashes onto a mountain of soot inside the cupholder. "And, yeah, he's good, nice. You'll get used to it." 

"You're his son?" I asked, surprised. They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but, damn, this apple rolled far down the hill. "So it's a family business?" 

"Third generation, that's me, yes—left turn here? Yes?" He said, coming to a junction with no signs of slowing for an answer. I affirmed, he turned, and inertia went and had its way with me as we spun around the bend. "My dad got the place from my grand-uncle when he died. I help out in the shop sometimes, but I'm mostly out doing commissions for regulars while he handles everything else. You know, you look very familiar to me. Just saying." 

Derrick said everything he said in the same unfluctuating monotonous tone, and barely with any room to breathe between sentences, it took me a moment to realize that he had even said what he just said. 

I turned toward him, giving him more than just the usual dubious, life-in-peril glances. 

"Funny you should say that. Feeling's mutual," I told him. "Hm, you don't stop for a cup of coffee on your way to work, do you?" 

"I make my own," he muttered, cigarette flapping with his lips as he eyed me with deep scrutiny. "Seriously, I know I know you. Fuck, what did you say your name was again?" 

"I'm—"

"Wait, hold that," something dawned on him then, and he shifted in his seat as well as the way he looked at me. "Hold that pose. Okay, now can you pretend you're pissed at me? Look at me mad, make me shit myself, alright? Go." 

I didn't question it. I learned quite some time ago you learn shit faster if you just do as you're told. I give Amanda all the credit for that. For better or for worse.

"Here," I scrunched my brows, dropped my gaze and I pretended I was back in the cinema with Amanda last Sunday, and a swarm of high-schoolers seated in the front row in an unbroken queue of bad manners and phone flashes. "Good enough?"

A smile slowly began sneaking onto Derrick's lips, and he began to nod, slowly, and then, eventually, fervently, realizing and recognizing something I still didn't. Not yet at least.

"Well, well, fucking well," Derrick said, smothering his cigarette against the billion scorch marks on the dashboard, and for the first time, I saw his foot push all the way down on the brake pedal before the glow of a stoplight, his awe painted in a bright, deep red. "The Big Man of House Playboy as I live and breathe. What an honor this is—shit." 

And precisely after that was when I made my own startling realization. I knew I recognized that lax face, that sloth-like slouch, and especially that whiff of rancid nicotine in his breath. I did know Derrick.

After all, it was he who tended to my wounds once upon a time… in an arena, in a convention, a long time ago… and he couldn't really do that without the both of us being up close and personal with each other's discerning features. 

"You were one of the staff back then," I muttered just as awe-stricken. "When I was in the competition, you answered my questions, patched me up, right? Sucked at it too." 

"Wasn't in the damn job description when I took it," He said, sniggering a little. "You're lucky I even fucking bothered. But wow—can you believe this? The highlight of that boring-ass convention. Didn't think I'd see you again, Sir Playboy."

I winced a little, trying to pass it off with a smile. "I don't think I like being called that." 

"No? Then why'd you knighted yourself as that? Not to mention, you snag both prizes. That hot elf-lady, the superstar Amanda Collins. What are you if not the biggest playboy in town? Hey, they still keep in touch with you? Still hang with them? That's your prize, right? Your reward. If they still do, I ain't calling you anything else. Sorry, Playboy." 

Derrick came at me with so many full stops and question marks, that I didn't even know what the hell to pick apart first. And in the end, I couldn't refute him at all. In a way, accounting for all his claims, nothing he said was wrong. He was right. I was the biggest playboy in town. 

My own dazzling, glittering crown to bear. Yay. 

After we had discovered each other's hidden identity, Derrick opened up drastically. He remained laid-back and aloof, but with an air that felt much more approachable. We talked. Mainly about the convention. I mean it was the only thing we had in common at the moment. 

I made a fan out of him after my display of valor at the arena. He liked that I could not only talk shit but also be able to back it up with a pair of fists. Which was a far cry from his more ambivalent assessment during the whole affair. 

"First time I've ever seen Leon eat shit," He said with a twinkling gaze harkening back to a time long past. "Never gonna forget that. Beautiful uppercut. Did you know you actually left him with a bruise on his chin for a week? Amazing…" 

The way he went on about it. Sounded almost like he had a vendetta against the Golden Prince Charming, or maybe just for dashing hunks in general. 

"My pleasure," I said, bowing humbly. "Glad you enjoyed the show." 

"Made the whole damn shift worth it," he said, still dewy-eyed. "Luckily, that big fella Nick dropped out when he did. Otherwise, you'd have probably eaten shit too." 

"Mm…" I raised my head. "...eh, debatable." 

But, alas, time flies by when your driver's been tamed and you no longer have to fear for your life, and before we knew it, we were on the last stretch of road to home.

Derrick pulled up just before the driveway, and I dropped down to the pavement, waving goodbye from the passenger-side window that was permanently stuck open. 

"Welp, it was real nice seeing you again, Sir Playboy," He said, saluting, another lit cigarette tucked between his fingers. "See you around, alright?" 

"Yeah, hopefully with a better name too," I said. "And there is a better one you can use, y'know?"

"Nah," Derrick declined, hands on the wheel and the truck roaring with a start. "Playboy's nice." 

He drove off, a cloud of smog as noxious as his breath trailing behind him. Well, then, that was quite the unexpected encounter, and all things considered, I wouldn't say it was unpleasant. Derrick seemed cool enough. A competent driver, at the very least. I mean, hey, he got me home in one piece, didn't he? 

Pretty much all I could have asked for, honestly. 

When I reached my porch, walked the rickety steps up toward the front door, for some reason, I just stopped. Everything I was doing, everything I was thinking, I pushed the brakes on all of it. 

Something… felt off. Maybe not exactly off, but… different in a way. It wasn't just gut feeling, or a hunch, or some secret sixth sense. Staring at the front door of my house, I just knew something was different. 

And then, without any of my input, the door swung open, and a figure stood prominently before my very eyes. 

Shorter than me, thinner than me, and most unfortunately, much louder than me too. 

"You're late!" The figure crossed her arms, glaring up at me with her piercing blue eyes, balancing on tiptoes trying to close the gap. "Don't think I don't hear you stomping like a giant out there? Ash said you're supposed to be home an hour and a half ago! Just who the hell do you think you are wasting our precious time?" 

I felt myself being blown a couple of steps back, from the shock, from the shouting, from the everything, and especially from her. Standing there under the doorway so haughtily, bathed in the scent and sight of nostalgia, of home. 

"You look surprised," she remarked bluntly. "Why? Why the surprise? You've seen me a million times before, Big Bro. I'm not worth that kind of look on your face. Don't make it weird." 

"Sammy," I said, pausing to gape at her. "What are you doing here?" 

"What am I—?" Sammy closed her eyes, her eyebrows sinking heavily in a sharp slant. "Seriously… Mom!" she suddenly shouted, tossing her head into the house and stomping off inside. "Get over here, won't you?! Your son's a freaking idiot and I'm not dealing with this!" 

"Wait, Mom's also—?" 

I didn't need to finish the thought, the question. Almost at once, the answer emerged slowly from within. There she was, shorter than me, thinner than me, taking Sammy's place on the otherside of the door, and exuding that same sense of nostalgia even more strongly than before. 

Before anything else, I noticed her smile. 

That loving, gentle expression that seemed forever etched, never changing in the slightest. Next was her hair, that braided bundle of light hazel draped loosely over her shoulder the same way as Sammy's. After that, her eyes, so much like mine, a perfect mirror match, peering into my own. Then, of course, came everything else… illuminated in the warmth and light of the bright afternoon sun. 

"Try and excuse your sister, won't you?" she said to me. "She's just upset you weren't here yet when we drop by to surprise you. Then when you're still not here when you're actually supposed to... well... she missed you, you know? " 

"Missed me?" I was reeling, blinking. "Surprise me?" 

"And surprise you are, indeed, it seems," Mom nodded, beaming wide and lovingly, ruffling the hair on my head, in that one brief moment when she felt a lot taller than I could ever grow up to be. "Happy Birthday, Dear."