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Princess Maker 1.5: pep!pep!
[ When you insert the key and open the door, you'll find yourself in a humble cottage, in what seems to be the living room specifically. There are several doors, but a specific one catches your eye: simple in its decoration, the door has a cute little wooden plaque with flowers carved into it. Though the door is closed, you can see through it—as if it's somewhat transparent.
A wooden cradle sits in the room beyond, which is otherwise plain. Inside, a baby sleeps peacefully. When she stirs, calling for her parent, you, her nursemaid, are there instead, to cradle her back to sleep. ]
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[ Slowly, the scene changes, fading in and out with various silent scenes—the baby coos pleasantly, giggling jovially when you (presumably) make faces at her; she tries to pick herself up and falls over, but she does not cry; a disagreement between you and her lead to a thoughtful discussion; the young girl carries a large laundry basket to do chores; she buys a pet dog, looking so proud for having earned the money all by herself; then the wall becomes opaque. ]
[ In the middle of the open doorway, a young girl the age of 11 stands, smiling at you. A stern-looking shepherd dog sits obediently next to her.
This is your little girl. You tried your best to rear her, and she's been good to you. You know she is capable of anything if she puts her mind to it—even becoming a princess. But you also know it's not easy to become a princess—she'll have to work hard, and she's capable of it but she'll need a guiding hand, you know. Better she become a princess than go off to war, though—better that she bear the burden of aristocracy than living a life of loneliness wrapped up in duty like her mother, or losing that life on the battlefield like her father. Whether she actually becomes a princess or not . . . well, that's up to fate, isn't it? Fortunately, when she goes to the Lost Continent, she won't be alone: you, as her longtime caretaker (her third parent, really, or her first, if you consider how her family's left her care entirely to you), may accompany her to her new school. You'll be her ally, her support, her greatest weapon; you'll be the one who determines her success . . . or her failure. ]
[ Of course, you're not the only one that thinks your charge can do it: Shira, one of the Queens of your Kingdom, hand-selected your employer's child. She doesn't have a child of her own to send—or rather, to be more accurate, her children are much more interested in local philanthropy than going to the Lost Continent, and besides that, you hear that Emi is against their children going overseas in the first place. Still, Shira can sponsor someone to go to the Lost Continent, so she chooses your employer's family; it seems your charge is a distant relative of her own family, after all. It's because of her that your charge will be able to go at all—in other words, it's your patriotic duty to make sure your charge gets that inheritance. ]
A wooden cradle sits in the room beyond, which is otherwise plain. Inside, a baby sleeps peacefully. When she stirs, calling for her parent, you, her nursemaid, are there instead, to cradle her back to sleep. ]
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[ Slowly, the scene changes, fading in and out with various silent scenes—the baby coos pleasantly, giggling jovially when you (presumably) make faces at her; she tries to pick herself up and falls over, but she does not cry; a disagreement between you and her lead to a thoughtful discussion; the young girl carries a large laundry basket to do chores; she buys a pet dog, looking so proud for having earned the money all by herself; then the wall becomes opaque. ]
[ In the middle of the open doorway, a young girl the age of 11 stands, smiling at you. A stern-looking shepherd dog sits obediently next to her.
This is your little girl. You tried your best to rear her, and she's been good to you. You know she is capable of anything if she puts her mind to it—even becoming a princess. But you also know it's not easy to become a princess—she'll have to work hard, and she's capable of it but she'll need a guiding hand, you know. Better she become a princess than go off to war, though—better that she bear the burden of aristocracy than living a life of loneliness wrapped up in duty like her mother, or losing that life on the battlefield like her father. Whether she actually becomes a princess or not . . . well, that's up to fate, isn't it? Fortunately, when she goes to the Lost Continent, she won't be alone: you, as her longtime caretaker (her third parent, really, or her first, if you consider how her family's left her care entirely to you), may accompany her to her new school. You'll be her ally, her support, her greatest weapon; you'll be the one who determines her success . . . or her failure. ]
[ Of course, you're not the only one that thinks your charge can do it: Shira, one of the Queens of your Kingdom, hand-selected your employer's child. She doesn't have a child of her own to send—or rather, to be more accurate, her children are much more interested in local philanthropy than going to the Lost Continent, and besides that, you hear that Emi is against their children going overseas in the first place. Still, Shira can sponsor someone to go to the Lost Continent, so she chooses your employer's family; it seems your charge is a distant relative of her own family, after all. It's because of her that your charge will be able to go at all—in other words, it's your patriotic duty to make sure your charge gets that inheritance. ]
CLASS DILEMMA
There's a collection of girls at the top of the food chain, born and bred aristocracy. Below them are the technical nobles—girls from knight families that have titles and lands but not really any prestige beyond the battlefield to speak of. Then there are the philanthropy projects: commoner girls who somehow managed to get into the school despite their lack of pedigree.
Not even halfway through the semester do you enter the classroom to see that the place is absolutely destroyed. The desks have been turned over, the chalkboards have been broken, the windows have been smashed, the doors have been split in two . . . and moreover, everything made of gold, silver, and jewels—the ornaments on the windows, the hanging plates that indicated which classroom this was—have been stolen.
You're not certain who did it, but there are rumors that the commoner, with her barbaric friends, are responsible. In fact, several girls would say that they witnessed her and her friends, and one has threatened to have the girl deported.
Your charge is deeply confused. She doesn't know what to do.
What should you do?
DECISION
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Second, we would like to speak with our charge about the situation. Was she involved? Does she know more about the situation developing? How does she feel regarding it? We would also like to speak with the teacher in order to ascertain their understanding of the situation, not to reprimand, only to see what they see developing in the classroom such as it is.
Third, we would advise her to speak with the girl that is alleged to have done the damage. She seems to be bearing a great burden in a school such as this, so we want to be certain she is not struggling too much alone. If they could make friends, that would be an excellent outcome.
Finally, we will instruct our charge to be kind and gracious to those of the aristocratic class. There is nothing gained from making enemies of them, and we have no proof that they were involved at all. It is better, as one as has said, to not stick our noses in something that we are not involved in.
Re: DECISION
Your charge wasn't involved—she honestly doesn't know anything, though to be honest, she's kind of shaken up about it. She hears the nobles are really trying to cover this up. . .
As for the teacher, well, they're not angry, just disappointed. Of course a commoner would do something like this—but then, since there's no real evidence, there's no way she could get deported. It's all just hearsay.
Your charge tries to approach the commoner, but she only screams in her face and runs away. . .
Your charge does, however, lift her head and try her best to be kind and gracious. She stays out of the aristocrats' hair.
Your child's temperament is Fair.
DISCUSSION
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Should we talk to her teacher? They shouldn't be looking the other way about this, either.
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Would you be able to stay your hand if someone wrecked chaos in our lobby?
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So, what, she gonna defend the girl and call on the rest of 'em as liars? Based on what? Or is she gonna believe everything they say and join in on mobbing her?
Either way ain't fair.
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Asides, ain't this some swankish school what probably charged a fortune in admission? Let 'em hire their own detective.
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