Jour 3 On se fait moi-même
Guilde To the Manor Born

Laura arrivait la première pour vérifier que tout était prêt.  À 7h30, les lumières tamisées du salon  Instant Zen  étaient déjà allumées, l'huile de massage à la lavande chauffait doucement, et les serviettes en bambou formaient des pyramides parfaites. Laura était une perfectionniste maladive. Pour elle, un massage relaxant ne commençait pas sur la table, mais dès le premier coup d'œil du client.

Le problème, c'est que Laura ne s'arrêtait jamais. Depuis trois jours, elle enchaînait les soins, gérait les stocks et nettoyait les cabines sans prendre une seule pause, pas même pour s'asseoir cinq minutes. Ses collègues, inquiets de la voir s'épuiser, avaient décidé qu'aujourd'hui, les choses allaient changer.

Le plan de l'équipe

À 10h, entre deux rendez-vous, l'équipe passe à l'action.  Qu'avaient-ils fait?

D'abord, un des masseurs a coupé discrètement le disjoncteur principal de la zone de repos. Le salon fut plongé dans un pénombre total, coupant la musique d'ambiance et les fontaines d'eau. Prise de court, Laura s'immobilisa dans le couloir. C'est à ce moment précis que sa collègue Émilie surgit de la cuisine, une tasse en céramique fumante à la main.

"Tiens, Laura, attrape!" C'est bouillant! » lance Émilie en lui tendant la tasse.

Prise de court, Laura saisit le récipient brûlant à deux mains.  Comment avaient-ils réussi à la faire s'arrêter, même un instant ?  En combinant l'obscurité et cette tisane si chaude qu'il était impossible de faire un pas sans s'ébouillanter. Pour ne rien renverser sur le parquet, Laura n'eut d'autre choix que de poser ses fesses sur le premier fauteuil disponible. Elle soupira, piegée, et savoura malgré elle une minute de calme obligatoire. Le disjoncteur fut relevé, mais la consigne était claire : interdiction de se lever avant d'avoir fini la tasse.

La ruse de Laura

C'était mal connaître Laura.  Et quelle ruse avait-elle trouvée pour retourner au travail ?

Fixant sa tasse de camomille fumante qui allait mettre au moins dix minutes à refroidir, elle visualise la Cabine 4 qui attendait d'être rangée. Elle plongea alors son regard dans celui, suspect, de ses collègues qui la surveillaient comme du lait sur le feu.
Soudain, Laura porte la tasse à ses lèvres, fait une grimace de douleur théâtrale et s'exclama :
« Oh non ! Je viens de me brûler la langue ! Il me faut de la glace, vite ! "
Dans la panique, Émilie courut vers le congélateur de l'office. Profitant de cette seconde d'inattention, Laura versa la moitié de la tisane brûlante dans le pot d'un grand ficus décoratif juste à côté de son fauteuil. Quand Émilie revint avec un glaçon, Laura affichait un sourire angélique, brandissant sa tasse complètement vide.

"Ah, le froid a aidé, et j'ai réussi à tout boire d'un coup pour ne pas gâcher ! Allez, hop, au travail, le client de 10h15 vient d'arriver ! "

Avant que quiconque ne puisse vérifier la terre suspectement humide du ficus, Laura avait déjà enfilé sa blouse et guidait son prochain client vers la table de massage, l'esprit serein et l'énergie retrouvée.
Merci 🥰

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Mamie code 667a2c

🌷🐻 BLOSSOM SPRING SALON: EVERYTHING ELSE FIRST

🌸 PROLOGUE — FIVE MINUTES

There are certain sentences in life that should immediately concern you.

“I can explain.”

“This probably isn’t haunted.”

“John, don’t be mad.”

And apparently:

“I’m only going inside for five minutes.”

Laura said that last one.

I wrote it down.

Not because I doubted her.

Because I have met Laura.

The Blossom Spring Salon sat at the edge of the Mystery House grounds in a little glass conservatory we had somehow never noticed before, which, frankly, was already suspicious.

Everything on these grounds is suspicious.

You do not simply discover a pastel-pink salon tucked behind a wall of flowering hedges and assume it arrived through conventional zoning procedures.

Especially when the hedges had been bare ten minutes earlier.

I mentioned this.

John said, “Seasonal landscaping.”

I wrote JOHN CONTINUES TO RESIST EVIDENCE in my handy-dandy journal.

DeNae looked over my shoulder.

“You know someday he’s going to steal that thing.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

John, walking behind us, said, “I’m considering it.”

The salon itself looked like spring had exploded and hired an interior decorator.

Flowers climbed painted trellises. Glass jars filled with rose petals lined the windows. Little gold mirrors reflected chandeliers made of crystal blossoms.

And hanging above the front door was a sign:

BLOSSOM SPRING SALON
PREPARING FOR THE FAREWELL WINTER FESTIVAL

Julie immediately admired the organization.

Lala immediately asked whether they did emergency personality treatments.

DeNae said, “For you?”

“No. John.”

John kept walking.

Rowan Sparkle Goblin rode on Oksana’s shoulder in a tiny embroidered waistcoat, shedding a trail of glitter that Oksana pretended not to notice.

Oksana had brought us here for what she called “a routine Guild observation.”

I have learned that Oksana only uses the word routine when she knows something horrible, magical, ridiculous, or all three is about to happen.

Laura, meanwhile, had one objective.

Pick up a gift for a friend.

Five minutes.

She actually held up five fingers.

“I am not getting involved in anything.”

At that exact moment, a salon employee rushed past carrying six boxes, three scarves and what appeared to be half a mannequin.

Laura watched her.

Her eyes narrowed.

I looked at DeNae.

DeNae looked at me.

Julie quietly checked her watch.

Five minutes later, Laura was reassuring a crying customer.

Ten minutes after that, she had found somebody’s missing appointment book.

Twenty minutes later, she was helping an employee reorganize a supply cabinet.

Forty minutes later, she discovered nobody had ordered half the necessities for the spring celebration.

At exactly one hour and seven minutes, Laura stood in the center of the salon holding a cup of coffee that had gone cold sometime during the previous geological era.

She looked around at everyone.

“Let’s agree right now,” she said. “I’m not saving anyone here.”

The employees exchanged glances.

DeNae opened her snack bag.

“We’re staying.”

I opened my journal.

DAY ONE.

Above us, reflected in one of the mirrors, I saw three tiny fairies sitting on a curtain rod.

One of them winked at me.

I knew it.

This was absolutely going to get weird.

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Tara 🇺🇸 031cde
Guild: Double D’s

👠 DAY ONE — THE EMERGENCY SHOE DEPARTMENT

From DeNae’s Perspective

I knew we weren’t leaving when Laura said, “I’m only going inside for five minutes.”

Tara apparently needed an entire journal entry to reach this conclusion.

I needed Laura’s face.

Five minutes into the Blossom Spring Salon, I had already located the restroom, the coffee, the emergency exits, the snack situation, and three employees who had clearly forgotten lunch.

Then we found Maribel.

She was supposed to open the Farewell Winter festival.

Instead, she was sitting in a salon chair staring at a pair of four-inch silver heels as though they had personally betrayed her family.

She stood.

She took three steps.

Her face changed.

“Oh no,” I said.

Laura folded her arms.

“She bought the shoes.”

“Yes.”

“She chose the shoes.”

“Yes.”

“She is an adult.”

“Yes.”

Laura stared at me.

I stared back.

Then I opened my bag.

“Bandages are in the side pocket.”

Laura sighed.

Tara immediately began writing something.

“Do not encourage her,” I said.

“I’m documenting history.”

“You’re documenting footwear.”

“Same thing sometimes.”

Laura was already on the floor examining Maribel’s heel.

Of course she was.

Twenty minutes later, Laura had found soft pearl slingbacks. Julie was attaching tiny flowers to them. Maribel was beginning to look hopeful again.

And I noticed something nobody else had.

Her dress had pale pink embroidery.

The shoes had pale pink blossoms.

Her hair had absolutely nothing.

Unacceptable.

I found a length of blush-colored silk ribbon in the salon supply cabinet, tied it around Maribel’s ponytail, and stepped back.

“There.”

Maribel looked in the mirror.

Her whole face softened.

Laura pointed toward her reflection.

“That woman opens the festival.”

I smiled.

Then I noticed Tara staring at Maribel’s feet.

The slippers had flashed gold.

Just for a second.

Tara’s mouth dropped open.

John said, “Reflection.”

Tara spun around.

“The chandelier is pink!”

I reached into my bag and handed her a granola bar.

“Eat something before you investigate the footwear.”

She took it automatically.

Laura checked her watch.

“Wonderful. Now I’m definitely leaving.”

Something crashed in the back room.

Laura closed her eyes.

I looked at my watch.

Then at the salon.

Then at the six people who had not eaten lunch.

I opened my bag again.

“Well,” I said. “I’m going to need more snacks.”

And that was how I accidentally became head of logistics for a salon I did not work at.

By the end of Day One, I had learned three things:

Laura was not leaving.

The shoes were probably magical.

And if this festival lasted five days, I was going to need a spreadsheet.

Отредактировано DeNae (2026-09-19 05:22:35)

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DeNae 🇺🇸 67b526

Guild: Tagalong

🧴 DAY TWO — THE INVENTORY IS NOT POSSESSED

From DeNae’s Perspective

By Day Two, I had accepted three things.

Laura was not leaving.

Tara was going to investigate every jar with a star on it.

And apparently I now worked here.

The pantry looked like a floral explosion had been hit by a smaller, more expensive floral explosion. Six antique boxes had fallen off a shelf, and porcelain jars were everywhere.

Moonlit Majesty.

Empress of Roses.

Venus Awakening.

Divine Complexion of Eternal Youth.

Lala picked that one up.

“How eternal?”

“Put it down,” I said.

Julie took it from her.

“Absolutely not.”

See? Teamwork.

Laura found the ruined instruction sheet. Half of it was covered in oil, which left us with extremely useful guidance such as:

Apply sparingly. Effects may—

And:

—until midnight.

Perfect.

Nothing inspires confidence like instructions that end immediately before the important part.

Tara was delighted.

“This is absolutely magical.”

John said, “It is absolutely old.”

Rowan sneezed glitter.

Tara pointed at him.

“Witness.”

I opened the first box and started counting.

Because while Tara was conducting what she called magical surveillance, somebody needed to know whether we had fourteen jars of mysterious face cream or forty.

Seven minutes later, I had a system.

Julie sorted everything into categories.

Laura worked with Nina, the poor employee who looked about two minutes away from crying.

John read ingredients with a magnifying glass.

I labeled shelves, counted stock, made a list of what had been opened, and created a separate section titled:

DO NOT LET LALA TOUCH THIS.

Lala read the sign.

“That feels personal.”

“It is.”

Then Laura found the little ivory jar.

Golden stars.

GODDESS CREAM.

Tara practically levitated.

“Oh, we are trying that.”

Laura said no.

Tara said stars were evidence.

John made a noise.

I ignored all of them and wrote 1 — Goddess Cream, unopened on my inventory sheet.

That lasted approximately thirty seconds.

Laura tested a tiny amount.

Nothing happened.

Then Nina looked at her and blurted, “Laura, you really are wonderful for helping.”

Everybody stopped.

I smiled.

“That’s sweet.”

Then I heard myself add:

“And Tara is surprisingly competent when she focuses on one thing for more than four minutes.”

I froze.

Tara gasped.

“GODDESS CREAM.”

I covered my mouth.

“Oh, no.”

Then the salon lost its mind.

People started complimenting everyone.

John had reassuring eyebrows.

Julie apparently looked capable of reorganizing a national government.

Lala had an extremely expressive face.

Tara had magnificent hair.

Somebody told me I made chaos look organized.

I appreciated that one.

Then Tara turned toward John with the expression of a woman who had just been handed unlimited legal authority.

“You admire my tiara.”

“No.”

“You enjoy my theories.”

“No.”

“You think aliens are statistically plausible.”

John fought it.

He really did.

Then finally:

“The tiara is… well constructed.”

Tara screamed.

I wrote GODDESS CREAM — ACTIVE. DO NOT OPEN NEAR TARA AND JOHN TOGETHER on my sheet.

When Julie finally locked the jar inside a glass cabinet, the salon went quiet.

Completely quiet.

I looked at Tara.

Her tiara was crooked.

“Tara, your crown is ridiculous.”

She smiled.

“Nature is healing.”

I finished labeling the last shelf and stepped back.

Every jar had a category.

Every category had a count.

Every open product had a date.

Anything suspicious had a red tag.

Anything magical had two.

Laura looked over the shelves.

“You did all this?”

“Someone had to.”

Nina stared at the pantry like it had transformed into a different room.

“I can actually find things now.”

That stopped me for a second.

Because that was the thing nobody noticed about organization.

It wasn’t really about shelves.

It was about making sure the person standing in front of them didn’t feel lost.

I handed Nina my inventory sheet.

“Keep it updated and you’ll never have to guess what you have again.”

She smiled.

Then I added:

“And if anything starts glowing, move it to the bottom shelf and call Tara.”

Tara looked offended.

“Why the bottom shelf?”

“So you can’t reach it without thinking first.”

John laughed.

I considered that a successful day.

By closing time, I had learned two more things:

Magic should always be labeled.

And apparently the most dangerous thing in the Blossom Spring Salon was not enchanted cream.

It was enchanted cream within ten feet of Tara.

Отредактировано DeNae (2026-09-19 05:46:24)

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DeNae 🇺🇸 67b526

Guild: Tagalong

💆 DAY THREE — HELPER FOR THE HELPER

From DeNae’s Perspective

Once Laura was safely occupied with her massage, I had one thought:

Good. Now maybe I can fix everything she’s been fixing.

Not because she had done it wrong.

Because she had been doing all of it.

That was the problem.

I took her clipboard, went straight to the front desk, and started asking questions nobody had apparently had time to ask.

Who had eaten?

Who had taken a break?

Who was covering Nina while she restocked?

Who knew where the extra festival programs were?

Why were three people scheduled for lunch at the same time?

And, most importantly, why was there one lonely sandwich sitting untouched beside the register?

Nina pointed at it.

“That’s mine.”

I stared at her.

“When did you make it?”

“This morning.”

It was nearly two.

I handed it to her.

“Sit.”

She gave me the exact same expression Laura had given everyone ten minutes earlier.

Interesting.

“No.”

“Nina.”

“I have things to do.”

I folded my arms.

Across the salon, Julie noticed.

Then Tara noticed.

Then John.

I could actually feel the universe enjoying itself.

I pointed toward the chair.

“You watched us put Laura on a massage table for this exact reason.”

Nina sighed.

“This feels hypocritical.”

“Correct. Sit down anyway.”

While she ate, I rearranged the coverage chart so everyone had an actual break.

Julie took appointments.

John handled a delivery that had arrived with the wrong paperwork.

Lala volunteered to refill refreshments, which concerned me enough that I followed her for the first five minutes.

She behaved.

Mostly.

Oksana, naturally, had already made tea before anyone asked.

By midafternoon, something strange had happened.

The salon was running.

Not because Laura was doing everything.

Because everybody was doing something.

Nina came back rested.

One stylist covered another.

Someone brought John coffee.

Julie quietly took over the front desk when I disappeared into the stockroom.

And when I came back out, Tara handed me a snack without saying a word.

I looked at her.

She smiled.

“Don’t make it weird.”

I took it.

That was when it finally clicked.

Helping the helper wasn’t just about making Laura rest.

It was about making sure nobody else became Laura.

So I added one new section to the salon schedule.

BREAKS — NONNEGOTIABLE

Underneath it, I wrote:

If you are too busy to take one, ask for help.

Lala read it.

“That sounds suspiciously healthy.”

“I know.”

“Are we becoming responsible adults?”

“Don’t panic.”

By the time Laura tried to escape her massage and reorganize the brochures in a robe, the salon had already learned the lesson she had accidentally taught us.

No one person had to carry the whole place.

Which was good.

Because apparently getting Laura to rest was already a full-time job.

Отредактировано DeNae (2026-09-19 06:04:52)

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DeNae 🇺🇸 67b526

Guild: Tagalong