There are, of course, Aurora Maids who are deep enough into their particular roles and interests that they would jump at the chance to trip over themselves fawning at this brazen attempt at their decency. There is (...supposedly) a certain thrill (?) in rendering oneself subservient to an individual with such obviously inferior skills. The giddy thrill of being [i]so weak[/i] that a puffed up puppy could bowl you over is (allegedly) so delicious it is worth the reprimand you would receive upon returning to the manner. See also prior musings on perfect crimes.

"...I trust that with your no doubt stellar deductive reasoning skills there is no need to explain what your palm is so plainly screaming at you, but for the benefit of these lovely maidens gathered to watch us, I shall clarify anyway."

Eclair is not such a Maid. With her hands full it is rather difficult for her to employ her notebook at the moment, but allow me to be the one to tell you that in the Great Game an opening gambit like this one wouldn't even rate. More to the point it would require a sufficiently powerful aura, the kind of thing one only develops after many tense battles where the fullness of one's pride or possibly even death have been on the line. Few even among the Manor could manage the move as written, and among them who would bother? It would be boring compared to their own more specialized proclivities.

"I am not, in fact, dressed for "repressed freaks". I am dressed for travel, the unfortunately dangerous kind where I cannot discount the possibility of battle. I am also arrayed in the manner that most pleases the three Dreamers for whom my Order is named. Both this uniform and the plate beneath it represent the love and affection of Morning, Noon, and Evening, and I should be surprised to think you could meet anyone in all of Thellamie or indeed Outside of it who could less deserve the label of 'repressed' than they."

There are also some among the Maid-Knights who possess a fantastically unnerving glare that if they were to (hypothetically) stub their toe on a wall, that wall would (again, purely hypothetically) crumble to dust on the spot rather than attempt to endure the look that followed. It is to the benefit of all currently inside the Chrysanthemum that Eclair lacks this legendary skill as surely as she lacks the demeanor to go skipping up the stairs with her heart all aflutter. Despite this, when she pivots to better peer over the stack of boxes in her arms, the temperature in the room drops by several degrees.

"Courtesy demands I offer you a chance to apologize for this no doubt unintended disrespect. Honor likewise compels me to warn you in advance that any further escalation will result in punishment so swift and thorough that every worker from the basement to that lovely mural above us will for the rest of their lives and yours understand at the most [i]instinctive[/i] level that they are, in fact, your dominant. Have I been quite clear? I am here and waiting, Little Miss."

She does not, of course, drop these drinks. Apart from being boorish and rude, that would create a [i]mess[/i]. Utterly unacceptable. Though, you might also be interested to know (depending on who you are) that it will be quite some hours before it occurs to Eclair that a more magnanimous form of acceptance of this task would have served the honor of the Aurora almost equally well, and another twenty minutes of frantic pacing after [i]that[/i] before she draws the conclusion that this service might have later served as a shield when someone inevitably came here accusing her of assassination. 

Alas, here in the present she is too consumed with walking herself through the steps of drawing her heartblade without bobbling these containers to have any awareness of her other options. It is quite difficult enough for her to show restraint as it is.