My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

Chapter 711: The Dad Talk

To be so ceremoniously reunited only to be so tragically divided the moment right after... my night with Amanda was starting to feel more and more like a modern-day Romeo and Juliet show.

Except maybe less weird, and definitely way, way less dramatic.

Still though, Amanda bemoaned the fact that I was to leave her side again for who knows how long this time. But what could be done about it? Mr. Dad wants a drinking buddy, an opportunity to talk man-to-man, man-to-boyfriend, man-to-homewrecker, or however the hell he sees me as... and what man would I be to deny a man the communal clink of brimming wine glasses?

“Not much of a drinker, to be honest,” I said, heaving a sigh that let my reluctance be made known before walking over and planting myself in the seat across from him. “I’m also driving...”

“Two drinks,” came his ultimatum, raising both his glass and an eyebrow toward me. “Surely, you’ll be able to handle just two, can’t you?”

Silently there, he waited for my answer as if he’s actually given me a choice on the matter. But when I lifted my share, heard the light clink of my drink against his, it sounded only like the dying squeal of my free will.

“To a lasting relationship,” He said, toasting. “May you and Amanda find happiness forevermore.”

.....

Hearing him speak in that tone, and watching him sipping the way he sipped made me almost wish that hereafter this very instant cynicism would be outlawed worldwide.

“Alright, daughter wants in!” Amanda declared, rising up to her feet stiffer than a ruler. “I got dragged along, might as well get rewarded for my efforts.”

Thought I’d been saved, thought maybe my guardian angel Amanda was going to rush in here to my salvation, but she had only whirled around the couch when suddenly a slippery devil called Mrs. Collins suddenly swooped in and clipped her wings, wearing a smile as much mischievous as it was insidious.

“Can’t stop the inevitable, Amanda. Let the boys have their talk. You’ve known your father for how long now, you really think he’ll just let this rest eventually? Why fight it? The sooner you accept this humiliation, the better. Just embrace it. Let them drink.”

Embrace it, accept it, the sly devil whispered her deceptions with calculated persuasion that even I was wholeheartedly convinced that she spoke only the truest truth.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Daddy dearest reassured her with all the love and tenderness of a cold hard stare turned directly at me. “It’s just a drink.”

“A drink? You barely can even last half a glass, Dad,” was Amanda’s futile attempt at resistance... before unceremoniously crumbling in defeat and begrudgingly turning away in surrender. “Fine, fine, have it your way! I’m going to take a bath, get changed-the cold going out has made me feel very icky.”

And as she marched briskly out of sight, I couldn’t help but feel the deflating sensation of disappointment shriveling up inside me. I actually really liked the sweater she had on tonight, how her hair was styled... really wish I could have enjoyed it a whole lot more.

“And I’ll suppose I’ll go out and get some fresh air for a while,” Mrs. Collins said, whirling around behind her husband and pickpocketing a carton of cigarettes from his suit, her kindly gaze meeting mine juxtaposing the man before me’s not-as-kindly one. “You boys have a fun time, okay?”

Eventually, we were finally left alone lingering in a very still quiet. One I tried to stamp away with the occasional sip and the tappity-tap of my knuckles against the table.

I remember not too long ago when my taste buds were unfamiliar with the searing sour taste of fermented grape juice... and now I think I’ve drunk enough alcoholic beverages these past two days than I’ve had in my entire lifetime.

Is this what having an active social life is like? How do people still even have livers...

“Good wine, right?” He asked me out of the blue, swirling his drink in hand in a soft swivel. “The dryness, the acidity, and paired with the right kind fish... really nothing like it.”

I went through multiple times deconstructing and deciphering his words in my head-alas, I’ve no clue how he wanted me to respond to that.

“I wouldn’t really know about that,” I confessed. “Wine’s not exactly my specialty.”

“No? So tell me then, what is your specialty? Do you have any? Any at all?”

“I make...” a pause, I hesitated. ” I make very good coffee. Have a lot of people say my coffee’s the best they ever had.”

“Not a fan of coffee.”

I blinked, I did my best not to blink a second time. “Okay...”

“Amanda showed me a video of you earlier while we were gone...” He said, and there I went blinking my second and third consecutively. “You ride a horse pretty well... like a natural, in fact...”

A video of me? Even more bewildering, a video of me riding on a horse? Since when was I filmed on a-? Oh yeah... that convention was a long while back... I almost forgot it was streamed for the whole world to see.

“Amanda showed you that?”

“On a topic about your good points,” He explained. “And she claims there’s irrefutable proof of yours... and since I’m the type who has to see it to believe it... let’s just say I believe her.”

I think I oughta be glad, but more than anything, I was kinda mortified. If Amanda had shown him the part of me racing, then surely she has also shown him other things too.

“Not as well as a swordsman, though...” He said. “But you seem to pack one hell of a punch. You’ve been in fights often?”

There it is. Of course she showed my bouts in the arena in all its scuffed, tacky glory caught in native 4k.

“No, actually, I prefer words to fists whenever I’m backed up against a wall. Higher chance of me walking away with my nose intact that way.”

“So I’ve heard... and seen too,” He paused and sipped away again. “Before your fight with that boy Nick, the things you’ve said about my daughter, about why you fight for her. I heard it all.”

I need a window, where’s a window? Only gravity’s sweet embrace can rid me of this embarrassment I’m feeling right now.

“She has that clip of you saying all those things as a shortcut on her home screen in case you aren’t aware.”

“Flattering...” I muttered, gulping down a bigger swig and hoping he’d confused the redness in my face for the wine. “Mr. Collins... is there maybe something you’re trying to say here?”

“Do you love my daughter?”

“Huh-?” I heard him loud and clear, but the bluntness of the question had me going deaf in the ears. “Of course, I love your...”

“Why?”

Again, his bluntness had me reeling.

“Why?” I repeated in the form of a chuckle, feeling more bemused than anything. “Is this... is this a test or something? Are you testing me?”

“It’s a question,” He simply replied. “Answer the question.”

If Mrs. Collins was the good cop, then Daddy Collins over here was most definitely the bad cop of the pair. His tone, his mannerisms, how he always had both hands set firmly across the table... I could almost feel the blinding glare of a lamp shining in my eyes, and the hard metal cuffs grinding against my bare skin.

No biggie though, I’ve already went through this line of questioning with Mrs. Good Cop a while back. I’ll just repeat everything I said.

“Well,” I slowly began. “I love your daughter because she makes me feel-”

“I don’t want to know how she makes you feel,” He interjected. “I just want to know the why, the objective why, alright?”

Or maybe Mr. Bad cop requires a vastly different approach instead, because of course, why wouldn’t he?

“Is it her looks?” He pressed further. “Do you like her because you think she’s pretty?”

“Uh...” I considered my response very carefully here. “It’s a contributing factor.”

“Then what’s the highest contributor? Is it her notoriety? Her smarts? Personality? Sense of humor? Likes, dislikes? Which is it? What aspect about her did you fall in love with first?”

“So this is a test.”

“A question,” He repeated. “Answer it.”

Silence again. Tense, suffocating silence. Made it only even more deafening with the sound of a running shower in the distance... and that was basically my mind right then, a heavy stream of thoughts pouring down with only brief seconds of time to regard each one with.

Highest contributing factor, he’s asking me. Well, if I had to pick just one, then I guess I have to go with...

“Her laugh.”

Mr. Collins narrowed his lips. “Her laugh?”

“Yeah, she’s got quite the laugh,” I affirmed, nodding. “I remember... I remember when she first introduced herself to me the first time we met in our old apartment place. I just moved in, only recently gotten done unpacking everything, then out of nowhere she knocked on my door and presented me with an entire cake. Out of complete surprise and confusion, I blurted out how much I owed her for it, and in response... she just laughed.

“Honestly, I don’t remember what the cake tasted like or what flavor it even was supposed to be. But to this moment, I can still remember her laugh. How her eyes light up, or how she’d sway to one side as she slowly regains her composure, then there’s that faint smile lingering on her face afterward... really, how do you forget something like that?”

When I had finished giving my reason and also my reason for reasoning, Mr. Collins continued to remain steadfast in his blank reaction. “I see...” He responded, and drank again.

Try as I might, I could not figure out what exactly he was trying to get out of me by asking all these sorts of questions. But for the time being, seeing his first glass still only halfway depleted, seems I’m going to be here answering for a little while longer.

With a quiet gasp, and a small steadying cough, Mr. Collins fixed his expression from a squint, before leaning himself a little closer forward.

“You have friends?”

“I have some friends, yes. Shocking, I know.”

“What kind of friends?” He continued this bizarre line of questioning. “Acquaintances? Close friends?”

“A bit of both, I guess?”

“A bit of both,” He softly muttered. “Then, how about Ash? She’s a friend to you, isn’t she?”

I jumped, fainted, screamed and yelled... all kinds of impulses and urges I reenacted inside my mind. He knows her. How the hell does he know about her?

Then I remembered again, like a brick of ice slamming down my head-the convention footage.

I swallowed, gulping down a lump that appeared in my throat. “Amanda showed...?”

“You said a lot of things about this Ash girl too,” He said, unblinking eyes boring a hole through mine. “About how she means a lot to you, how you mean a lot to her... and how she, only she, belongs only to you.”

The sounds of rushing water stopped, leaving now only the stiff sound of silence well on its own.

“So tell me then,” Mr. Collins frowned at me, the first sliver of emotion he’s shown to me... dripping with cynicism. “Just how close of a friend is this Ash person to you?”