Eleanor sighed deeply as she regarded her reflection yet again. Thankfully the berthing which she and the other girls shared had a few full-length mirrors instead of just one, for she painfully took her time to make sure not a single part of her uniform was out of place. This was to be her first day on the job – actually, the second first day on the job in her life so far as a freshly-minted burgher. Of all the getups Eleanor vividly envisioned herself wearing ever since she developed a sense of fashion, a maid outfit was not one of them. She wasn't one of those maid café waitresses, nor did she want to be one even though they looked quite pretty and elegant as they went about their business in the themed establishments that peppered their dining and entertainment district. She was a line cook, an aspiring chef even, and thus she was of the conviction that she excelled in the kitchen preparing plats du jour and all manner of confections no matter how complicated or exotic – yes, even her dreaded namesake the cookie, if she absolutely had to – and not in the dining hall serving said dishes and confections with the cutesy flourishes that commanded hefty tips and continued patronage. And if not the iconic white double-breasted jacket of a chef, she would rather look smart and respectable in a dress uniform like the kind she saw on officers who dined in her tavern back in the country as well as some of the Chez Bois-Joli regulars garrisoned in the city. And now here she was, about to do some actual soldiering. Dressed like the help of some upper-crust manor, no less. What would Grandma say? What her dear grandmother might comment on her sartorial, not to mention occupational, predicament was neither here nor there. Rather, the more pressing concern was whether she looked impeccable enough to pass the inevitable inspection that was to come in a few moments' time. Shortly after her acceptance as a Violet Garden recruit, Eleanor was led to a massive closet decked with a diversity of styles and colors, from the frumpily traditional to the titillatingly risqué. The one thing they all had in common was that an attractive young woman dressed in any combination of those articles of clothing (it goes without saying that they have to go well with one another) can be said to at least look like a genuine maid, if she wasn't actually working as one herself. One piece of fashion advice that stayed with Eleanor even though she couldn't for the life of her remember where she read it was to “start with the shoes and work your way up.” And so she did, starting with a sturdy pair of black Mary Jane flats – to her the closest thing to the boyish but comfy and practical derbies that she wore as a cook – which she later polished to a mirror shine, and in lieu of socks and trousers were black nylon leggings that fit snugly around her feet and legs. She then picked out a simple black dress with a rounded flat collar, short, slightly puffy sleeves, and a skirt ending just above her knees. Instead of the aprons that she was used to, she decided that for a change she would wear a crisp white pinafore that had very short frills for sleeves and at the sides had pockets and two strips of cloth that she would tie into a bow at her back. Shoes and clothes weren't the only things in the closet, however. On the far end was a rack that carried an assortment of ebony-handled feather dusters, as well as a practice dummy. An arrangement she felt to be strange at first, until she picked up a duster and found that the handle was made of hardwood. Out of curiosity, Eleanor gave the dummy a couple of resounding whacks. The dusters double as batons! Not that she knew how to use such a weapon, perhaps the simplest she and the others were expected to wield, but she surmised that they were to have them on their persons at all times as a sidearm of sorts. That same feather duster now rested nearby on her bed in the berthing as she studied her reflection one last time to adjust the frilly white headdress on her bunned hair and then her white cook's neckerchief, which she wore in place of a tie and onto which she fastened a brooch bearing the Violet Garden crest. “Time to get to work,” Eleanor said silently as she clasped the duster to her waist and joined the others making their way to the deck.