grimoireofkenji

Footsteps echoed through the halls of the rundown mid-century apartment. The flickering, incandescent lights of the second floor revealed a figure in a long burgundy coat approaching the landing from below, the almost melodic sound of leather soles against cheap linoleum and poorly secured anti-slip stair coverings breaking the relative silence, a status quo previously held by the hum of low quality yellow lightbulbs with no cover.

The figure stopped at the top of the stairs, checking his phone for something, before slipping it in the pocket of the wool trenchcoat. At the end of the hall was a window, likely glued or sealed shut in some cheap attempt at a repair.

“Tch. Landlords.” The figure muttered quietly. Beyond the window, snow swirled wildly outside, making it almost impossible to see the city through the glass.

The man contemplated a silent approach, but scuttled the notion. Chances were the target had heard him as soon as he entered the building. Long, two-toned dreads, tied into a high ponytail bounced slightly as he approached his destination, hand hovering near the holster under his arm. The heat on the second floor was oppressive, as if the cheapskate landlord had wanted to compensate for a lack of unit heating by turning the landing into a sauna. The clumped up snow on the bottom of the man’s expensive-looking dress boots had started to melt and his wet footsteps upon the well-worn flooring made loud squeaks as he walked. He ignored it to the best of his abilities as he approached apartment 2-6, hand still reaching for his gun. Moisture trickled down the peeling floral wallpaper in small, barely noticeable rivulets that seemed to only move when in his periphery, and the door was painted a gross, pale green. Maybe it wasn't pale when it was first painted?

The window at the end of the hall had started to fog up.

The man knocked on the door, expecting silence.

“I'm not interested in hearing the good word.” A voice from behind the door spoke. It was the shrill voice of a college-aged girl.

“I'm not here to proselytize. I'm here to retrieve you.” The man responded. He considered everything he'd heard about his target, and braced himself for her rebuttal.

“You must be the latest chump from Guiding Light.”

“The name’s Cyrus. Special Agent Cyrus Ward. I've been assigned as your handler and partner.”

“Why do I need a handler?” The voice shot back, sounding frustrated.

The walls had begun perspiring.

“You're currently holed up in the house of a man suspected of feeding human beings to Horrors.” Cyrus began, moving a stray braid from in front of his quickly fogging teashade glasses. “You've been in here for a few days, and the target has stopped following their routine.”

“Yeah, I know. I ate him.”

The agent froze for a moment. The heat in the hallway was becoming unbearable, and he could feel sweat forming under his large wool overcoat. He had known the woman behind the door was capable of strange feats, but he wasn't quite briefed on her eating habits.

“You realize we needed him for information, don't you?” Cyrus had started knocking again, pretending to be unphased by the woman's revelation. “Can you just let me in? I don't recall the League telling me you could microwave a hallway.”

At this, the sounds of the woman shuffling behind the door stopped. Cyrus heard a few clicks, and the door was ajar. A long, overhanging strand of black hair poked out the door first, like an anglerfish lure, daring him to reach out.

And then the lenses of a pair of oversized glasses. Attached to them was a petite girl with a gaunt face, almost a foot shorter than Cyrus. The concept of her consuming a fully grown man seemed even more preposterous upon seeing her.

“Oh, shit. You weren't lying. Someone's trying to cook you.” She began.

“It isn't you?” Cyrus replied, confused.

“Do I look like I can control heat?” The piscine girl replied sarcastically.

“You did just tell me you ate a suspect… agent…?”

“I usually go by Lin.”

Lin pulled the chain off the door and yanked Cyrus inside before he could respond or draw his weapon, slamming the door behind her. The man was surprised by the strength she had just exerted, and had, in his haste, assumed there was a larger man behind her.

The apartment was rather cold. Cyrus felt a shiver up his spine as all the perspiration from the hallway started to freeze.

“Who tailed you?” The girl began. She wore a heavy winter coat and large snow boots, despite being indoors for seemingly two days. Pointed ears poked from under her messy hair.

“Nobody that I know of. There are only a few people on the streets today, given the weather.” Cyrus replied, taking a few steps into the apartment. Lin didn't acknowledge his sentence ending for a moment, choosing to simply pull out her phone.

“Snow, huh? Lemme know when that ends.” She said, not looking at Cyrus.

On the floor of the walkway was a trail of blood that started at the door and led around the corner past Lin. Cyrus could only assume this was the remains of the suspect. Contrary to the temperature about five feet behind the front door, a layer of frost had begun to form on the window.

“Not a fan of the cold?” Cyrus asked, wiping the glass to try and get a glimpse at the shoddy courtyard below. It was a sea of white. The broken bench he could see from the archway when he entered was almost completely covered in snow.

“Not a fan of precipitation. Anything falling from the sky. Rain, snow, sleet, hail-”

“Frogs?” Cyrus interrupted her.

“What?”

“Three cases in the US alone. Minneapolis, Leicester, Kansas City, there's more when you widen the sco-”

“Yeah, no. I was talking about natural precipitation.”

“What would you call a rain of frogs?”

“Bullshit?”

“You eat humans without getting any kind of illness and you think frog rain is impossible?”

“T-thats not the same! I'm…” Lin trailed off, looking a little ashamed. She brushed her messy, seaweed-like hair from in front of her face.

“What, are you scared of the snow?” Cyrus felt a little bad for her. He started to reach out his hand in a comforting gesture but as he did so, she tilted her head towards him, much like an irritated cat.

“I'm cursed, dumbass.” She said, exasperated.

“You believe in curses, but not raining frogs?” Cyrus responded indignantly.

“You're still on that? I've never seen it, so it isn't real. What I have seen is people turned to chum by fishmen. The same fishmen who cursed me to turn whenever it rains.”

“You're like… a werefish?”

“Ugh. I don't think we're going to get along at all, dude.”

Before Cyrus could plead his case, the window he had been peering out of just a moment ago cracked loudly. On reflex, he pulled out his gun, a Mateba Model 6 revolver, and pointed it at the source of the noise. Before he could so much as fire a shot, the window shattered, sending newly formed icy glass shards flying at the pair. One lodged itself directly in his arm. Lin dove out of the way as soon as she heard the noise, and stood to the left of the kitchen doorway, behind the cover of cheap, unpainted drywall.

Cyrus’ left hand, adorned with multiple black rings, grasped at the shard of glass, pulling it out quickly. Frost had started to spread on his coat, and the icy snow had begun buffeting the kitchen. The wind howled as if it were a creature all its own as it assaulted the pair.

“Damn. Hold on a sec.” Cyrus cursed, grasping his shoulder. He pointed his ringed hand at the window, and in a few moments, the window had been restored.

Restored was the most literal definition. The shards of glass from the window, including the one that had been embedded in the agent’s shoulder a few moments ago, moved back into place like a jigsaw puzzle. The relentless howl of the winds outside was suddenly muffled as if it were funneled into a bottle and closed.

Cyrus stayed sitting up, an action which seemingly took all his energy. Lin got back to her feet and walked over to him, tilting her head.

“We’re being attacked, you know.” She said curtly. Sweat poured down Cyrus’ face, and he was panting loudly. He still managed to look disappointed; she wasn’t at all impressed with his display. He was having trouble forming words.

“Oh, was that magic? Judging by the state you’re in…”

“I shouldn’t… be using it.” Cyrus replied. “Come on, help me up, Werefish.”

The diminutive girl sighed loudly, then hoisted him up with hardly any trouble, practically dragging him back to the front door.

“I figured it out.” Cyrus said.

“Huh?” Lin replied.

“It’s displacing the heat. It’s trying to keep us in the apartments.”

Cyrus struggled to stand up straight, his curly dreads splayed messily and his glasses about to fall off his face. The tear in his trenchcoat was gone; but he definitely seemed worse for wear. Lin let go of him rather roughly and he stumbled into the wall next to the door, leaning on it for support.

“What is it? Some kind of Horror?”

“Look outside again. It’s not casting a shadow.” Lin pointed out the window. The only shadow cast was the silhouette of the building against the early evening light.

“So we either freeze to death here or boil alive in the halls.”

“We can try and make a break for the outside.”

“I mean, with the snow and all…”

“I don’t care. What, are you gonna try and eat me?”

Lin seemed to understand, and she slammed into the door to the apartment with all her might. The hinges tore from the wall and splinters of wood and soggy, perspiring drywall went flying in disgusting, waterlogged chunks. The pale, puke-green door practically exploded into fragments and Cyrus started out the doorway after her, albeit slowly.

“So what exactly did you do with those rings earlier?” Lin asked as they proceeded down the stairs.

“I returned it to the way it was.” Cyrus responded, using the rickety handrail to guide himself down the stairs. At this point, the hallway and stairwell had become rather moist, and the cheap linoleum squished, rather than squeaked, beneath their shoes. The heat and humidity felt insanely oppressive in comparison to the cold of earlier.

“And you can’t do it much because…?”

“I have no magical capacity.”

“HAH! What!?” Lin laughed out loud as they reached the first floor landing and began for the wrought-iron door, probably the most sturdy part of the building.

“I don’t generate any mana.” Cyrus seemed almost embarrassed.

“Like, at all?”

“Why do you believe in mana and magic but not raining frogs?”

“Because I’ve seen magic?”

Ignoring Cyrus’ irritation, Lin opened the front door into the snow, but stopped for a moment.

“I’ve never been caught in the snow. I just want you to know that.” She said, worriedly.

“What does that mean?”

“I have reason to believe the way I am… changes depending on the type of rain.”

“They really barely gave me a briefing on you. Damn.” Cyrus kind of exhaled.

“Some Handler. Just point and I’ll kill it. I’m used to squishy little magic users.”

“Watch it. I’m not going to get talked down to by a teenager.”

“I’m fucking 28!” Lin seemed more flustered than genuinely angry. She stomped out the door and into the apartment building’s courtyard, trudging through snow clumsily. Cyrus had to admit it was rather cute watching a girl no taller than 5’3 waddling through the snow. It was already about a foot high, and it had only been about a half an hour since Cyrus had arrived. His footsteps from earlier were completely buried.

The ocean of swirling white made the shoddy brickwork stand out like a sore thumb, and the drain spouts on the sides of the building were hanging precariously. Cyrus stepped out in Lin’s footsteps and peered over the window he’d repaired. As suspected, the window was destroyed again. Whatever it was, it needed to make visual confirmation. Lin turned to him, as if looking for a direction. She seemed as lost as him. Her gentle, but gaunt face had begun contorting into something strange. She turned to face Cyrus and handed him her glasses, gigantic circular frames. He tucked them into his inner coat pocket and drew his weapon from the holster. Lin’s eyes were now large, a glossy black with no pupils to speak of. Long, blade-like fins tore through the sleeves of her puffer coat. She wore an oversized t-shirt and warm winter tights beneath. Her hot breath rose into the air, swirling into the snowblind and disappearing.

Lin began running towards the repaired window, seemingly seeing something Cyrus didn't. Looking up, he could tell the snow seemed centralized on a large circular area by the repaired window glass. Lin looked as if she were dancing through the snow. Her steps were light and fast, but every visible movement of her body felt brutal and bestial. Cyrus wasn't even sure she was leaving behind prints in the snow.

Lin launched herself into the air, directly into the source of the howling winds that were blowing directly at them. The entity roared in defiance as she approached with her forearm fins.

For a moment, it looked like the fishgirl made contact. a spark flew where her fin made an impact, and it seemed like her momentum stopped for just a moment.

Then… she fell back down into the snow, landing gracefully and sliding a few feet towards the decrepit, snow-covered wall. Before she could kick off again, Cyrus spotted something buried in the snow by her feet.

A propane tank. The smaller ones you'd use on one of those expensive grills.

Then Cyrus got an idea.

“Lin!” He yelled out, at the top of his lungs. He wasn't sure he had to, as it was certainly possible fish had better hearing than humans.

Lin’s pointy ears twitched slightly and she turned to Cyrus. The creature directly above her roared and loose snow off of the naturally forming banks blew into a small tornado. It twisted and gathered more snow off the ground.

“Throw that thing behind you at the entity!”

Lin snarled. It sounded like a reply, and Cyrus was sure it was when the weighty vessel full of combustible fuel was sent flying at exactly where Lin had made contact with the creature. Cyrus, through the snowblind, could see the unnatural twisting of the fishgirl’s musculature as she beamed the propane tank at her target.

Cyrus pointed his Mateba at the tank, adjusted his stance in the blistering winds and snow, and pulled the trigger. His heart pounded in his chest for a moment as he heard the bullet strike metal, and seconds later, a sound that shook the courtyard. A small bit of the sea of swirling, snowy white erupted into flames as the tank exploded, sending Lin flying back several feet as she tried to put distance between her and the strange snow tornado the entity was forming. It disappeared quickly and the creature let out a pained roar. The sound rang in the agent’s head.

It was then that Cyrus got another idea.

He pointed his ringed hand at the explosion. The cold metal bands felt like they were digging into his fingers. His hair and coat were blowing backwards in the wind as he restored the propane tank to its previous form.

Before his consciousness could take a hit, Cyrus aimed as steadily as he could, and fired his revolver at the tank again.

A few of the poorly kept apartment windows, brittle from the constant assault of heat and cold, shattered, whether from the noise or the force. Shards of glass rained down upon the pair and Lin dove past Cyrus, who covered himself with his coat as his legs gave out. His pants were soaked with freezing snow and his hands were on fire. A particularly large shard of glass had fallen down and pierced his coat in nearly the same place as the previous. He tried to lift his hand to repeat the action, but his fingers wouldn't obey. He struggled to lift the revolver at the enemy. Now that he knew it was heat, they could kill it. He just needed more heat.

Just one more time.

But his body would not oblige. He crawled weakly towards some kind of shelter, his hands burning from the cold. Lin had just gotten up from her dive, and taken a look at Cyrus. He was sure he could hear her scoff.

“Explosion, huh?”

Lin launched herself up into the air again. But it wasn't to slash at the Horror as before. The entity had launched another tornado of snow and ice at her, and she dodged gracefully, as if she were flying.

Or swimming.

The fish had seemingly learned by watching and proceeded to cock back her arms, get as close to the creature as she could, and swung both of them towards the Horror with such speed that steam began to rise from her body. Multiple small explosions rippled through the air as she punched. The largest was, of course, when she made contact with the entity. The sound that erupted from it stopped the snow mid-fall. Cyrus thought his eardrums would burst. Black liquid splashed all over the driven snow, and for an instant, the creature was fully visible.

It resembled a woman. A long, white robe blew in the dying winds. Beautiful black hair draped its clothing.

And there was a massive hole in its chest, right where a human's heart should be.

It desperately tried to heal itself. Hand-like tendrils sprouted from its hair and body. Inky black liquid sprayed on every snow-covered surface it could. It wailed in pain, some kind of otherworldly cry not meant to be heard by a human. The already weakened agent could barely maintain consciousness through the cacophony of sounds meant to drive a man mad.

The Horror struggled in vain to cover the massive hole in its humanoid chest. Seeing its efforts fail, the dress burst open and the true form of the creature was revealed. From the breast, more tendrils thrust outward, and within moments, it was a mess of dribbling, inky black hands and pulsing, bloodshot eyes. Acidic black blood melted through the pure snow like salt on an icy sidewalk and the residue smoked and blew away on the wind. The entity drifted slowly toward the ground, weak and still screaming.

Lin, who had previously been content to stare at the creature in its death throes, reached out a gangly, clawed hand and grabbed it with immense force. She began to disembowel the Horror, a sight which made Cyrus gag. She started unhinging her jaw with sickening cracks and shoveling struggling, squirming tendrils and eyes into her monstrous maw. The horrible pained screams of the creature the pair had just slain echoed as it reached its final destination in the bottomless pit known as her stomach. She didn't stop eating til it was completely gone. Rows of bladelike teeth crunched and a long bestial tongue slurped and drooled and drenched her cute puffer coat with inky black Horror viscera. Cyrus weakly considered pointing his revolver at her, but realized before he could even work up the energy that this… this situation was probably why he was tasked as her handler.

Irresponsible, impulsive… monstrous.

Lin, codenamed Shou. The Beast.

She walked over to her barely conscious partner. Her messy, kelp-like hair covered her horribly contorted face. The large strand Cyrus had earlier thought seemed like an anglerfish cast a weak glow on his face, his brown skin bathed in an otherworldly, bioluminescent green. When she opened her mouth, steam poured out, and when she spoke, it sounded like the last words of a drowning woman. Her cute, shrill voice struggled to surface from beneath the waves, and all Cyrus could do was stare into her bold, pitch black eyes as she asked what was probably the most worrying thing possible.

“Can those rings… Can you fix me?”

It seemed genuine. Covered in the blood and guts(?) of a Horror who had likely wiped out every sad little life in the rundown apartment, messy hair blowing in the snowy winds. Cyrus assumed it was probably the first time she'd been genuine with another human in years. He cleared his throat.

“If I learn enough, maybe I can. You'll have to stick with me.”

The beast known as Lin seemed to nod, and she reached out a long, thin, scaly hand. Cyrus grabbed it. She pulled the man almost a foot taller than her onto her shoulder, and headed into the dilapidated apartment building.

"You know... I actually really like your claws. They remind me of someone."

"You're a lot sweeter when you're about to pass out." Lin growled back.

( You're about to view content that the journal owner has marked as possibly inappropriate for anyone under the age of 18. )

What’s the difference between a torrential downpour and a blinding nighttime blizzard? Apparently, two goddamn degrees. The temperature on my car’s dashboard read 36F in bright orange, like the display screens of those old 80s computers. The sound of rain battering the roof as I did my best to navigate the barely-lit woodland backroads on my way home from work felt like someone trying to break in from above. It only prompted me to drive a little faster, a little more recklessly. Barren trees danced back and forth in the brutal winter storm, swaying to an invisible rhythm, or more likely drowned out by the sound of my car’s engine as I accelerated over gravel, mud, and unkempt asphalt.

The radio blasted my normal playlist, a one I’ve started from the beginning so often that the first few songs became a blur I didn’t pay any attention to unless I‘d recently added a new song. The sound of the rain and my car’s damaged muffler made it almost completely inaudible, regardless.

The night had been miserable. My bitterness had only multiplied as I gripped the steering wheel with an aggression I wouldn’t really show anyone I liked and attempted to navigate the usual way home in a deluge of rain. Of course, there were more well-kept roads that led to my house. I could take the highway and only have to take a few local roads on the way there, but the same frustrated feeling that had taken me during my miserable work shift and made me work in a less efficient way just to upset someone had kicked in here. My defiance, however, was kind of misdirected in this case. Who was affected here besides me?

Mother Nature? Scoffing to myself, I stopped looking at my phone for long enough to notice a bump in the middle of the road through the downpour. I did not, however, hit the brakes fast enough. If there’s anything my shitlord of a dad had taught me, it was that when you were stopping short to avoid a collision, you should turn the wheel slightly just in case. I did as I recalled and my car, which had started to hydroplane for a millisecond, decided against it. My front wheels weren’t touching the ground, and in a moment, one which felt like several minutes of loud banging sounds from underneath and in front of my shitty 2000’s sedan, my car had come to a stop horizontally in the middle of the road, my driver’s side window just a few feet away from the large, unmoving lump, my front end lower than the back. I was unharmed, luckily, but my car’s front end WAS in a ditch.

“Fuck me, dude.” I exclaimed to nobody in particular. Grabbing the raggedy yellow raincoat and a maglite I think had been passed down for three generations out of my backseat, I struggled it on in the limited space and opened the car door in a huff.

The wind buffeted me first. It felt like the rain had suddenly changed direction to blow directly into my face. Just what I needed. First thing’s first. What had I likely sacrificed the continued life of my 170,000+ mile Honda Civic for? I took a few steps forward, pulling the drawstrings on the hood taut and feeling it closing slightly around my face. At my feet was a mess of white, cream, and brown feathers. Mixed in was a lot of red. It could’ve been something else, but it was definitely blood. As the incandescent light from my emergency flashlight flickered weakly and I had to squint in the weather. I could feel my shitty, worn work boots starting to squish. Wet socks, too, huh?

It was definitely avian or something. I couldn’t really tell anything specific through the wind, rain, and mess of feathers. Maybe a hawk had decided to swoop down at night and got slammed onto the pavement? Either way, it was a depressing sight, and the last thing I wanted to see on a night like this. Loose feathers blew in the gale, joining the dormant trees in their swaying.

“You’ve gotta be like, the world’s biggest owl or something, man.” Shaking my head, I turned away from the bloody heap and immediately to my most pressing issue. The howling wind and pounding rain seemed more like it was trying to kick my ass personally than just doing normal inclement weather stuff. It almost made me wonder what I’d done to deserve it. I mean, I could think of a few things, but anyone I tried to explain it to told me I was being far too hard on myself.

I approached the front end of my car. The damage seemed to be minimal, but I’d have to take a look at it in the daylight to be sure. Luckily, the ditch I had climbed into to check didn’t seem to be too large, and was mostly concrete, and some leaves that had survived the several snowstorms and melting cycles that had already ravaged the area. The downpour even more visible in front of my foggy headlights, I put my head down and pushed on the front bumper towards it, and then a little upwards, luckily getting some leverage. It felt like I was lifting the cheap car for just a minute. I could feel it get over the hump at the edge of the ditch, and then the dismal feeling of straining your muscles far too much. Pain shot up through my shoulder as I did my best to persevere and push my stupid ass car out of the ditch I had put myself in.

Eventually, I succeeded and nearly collapsed in the ditch. My first thought was that someone would definitely t-bone my poor sedan if I stopped here, and my second was that my jeans were getting soaked, and I was fucking freezing. I got up with some trouble, taking care not to lean on the shoulder I had already fucked up, and climbed out of the embankment on the side of the road. There was probably something I could do to make that easier. I think my pops had told me you could put the car in neutral while you pushed? Or maybe that was with another person in the car. Either way, I had done it. I got myself out of an immediate problem I'd caused. Of course, when I thought of it that way, it simply reminded me of all the other immediate problems I’d caused and hadn’t gotten out of yet. Looming thoughts of year-old tolls sent to my mailbox and deposited quickly into the document shredder beat against my brain from the inside while the torrent pummeled me from above. Out of sight, out of mind wasn’t always right. With that in mind, I turned to the bloody, windblown lump of feathers in front of me.

Except it was moving.

At first, I thought it was the wind. The air currents had clearly just picked up a different part of the feathers that weren’t blowing before, perhaps stronger, and in a way that caused it to move.

Then I heard a sound, weak at first, then stronger. A cry. Consistent and heart-breaking. The creature on the ground was still alive, whatever it was. Without thinking, and without hesitation, I scrambled over to it, very nearly falling over as I dropped to a knee to inspect it. I took the lump in my arms, the horrible, rain-drenched thing stirred in my arms, blood pouring down my coat and flecking off into the rainstream in the middle of the road, flowing down into the ditch. It was surprisingly light for a mystery animal, but it also felt wrong. The mess of feathers felt twisted and broken in my hand. This thing must’ve gotten nailed by like, an F-150 or something.

“I’ll at least bury you somewhere, dude.” I said to it. Was it like, an owl? Opening my passenger’s side, I ripped off my raincoat and wrapped the likely dying animal in it like it was a precious bundle. I don’t know why I did that. To be fair, everything about the next fifteen minutes was a blur. Getting in my car soaking wet, maneuvering back onto the road proper, driving home with the same old playlist. It was still miserable. Everything was - but the only thing on my mind was that bloody heap that seemed to be breathing in my back seat. I cranked up the heat while I sped home, careful not to even bother looking at my phone this time. God forbid I encountered another dying animal in the mood I was in.

You know, I’d read somewhere that the temperature down here on the ground doesn’t actually matter when it comes to snow, and that it’s decided up in the clouds. It’s snow way up there and sometimes it’s too warm when it gets down here so it doesn’t stick. Or, sometimes it just turns to rain. Sometimes, instead of a blizzard, you get a downpour in the middle of january. The kind that makes the sky gray for two days after. The kind you hydroplane your car into a ditch during.

The kind of downpour that makes you pick up dying animals out of the road.

The creature seemed to be breathing weakly when I rushed it into my apartment after laying down a bunch of my shabby, worn towels across the living room floor.

“Alright, dude, listen, I’ll call my friend, he’s a vet, he’ll tell me how to like, I dunno… put you out of your misery or something?” It probably wouldn’t be comforting at all if the creature could understand English, but I said it in a comforting tone, and I’m pretty sure animals understand that. The pile of twisted bone and light brown feathers stirred slightly, and I heard a weak whistle coming from somewhere deep within. I could see what looked like a beak poking out from under a broken wing. It seemed it was done bleeding profusely, to which I was grateful. God knows my landlord would nail me for a Stanley Steemer or whatever. I quieted down and focused on the pile, ignoring the “new text” notification from my vet friend. The only sound was the rain railing against the windowsill behind me, and the breathing. It didn’t sound like an animal’s. But what did an animal’s breathing even sound like? Probably similar to a person? Smaller?

What did I even mean by smaller?

My own heart was pounding against my chest. I was starting to panic over a dying fucking owl I had brought into my apartment of my own accord. It was then that the shock of the very nearly catastrophic car accident and the dying creature laying on my floor in front of me hit. It was weird that I had been strangely numb to it all up until that point.

Dried blood stained rain-dampened work pants as I took a step back. The whistling had grown louder.

The whistling had grown into what sounded like a voice. It emanated deeply, like the echo of a voice within a cave. From within the mess of blood and broken bone and leaking viscera, a voice spoke to me.

“Blood…” It trailed weakly.

“Fuck. Fuck.” I couldn’t think of a response. I think the normal response would’ve been not to say anything? I don’t think dying owls can speak. I don’t think regular owls can speak. My poorly decorated living room felt like it was spinning. My soggy socks squished on the bristly rug beneath me as I took another step back, tripping and falling backwards into my secondhand armchair. The re-upholstered fabric gave under my weight as I sunk into it.

“Blood.” it spoke again. The voice was growl-y. It sounded like it was gritting its teeth, but as far as I can tell, the only thing moving was what appeared to be the chest of the owl, rising and sinking slowly.

It was bizarre staring at a creature known for being majestic and intelligent in such a state. I’d seen cute owl videos online, so I know when they got wet, the feathers and soft down underneath actually shrunk and they looked quite shriveled. But that wasn’t what I was looking at. It was almost as if the rain hadn’t touched it, and it was merely suffering from getting smashed head-on by some asshole’s pickup. I simply couldn’t tell in the rain. I got up and with trepidation, crept towards the heap, my hand outstretched to touch it and confirm my suspicions.

I probably shouldn’t have been trying to touch something that could speak. Animals couldn’t speak. Nothing about the past hour had been normal, though.

My hand hovered over the owl. It occurred to me at this moment that I hadn’t touched it directly at all up until this point. I wrapped my raincoat around it. I rolled it onto the towels. I remember reading that your brain will instinctively do things to protect you from harm, and that you wouldn’t even notice.

Shaking, I lowered my palm, fingers bracing for something terrible. I don’t know what. The squelch of blood-soaked feathers? The soft give of flesh to slight pressure? I was close enough now that I could feel its chest rising and falling. Labored breathing that sounded more like a dude with a broken rib poking his lungs. Did birds even have ribs? Any thought in my head to take me away from what I was doing. I just wanted to get it over with. Where was all that impulsivity I had in the rain?

The rain pounded against my windows full force. I could hear the wind howling outside. Begging to be let in. Whatever force was outside seemed tame in comparison. I had no idea what I was doing here. I could text my friend. Did he respond yet?

My palm lowered more, slowly. I finally felt the creature. It just felt like a normal owl. At least how I expected a normal owl to feel. There was no blood on the towels underneath. Soft, downy feathers rose suddenly as I brushed my hand against the limp-looking wing beneath. The avian shifted to the left slightly, and I nearly jumped back. A mysterious force, or far more likely, my own fear, kept me in place. I was way too worried about making any sudden movements. The room seemed to grow. My heart was still pounding just as hard in my chest. Why was I so worried?

“Blood…” The voice spoke again. I couldn’t move. I froze, hand resting on the bird. It was bone-dry, as I had suspected. A lump formed in my throat as I eyed the abominable thing. I went to lick my lips, which had grown dry as I continued to exhale through my mouth, and felt myself grimace as my tongue passed over the middle of my lower lip, finding it was already split, and tasting iron.

I let myself relax a little. I shouldn’t have. I leaned forward, and my hand sank into the mess of feathers and mussed, downy fur for just a second, and it felt disgusting, like what I imagined was akin to grabbing a handful of raw flesh. The dissonance between what I was touching and the sensation made me scream out. My split lip ached. Blood dripped from my mouth and onto the creature. I tried to pull back, but it was too late.

As if awoken suddenly, the crumpled mass rippled like a wave, and each and every feather stood up in tandem. I couldn’t pull my hand back. I screamed out, but my voice was immediately drowned out by a deafening screech. It didn’t sound like anything should be able to produce a sound like that. The feathers and wings towered over me as I remained stuck on my knees, unable to detach my hand from the mess beneath me. My heart pounded against my chest like it was trying to escape.

It’s not just you, buddy.

“Please, god, please don’t let me fucking die like this, I’m sorry for bringing this thing into my house, man. Fuck.” I pleaded to whatever force would listen, now pulling so hard it felt like I’d dislocate my wrist. Black tendrils climbed from the abyss of feathers and darkness and crawled up my arm like some kind of malignant ivy. I felt like a cornered, trapped animal. Over on the coffee table across the living room was a knife I used for whittling when I was bored and I cursed loudly, wishing it would just roll over here. The rain battered my windows even harder, shaking the screens I had neglected to switch out for the storm windows like my landlord had demanded. It felt like my ears were ringing. I knew I was yelling. I knew I couldn’t hear my own voice.

“Surely that's not all you have to give.” The voice seemed to echo through my living room, which felt like it was increasing in size around me by the second. Or maybe I was shrinking?

The tendrils slowly worked their way into my forearm like parasitic plant roots invading a tree trunk. My entire arm was numb. I couldn't feel a thing, and yet the sheer terror of watching wormlike slithering appendages dig into my arm made me imagine the pain so much it seemed like it actually hurt. The tendrils pulsated, drinking deep of my blood while I struggled to pull my arm out. Weakened and lightheaded, my knees gave out. I could feel the coarse rug against my elbow as I struggled to keep myself in a position where my arm, stuck in the pulsing mass of feathers, wasn't terribly contorted.

The room was spinning. My vision blurred for a moment and I struggled to angle my face upwards at the mass, which had grown to the height of a normal adult, which meant it towered over me. That weird high pitched noise that sometimes just happens was ringing in my ears. Accompanying that was the sickening sound of bones cracking and crunching as the mass began to stand erect.

“I'm going to die like this. I'm going to get my blood drained by a bloated owl corpse.” I thought, tears beginning to stream down my face.

Just then… it stopped. The room continued to spin and I felt like I was going to pass out, but the pressure keeping my arm in place felt like it had been released. It felt like all the sound had returned to my surroundings. The sound of rain aggressively pounding on my ill-equipped window resumed as if nothing had happened. I could even hear myself subconsciously sniffling like a frightened child. My throat stung from the screaming that I'm sure the rest of the building heard except for me. My once-captured arm was covered in small black puncture marks.

When I stared up at the mass, it stood towering, like an obelisk. Perhaps that was because I was still on the ground. I scrambled back a little, eyes locked on the monstrosity before me, hoping whatever it was wouldn't change its mind. I had made it about a foot before it leaned over to look at me.

Perhaps it'd be more appropriate to say that only the entity’s head moved, arching over the mass of feathers that made up its body to stare at me.

And then… a humanoid face? Large, pure green eyes, with a strange sheen to them like you'd see on a cat or some kind of other nocturnal critter stared holes into my face. The gaze alone gave off enough pressure that I froze in place, damp clothes and body alike feeling like they were melting into the carpet from the intensity.

It was, admittedly, far less horrifying than when it was just a mess of feathers and bone.

Hair, human hair, soaked in blood and viscera and sticking to the figure’s face and neck, dripped down on my face from the ends of loose strands that managed to hang down past the mass of feathers. Beyond that, a sharp, beaklike nose poked out.

“Owl…?” I muttered quietly. Was it? That’s what I was under the impression of. I brought it back to my house thinking I was attempting to nurse an owl back to health. “Woman?” beyond the deep emerald orbs peering down at me, my brain, desperate to make a connection between this… thing and a human, spotted and focused on the figure’s thick, dark eyelashes. The abomination pondered me as much as I pondered it… She?

“Human… This one… thanks you.” I couldn’t see its mouth from the angle I laid, but the rest of its facial contortions were consistent with someone speaking. Prior to this, the voice sounded like it was everywhere in the room. Echoing throughout the halls of my apartment and bouncing off the walls. And yet, this time, it was entirely localized around what I assumed was the face of the “Owl”. The voice was regal, and yet stilted. It sounded as if it were being run through a translator.

“Huh?” Is all I could muster. The eyes, unblinking, continued to focus on me. There was silence for a few moments, save for the rain outside. It would’ve been comforting if there wasn’t a giant, bloody owl woman in my living room.

“For the sustenance, and the shelter.” The owl threw its arms wide and a mess of loose feathers fell towards the ground. Beneath the shroud of feathers and down were birdlike legs ending in sharp talons, which gripped the shoddy towels and worn carpet beneath like it were at risk of falling over. To be honest, the carpet had probably been through more than I had today.

Blood had been splashed on the yellowing walls and a little had splattered on the television I saved a few weeks for. I always wondered why I wasted my time doing it when nobody had ever come over and I lived by myself.

I tried my best to get up to my feet, but my weakened arm wasn't really helping. I leaned on the other and tried to kind of half-crawl over to the shitty re-upholstered seat. The Owl’s voice rang out. When I turned around, I realized I could see her mouth from the distance I was at. It was wide and a deep crimson and the owl licked at blood trickling from the corners of her mouth. That was mine, I think.

“This one hopes you won't start screaming again. Was giving some of your vital fluid truly so horrible?” The voice seemed just as regal, but more like a person of royalty trying to coax a small animal out of the corner. “I simply assumed that as you had brought me in after my… flight, you were consigning yourself to this one’s service?”

My heart stopped beating as fast and I tried to speak, clearing my throat first, as words were having trouble making their way out.

“I… uh… how did you end up in the middle of the road?” I spoke, careful not to use all the excited, frightened expletives I had thought of while forming the sentence internally.

“Wouldn't it be more prudent to ask who - or what this one is, first?”

The creature was right. There was a crest at the top of its head that drooped slightly when it spoke. It looked kinda like the ones from all the old drawings of owls from like, “ye Olde English” stuff. I had always thought that was their eyebrows, but here was definitive proof to the contrary. The owl's dark hair had begun to dry in the heat of my apartment, which I had turned up higher because of the rain and cold. It was becoming frizzy and poofy.

“This one's title is the Demon Librarian, Trismegistus.” The owl took a sweeping bow, moving one bird leg behind the other, placing one human hand, sharply clawed, in front of her chest, and presenting the other as if she were welcoming me into my own house. It was quite interesting that she seemed to stand bipedal, but had an unknown volume to her body beneath the layers of fluffy down and now-dry feathers. Her wings remained outstretched. It was likely that since I had rescued the owl from the crumpled heap in the rain, she hadn’t had time to stretch them. Regardless, the span was massive, as was to be expected from a creature likely two or three feet taller than me. On her left, the sharp ends to her feathers poked my crappy pleather couch, her right brushing against the cheap synthetic christmas tree I should’ve moved into the hallway closet two months ago. The baubles I'd hung on it dangled precariously when she exhaled.

“So… Trismeg… Tris.” I began, swallowing loudly.

“I suppose that is acceptable. This one is willing to extend certain courtesies to her retainer.” Trismegistus’ mouth curled into an unsettlingly wide smile, peering down at me from her beaklike nose.

“Retainer? I don’t recall signing any pact! I just wanted to rescue an animal from a miserable time!”

“You think this one a mere animal?” Tris’ thick eyebrows curled downwards and it felt like all warmth in the room was suddenly sucked out. I had finally managed to climb onto the upholstered seat, and I felt like I was on the verge of falling off of it again.

“You presented me with your blood. You fed me, and signed away your being. This is my new dwelling.”

I already knew I couldn’t make this hellbound monstrosity leave even if I had wanted her to. The second Trismegistus had started stealing my goddamn life force, I figured I would either die or wake up in a cold sweat. I guess it was time to try my luck again.

“And what do I get out of this? It seems to me that you’re just a freeloader.”

“You get to continue living on the mortal plane.” Trismegistus stated matter-of-factly.

“I couldn’t care less if you killed me.” I lied through my fucking teeth.

“Hear me, Human. I am the Demon Librarian Trismegistus. Within the span of my wings I hold millenia of wisdom, both human and arcane. I have spoken with scholars unfathomably more intelligent than you. I have advised kings, stood at the precipice of marvels of human invention, and dragged those who sought forbidden knowledge to the depths of Hell for their folly. Now pray, tell this one why you feel as if you’ve any sort of platform to be bargaining.” Tris’ regal voice cut like a knife. I didn’t for a second doubt anything she just said. But…

“You, in all your infinite wisdom, got pancaked by like, a Ford F-150 or something, huh?” The effect was immediate. The pale skin of The Demon Librarian’s face flushed a bright red, and for a second, I thought she’d immolate me or something.

“Such insolence… You should be bowing down to this one. Begging for just a sliver of the wisdom I could impart upon you.” her sharp clawed hands dug into her feathers, and I thought she’d make herself bleed or something. Nothing happened, though.

“I’m pretty happy with my ignorance, Big Bird. I’ve seen how those scholarly dudes on Twitter act. I’m certain there’s like, a burden of knowledge. You probably go insane if you know too much.” I replied. Her nose twitched slightly. A few feathers stuck up out of place.

“It’s inconceivable that I’ve retained the service of someone so… Stupid.” She spoke with genuine vitriol. I’d been called dumb before, but the way she said it was so personal and mean. It kinda hurt. “So content in their stupidity.” Tris’ wings folded closed around her large body like a traveling cloak around a cold adventurer and she looked away from me for a moment, pondering. Well, I assume she was pondering. She certainly wasn’t looking at me. The room was silent, as it had been multiple times since I’d arrived back home with the small dog-sized bundle of feathers. The same bundle that was probably contemplating performing a lobotomy on me as she muttered to herself, voice quieted by a veil of brown, black, and cream colored feathers. They were actually really pretty when her wings weren’t broken in nine places and splayed across the pavement.

“ Look, Tris-” I was interrupted by the demon spreading her wings again, catching me off guard. I jumped, very nearly toppling over the chair I was seated in backwards. Trismegistus had sent more viscera that hadn’t dried on her body splattering against my walls and TV again. I was afraid of the abomination, sure. But I was getting increasingly angry about the blood on my walls. That comes out of my security deposit, and if she wasn’t going to kill me, I'd have to experience losing $900 bucks a year from now.

“Human.” She had begun walking towards me. Something about her gait was unnatural. I mean, what was natural about a seven-foot owl woman? Beyond that, though. She was favoring one slender raptorial leg over the other, kind of limping. For a moment, I thought it’d be comical and even a little cute if she hopped towards me, like all those Youtube shorts of domestic birds of prey I binged when I couldn’t sleep. Something inside me couldn’t bear to break down her pride like that, and so I stared at her face. It was made up of sharp angles that would be suited to a model, or a woman who was otherwise extremely out of my league. A mole just below her eye. And, inexplicably, she was wearing glasses.

“Where did you get those?” I asked, pointing at the spectacles. They were large, circular, and magnified her eyes to such an extent that I could see that the deep emerald wasn’t the only thing in them. She had several rings in the center. They were black and thin, and they’d clearly have been swallowed up by the rest of her eye if not for how huge those glasses made them.

“They were within my breast.” She responded, as if I was supposed to assume she kept spectacles inside her tuft of chest feathers. I nodded.

“This one is not sure if you’ve realized, but I’ve not regained my full power.” Tris started. Her regal voice was calm. It sounded like how I’d imagine a queen trying to appeal to peasants would. Kind of condescending? “For instance, I attempted several times to rip your head off magically.”

“I should’ve left you on the side of the road.” I said. A sly grin crossed the Owl’s face. I couldn’t tell if she was joking.

“My command is this. You shall serve this one as my retainer until such a time as I’ve returned to my former glory." The Demon Librarian’s head alone seemed to slowly grow closer to me. I wondered if she was lanky under all those feathers like I'd seen from owl skeletons in the past.

“And how long will that take?” I replied, trying to shrink into the chair as she approached.

For a moment, she said nothing. The downpour outside had seemed to calm down. That, or the temperature had finally caught up to the season and it had begun to snow. I didn’t dare turn around to check. Huge green eyes behind comically large spectacles resting on her beak of a nose seemed to study every detail of my face from less than a foot away. When she opened her mouth, I could smell copper. It was a strange, heady scent. For a moment, I didn’t think about what was going on. The Owl’s tongue was black, I’d realized.

“That… depends on how willing you are to continue feeding me.” She stopped me with a clawed hand directly over my mouth before I could speak up in protest. “I could simply… drain you of every drop. This one is giving you a choice.” her sharp, hooked nails poked against the skin on my face and I felt my heart start pounding again.

“Not giving me much of a choice, are you?”

“I’d be less inclined to drain you to the point of exhaustion every single day if you provide me with literature.”

Come to think of it, my body did feel heavier than usual. Shaking my head, I looked the creature in her massive, ringed eyes and tried my best to sound indignant. “Do I seem like a library? Do you want me to go on a weekly trip to the bookstore on my way home from grocery shopping?”

“T’would be delightful. And in truth, any literature will do. For instance, I’ve already found this among a small bookcase by the front door.” Trismegistus held up a small untranslated manga I had only brought to support the artist between two clawed fingers. “Though this one is not sure of its educational value.

“Once again, what do I get out of this?” I asked once more. I didn’t have a choice, but if i had any chance to receive a response beyond “You get to live, of course!” with that stupid toothy grin of hers, I’d take it.”

“This one has said it before. Your continued existenc-” I cut her off, right there.

“Nah, that’s not going to do, Tris. You’re a demon, right? Don’t you guys offer contracts to humans all the time?”

“I think you’ll find that my not attempting to coerce you into a contract is more a boon than a curse.” Trismegistus the Demon Librarian had moved her large, feathery body closer to me, pinning one of my hands on the armrest of the badly reupholstered seat underneath sharp, raptorial claws. Her face was as close to mine as it had ever been, though I suspect that when I was having my blood stolen, I may have sunk my arm directly into her monstrous maw. Her breath was hot and saliva dripped from the corners of her wide mouth. I kind of shrunk back as much as I could in the seat, ready for her to likely drink more of my plasma at her whim.

“As much as… this one is loath to admit it, human… You have a rather unique taste to your blood. There’s more than one reason I’m not simply striking you down or leaving you bound to your own refrigerator for my free use.” I shuddered as the words flowed from between her lips, the saliva dripping from the corners of her mouth thick and syrupy. Her eyes, with the rings more visible, felt like something they’d use to hypnotize you in an old cartoon. Except I feared the longer I stared, the more effective it’d be. It was more alarming that I had the urge to keep staring. Perhaps it was already working on me.

“And don’t you ever make this one repeat herself about it again.” I nodded quickly in response.

Tris’ face was flushed red.

I realized pretty soon after why she was practically panting. My split lip was dripping blood, small rivulets forming right in the center. I licked at it quickly and could see a scowl forming on her face.

“A…anyway. Seeing as this is my home, and you're going to be living here,” I began, trying to get up as I noticed the owl's claws retract a little, leaving noticeable puncture marks in the armrest, “I'm going to make myself something to eat. If you tried to drain my blood right now, I'd probably die.”

Trismegistus seemed to consider this. I hadn't noticed it before, but the robe she wore draped over her downy fur-covered body was rather grandiose. Fading gold trim lined the neck and accented her feather colors nicely. I imagined if I complimented the various trinkets hanging from her robes, she'd turn her nose up like a bird and say something like “of course, human.” The idea was almost cute.

“I will allow you to prepare food for sustenance. Should you wish it, this one has memorized the contents of millions of cookbooks.”

I nodded slowly, trying to do that kind of dismissive “uh-huh, okay,” thing you do when the annoying coworker who talks too much is speaking to you long past the time they should’ve stopped. But in this case it was more because I was worried that if I didn’t, she’d rip me in half with her mind.

Or, you know, her talons.

“I'm just going to go make a sandwich. It's late, and I'm also missing like a quarter of my vital fluid. You can eat sandwiches, right?” I kind of slinked around her, stroking her chin in thought, to hurry into the kitchen.

“No need for that. Between your… rather luxurious blood and my previous meal, this one’s hunger is satiated for the time bei-” Tris’ response was interrupted by a hacking cough. Loud enough to echo through the hall into the kitchen. I trepidatiously made my way back to the living room, peering around the doorway. Perhaps she was allergic to my blood. Maybe she’d leave me alone?

Wrong on both counts. Scattered on the rug directly in front of a keeled-over, panting Trismegistus was a pile of rather human-looking bones, covered in a mixture of slime and what appeared to be regurgitated blood. There was no tissue on them, so I could only assume that this was her “previous meal”.

I could make out a pretty obvious femur. For all those teeth, I expected her to at least crunch the bones.

“And here I thought all that blood was yours.” I thought closely about the rainwater and red liquid drenching the raincoat I had wrapped Tris' weakened form in to avoid messing up my car. I guess it didn't make sense for something as small as she was at the time to bleed like that, but I could barely see what I was doing.

The rain-slick concrete outside had started to produce mist. The kind that only occurred when it was humid out. Given the temperature, it seemed strange.

“Don’t be silly, human. If this one bled that much, I’d be dead.” Tris attempted to scoff, still regaining her composure from her coughing fit. “I had just finished consuming far inferior human flesh for sustenance when I passed out in the street.”

“I… you ate an entire person?” Staring down at the human bones at her feet, I suddenly wasn’t so hungry for that salami and cheese I was planning to make.

“According to this one’s research, he was some kind of felon. The world will not miss one of his kind.” She sounded so sure, I couldn’t help but nod. I kind of just stared at her again, after painstakingly asking her to move those bones somewhere I wouldn’t be an immediate suspect for a police investigation. She nodded in agreement, remarking that it was “a fair trade”.

“Leave your window open, human. Otherwise, I will shatter it upon re-entry.” Tris warned me, talons gripping my windowsill, her body contorted unnaturally so she could speak to me before she took off. In a gust of wind, the owl demon flew off towards the woods a mile or two away from my apartment building, bundle of bones in hand. With the myriad of magical Hell powers Trismegistus seemingly had, I wondered if she could just pass through walls or something. Ah, but according to her, and my begrudging agreement, she lives here now. I left the window unlocked.

“That ought to be enough. This eternal demon librarian should be able to operate a window.”

A few hours later, I was woken up by what I could only explain as “the aura that someone staring at you while you’re asleep gives off.” my eyes shot open and were met immediately by two glowing green orbs, unblinking and locked directly on me. Trismegistus’ wings blocked out the rising sun attempting to shine through my pulled curtains. Her raptorial talons clung to my bedroom windowsill, claws digging into the shitty, chipping wood. For a second, I felt like it was one of those sleep paralysis demons.

“Human. This one hungers.” She spoke, her voice sounding almost like she was requesting, but more likely than not, demanding.

Yeah, it wasn’t a sleep paralysis demon. It was a librarian. I sat up in bed and saw she had dropped a pile of books by my bedside.

“I procured these. Your collection was lacking, so this one came and went overnight.”

There were several manga I was missing from the shoddy collection in my entryway bookcase. Knowing full well that Trismegistus had murdered and eaten some kind of woods-dwelling criminal seemingly hours before I “rescued” her, I was really reluctant to ask. I raised a finger, as if to even begin to inquire. Seemingly knowing what I was going to ask, she turned her beaklike nose up at me and replied.

“This one purchased them. I left the vendors a single pinion from my beautiful coat. A single filoplume could keep them in business for a decade.” I was too groggy to think of anything snarky. I also couldn’t even see anything special about her feathers in the dark.

“And how did you get into a bookstore at five AM?” I asked.

“I willed myself through the wall. To be exact, this one willed the wall out of existence for but a moment.” Tris seemed proud that her powers were already returning. No wonder she was hungry.

“Then why did you need my window open?”

“Because if you had locked it, I couldn’t return. This one simply tricked you into a nonverbal contract.”

I sighed, resigned to my fate, and turned my forearm upside down, presenting it to Trismegistus. She licked her lips in anticipation.

Hell, if I passed out from blood loss, at least I’d get a few more hours’ sleep.

Things always seem to hurt more in the cold.

It was a statement uttered by multiple people as soon as the weather got chilly. Slipping and falling while shoveling piles of soft snow off the stairs of your apartment building because your super is older than dirt. Idly swinging your hand into a solid object while walking somewhere on a cold winter's day. The feeling that typically goes away in a few moments seems to throb and linger when you also have to contend with a breeze that gets under your jacket and layers of clothing. It takes your mind off of whatever you were doing and reserves a place solidly in the back of your head so that whenever you're finished with whatever sordid task brought you into the inhospitable wastes outside of your apartment building after a snowstorm, you remember you got hurt.

At the risk of sounding pretentious, I think it applies to emotional pain as well.

Standing out in the snow with an overpriced hot chocolate giving off steam into the miserably gray afternoon was where I found myself when the only girl I'd ever dated and in my presumptions, thought I'd EVER date, Kara, dumped me.

It was quick, like that time my mom quickly snatched a baby tooth hanging off my gums by a thread out of my mouth.

In my typically long-winded fashion, I tried to come up with an objection that would get her to reconsider things.

“Surely you don't mean this, right? It's… just a break, yeah?” I spoke, breaking the momentary silence.

Strands of her jet-black hair blew under a ragged red beanie in the breeze amongst the pale gray and white of the miserable January day. Dormant trees danced back and forth in concert. The normally busy shopping center where we had met up a million times before seemed as deserted as an arctic snowfield. A few people who were unfortunate enough to want to eat something they didn't have at home trudged through the dirty, plowed slush and snow into the supermarket or whatever restaurant dared to open today.

“What's the difference to you?” Kara replied, hot air visibly swirling out of her nose like an angered dragon. When she was about to say something hurtful, her nostrils flared pretty obviously, and the septum piercing I'd never seen her without was even more noticeable. “You'd go weeks without speaking to me if you could.”

“I keep telling you. It's not like that. I'm just kind of a recluse.” I responded defensively. I didn't think my behavior was neglectful. At times, Kara had even said that my “writer-ly nature” was charming. Kept saying I'd end up renting a cabin in the woods outside a small town, like that one Stephen King story.

Pet Sematary, right?

“We haven't spent any time together for the past month, you know? I'm not particularly demanding, but a text might be nice once in a while.” Kara's words, spoken softly through cold-chapped lips, hit like a small van. I really didn't think twice about it while it was happening. It was usually a “I'll respond later” type of thing.

Except the later never came until it was too late.

It reached that point where you felt awkward responding to the message after so long. It gets even later, then you wonder if that strange social rule you likely made up in your head even applies when it's the girl you're dating.

Probably not. But it's too late to respond by then, right?

Just as well, it was likely too late to explain it to Kara.

Her large, round glasses fogged up as she exhaled loudly, awaiting my likely insufficient response. Truthfully, I was glad. Every moment she spent staring into my eyes between sparse blinks felt like another layer of emotional armor I had built up was being stripped away.

“Yeah. I'm sorry.” I spoke meekly. I didn't really have anything I could say besides a long-winded explanation. To be honest, I have friends online that I don't speak to for several months and as soon as I message them, it's like I never stopped.

At least, it feels that way. In truth, every one of them could be as upset as my beloved Kara was right now. I silently noted that I should probably ask several of my online friends if they were mad at me, later. I probably shouldn't, but I knew that I'd do it regardless.

Oh, right. It was Salem's Lot. Silly me.

The sun sank low behind the skyscrapers lining up and down the streets of the Archmage Road. Only the most expensive and luxurious office buildings, glass reflecting the dying orange light of the sunset, were allowed to grace the well-lit avenue. Streetlights hooked up to magical arrays flickered to life consecutively, as if someone were flipping switches on one-by-one.

Except for one small, two-story brownstone with a raggedy awning and sign.

Situated between Spherico’s Orbs’ main HQ and the Hobgoblin Media offices was a building that appeared to be completely forgotten by time. Modern buildings, constructed by powerful magic and the labor of dozens of likely underpaid laborers, dwarfed the Detective Offices of Jones and Hawthorne, like the last vestiges of a local plant trying to survive amongst the invasive species that had blown in with the wind.

As exhausted-looking office workers and executives in overpriced suits with even more expensive staves filed out of the buildings on either side like ants on the march, a phone rang within the faded brown brick walls of the edifice in the middle of it all.

A tired looking half-elf with neatly styled salt-and-pepper hair and a typical handsome-man five o’clock shadow moved his squeaky desk chair across the room to the phone, which was placed next to the door to his office.

“I swear I told the secretary to move this phone to her desk.” He muttered to himself, mildly frustrated.

“I heard that!” a disgruntled reply came from the other side of the wooden door. “I can’t reach it, you moron.”

“Levitate it or something?” the Half-Elf shot back in between loud, obtrusive rings. He picked up the aged land-line, covered in a thin layer of dust and seemingly perfectly matching everything else in the building. Placing it to his elongated but rounded ears, he sighed before putting on a rehearsed gruff voice. He actually took pride in his ability to sound like a private detective of many more years than he actually had. It lent a certain professionalism, given his particular field.

“Yes? Jones and Hawthorne.” He spoke confidently, altering his voice with a little world-weary energy.

“Which one are you?” The voice on the other end replied, sounding genuinely curious.

“Is this a joke?”

“Far from it, sir. I saw a posting for your offices online and thought I’d give you guys a call.” The voice went from curious to a bit excitable realizing that someone was actually there and it wasn’t a prank line. “I didn’t think anyone actually still ran detective agencies.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t think anyone still called landlines.” The half-elf responded curtly. “And just so we’re clear, I’m Hawthorne. Anarion Hawthorne.”

“Ah, Hawthorne, perfect. I chose a landline precisely because nobody expects them. I’m glad your partner is so old-fashioned.”

Hawthorne let out a loud sigh. “Was old-fashioned.”

“Ah, I see. My condolences.”

“Look. I’m open until nine, so if you’re really worried about the means of communication, just come down to the office.” Hawthorne brushed his hair back, a fairly obvious scar running from his forehead to the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll send someone post-haste. It’s of the utmost importance. I might even teleport them to your office myself!”

“If you can teleport them, can’t you just come here your-” He was interrupted by a click. Hawthorne slammed the landline down. Just the idea that there were people who didn’t know what happened to Jones seemed to irk him, even a year later.

The tired private detective gazed around his office, quickly realizing it wasn’t really presentable to anyone, let alone a client with the ability to use spatial magic within the limits of the strictly monitored Bay City.

Wizards and casters with a Class-T license were usually big business executives, politicians, or police officers. Whoever it was, the job was sure to pay well. Anarion Hawthorne, for the first time in months, felt a tinge of excitement. A murder case the cops wouldn’t pay attention to? Corporate espionage? The possibilities ran through his head as he continued tidying his office. Lifting up overturned pictures and making a halfhearted attempt to wipe dust off of the desks and surfaces lining every single wall of the room, something he had done at the advice of Jones, of course. Something about “leaving no blank walls for people to plant devices.” Even he had to admit it had a comfortable feeling about it. Hawthorne nonchalantly ripped open a small pouch with a worn label that read something like “Plant Food (But Good)” and poured it into the soil of a dying fern he had gotten as a gift from the daughter of a client. It sprung to life as if it were defibrillated suddenly.

A low-budget computer sat on his desk in the center-back of the office, facing a line of horizontal windows with the blinds closed. The rising moon and fading sun battled for dominance in the sky through the barely visible shades., resulting in a rare occurrence known as a “Faerie’s Moon.”

The receptionist, Longclaw, had always kept track of the moon phases, so she had actually been excited as Hawthorne walked in that morning, his exhausted demeanor completely fading against the indomitable will of a woman preparing to enjoy her hobbies. He didn’t even try to say anything negative like he had become accustomed to doing. Seeing a kobold so excited about something so… esoteric was odd to him, but every month or so, she spent about an hour in his office, perched on the adjustable stool on the other side of his desk, explaining the magical meaning behind each phase, something which technically meant absolutely nothing to Longclaw, who was born without the capability to channel mana, and Anarion, a magic school dropout.

Hawthorne eyed the clock hanging on the wall above the office door. It was a peculiar one, in the shape of an imp, every hand on the clock was a consecutively small pitchfork, like you’d see on a little demon in a classic serial. Despite the fact that pitchforks, being three-pointed, didn’t exactly make good clock hands, he had learned to tell time on it quite efficiently. 7:34 PM. Hawthorne slumped back in his chair, satisfied with the half-assed cleaning job. Surely whoever was arriving with such important business wouldn’t care that much about the state of his office.

The fairy security system warding the windows and other entrances of the two-floor building started to pipe up a call of warning, then stopped suddenly. The fairy perched on Longclaw’s desk actually seemed confused when she had stopped mid-chirp. The green-scaled kobold hopped off her office chair in a manner similar to a child climbing off of a high surface, and adjusted her rather ornate dress, looking around the lobby confusedly. Hawthorne, having heard a sudden high-pitched noise stop without warning, was up and at the entrance of his office, peering through the door. The low-lit lobby seemed as mundane as ever.

“Ah, Rio?” Miss Longclaw pointed a sharpened finger behind Anarion, casually using the childhood nickname of a man who was supposed to be her boss. The glint of steel bounced off the glass window of the office door as the Half-Elf threw himself backwards through the door and toward his desk. He muttered the incantation for a Spell of Grasping and threw open the drawer as the figure in the back corner of his office lunged toward him. In an instant, Hawthorne pointed his revolver at the figure, who stopped in their tracks.

“Freeze!” He yelled at the silhouette. In response, The figure snapped both of their fingers at once and the shadows surrounding them started to swallow them up. Hawthorne closed one eye and fired the revolver, chambered in 22. LR. The bullet bounced off the only thing he could make out the details of. Before the figure disappeared completely Hawthorne heard an “ouch, SHIT!” the clanging of metal to the cheap hardwood floor, and the whizzing of a bullet past his own ears and out the window, which promptly crumbled to sparkling dust in the moonlight. Longclaw ran inside as the knife clattered to the floor, nearly sprinting inside on all fours, as Kobolds in a rush usually do.

“What in blue blazes, Rio!?” She seemed genuinely worried. Hawthorne holstered his revolver and walked over to the center of the room, gazing backward at the remainder of the window the bullet left behind. It wasn’t much.

“Ah, uh… I got attacked.” Anarion replied, regaining his composure.

“I can see that. Would you mind telling me why you fired your bloody pistol inside the office?” Miss Longclaw didn’t seem very impressed. She had gone into a small closet in the corner of the office and grabbed a broom and dustpan, waddling over to the window frame.

“He was going to charge at me. I made a judgement call.” Hawthorne knelt down with a gloved hand to pick up the sliver of metal off the ground from in front of his desk. It appeared to be a jagged, handmade knife with some kind of enchantment. It vibrated as he took the hilt in his gloved hand.

“This was goblin-made.” He said out loud.

“I thought they didn’t do magic, much.” Longclaw replied, calmly sweeping up glass dust into the dustpan, which was almost her height.

“Well, one teleported into the damn office, Longclaw.”

“You’re the one who cheaped out on fairy wards.”

“It was a cost-saving measure!”

“So you could spend more on hair products, no doubt.”

“That doesn’t come out of the office budget, and you know it.”

Before their bickering could escalate any further, a sound resembling a whipcrack echoed through the office and escaped through the open window, shaking the damaged blinds with a small shockwave.

In the center of Anarion Hawthorne’s office stood a man wearing a classic wizard’s hat with a well-groomed and close-cropped white beard.

“Oh, Goddess.” Longclaw muttered quietly.

Hawthorne switched to his gruff detective demeanor at the instant the two men’s eyes made contact.

“Ahem. And to who do I owe the pleasure? I can guess you ain’t here to try and stab me like the last guy.”

“Having trouble, detective?” The wizard seemed rather judgemental of the whole scene, cold gray eyes occasionally focusing on Longclaw, who was doing her best to avoid his gaze. Anarion was sure he was the type who’d never hire a kobold for anything, let alone let one into his office. He ignored the prejudgement and did his best to get right to business.

“You’re the liaison?” He spoke up. The man seemed wise beyond his years, but with a certain arrogance that better befit a man half his age, someone who seemed to have his whole life ahead of him and was fully knowledgeable of it. Anarion half expected the wizard to lift one leg and climb over the chair on the other side of his desk to sit down at it.

But the wizard did no such thing. He just stood there, eyeballing the baubles and certificates lining the walls of the office, his healthy-looking long white hair billowing out of a comically pointed blue hat, and certainly not matching with his black suit. Anarion assumed those hats were mostly worn as a matter of ceremony nowadays.

“Apologies for my master’s… haste earlier.” The wizard replied, after seemingly taking in the vibe of the office for some time. The moonlight caught Miss Longclaw’s scales as they did so often, and she gazed distractedly out the window at the Faerie’s Moon, Which let out a pale pink glow, almost unnoticeable unless you stared at it for a long time. A gentle smile crossed her face, her snout crinkling slightly. The wizard grimaced at the display, to which Anarion loudly put his hands on the oak desk. Longclaw remained transfixed by the moon, but the Wizard seemed taken aback. It appeared the message was received just fine.

“I would ask what’s happened to your office window, but whoever was here last left enough magical traces to recast the spell thricefold.” The wizard said knowingly. “And by the looks of it, not very well.”

“Yeah, I was attacked a few moments before you popped in. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?” Hawthorne asked, a hint of venom in his voice. Insulting the wizard by even insinuating he was associated with such low-class magic was sure to sting.

And sting it did.

“You’re lucky we need you for a job. I wouldn’t set foot in any place so “quaint” otherwise.” The Wizard physically turned up his nose and he pulled his cellphone from the pockets on his pricy-looking suit.

“A wizard as old and wise as you talking like a stuck-up butler isn’t really fitting.” Anarion replied.

Ignoring the remark, the aged sorcerer browsed his phone for a moment, before uttering an incantation. It seemed to cause an image to be projected into the room.

“Goblin Druid. Most likely the person who appeared in your room was not the caster, and given that the spell was written so carelessly, they’re probably lost in cross-space now.” The wizard put his phone away. “I can’t imagine why someone as distinguished as you is in some sort of blood feud with the Goblins, nor why they’d forgo simply shelling your offices as they are so often want to do.” He sneered a little at the thought.

“Huh. Didn’t think you’d really answer me.”

“Can we talk about the pressing matters now, Mister Hawthorne?”

“Surely. Mind introducing yourself first, though?” The energy in the room had lessened in intensity since the wizard had given in to the detective’s request, making it clear that he was in fact, there to do proper business.

“My name is Glarewell Knight. I’m a personal Archmage of the Mayor.”

34th Precinct, Downtown Bay City, 7:54PM

Eileen Littlewing sat in the office of her chief, a large, husky Baketanuki. The older man looked the very definition of a police chief, down to the dark, well-groomed mustache that seemed more like the end of a broom than facial hair. The Monoeye gazed around the office nervously. It was the first time he had called her in the office for any reason other than to immediately praise her, and her small bat wings fluttered in trepidation.

“There’s no need to be nervous, Littlewing.” The Chief said to her, doing his best to look reassuring. Given that his office was not only lined with extremely clean and clear windows, but in the center of the main floor of the precinct, occasionally, one of the other cops would gaze through to try and see what was happening.

But nothing was happening. He was just staring at her. Her big orange eye did everything it could to avoid locking with his. He had big, visible bags underneath them, most likely having to do with dealing with the remnants of his special units causing messes all around the city.

“I…is this about the slime mafia? I’m really sorry.” Eileen seemed genuinely worried. She brushed her scarlet, bobbed hair to the side slightly, putting her hat on carefully so the holes where her horns fit in perfectly. The display of respect for her uniform, more akin to a child putting on a costume they were really proud of than a distinguished officer, caused the demeanor of the tanuki to soften instantly.

“No, ya ain’t in trouble for that, Littlewing. Matter of fact, it was a bang-up job. I should give McCoy a raise for even keeping ya around.” A small smile crossed his face. “Speaking of which, where is that good-fer-nothin’?”

As he said this, Sergeant Gretchen McCoy strode into the office, carelessly slamming the door behind her. A framed picture standing up on the Chief’s desk fell over.

“What is this, Chief Poco?” The fiery redhead didn’t even give the other two in the room a moment to take in her attitude. It was clear she wasn’t happy.”

“You wanna lend out my point man-”

“Point girl, Sarge.” Eileen interrupted.

“Hush, rookie.” McCoy replied.

“You wanna lend out my point man to some half-rate detective who works for what… the Mayor?” Gretchen, despite being several feet shorter than the chief, and about the same height standing as he was sitting, looked rather intimidating. It took everything Eileen had when she was mad like this to even butt in with a correction.

Chief Poco looked furious. “Yer damn right I do! She’s our star officer!”

“She’s a good look for PR, you mean.”

“If I didn’t think she could do it, I wouldn’t suggest it.” Poco replied.

Eileen perked up at the declaration. Her hard work in the Gryphon unit had finally begun to pay off. She stared dutifully at the Chief, already having made up her mind. Gretchen, who was so focused on arguing with Poco, hadn’t noticed.

“To be completely honest, you’re lucky I didn’t suspend the whole bunch of you after that raid on the Slime Mafia tower. Balabanov’s explosions alone cost the city twenty-thousand bucks.”

Gretchen took a drag from a cigarette neither Eileen nor the Chief had seen her walk in with, exhaling the smoke from her nose like a dragon. “I don’t think you realize how much worse it would’ve been if you had sent fuckin’ Chimera or something in there. Do you really think they woulda figured out that the slimes lost their form when exposed to electric charges?”

“Yes, I do think they would’ve! Do you know why? Because it’s basic elemental magic, McCoy!”

“I don’t know any magic, chief. The rest of my unit doesn’t use magic.” Gretchen kind of side-eyed her cyclopian rookie at this remark, a slight red flushed across Eileen’s cheeks in response. “S-sorry…”

“Don’t apologize, Littlewing!” Poco looked at Eileen as if he had just yelled at a small child. “Without your eye, I doubt they’d have been able to negate all that damage. Detonating an A-class Magical Explosive without proper clearance at the top of a fuckin tower!”

“And? It got the job done, didn’t it?”

“You’re so lucky it was the first time you’ve done this.”

“It won’t be the last if you keep sending Chimera ahead of us.” Gretchen put her cigarette between her lips and leaned on the desk with both hands, the badge around her neck bouncing against her chest. “You want a clean job? Don’t send us to clean up their goddamn mess.”

It took Chief Poco a moment to come up with a response. He closed his eyes and cleared his throat with his curled fist to his mouth. “One day, McCoy. You’ll be chief. You’ll be dealing with a bunch of Sergeants just like you. We’ll see how that goes.”

“I fuckin hope so! Because Sergeants like me make sure their rookies don’t go gallivanting with dumbfuck private dicks!”

“You wanna take this up with the Mayor? Because you’re doing a whole lot of bitching and moaning. Perhaps you’d like to schedule a meeting to find out why they requested Littlewing specifically.”

“Well, I can assume why.”

“I… Sarge?” Eileen spoke quietly, attempting to get a word in edgewise amongst the tense conversation.

“Hmm?” Gretchen seemed to soften up as she turned towards the monoeye. Eileen seemed to have that effect on people.

“I’m uh… the only cop in the 34th precinct without a write-up.” Eileen replied with a hint of hesitation. “The Mayor wouldn’t request you guys.”

“Huh. No shit. The whole 34th?”

“Yeah. Either way, I was already determined to take the assignment. It isn’t like we’ve much to do after the Slime Tower.” Eileen looked up at her superiors.

“Alright, well,” Gretchen began, exhaling nicotine breath directly at Eileen, who wiggled her nose in discomfort, “You’ll at least let me meet this detective, right?”

“No! I mean… er, I can handle it myself. I’ll call HQ if I need anything, okay?” The loud clock in the Chief’s office ticked for a few moments, and the passers-by that had started gathering around the windows seemed confused. The uproar had completely died down.

“Littlewing. Just so we’re clear, this is a plainclothes operation. Independent detectives don’t wear uniforms.” Chief Poco said.

“Oh! You mean they don’t wear those long, worn trenchcoats and smoke cigarettes and-”

“No, I mean… Some do? I’m not sure, honestly.” The Chief seemed to have lost the plot, trying to cut off Eileen before the objective was completely gone to the four winds. Eileen’s bat wings fluttered in excitement. She, being on a squad made primarily for raids and riot control, had not ever encountered a detective employed by the department, let alone a private detective.

“So, this case! It can’t be that serious, right?” Gretchen inquired, raising an eyebrow. Chief Poco’s fluffy tail swept across the floor behind his rolling chair a little, and he put both palms on the desk before exhaling.

“The Mayor’s daughter has been kidnapped.”

“That brat that got caught going on an Automaton Joyride? Probably just ran away again.” Gretchen replied dismissively.

“Ah! Sarge, it’s still serious!” Eileen looked shocked. "It's serious enough that the mayor doesn't want anyone else to know!"

"Or, and hear me out here." Sergeant McCoy began, "your daughter getting kidnapped would really harm your election chances."

"There's no way that's true! Nobody could be that uncaring… right, chief?" Eileen turned to look at Chief Poco with an expression akin to one a small animal would give if you held its favorite toy out of reach, but it was sure you'd give it back.

The Chief couldn't respond. Nothing he could say would be appropriate. He didn't want to imagine the diminutive rookie slinking dejected out of his office, and he didn't want to set her up for disappointment later.

"Look, you've got to meet your liaison soon, hurry along." Poco replied dismissively. His voice sounded hesitant, though.

"Can I tell Ramona or Penny where I'm going?"

"Urgh… sure. But not too many details. I know how Officer Tyrannus likes to gossip."

"And if ya keep it real quiet, I might even give you Lou's phone number~" Gretchen followed up, in a taunting sort of voice.

Eileen's cheeks flushed bright red and she shot up from her chair.

“I’ll be on my way, then!” She nearly yelped.

“Civilian clothes, Littlewing!” Gretchen shouted as she sped out the small office.

The air outside was cool and breezy. Perfectly fitting for a mid-autumn evening. Eileen passed by businesses specifically catering to Nightfolk with a grin on her face that she didn’t even bother trying to hide. She adjusted the shoulder holster she kept under her jacket, unused to the feeling as she was, and tried her best to straighten herself out as she passed under neon signs for 24-7 bodegas and one particular magic supply shop that was run by a Druid who worked night shift his whole life and was unable to fix his sleep schedule without serious arcane adjustment.

She knew the neighborhood of the Archmage Road like the back of her hand.

Up until she got to the Business District. The imposing look of the glass buildings standing among an overpriced-looking wizard’s tower at the end of the street, standing above the fancy-looking modern constructions like a king made of concrete and enchanted obsidian gazing upon his rows of subjects.

Walking amongst the likes of self-important business wizards and strangely well-kept druids who would normally steer clear while she was in uniform, Eileen felt strangely out-of-place. She didn't have much of a reason to visit this district outside of her job, so seeing people float by on various contraptions, start up their cars or shove past her roughly as if they had somewhere to go after work was quite an odd feeling. She'd half a mind to speak up and voice her indignation, but she knew quite well that without her badge, she sort of just looked like a teenager getting angry at some guy leaving work. The monoeye sighed and adjusted her oversized bomber jacket, taking care to avoid a grate on the sidewalk, slowly expelling steam straight into the air.

She could see her destination towards the end of the block. A gap of space between the Spherico's Orbs building and the news offices they used to record all those terrible current events podcasts. Eileen shuddered as she recalled a time Gryphon 05 was called to protect the Hobgoblin Media offices from a crowd of angry witches. The "news channel" published a series of hit pieces about the district's coven leader, Gladys Grant, complete with spurious sources that fell apart under any scrutiny. She'd never smelled so much expensive, tacky perfume gathered in one place.

Passing by the news station and shoving past a male Kitsune and another Beastkin who looked like they had both been stood up, the rookie cop approached the two floor brick-and-mortar affair. The pink moon shone overhead, bathing the detective offices in a gentle glow. Up above on the second floor, the monoeye could see a smashed window. Eileen, despite presumably knowing exactly what she was walking towards, felt her hand creep towards the revolver on her waist. Two figures stood idle by the doorway, sharing a smoke. One, from what Eileen could tell, was wearing something pointy on his head. The other was tall. Elf? Just a large human? The Chief had told her she only had one partner for this case.

Finally, Eileen psyched herself up, exhaled deeply, and walked towards the door, wings fluttering in anticipation. It was a sketchy sight, to be sure. Maybe her partner had already been attacked!

Eileen grabbed the handle to the doors of the Detective Offices of Jones and Hawthorne and pulled it open quickly, strolling right into the lobby. Directly in front of her were a wizard in an expensive-looking silken robe and pricy dress shoes underneath. To his right was Half-Elf with a rather handsome shape to his face, 5 o clock shadow like something she'd see in a poorly-aged detective serial, and neatly styled hair. She could immediately tell he put most of his care into that, as beneath his eyes were thick bags emblematic of a dedicated detective, or at least one with poor sleeping habits.

Suddenly, the Monoeye felt a tad excited.

"And just who are you supposed to be?" The Half-Elf asked, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"Officer Eileen Littlewing, sir! I assume you're Private Detective Anarion Hawthorne?" Eileen fought her nervous energy, forcing a proper response to the surface without stuttering.

Yeah, that's me." Anarion Hawthorne replied, caused Eileen’s wings to flutter once again. "You're the cop they're sending me?"

Eileen nodded. Hawthorne looked to the Archmage Glarewell Knight, puzzled expression crossing his face. Eileen recognized it immediately.

"You're underestimating me, then?" She said, a bit of venom in her normally excitable tone.

"Ah, well… I just wasn't expecting someone so…" Hawthorne began.

"Green?" Eileen finished his sentence. For a moment, the silence in the lobby of the building was palpable. One of those loud clocks nobody used anymore was tick-ticking away behind them. The man in the wizard hat cleared his throat loudly as Eileen eyeballed the detective. He couldn't return her gaze. He couldn't tell if she was about to attack him or start crying.

"Hawthorne, this is Officer Littlewing. She'll be your partner for this operation. I believe in time you'll see she's uniquely suited for it, given the circumstances." His normal condescending tone was replaced by one completely devoid of emotion.

"Why's that? Is she gonna give our leads the puppy-dog stare?"

Eileen didn't respond for a moment. Hawthorne looked worried, wondering if perhaps he had actually made her cry.

Then, the monoeye turned away from him.

"You're just like the stories." She muttered.

"Eh?"

"Ah, well in all those hard-boiled detective stories, the main character is usually a good-for-nothing jerk for no reason!" She remarked, smiling at him. It was a genuine smile, but her oddly-structured observation hit its mark, and she knew it. Anarion Hawthorne dropped his guarded posture, crossed arms falling to their sides. Glarewell Knight, the Mayor's personal Archmage, snickered loudly.

"Ya got me, half-pint. I'll play nice, alright? Just don't get in my way. This investigation-"

"Is a joint operation, Mister Hawthorne! I'm not your sidekick. In a lot of ways, I figure I'm even more capable than you!"

"How do you figure?" The half-elf shot back, bending over to even out the height difference between the pair.

"For one thing, I've noticed you haven't cast any wards on your place of business. In your line of work, I'd imagine that's quite hazardous!" Eileen began pacing about the lobby, her eye moving from corner to corner as if creating a list of issues to spout off.

"I've got pixies on all the windows…"

"Not good enough! And another thing!"

"What, gonna point out the clock is an hour ahead, too?"

"No! It's actually-"

"Or maybe it's about the rickety banister!"

Glarewell Knight took a step back. Eileen placed her hand at her holster.

Anarion Hawthorne, despite his fantastic intuition and a general good sense for crime solving, lacked one thing that the seasoned wizard and the rookie officer both had in spades.

"You can't detect magic, can you?" Knight proclaimed Eileen’s observation out loud.

"I can! It's just not as strong. Why?" Hawthorne looked confused.

"Step to the left, please!" Eileen said, expectantly. Hawthorne complied and, almost as if waiting for this moment, a small portal opened and a Goblin stumbled through like they had entered at a full speed run. Anarion stuck out his leg and the discombobulated cultist tripped over his worn brown chelsea boots and went careening into a wall of exposed brickwork, smashing a row of embedded mailboxes and sending several letters flying as he lay in a heap at the wall. Somewhere in the jumble of letters, Eileen heard something metallic clang to the floor.

"Again!?" Hawthorne seemed more upset about the mess than the thwarted attack.

"How did that goblin bypass the spacetime magic restriction? Does he have a license?" Eileen asked, genuinely confused.

"I doubt it, Miss Littlewing." Glarewell Knight stroked his beard. "It seems that whoever it is, they're using some kind of ritual magic."

"Well, they're under arrest regardless!" Eileen impatiently walked over to the dazed goblin with her handcuffs opened.

Anarion Hawthorne looked to the archmage, expectantly.

"We're not covering the cost of this repair. It seems to be a personal issue between you and this gang of Goblin shaman, after all." Knight declared.

"Half the pay for this job is already spent, damnit!" Hawthorne looked frustrated.

"Well, I'd suggest you get a move on. Maybe next time a cultist spawns, it'll be in someone else's lobby."

Before the detective could think of a witty comeback, Eileen spoke up, a cuffed Goblin about her height struggling in her grasp, several yellow letters in the other hand. "You missed a couple of court dates, too!"

It started with the smoke alarms going off. I was intending to walk out of my apartment annoyed, and even psyched myself up to throw my door open and yell "Alright, this is the third time this month!" To whoever the hell was hanging out directly outside my door and letting their fucking coffin nails waft through the narrow vent above the peephole on my front door. The dying sunlight filtering in from the deathtrap of a balcony on the other side of my apartment barely illuminated the doorway as I headed towards it, my blood pumping. Every time this happened, I'd grab a broom and prod the smoke detector's off button, slump back on the couch and wonder what kind of loser asshole would keep doing it despite definitely hearing my loud, annoyed swear from behind the door.

A high school burnout? Some junkie looking for trouble?

I grabbed the doorknob firmly and twisted. It made a loud click and I realized it was still locked. No doubt they just heard that failed attempt. Would they run away and be halfway down the stairs when I got outside?

It was in moments like these that I realized you actually think a lot faster than it feels like you do. I was outside of my apartment in a flash after unconsciously unlocking the door. The knob flew out of my hands for a moment because I had ripped it open too strongly, and I stumbled outside, still angry.

"Alright, what the FUCK is your problem!? I know you hear that smoke alarm every time you do this."

That's what I wanted to say. Of course, as with all other critical speech checks in life, I failed.

"Alright! You hear that fucking smoke!?" I stuttered over my words as I nearly fell on my face.

"Hmm?" Spoke a rather singsong voice in response. Regaining my footing, I realized that all my anger was gone, replaced by that feeling you get when you're talking to someone way above your social standing. It's a strange feeling. I'm pretty sure it's a learned thing.

Leaning against one of the supporting poles that held up the walkway for each flight of apartments was a short-haired redhead woman in typical office attire. She looked down at me with what I could only assume was a mixture of curiosity and pity. I must've looked like one of those videos of a small animal falling down soft carpeted stairs. She took a drag from her cigarette, turning away from me to exhale a plume of smoke, presumably so as to not blow it in my face.

Well, at least she was considerate.

"You good down there, dude?" Her voice was considerate but in the way a guy who jerks off all day imagines a considerate tomboy to sound. Her ponytail was messy, stray hair misplaced, and the tie that would've brought her work attire together was all but untied, hanging around her neck weakly. Her tights had runs in them, and she was holding a pair of heels in her free hand.

"Y…yeah, I'm good." I replied, the wind taken from my sails. She seemed far worse for wear than me.

"So, where's the fire?" She chuckled a little as I got to my feet and brushed the dust off my clothes. I don't think the super had ever swept these walkways, probably due to the assumption that since they were exposed to the elements, it wasn't necessary.

"I was trying to… find out who was smoking outside my door." I audibly stopped myself from taking an angry tone.

"Oh." She responded. It didn't seem like she got it.

I waited a moment, just kind of looking at her. She dropped her heels in surprise at the sudden revelation.

"Oh, shit dude. That's you who's always cursing?" She exclaimed, genuinely shocked.

"So I'm guessing it's you who keeps smoking directly in front of the vent for my apartment?" I replied, feeling like I'd finally cornered a murder suspect or something.

"Yeah! I live next door. Sorry for that."

She ground her cigarette on the railing and flicked the butt into the distance somewhere. The cold early spring air seemed to respond, sending a chill down my spine. I was just wearing a t-shirt, not expecting to be out here this long.

Come to think of it, what did I actually expect to be out here to do?

If it wasn't some disheveled office lady, would I have been so calm? I'd probably have gotten my ass kicked.

"I learned so many new swears from you, dude." She laughed out loud. "Looking at you now, you definitely don't seem like the type."

Blood rushed to my cheeks as I recalled some of the choice words I barked at my smoke alarm in the past. I certainly wouldn't want anyone hearing me like that. And yet, she had.

"S-so, we're neighbors, then?" I stammered, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah. I'm Mella, by the way." She replied, holding out her hand. I grabbed it gently, trying not to seem too eager. If I can be honest, I wasn't sure why I cared so much. Her hand was clammy and sweaty. If she had been holding the cigarette between two of these fingers, I'm surprised she could even light it.

The wind blew through the open walkway again. I shivered, holding my arms tight to my body after pulling away from Mella's grasp. Her olive-colored skin had an odd glow in the fading sunlight, the orange light seeming to project its warmth through her. Her loose hair shook slightly in the breeze.

"Do you wanna, like, go inside, dude? I can offer you a drink if you want." Mella fished her keys from the bag slung over her shoulder in a rather unsteady manner. I would've offered to hold her heels, but… that'd be odd, wouldn't it?

I nodded quietly and followed behind her. Despite me being several inches taller than the office lady, it felt like she towered over me. I guess that's just the effect of being near someone you hold so much higher than yourself. It wasn't the first time, either.

My train of thought was completely derailed as I stepped into the warmth of Mella's apartment. I didn't really turn on my lights until nightfall, but on the contrary, my neighbor's lights seemed to have never been turned off. There was a slight dust film building up on the light switch.

"Welcome to Casa de Mella!" She said, her long, thin arms spread wide.

I tried to respond, but I tripped over a pile of empty beer cans. Climbing back to my feet, the first thing I noticed wasn't the smell of cigarettes and girl sweat, but the wall of CRT televisions lining the back wall where the entrance to the balcony would be. The lights always being on made sense.

The CRTs all being on made less sense.

Each one displayed a different strange static pattern, analog snowfall on over a dozen screens. It was almost mesmerizing, and I felt like if I kept staring, I'd never be able to pull away. Each TV was one of those small ones your parents would get you to play PS1 games on when you were a kid because you annoyed the hell out of your dad to play in the living room one too many times. The electric feeling in the air when you turned on just one amplified by a dozen. Dust particles from a dozen solid glass screens floated through the air. The smoke detectors had long since been removed, though I reckon she had them handy for whenever the inspector came through. I wonder if he had a problem with the televisions.

"You trip a lot." She said, nonchalantly unbuttoning her dress shirt and chucking her heels into the piles of stuff that took up most of her living room's space.

"You sure don't help." I responded, trying not to sound snarky. I'm pretty sure it came out snarky.

"Just be more careful! I'm not responsible for what you fall into… or for." She winked at me.

"Eh?" I replied, not quite getting the picture.

"Oh, dude, check this out." Mella began pulling off her pencil skirt. Without its restrictive band, I could see she had a slight stomach pudge, and was wearing plain panties beneath her sheer tights. She was definitely more fit than I expected, given her very clear lifestyle as a career alcoholic.

"I'm like a quick-change artist! I'm already in my pajamas!"

I sincerely hoped she had a closet full of dress shirts if she was implying she just slept in whatever she was wearing.

Mella's apartment was a mess, but a few areas seemed distinctly cleaner than the rest. Her kitchen, and the computer desk in the corner of the room. On top of it were two monitors, but it extended far enough that you could fit other things. And fit them, she did. On the far side of the desk, by the door to her bedroom, sat an old, fat computer monitor. Next to it, also in a yellowing off-white color, was a massive computer tower. I'm sure that thing would sound like a jet turbine if it were powered on. The only clear spaces on the messy carpeted floor were directly in front of the desk, and a path, cut like an adventurer through brush, to the impeccably clean kitchen. It was beyond parody how tidy it was in comparison.

"You want me to order a pizza or something?" She called from the couch. It seemed in my few minutes of standing around and taking it all in, Mella had flopped onto the couch, tights covering shapely, yet chubby legs and thighs. I trudged through snack wrappers and piles of clothes likely pulled off in careless haste.

"Your kitchen seems clean. We can just eat leftovers. I mean, I live next do-"

"Of course my kitchen's clean! All I have in there is cereal!"

How do you respond to that?

"Of course you have like… stuff in the fridge, right?"

"Milk."

I had to see for myself. I got up to my feet and kicked a Strong Zero can over to the side. Mella laid on the couch, tapping away at her phone. I walked into the kitchen area, which was made up of a few thin walls and one of those bar window openings so you can hand food to people in the living room area. The carpet stopped abruptly and turned into sticky tile as I walked in. I knew I shouldn't have run outside in my socks. The kitchen itself was clean, relatively speaking. A dull incandescent lightbulb on its last legs flickered ominously and cast an insufficient, yellow glow on the appliances, which looked like they were all from the 90s.

I opened the cabinets with silent trepidation.

One bowl. It was a normal one, like you'd find at any housewares store, white ceramic with a brown stripe down the middle. To the left and right were several boxes of assorted cereals. Cereal I didn't even know existed. What the fuck is a "fruit hoop?" Of course, there were more recognizable boxes, but every single one seemed to have been opened and poorly re-closed. How did she decide which to eat, I wonder?

“So, why cereal?” I inquired, poking my head through the little bar window.

“Uh, my mom.” She replied, sitting up. Her eyes were a nice shade of green. They felt piercing, even despite the shitty lighting. "She said "you should try and eat at home sometimes!" So I at least try to eat breakfast. and lunch. And dinner if I'm really hungover." She let out a hearty laugh, reminiscent of what you'd imagine a Dwarf sounds like at a feast with his Dwarven friends. But there were no dwarves. I briefly imagined Mella with a big beard, and chuckled quietly. She smiled brightly at me, likely thinking I was laughing at her remark.

"Okay, so I don't think there's anything to eat in here." I closed the cabinets, exhaling louder than I originally thought. I glanced over quickly, hoping she hadn't noticed.

"So what's the plan?" She asked, nonchalantly. I looked at her blankly for a moment, and as if she conjured it by magic, Mella grabbed a sealed can of Strong Zero from what looked like the void.

"Isn't that not sold here?" I asked.

"I imported it!" She replied, surprised that I recognized the specific type of Japanese alcohol she was soon to be drinking in excess. Thinking on it, that is kind of obscure knowledge, isn't it?

"Uh-huh. Wouldn't that be expensive?"

"I know a guy!"

I wasn't going to even look into that rabbit hole. Given what little I've learned of my neighbor up till this point, it'd likely bring up more questions than answers.

I was about to turn around and inspect more of her cabinets, my attention being grabbed almost immediately by a draft that blew in from behind me. I turned around, expecting to see the balcony doors open. I quickly remembered why that wasn't possible.

"Did you just feel a draft?"

"Oh. Yeah," Mella began, "The balcony window's broken." Laid horizontally on her couch, she pointed lazily at the rough location of the hole in the paneled balcony door's glass.

"?" I didn't really have a response, but the sound I let out seemed to get the point across.

"It was a pretty crazy party. Like uh… three weeks ago?"

"Huh. I was home all week then, how'd you manage to keep that quiet?" I asked incredulously. I hoped I didn't come across like I was interrogating her. I glanced again at the film of dust atop the first row of CRT televisions, loose particles catching the sinking orange sunlight shining through partially uncovered windows.

"Then it was three weeks before that."

I didn't really say anything. Truth be told, I was unsure of how to respond.

"Anyway, if it gets too cold, you can just cuddle with me." Mella said bluntly. If she was trying to distract me, it worked. I'm certain I audibly perked up. For moments my brain ran wild with the prospect. The office lady had spilled some beer on her blouse and I could make out the outline of her bra from across the living room. Obviously, I felt bad for catching a glimpse, but I wasn't about to attach a cilice to my leg for the impure thought of cuddling. The idea of her modest chest beneath a tight dress shirt up against me. The light scent of a day's worth of sweat and whatever shampoo she had used that morning.

Now it was my turn to change the subject.

"How about gyoza?" I asked.

"Oh, shit! You know how to make gyoza?" She replied, her body moving up into a sitting position on the uncomfortable-looking futon.

"I do." I had been planning to treat myself to some gyoza on the weekend, as a reward for a job well done. I even had a bottle of soju chilling in the fridge to go along with it. A night of relaxation, maybe I'd catch up on some anime.

The gyoza was basically already shared property at this point. I hadn't even rolled the meat and vegetables into the dough yet, and I could tell I'd basically committed myself to this.

"Hell yeah, dude. You need any money for ingredients?"

Briefly, I thought about how I had been caught up in Mella's odd pace. I came outside to scold someone for setting off my smoke alarms, and now I was standing in the middle of her kitchen in my socks, surrounded by the aroma of fermenting booze cans and the surprisingly stock scent of recently redone cabinetry.

"I have the stuff in my fridge, actually." I spoke before I could bite my tongue. Idiot.

"Oh, I'll help you grab it, dude." Mella made an attempt to get off the couch with a bit of flair, but stumbled over the coffee table in front of her. She let out a squeak, then snapped straight up as if I hadn't just seen it.

"Smooth." I remarked, heading for the door, wary of the uneven threshold between the kitchen and the rest of the house.

"I'll say. Cooking for some chick you just met?" Was her retort. I quickened my pace out the door, too flustered to talk back.

Outside, two feelings immediately hit. The first was the feeling of relief. Something about being in Mella’s apartment with her felt stifling. I chalked it up to the awkwardness of going visiting someone’s house for the first time.

The second was how much colder it had gotten since I’d been inside. I suppose I should’ve been able to tell by the draft, but it’s really not the same. I fiddled with my keys as fast as I could, silent, pudgy alcoholic woman behind me.

My apartment was kept relatively clean, most of the time. Unless I was stressing out over a deadline or had fallen asleep drunk, I made sure to leave everything in my abode as I had left it when I woke up that morning.

“Nice digs, neighbor!” Mella piped up immediately, brushing past me in the doorway of my own apartment and into my living room before I could even flick on the lights. I sighed and moved straight to my kitchen. Mella seemed to make a beeline to my drafting desk, the can of Strong Zero still in hand. I thought she had sat that down when she walked outside.

“Uh, feel free to look around, if you like,” I said in futility. She was already poking and prodding the pile of papers on my desk.

“What’s this?” She asked, sounding as curious as a child in a brand-new relative’s house. She was holding up a manuscript a few centimeters thick. It was just barely see-through when the last vestiges of sunlight shone from my balcony window through the back of it.

“It’s just a thing I’ve been working on.” I tried to sound nonchalant as I moved to the fridge and started taking stock of my ingredients.

“You a writer?”

“Something like that.”

“I had an ex who was a writer, aw man.” Mella responded, her own anecdote seeming to bring her some measure of nostalgia.

“And how long ago was that?” I put a few Tupperware containers full of chopped and minced vegetables on my countertop before kneeling back down to reach the rest of the fridge.

“Uh… I dunno, like six years ago?” I could practically hear her cartoonishly putting her finger to her chin in thought. The smell of seasoned ground pork wafted out of the cheap dollar store container as I lifted it up and practically made me start to drool.

“Isn’t that a weird question to ask someone you just met?”

“Didn’t you bring up your ex to start with?”

“I mean… Yeah?”

I silently returned to my search. I had a bottle of soy sauce in here somewhere. I remember hearing that you aren’t supposed to refrigerate it, but my mother always did, so I sorta just picked up the habit. The moon was starting to rise above the trees beyond my shitty wooden balcony railing. Had I really been moving so slowly?

Before long, I had retrieved all the ingredients and put them into one of those reusable shopping bags. I exhaled loudly, clapping my hands together.

“Alright, let’s go!” I said in my best faux-cheery voice.

But there was no response.

I peered through the bar counter-thing in my kitchen to see Mella, hunched over my drafting desk, bottomless save for her tights and underwear. She took a sip from the can in her hand and continued to read intently. In a sudden fit of - call it shame - I certainly wasn’t angry with her, I grabbed the manuscript from her hand with a bit more force than I expected to. Even she was a bit shocked.

“Please uh… Later, okay?” I said, trying to calm down.

“Dude. This is finished, isn’t it?” She said, without even looking at me.

“Yeah.” I put it back down on the desk and started towards the door.

“Have you submitted it?” Her tone was rather intense. It was as if she were asking a question she knew the answer to already.

“Look, we can talk about it later. Now hurry up, before I change my mind about this gyoza.” I tried to sound cold. My fucking voice cracked. I don’t think your voice is supposed to crack in your late-twenties.

“hai-hai!” Mella’s tone grew a bit cheerier, as if I hadn't just snatched something out of her hand like a child.

Mella’s kitchen was surprisingly clean, though I think I said that already. I had brought over my special pans and cutlery for preparation. My freshly sharpened paring knife caught a bit of the moonlight shining in through my neighbor’s apartment window and glinted for a moment. Beautiful. Deadly, too.

For small vegetables. I fired up the gas stove, half-expecting an explosion from negligence. It looked like she had never used the thing, so I took the liberty of wiping it down, as well as the rest of her counters. Mella was in the living room, using the old, yellowing computer on the desk next to her bedroom door. At least, I assumed it was her bedroom door. I wasn’t sure how uniformly the apartments had been constructed. I heard the crunchy MIDI sound of a shooter from the 90s followed by even crunchier sounds coming from a pair of those old PC speakers with their own power supply. The office lady polished off her can, chucked it behind her, and kept playing.

I sauteed the cabbage on the stove, listening to the occasional grumble from Mella over a “HUMILIATION” or “HOOOLY SHIT” from the speakers. At some point, unbeknownst to me, she had lit up a cigarette and the smells combined reminded me of an old net cafe run by an old Chinese couple I had visited when I was in college. I tried not to think about it while I mixed the onions, garlic, and ginger to the mixing bowl with the cabbage, an overpoweringly savory aroma rising once I started kneading the seasoned pork in with the rest of the mixture. I’d never been more thankful to not have a smoke detector.

Why had I stopped going to that net cafe? The owners seemed to like me. I certainly liked the vibe. Every visit had gone smoothly. I even met a cute redhead who played games with me every few visits. So why had I stopped going? I absentmindedly scooped my creation into the center of one of the wrappers I had laid out on a bakery tray. Store bought ones, this time. I didn’t have time to prepare them myself. Mella took a long drag from her cigarette, and the draft from her broken window that seemed to occasionally blow through carried the heady smell of menthols right up to my nostrils. I exhaled forcefully, like a dragon blowing smoke, and kept up my work.

Without getting up, and somehow, in one of the only cleared areas of her living room floor, Mella had managed to acquire another can of booze.

“Think fast!” She threw it over to me and I just barely caught it, the shock making me drop a spoonful of the gyoza filling onto the sticky linoleum floor.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“You ought to be thankful! You know how expensive it was for me to import these cases?” She kicked a loose can and it went careening into what was most likely another pile of cans.

“I’ll buy the next one.” I said without thinking.

“The next one? You think there’ll be a next one?”

“You’re the one having a guy over to cook for you while you play Quake 3!” I said. A weak, belated comeback, but it was all I could think up over the half an hour after she silenced me last.

I cracked open the can. Classic lemon flavor. The static display on the wall of CRTs danced around, the patterns forming odd shapes through the rising heat-haze of the skillet as I placed a few of the wrapped and sealed gyoza onto it, taking a small sip between each. The fragrance of well-seasoned dumpling filling overtook every other smell in the small, but comfortable apartment.

Comfortable? Yeah, I guess it was. It’s the same size as mine, after all.

Mella unbuttoned a few buttons from her blouse.

“Isn’t it getting hot in here, dude?” She asked, fanning herself.

“You ever work in a kitchen?” I replied.

“...You’re kidding, right?”

Yeah. This was the serial cereal-eater, after all.

I returned my attention to the dumplings, carefully managing the coloration on the flat portion as they let out a low, satisfying sizzle against the cast-iron. I grabbed the lid and prepared to pour a little more water in.

“So you know how I told you my boyfriend was a writer, right?” The olive-skinned layabout pushed back on her expensive-looking office desk chair and turned her neck til she was staring directly at me, green eyes obscured by the steam rising.

“Yeah?” I replied, trying not to look at her.

“Well, he’d always tell me about what he was going to publish. Whenever we’d meet up for a date, he’d have loads to tell me.”

“Are you expecting me to tell you about my manuscript?”

“Nah, I just thought it was an interesting anecdote.” She took a drag from her cigarette, probably her second or third, and then another sip from a can.

“How many of those have you put down?” I was genuinely curious.

“About… 6? They don’t really hit unti- hic- until literally now, I guess!” She let out a rather cute chuckle. It didn’t sound like the one from earlier. She shook her head wildly, as if trying to get the intoxication to let go of its grip, and brushed her red hair back into place with her hand. I polished off my first can, and sat it on an empty space on the counter, lifting the top from the skillet and preparing to start moving them back onto the tray.

“You have any plates?”

“No.”

“Whatever. Clear some space off of that coffee table.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the tipsy office lady stumbled over to the table, placed her arm against the surface, and swept it across in one clumsy motion. The clanging of cans and colliding of one or two objects that were probably important resounded through the apartment.

“Mission complete, boss!” She giggled drunkenly, shooting me a sloppy thumbs-up. How could a thumbs-up be sloppy?

“Do you… need help cleaning this place up, maybe?” I posed. She seemed to take it well.

“I-it’s clean where it matters!”

“I won’t cook for you anymore unless this place is clean.”

Mella let out a resigned sigh.. Without saying a word, I got the idea that she wasn’t entirely opposed to it.

I grabbed the second oven mitt I had brought with me out of the shopping bag and shifted the skillet by the handle to a dormant burner, grabbing the tray of gyoza in the same swift movement. I placed the tray down on the table with grace that’d make a dim sum waiter green with envy, careful not to trip over any of the various detritus littering my path.

“Oh, fuck yeah!” She exclaimed in between hiccups. I carelessly chucked my oven mitt through the bar opening-thing and flopped down onto the couch. Mella took a seat next to me. It had occurred to me that I hadn’t checked my phone at all the entire evening, and I took the time to do so.

9:37. Kind of a late dinner, no? And not a single message.

“Here!” She handed me another can of alcohol. I took stock of the cold can before cracking it open and hearing a satisfying sound.

Wait, why is this cold?

Mella plucked an entire gyoza off the tray and took a bite. I don’t know what I expected, but her panting and trying not to spit it out because of how hot it was wasn’t it. Up until that point, she had seemed so invulnerable, so it was kind of a relief. I laughed out loud.

“Hey, you…” She had tried to reach for another one and kind of fell over on the couch, extremely close to my face. I could smell the booze and seasoned pork filling on her breath. I could make out the mole under her left eye. The way she exhaled from her nose instead of laughing as she was regaining her composure. I felt my own cheeks grow hot as I realized she was staying where she was, our faces a few inches apart. A few beads of sweat dripped between her cleavage, and she held onto that dumpling she had picked up off the tray as if her life depended on it, but her hand didn’t move, nor did the rest of her.

“Y…you should shop the story around.” She said, slurring her words a tiny bit.

“What?” I replied, taken aback, and trying to distract myself with the delicious taste of my own cooking.

“Yeah. Don’t be like my ex, dude. I doubt he… I doubt he’s even tried now!” She seemed serious, as much as she could be, at least.

Of course, the thought had crossed my mind, even more now that I was buzzed. The thought always occurred when I drank.

“I’m scared, Mella.”

Why had I said that? The fairly weak barrier which held back the thought of me getting particularly personal with this woman had sprung a leak. Several leaks, most likely. Like a sieve. Was it the alcohol? Maybe it was her disarming presence. The way she kind of bobbed to-and-fro ever so gently, as if caught by the occasional breeze. Mella flashed me a devilish grin, as if this were the opening she were waiting for. She kissed me on the cheek. Unsure of how to react, I sort of just sat there.

And kept speaking.

“I’m really scared. I spend day-in and day-out producing stuff that isn’t mine for people. Why am I so afraid of my own stuff?” I stammered out, damn near chugging the remainder of the can in my hand.

“It’s funny, you know?” Mella responded. I held back from lowering my eyebrows in annoyance at her.

“What’s funny?”

“I always got that feeling from my ex, too.”

Mella pressed her lips against mine gently. Several years of touch-starved-ness out the window in a flash. I pressed back, and we pulled apart.

My world was spinning. Though, half of that was likely because I was a lightweight. Mella’s green eyes seemed to stare through me. My gaze was practically locked in on hers, as if the ginger bob cut that framed her face was like a cage, preventing me from looking anywhere outside of its limits. I got a whiff of the cigarette smell that clung to her clothes on a likely daily basis, heady and somewhat familiar. The soft glow from the cherry of the smoldering coffin nail between her index and middle finger was just barely visible in my periphery.

“I took the -hic- next step in my life, just like you said you would. How are you still stuck?”

“What?”

“You said… You’d publish your book if I got a nice job! Well, look at me!” Mella sloppily moved her hands down the outline of her body, presumably to show off her business attire. Being that half of it was removed, I don’t think it had the desired effect, but I got the gist of it.

She must have confused me for her ex. That had to be it.

“I’m not your boyfriend, Mella. I’m single as hell.” I tried to plead my case. I pulled a can of beer from the abyss and took several large swallows, loudly gulping.

“I mean, we never formally broke up, did we?”

“Didn’t we?” I decided to play along out of curiosity. I took a sip.

“You just kind of stopped showing up one day.”

Have you ever wondered what causes someone to pass out? What causes a person to hear a sentence and practically go blank? Take a nap for a few hours?

I still don’t really know, but I do know that at that moment, I definitely did. I’m sure the booze made me a little sleepier, but it was Mella’s words that really stole my consciousness. I’m pretty sure the static on the CRTs were all the same right before it all went black. Wonder what that meant.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, I found myself laying on Mella’s uncomfortable futon. The sun was rising, and the faint smell of breeze-chilled uneaten gyoza wafted into my nose. I groggily sat up, and stared around the room. My arm was sore from sleeping on it wrong, and I could hear shuffling from the other room.

Same messy, can-infested living room. The wall of twenty-year-old televisions displayed nothing different from yesterday. Perhaps another layer of dust.

Mella stepped out of her bedroom, looking pristine, as if last night’s runny makeup and binge drinking had never happened. For all I know, she was simply adept at containing her hangovers. I know I wasn’t. My head kind of swam, and my hand was shaky as I tried to grab one of the dumplings off the tray.

“Oh, hey, dude. You must really be a lightweight, eh?” Her messy red hair was neatly styled, curtain bangs completely equal on both sides. They might not have been, but I really wasn’t in any kind of state to be judging that. “You look like shit.”

In truth, I really hadn’t been that drunk.

“Ah, yeah.” I responded, barely a spark of life within me.

“Don’t forget what you said yesterday.” She said, her smile growing stern.

“What did I say?”

“That you’d help me clean up my living room.”

I had said that. I’d also said I’d cook for her again, I think.

“Yeah, I did. The place smells. It kinda reminds me of…”

“A net cafe?” Mella finished my sentence.

Maybe I'll call up that publisher today.

( You're about to view content that the journal owner has advised should be viewed with discretion. )

( You're about to view content that the journal owner has marked as possibly inappropriate for anyone under the age of 18. )

The metro rumbled loudly as it exited the tunnel. The sudden change in elevation as the train ascended into the sinking orange daylight, causing a few of the folks who were previously peering out of the windows at seemingly nothing to shift backward a few feet. A Kobold fell off the seat at the shock of the bright orange dusk.

“You’re always bragging about your vision, moron! See where it gets you!” A haughty Wood Elf laughed at their friend’s sudden tumble, her pale ears wiggling slightly and shifting the brunette hair around them as she did.

“I-it was just the train going over a bump!” The red-scaled, diminutive lizard responded, picking themselves up off the floor of the relatively empty traincar and brushing off their clothes. “And besides, I have incredible vision in the dark! I’m not really great with bright lights…”

Both of them stopped upon hearing a light, friendly chuckle from across the traincar. It appeared their on-the-spot comedy routine managed to reach someone. On a small seat towards the door connecting to the next car sat a blonde-haired dragonkin, who, upon realizing the pair were staring at her inquisitively, covered her mouth in embarrassment, immediately stifling the laughter.

“Oh! Don’t mind me! I was just listening to something funny.” The tip of her tail shook back and forth frantically like a rattlesnake as she replied quickly, pulling out her earbuds and showing them to the duo, doing her best to clutch them between her scaly fingers. She wasn’t sure if either could tell, but there wasn’t anything playing. The Elf and the Kobold both kind of just shrugged, and turned back to their bickering. Content in her mild deception, Oprim turned back to her studying of the subway map. According to its detailed instructions (written in Common and Koboldi!). It seemed she was less than a stop away from her destination.

“Ah, maybe I should get up…” She thought to herself, standing up to her full height. Her small spines poked out of her long blonde hair and fell back down as she relaxed. She grabbed her large gym bag and went to stand by the traincar exit, sighing quietly. It had been a few weeks since she’d moved to Bay City, and Oprim had given herself a few goals for the first month. She wanted to start going for runs around her neighborhood, but after an older Kikimora woman and her husband politely called the dragon chubby during their apparently “customary for new tenants” surprise dinner party, She’d resolved to find a gym close to her. That was, of course, after a few nights of contemplation, sat in front of her collection of horror DVDs and telling herself she was going to do it. She was certain the little European house spirit hadn't meant anything by it as she shuffled about the kitchen.

"Ah! You look like one who carries a child! Did you not say you were alone?" The thought of the remark brought a blush to Oprim's pale cheeks, thankfully concealed by her long blonde hair.

The sound of the train braking as it screeched into the station shook her from her silent recollection. “West End Street. This is West End Street Station.” Spoke the train conductor in a rather charming deep voice. Oprim wondered if they hired people with certain vocal magicks for jobs like this, or if it was coincidence. She had heard that Bay City employed vocal magic practitioners able to project their voices in the listener’s primary language. People of various shapes and sizes filed out of the cars’ various doors in a rush, and Oprim shivered a bit as the late Autumn air caressed her bare, scaly legs. The rather large dragonkin had just started out of the doors when she nearly tripped over what appeared to be a common house cat and it looked up at her and let out a hiss, stepping over her large, clawed feet.

“I’m so sorry, kitty! I didn’t see you don’t there.” She apologized, kneeling down as close as she could to the cat’s height. It was a large, fluffy gray cat with whiskers that looked like they were caught in an egg beater and twisted about.

"How did a puss like you get on the train, huh?" Oprim beamed at the feline, pleasantly surprised to see it on the bustling platform.

“Think me a mere cat, do you? Purrrrrhaps one as large as you could be a bit more observant for “kitties”, yes?” Oprim could do nothing else but nod at the cat as it turned its nose up, which brought it face to face with the much larger dragonkin.

"I'll be more careful!" Oprim piped up, almost dutifully.

"Rightfully so!" The feline chirped, narrowly avoiding a goblin sprinting for the train before the doors closed. The train dinged as it began to leave the station, grabbing Oprim's attention briefly. As she turned back to her current situation, she found the cat had begun walking away, gracefully hopping onto the railing on the outside of the train platform overlooking the street below, the little backpack sitting upon it jingling as it moved precariously along.

"Even the cats are in a rush here, huh?" The pale woman said to herself, quietly. She got back up from her squatting position and started on her way to the gym.

A few rather chilly blocks down and a few moments later, Oprim had reached the location she was looking for. Positioned perfectly next to a strange brownstone that looked more like a family home than a shop, with a large, gaudy awning that read “Akikaze Magicks”, Oprim peered upwards at the incandescent sign, which obviously illuminated itself at night.

“DEZZ’HAI’s DOJO”, The sign seemed to scream at her. Something about the combination of the completely unchanged Impact font used for a sign with lights felt oddly aggressive, and somehow inept. The building looked older than the rest on the block, with the exception of the strange magic shop next door. It was two or three stories tall, a normal reddish-brown brick building with decades of wear and tear on the exterior. It was unclear exactly how many stories it was because on top of the sign were the normal row of windows, but above that was about ten or fifteen feet of just solid brick wall. Oprim was certain that wasn’t how buildings were constructed, but perhaps Bay City had some kind of weird zoning laws.

Shivering one last time at the seeming blast of cold air from between the tall buildings on West End Street, Oprim passed through the glass doors, one of many for various demi-human sizes, and held it open for a fairy who had called out to her as she moved, she sighed in relief as her body was gently embraced with the warm, temperature controlled air of the gym lobby.

"HI! Welcome to the Dojo of DESTRUCTION!" An Orc woman popped out of seemingly nowhere, catching the already jittery Oprim by surprise. She was about half a foot-taller than the Dragonkin, and more built by any measure. Broad shoulders, like those of a minotaur protector, toned leg muscles barely concealed beneath tight exercise shorts, and a solid core that would’ve made Oprim grab her own stomach pudge in shame were she not so shocked were on full display.

"Eek!" The jumpy dragonkin felt her soft body tense up, years of training kick-starting her forgetful muscle memory like a centaur hoof to a ragged old engine. Oprim yanked the arm of the Orc and pulled her close, her opponent squished right up against her chest, following the maneuver to disarm, and only stopping when the gym trainer’s clipboard clattered to the floor, echoing loudly in the nearly empty lobby.

“Er… Miss!?”

“Ah… wait. I’m so, so sorry!” Oprim’s pale face flushed a bright red as she released the woman and quickly knelt down to pick up the Orc’s clipboard and, unsure of what to do in her panic, held it out towards her, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. After a moment of regaining her composure, The dragonkin’s mistaken assailant stared into Oprim’s bright, golden eyes.

And smiled.

“You’ve got to be here for the MMA course! Are you a veteran!? That was a military-style disarming grab! I’d know it anywhere! I’ve been looking for someone like you!” The Orc was all smiles, practically beaming, sharp canines flashing.

“Nothing like that, no!” Oprim waved her scaly hands dismissively. “I was recommended this gym, so I decided to pay it a visit. And besides… it’s been a while…”

In truth, Oprim had only been home for a few months. Bad habits quickly took over when she wasn’t forced to wake up at five in the morning, run drills, and stand guard. Most prescient, however, were the remarks by a fellow Dragonkin she was often stationed to guard with.

Oprim distinctly recalled her saying “When we’re not in the military, how’re you going to stay in shape?” And genuinely not having an answer. Normally right on top of things, Oprim just shrugged. Being one of the only dragons capable of producing dragonsbreath composed entirely of holy water, Oprim often had a great way of burning calories. What purpose did she have to bathe the average pedestrian in pressurized holy energy?

The Orc woman, seemingly unphased by Oprim spacing out, grabbed her attention once more.

"Well, if you're just here to try things out, we have a normal gym through this door! I'd be happy to get you started. We’re even doing a free trial program for newbies!” The Orcish woman seemed to have lost some of her previous pep, but still seemed excited to see her.

“Oh! I don’t see why not, then.” the ever-positive dragonkin replied, revealing a sharp-toothed smile.

The orc woman walked to the left of the reception desk, beyond which lay a clear glass door leading into what looked like a room full of exercise equipment. Oprim peered over to the right briefly.

“The MMA course, huh?”

“Oh, so you are interested, then?”

Oprim shook her head, opting not to say anything that could be taken as a “Yes! As soon as…” Knowing this Orc, she’d absolutely hold the dragonkin to it.

“And here’s the main gym!” The Orcish woman spoke, widening her arms as if to welcome Oprim. “And I’ll need your ID to register you as a member."

Producing her ID, the Dragonkin was surprised to see how quickly the Orc woman processed everything.

"I'm Dezz'Hai, bee-tee-dubs!" This is my Dojo, you know? Just ask me if you need anything." Oprim nodded at the Orc's admittedly cute introduction, and turned to the gym. It was a medium-sized open area filled with equipment. Directly in front of her were various machines made for working out the legs. At the far end of the first row was a single thin-looking Drow, pedaling away exhaustedly on an exercise bike.

“It’s not very common, is it, ma’am?” Oprim began, peering over at the elf, who seemed to be in a world of his own, headphones dangling from his long, pointed ears. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face, sharp features beneath a somber, determined expression. His dark purplish skin stood in stark contrast to the yellowish glow of the dim, humming incandescent lights above.

“What isn’t very common?” Dezz’Hai responded, following Oprim’s gaze towards the Drow.

“To see a Svartalf.” Oprim replied. I reckon there’s not a dank, dark underforest near this city, right?”

“Svartalf? Is that another dialect?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Oprim had picked up many words for things while deployed abroad. Her accent being distinct to the southern part of the continent as it was, it managed to shine through despite the language she was speaking.

“Ah, yeah. I figured! I’ve never heard it before. Is it Dalish?”

“To be quite honest with you,” the Dragonkin began, putting her gym bag on the floor next to the cycling machine and scratching the side of her head in a comical manner. “I don’t remember…” She kind of trailed off.

“O-Oh!” The reply seemed to have shaken the Orcish woman’s cheery demeanor for a moment. She was quickly all smiles again, though clearly a little confused by Oprim’s sudden airheaded dismissal.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then! Feel free to call for me if you need anything!" Dezz'Hai said, giving Oprim a little salute.

"No need for that, ma'am…" Oprim blushed a bit at the show of reverence. By no means was the dragonkin ashamed of her service, but given that she wasn't exactly raiding enemy encampments or engaging hordes of foes in combat, she didn't feel like she had earned the respect.

"Especially since it doesn't seem like she's served in a while." Spoke a voice from behind the dragonkin and orc.

The Drow, or Svartalf, had gotten off the exercise bike and was clearly holding back exhausted panting. He tried his best to look a little smug, but it was very clear he didn't have the stamina for it. Oprim gazed at him curiously, tilting her head in a manner similar to a dog until-

“Oh! Oh. Well, it hasn’t been that long, mister…” She replied, realizing a few seconds later what he meant.

“Oh, that’s Yuta. Forgive him his angst, I think it just comes with the territory.” Dezz’Hai replied, shaking her head. “He can just be like that, sometimes.”

"The territory?"

"Yeah, Drow are just like that. Brooding. Kind of rude. Truth be told, he's never been mean to me."

"I'm right here, you know!" Yuta had pulled off his hood and revealed shoulder length white hair tied into a bun underneath. His headphones fell out of his pointed ears and dangled against his chest, hanging out of his hoodie. He seemed completely disarmed once the orcish woman had his number. A slight red tone could be seen on his dark, purplish skin

"See what I mean, Miss Dragon?" Dezz'Hai chuckled. "He's harmless. Don't let him bother you."

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mister Yuta! I’m Oprim!” Oprim held out a scaled, clawed hand in a gesture of good will to the Elf. He reluctantly took it, glancing at Dezz’hai briefly as he did.

“Yuta. Wait - you knew that.”

“I sure did! I don’t mind you saying it again, though.” Oprim flashed a soft smile. What she was interpreting as the Drow’s attempt to appear aloof was actually him not being particularly good with meeting new people.

The pair’s newly formed acquaintanceship was interrupted by a loud crash from upstairs. Several bangs rang out from the ceiling above the trio with seemingly no rhyme or reason, causing the Elf to look up, annoyed. The Orc sighed loudly.

“Dezz, it’s happening again. Want me to check it out?” Yuta asked, cracking his knuckles.

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be there in a sec. I hope we don’t have to get dirty like last time.” Dezz replied.

“And you, Miss Oprim! Just get started on the treadmill for warmups! I can help you figure out the best workout course for your personal needs in just a moment! We’ll have you as fit as you were in the military!” The Orc gave the Dragonkin her best service smile before helping Oprim to a treadmill and hurrying away after Yuta, who had already walked out of the door back into the lobby.

Oprim’s large reptilian feet slammed against the treadmill rhythmically, a piece of exercise equipment clearly made for Greater-sized demihumans, which held up perfectly against her strong legs. She was soon in the flow with her running, doing her best to ignore the noises from upstairs. Her headphones in one ear, she was surprised to hear what sounded like Dezz’Hai from the other side of the wall of well-kept mirrors in front of her.

“Need you guys to clear out again.” She said, a bit reluctantly.

“It’s back, isn’t it? Why didn’t you hire that fox woman next door?” Proposed another voice.

“She’s a fuckin’ extortionist is why! She wants to expand her shop to my second floor!”

“Look, We pay good money to practice our Mixed Magical Martial Arts here!”

“Then why don’t you use your little Wandkata against our friend upstairs!?”

“Our martial prowess is only used for-”

“Self-defense. Yeah. If you go up there, You’ll definitely be under some kind of attack. Just hit the bricks for about an hour.” Dezz sounded serious. Oprim, deciding it was none of her business, continued running. The sounds of several upset muscle wizards filing into the lobby could be heard on the other side of the windowed exit.

“Ah, Yuta. Can you convince her to just hire the hag next doo-” The same displeased male voice echoed through the now extremely populated lobby.

“She probably heard you call her a hag. Don’t be surprised if you wake up with your mouth zipped shut or something.” Yuta responded, and beyond her own loud stomps, Oprim could hear Yuta walk into the room on the other side of the mirror. Her tail began to sway to and fro in interest. The lizard-woman silently thanked the terrible acoustics in the building.

“Alright, Yuta, the usual ward.” Dezz’hai spoke with a commanding tone. It reminded Oprim of her superiors back when she was deployed. It almost made her stand at attention. The dragon cursed her military training and stopped her hands, which was poised to start tracing signs in the air.

“You gonna jump into my arms when that thing comes down again, Dezz?” Yuta chuckled. His gloomy demeanor from earlier seemed to have faded.

“You talk a lot of trash for a guy who almost got folded like a napkin.” She replied.

“Hey, it’s how I cope.”

The low hum of defensive magic filled the building. The mirrors rattled a bit, and unintelligible muttering could just barely be heard on the other side.

“Dark magic…” Oprim thought to herself. “That, or old-school chanting. Either way, this Yuta guy has to be the kind of person who spends all day learning stuff from the internet.” Despite not being particularly adept at magic, She could probably cast a more efficient ward.

“I’m opening the door, Yu.”

“Go ahead.”

“Did you send the wizards home, dude?” Dezz asked, and Oprim could hear a series of loud, rusty locks and chains jostling.

For a moment, the Dragonkin stopped running, sweat glistening in her arms and chest and catching in the dim incandescent bulbs above. Somehow, just hearing conversation a room away was making her tense up, too. Oprim recalled a day just like this patrolling the swamps, and quickly shook her head of the notion.

“Nah, I didn’t. They wouldn’t leave even if I told them to.”

“Those guys really aren’t shit, huh?”

“It’s what happens when you take up magic after a decade doing nothing but browsing the bodybuilding forums.” Yuta said jokingly, though his voice was shaky.

The terrible feeling in the air was becoming quite clear. Oprim shivered a bit, and the lightbulbs hanging above her shook on their thin wires. The sound of something hard smacking against the ground resounded through the gym. The practice room began to rumble as the source of the noise seemed to proceed down the stairs. The Wizards chattering in the lobby quieted down as the steps grew louder. One of them, a large, musclebound man with a white beard, walked into the exercise room. He walked over to Oprim, who was staring intently at the mirror, completely spaced out.

“Hey, miss, you’re gonna wanna get out of here?”

“HUH?” Oprim jumped and almost swung her broad tail at the man, who took a few steps back.

“Whoa, whoa. I was just getting ready to get the boys and head out. I thought you’d wanna know it’s gonna get kinda rough.”

“Hey, you! I thought we told you to leave my second floor!” Dezz yelled from the other room.

“Can’t be rougher than one of the swamps down south. I’ll take my chances, sir!” Oprim responded, regaining her composure.

“Uh, alright, then…” The Wizard hurriedly headed for the exit. Oprim, feeling a little self conscious of her love handles, which were extremely visible against the fabric of her shirt clinging to her skin, grabbed her workout towel and held it at waist-level.

“I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose to an Orc again!” a booming voice shook the walls.

“Dude, the owner told me you’d go away if we beat you!” Dezz responded, definitely not happy.

“You cheated. I want a fair goddamn fight. Put me in the ring against that little Drow there.”

“You’d snap him in half. How is that fair?”

“Hey! Dezz, I could probably… well, nah, you’re right.” Yuta spoke up.

“What about one of those musclebound losers I hear grunting down here day in and day out!?” The booming voice spoke up. In an instant, Oprim could hear several sets of footsteps, followed by the bell that rang whenever you opened the front doors to the gym ringing repeatedly. She chuckled to herself, wiping the dripping sweat from her forehead with the tower and walking into the now empty lobby.

“They’re gone.”

“Well, I’m not going to face a cheater again.”

And then, an idea. Oprim, curious as ever, walked over to the door on the right after moving into the lobby. The anticipation of identifying whatever creature could be demanding combat with an Orcish bodybuilder was just too much for her. The entrance to the training room didn’t have a window on it, so Oprim wrapped her clawed hands around the doorknob and opened it in one quick movement.

“Ah! Miss Oprim! There’s no reason for you to be here! You can go back to the treadmills! Or… Maybe you should switch to lat pulldowns?” Dezz’Hai seemed shocked to see the half-dragon standing in the doorway.

“Well, I was curious, and wanted to see what had scared away all those wizards…” Oprim placed her index finger to chin innocently. Her golden eyes quickly met with the subject of the muscle wizards’ fear and consternation.

Across the room stood a massive skeletal Undead. Around his ivory-white neck hung several medals, all gold, though tarnished by age and lack of care. Dezz’Hai, easily six-foot-four, was looking up at the collection of massive bones. He could’ve easily been made from a minotaur’s skeleton, let alone any kind of man. But there he stood, normal, but massive footbones, tattered boxing shorts rested on narrow hipbones, tied as tightly as possible with the drawstrings hanging out of the front. Within the interloper’s sunken eye sockets were two pale blue ghostlights the creature clearly used for vision. His gaze shifted to Oprim, who stared at him with genuine curiosity.

“Oh, hello. You must be the cause of all the noise, huh?” She asked, tilting her head a little.

“So you did bring a new challenger!” The Undead piped up, pointing his bony (lol) finger at Oprim.

“No, no, she’s a goddamn gym patron.”

“I say she’s eligible! She’s a little bit meaty for my tastes, but I’ll take her on just the same.” The skeletal man laughed, his bones rattling loudly in place of any kind of exhalation of oxygen.

“Hey! Look here, sir.” Oprim’s voice lowered a bit. “I may be a bit out of shape, but that’s just me adjusting to things.”

“Ooh, I’m so sorry, Miss…?”

“Oprim. That’s Oprim to you, you bag of bones!” The extremely polite lizardkin had a red flush to her cheeks. It seemed calling her “meaty” was all it took.

“Bones, eh? Oh, it seems I haven’t put on my Sunday best.” With that, the towering living skeleton punched his fists together, the worn boxing gloves letting out a dull thud. He began to glow a sickly green, and his body started to… fill out? It was the closest comparison Oprim could come to. It had reminded her of how quickly her chest had grown over the summer of her eleventh year. She chuckled to herself quietly, before gazing upon the true form of the golem. Yuta and Dezz’Hai had taken several steps back. The windows on the far side of the practice room rattled violently, and for a moment, it seemed they’d shatter. Holding steady, it was clear they were built with this creature in mind.

“You moron! I’m definitely going to find a way to banish you this time!” Dezz’Hai yelled, fighting against the sudden strong winds swirling around the undead combatant.

“Dezz… We could just pay for it.” Yuta replied, quieter due to his proximity.

“Not a chance! I’d be losing all the money I saved buying this place in the first place!”

“Look, I love you, but you can’t keep skimping on the damn exorcist! There’s one next door, for the love of The Goddess!”

“You what!?”

Before Yuta could think of a clever cover-up for his verbal blunder, he was interrupted by the ear-splitting yell of the undead flesh golem standing in front of the trio. Muscles that looked more like uncooked beef rippled as if someone slapped a bowl of gelatin, pulsing outward from the joints as he flexed.

“And you two… fight this guy all the time?” Oprim sounded a bit nervous as she sized up her would-be opponent. Yuta and Dezz’hai looked back at her and nodded silently. It would seem it was the best they could do to banish him back up the stairs from time-to-time.

“Yeah, except the Orc cheated last time!” The golem spoke up, two glowing orbs in place of eyes directed right at Dezz’hai.

“I knocked you on your ass! You’re just a sore loser.”

“Well, we’ll see. You’ll have your chance when I’m done knocking over this fat lizard.” He chuckled in response. “Anyhow, onto bigger things. Literally!” He laughed maniacally at his rude pun.

“What’s with that look? Think I won’t show you the boss of this gym?”

And it was the last laugh he’d let out.

In an instant, Oprim was upon him, the spines lining the top of her blonde head to the tip of her tail standing on end. Scaled hands and claws wrapped around the frighteningly tall undead abomination and squeezed at the back of his knees, buckling his legs, lifting him up for a split second and bringing him down with a massive thud below his chubby opponent. The dragonkin brought her large, reptilian foot down where a normal humanoid’s solar plexus would be, releasing a disgusting squelching sound where she made impact. The golem, rather than look pained, had a blank expression of sheer surprise at what had just occurred.

“Quickly! What is his name?” Oprim yelled out to the Dezz’Hai and Yuta. the pair had gone from onlookers to absolutely flabbergasted.

“That’s morote gari!” The Orc yelled out, excitedly. She could barely contain her surprise and nearly leapt up upon fully analyzing the situation. The golem struggled to move itself from under Oprim’s powerful legs, and she glared at him.

“Onto bigger things, right?” There was almost a pleased look on her face as she taunted her opponent. She had excelled at hand-to-hand training while deployed, though rarely had a chance to use it outside of sparring. Allied camps were rarely, if ever breached during the campaign, so Oprim had spent a large amount of time holding bases, and not much else, aside from the occasional skirmish.

She became known as a terror during sparring matches due to the amount of steam she’d let off. She wasn’t even remotely warlike in nature, but the expression of physical prowess against anyone, friend or foe, left Oprim visibly excited. Her pale face flushed a vivid red and her spines stood at attention atop her head and back. The glint in her golden eyes made Yuta take a step back.

“What in the- another cheater, eh!?” The golem practically spat from the ground beneath Oprim’s claws.

“Not a chance! There’s absolutely no excuse that could explain the position you’re in right now.” Dezz’Hai replied tauntingly. Yuta nodded quietly, still a bit threatened by Oprim’s sudden show of dominance.

“A-alright! Look. I’ll call it a draw for now! Just don’t bring back the scaly meatbal-”

Golden steam began to billow from the corners of Oprim’s mouth, flowing unevenly between the airheaded Dragonkin’s sharp, gritted teeth. A low growl emanated from within.

The golem began panicking, trying to shift a little to the right and left.

“Whoa, Whoa, Miss Oprim! I don’t have insurance for fire damage!” Dezz exclaimed, her look of excitement from the previous events replaced by worry.

“I could probably extinguish it.” Yuta said quickly, but quieted down just as fast. It was clear Dezz’Hai the Orc would rather the gym not catch aflame rather than have it extinguished quickly.

It was growing clearer by the second, however, that the gym was headed towards a worst-case scenario. The mist rising from Oprim’s mouth grew thicker. Golden smoke was odd enough, but the fact that it sparkled a bit in the dim incandescent light of the gym’s training room was an even stranger case.

“Y-you mentioned you were from the swamp, right?” Yuta stammered at the dragonkin, who glanced at him for just a second, sweat dripping down her body. She nodded, and returned her focus to her opponent, eye sockets filled with ghost-lights glaring up at her from below, with a sort of indignance one untrained in magic likely wouldn’t be able to detect.

“Do you… breathe poison?”

“She probably breathes gravy or something!” Called out the golem, getting one last chuckle. Always the type to get the last hit, even if it cost him the match.

Oprim’s normally kind eyes thinned at the remark.

“Think I can’t handle some fire, dragon? I like it hot.”

“I’m trying to lose the weight! First that nice old lady, and now this guy. Undead champion or not. You look like a lump of uncooked hamburger. But I won’t say that out loud, will I? It’s called common decency.” Oprim’s thoughts ran a mile a minute.

She had been trying to hold back the heat that built up in her belly since the golem had first insulted her. Her hair rose on end and she bared her teeth. The ghostlights seemed to retreat further back into the undead pugilist’s skull as Oprim opened her mouth. Wisps of golden steam billowed out like a snowy mist at the base of an avalanche, engulfing her opponent and the rest of the room. Yuta and Dezz’Hai retreated to the cheap wooden door. The Orc nudged at her Drow companion to place a ward as they found themselves peering at the scene from behind a ajar dojo entrance.

The golden light filled the room, a radiance previously unseen within Dezz’Hai’s Dojo until this point. Perhaps one of the muscle wizards doing wandkata had shot some bright sparks during a training match, but this was on an entirely different level. The Orc was sure that even with the light of the sun sinking behind the buildings outside, this was noticeable to any onlookers beyond the gym.

Yuta, the more frail of the two, protected his face with his hands, muttering behind them to reinforce his ward, hoping none of the mist could escape. Dezz put her strong, calloused hands on his back, rubbing it gently. His purplish skin had a small bit of red at his companion’s gesture.

The pervading mist slowly cleared out of the small training room. When Yuta had finished blowing the remnants of the glittery, golden mist out of the area, the pair saw Oprim, who was just standing in the middle of the room, hands on her knees, breathing heavily. Beneath her clawed feet was a pile of ashes that had once been the Undead Champion, bane of Dezz’Hai’s dojo.

“Miss Oprim! Are you alright?” Dezz ran over to her newest patron, who had opened the water bottle she had never put down by her feet and began chugging it like she’d just been through a desert trek.

“He…He’s gone.” Yuta said, two fingers held in the air to see if the signature magical vibrations associated with their pugilism-inclined interloper still reverberated. Detecting nothing of the sort, a smile crossed his face, a genuine one, uncommon compared to the normal worried or dour expressions he wore.

“You evaporated him!” Dezz looked down at the dragonkin, who barely had enough energy to smile brightly back. A loud sizzle from Oprim’s mouth could be heard as she continued to down water from a gallon-sized bottle.

"He's not dead… undead… don't exactly die? He'll be back." Oprim replied.

"Well, at least you didn't erase him from existence. What did you do, anyway?" Dezz'Hai asked, somewhat relieved.

“Turns out… Undead don’t react too well to holy water.”

“You breathe holy water? How’s that?”

“Long… huff… story.” Oprim began, still panting. “It burns a lot of calories, though.”

“Yeah, I can tell! Your gut is like, almost gone!”

“Oprim’s eyes widened at this. She peered down. Beyond her sweat-drenched exercise shirt, her stomach looked smaller than it had in months. Oprim’s tightly-pulled ponytail was loose, and stray hairs were facing every which-way, but it didn’t seem to bother her much.

The training room looked completely spotless. It almost sparkled. The plumes of holy mist Oprim had shot out moments ago seemed to have completely cleansed the room. The mirrors and windows were spotless, as well.

“So… you were ex-military? Are you sure you weren’t some kind of heavy-duty exorcist?” Yuta chuckled, his smile still evident.

“I mean… Do you have any other undead you want taken care of, sir?” Oprim seemed genuinely excited at the prospect. Her normal, airy demeanor had returned in a heartbeat.

“Uh… Not that I know of. But how about you keep coming to the gym, just in case?” Dezz’Hai asked, putting her powerful arm around Yuta’s bony shoulders. He blushed a deep crimson.

“You don’t even have to ask, miss!”

"Gods, can you please knock it off?”

An annoyed voice rang out in a small echo-ey bedroom, completely cloaked in darkness. The Wizard fledgling, Shin, grabbed wildly for his glasses on the bedside table and clicked on the lamp. He fixed his spectacles quickly and looked around the room, wand held up next to him as he sat up in bed. A mop of shoulder-length, messy brown hair threatened to cover his eyes completely at the next sudden movement of his head.

“Oh, come oooooon, Shin. Can’t you just give me one more night?” A sultry voice spoke pleadingly from seemingly everywhere. Now that the apprentice was no longer cloaked by blankets, he could tell the room had dropped in temperature. He saw his own breath swirl and be lost to the stagnant cold as he exhaled. A devilish giggle echoed throughout the room.

“Grant me eyes.” Shin whispered to his wand. A small glyph formed in front of his spectacles and in an instant, any arcane abnormalities in the room were revealed.

His curtains were disheveled. Several wards he had created himself had been dismantled and his alarm fairy was duct-taped to the ceiling, wriggling around in frustration. The answer was clear as day.

“Nightingale. I told you, we can’t anymore.” Shin spoke, tersely.

“That vow of celibacy thing is no joke, huh?” The voice, assumedly Nightingale, replied. “You can’t even get down and dirty with your favorite succubus…"

A blush touched Shin’s caramel cheeks and he looked away from where he presumed the taunting came from.

“I’ll banish you again if you try to ride me in my sleep, you know.”

“I don’t think you could bear to see me in that much discomfort, darling.”

“And I don’t think I could bear for you to drain me of all my mana.” Shin replied.

As if responding physically to his rebuttal, the succubus named Nightingale floated effortlessly onto Shin’s bed, directly in front of him. Her long, curly black hair struck with a shiny platinum that glinted by the lamplight. An immodest bust filled Shin’s vision as the demon who had been his consort embraced him.

“You promised you’d make me your familiar as soon as you graduated, Shin. I’m back to see you uphold your end of the bargain.” The demon spoke of the deal as if it were struck yesterday. In truth, it was only ever made because the wizard was on the verge of failing out of classes due to inability to perform.

“I haven’t graduated yet. It’s your fault, actually.” The bespectacled apprentice responded coldly, fixing his glasses as Nightingale pulled away from the hug she had forced upon him. He looked to his bedside table, then through the broken windowblinds. The full moon shone through the smog and clouds of Bayside City. the silhouette of gallivanting imps and soaring crow tengu danced upon the far walls of his bedroom. He sighed and freed the fair Nightingale had disabled from his ceiling before looking back at the demon, her piercing yellow eyes and goat-like pupils still locked on the object of her fascination for the past decade.

“What’s wrong, my beloved? How could I have ever done anything to harm you?” Nightingale’s words seemed coated with venom. The idea that her love could be anything but a positive for a filthy human seemed completely foreign to her.

“Well, first off, I know you’ve been invading my dreams. It doesn’t count as sex, but you’ve been sapping my energy as I slept, and my casting’s been sloppy as a result.”

“Ah? Couldn’t have been me. I only visit on full moons.” Nightingale looked away and shrugged her shoulders playfully.

“Tell me what other succubi knows my pet name.” Shin’s eyebrows curled in annoyance.

“I… Hard to say. I don’t think I told anyone. Perhaps you’ve been sleeping with another demon?”

“No godsdamned chance.”

“Then maybe it was the Kitsune you visited today. You never know what their kind are up to, my dormouse~”

“No less trustworthy than a succubus addicted to my mana.” Shin cut her off, beginning to weave sigils in the air with his wand.

“W-wait! I’m sorry! I mean it.”

“I don’t think you are, Nightingale. You weren’t sorry when you drained me so thoroughly that those corporate wizards thought I was some kind of fluke!”

“You’ve got to admit the night before was fantastic, though…” She sighed with pleasure. “When you had me turn into a Kobold and you held me up an-”

“Enough!”

“Suit yourself.” Nightingale replied, laying on her ample bosom and kicking her cloven hooves back and forth in the air like a teenage girl on the phone with her crush. Her tail swung in rhythm, nearly mesmerizing the wizard as it bobbed to and fro.

“I really don’t get why you torment me like this.” Shin began, some of his anger dissipating in favor of confusion. “I know a succubus can’t love a human, even a wizard. I can’t date anyone because you attempt to curse them if you find their cellphone number. Do you want me to be alone forever?” He had contracted his wand and had placed it in his lap, waiting for an answer.

“Do you really want to be a wizard with no familiar?” Nightingale responded, seeming to avoid his question with one of her own.

“That’s not the point. Nobody wants a wizard with no mana. At least with a warlock, you lend them mana in exchange. There’s no such contract with someone who wasn’t born magical. I’ve had to work so hard to catch up with the rest of my class. My professors probably think I’m some kind of sex fiend!”

“Aren’t you?”

“Not the point! You always do this. You’ve got me going on a tangent already. Just answer my first question.” Shin tied his hair up into a neat ponytail with a hair tie around his wrist.

“Is it so hard to believe a succubus could love a being of flesh?”

“Yes. It’d be easier to believe you hexed my ex-girlfriend for no reason than out of a jealous love.”

Nightingale was taken aback at this. Her pallid, gray skin took on a reddish hue. Not out of embarrassment, but anger. Genuine anger at this twenty-something wizard who dared to make a joke out of her feelings. Feelings that she hadn’t exactly confessed to Shin, but feelings nonetheless. She found herself twiddling her fingers together like a child caught in a lie. Shin sighed loudly, closing his eyes and finding himself calming down a little.

“Aren’t there better ways to express your feelings for me?” He said, getting out of bed and starting to re-weave spells into his windows and adjusting his blinds.

“Devils are creatures of habit. Demons are creatures of instinct.”

“And your instinct is to try and sleep with me on sight?”

“I… What if I told you I didn’t know how else to show it?”

“Breaking into my apartment isn’t it. You know I live two doors down from a cop, right? Pretty good shot, too, so I’ve been told.” Shin had begun to respond with all the bluster of a teenager who had summoned his first imp and was trying to gain dominion over it. Truth be told, he was waiting for his beloved Nightingale to fully actualize into his apartment, just to give her a piece of his mind like this.

And yet, every cell in his body was screaming at him to stop. To be nice and comforting instead. He was sure he was enthralled by her. But hadn’t he casted wards on his own mind so he wouldn’t be? His professors had called him “One of the most paranoid sorcerers they’d ever seen”. Which, until last week, Shin had thought was a negative. Apparently, paranoia was a pretty admirable trait in a wizard.

Shin looked at his watch, which was sitting on the table. Magical gears turned and ground against each other in perpetuity. The beautiful polished brass cast a soft glow beneath the lamp.

5:14 AM. On his day off.

“Look, can I make you some breakfast?” He offered, pulling on sweatpants and beginning to head for the kitchen.

“You needn’t put on pants if you’re trying to feed me.” Nightingale chuckled, floating through the air behind him.

“Not funny.” The apprentice said, not even turning around to face the demon, whose smile had widened unnaturally at the joke. The pair continued into Shin’s neatly organized kitchen. A wise man had told him that the most important thing for a wizard was organization. “You haven’t the natural harmony of a witch, so there’s no reason to live like a slovenly hippy. Wizardry is about order.” He had told a much younger Shin. In all respects, he strove to uphold the tenet, even if it wasn’t a fact.

“I see you’re still a stickler for labeling.” Nightingale taunted, floating over to his kitchen cabinets and opening them, revealing magically labeled jars of spices and other reagents lining the shelves.

“I see you’re still a meddler for… meddling.”

“Nice one, dormouse.”

“Quiet down.” Shin replied. “Is french toast alright?”

“Only if you cover it in your “special syrup”, darling.”

“Look, this isn’t some foreplay conversation, I’m trying to cook for my girlfr-”

“Your what?” Nightingale almost gasped.

Shin didn’t respond. He had begun beating the eggs for the french toast, sprinkling in a little cinnamon. The pale succubus had floated down to the mixing bowl with the vanilla extract. She unsealed the small bottle and began pouring as he twirled the egg beater about gently. He waved his wand with his free hand and levitated the milk out of the fridge, showing an immense amount of precision as he multi-tasked. The full moon had begun to sink behind the other side of the apartment building, and black sky was now a pale gray-blue. “I can think of worse ways to welcome the morning.” Shin thought to himself. At this point, the pair’s preparations were moving with the rhythm of a well-choreographed dance. Nightingale absentmindedly dipped bread in the egg batter, evenly coating both sides, and slowly pulling her sharp, clawed fingers out of the mixture, leaving them dripping egg slowly. She licked her full, plump lips as she floated over to the frying pan Shin had readied on the stove, and let go of each piece gently, causing the stove to hiss as they met the hot surface of the cast-iron pan. She ran her serpentine tongue down her dripping fingers as if she were using it to feel for prey, her body began to warm up. She couldn’t even describe the feeling of pleasure coursing through her body.

Until she tasted the egg. Her face scrunched up in disgust.

“I’ll admit, that was almost enticing.” Shin chuckled over the sizzling of the french toast in the pan. “I’d rather not have my sous chef climaxing while I cook, though.”

"Quiet down, dormouse." Nightingale replied, a hint of shame in her tone.

"Though I don't blame you." Shin had begun loading the french toast onto a plate. The smell caused the demon to salivate a little.

"It felt good."

"Hmm?"

"Cooking with you."

"Ah! Yeah. I guess it did. You make a rather helpful assistant." Shin knew of a succubi's ability to invade the thoughts of their victim, and made no attempt to guard from her invasion. As a matter of fact, it seemed that he had been feeding her information as they were cooking. She'd grabbed the ingredients and prepared everything as if she had made breakfast a million times before. "You didn't even try to suck me off!"

"I could do even better if you sign a pact with me."

"Eh?"

Nightingale, refusing to acknowledge Shin's confused exclamation, grabbed the syrup from the table, pouring it all over the stack of French toast instead of answering.

"You know, the council would probably flay me if I tried to pass you off as my familiar. Not many wizards feed their familiar with semen." Shin said, in between bites.

“What kind of life is there for a corpo-wizard, anyhow?” Nightingale poked at her food with a fork. "You can't have any fun."

"Well, unless you can convert my seed to money, it’s my only choice."

"Would you like to find out?"

"Eat your food. Stop poking at it."

"As you wish, Dormouse~"

"And for the love of god, Nightingale. Put on some clothes."

It was described as "something out of Lovecraft." The newscasters that hadn't been driven completely mad immediately on impact continued to do their best to provide up-to-the-minute coverage of what was called "E-Day" in the coming days and weeks. Cities were abandoned in the wake of the newly transformed Horrors.

And just how did humanity come to that name?

At the time, there was no colloquially agreed upon name for the creatures. Some had heard the phrase "nightmares" over pirate radio, and had stuck with that. Others chose "abominations." Eventually, through cultural osmosis, or whatever culture was left, humans had learned to avoid large metropolises for fear of them. Statistically, that is where the biggest concentrations of "Horrors" were found. And why?

Because they had once been humans.

Horrors, a Short History, by L. Linden Carter.

Nile closed the hand-written paperback gently, so as not to destroy any more of the yellowing, untreated paper than had already been worn away by age. He sat back in the creaky, damaged seat of a burnt-out car, what remained of an old station wagon. He tucked the book, a thick number, bound by weak staples, within his jumpsuit pocket. Above him, and through the torn metal roof of what used to be a vehicle, stars twinkled gently, and the almost benevolent glow of the moon seemed to lull the young man into dreams. Though his bedding arrangement was far from what he'd call comfortable, it was the best he'd had in weeks, aside from riding within her cockpit.

"You know you could've been reading with me, right?" A female voice came from what used to be the passenger’s side door. It sounded slightly irritated, even through the digital filter.

"Speak of the devil."

A gentle smile crossed Nile's face, mocha-colored skin lit by the harsh LEDs emanating from his partner's crystalline visor.

"January, you know I can't read that while I'm inside you." Nile began, earnestly attempting to explain himself. In truth, he hadn't yet gained the dexterity necessary to operate his cohort's controls while reading a book. It took all his ability to operate a firearm.

"Then at least let me scan the thing, for archival purposes." January leaned down until her huge frame was level with what used to be the car's windshield and held out a lithe, metallic hand towards Nile. Actuators spun and whirred quietly as she did so, a sound that comforted January's partner immensely. The warm Summer air caressed Nile, blowing through his deadlocked hair gently.

He stared at his partner for a long time, taking in her features. The tips of her metallic fingers were sharpened tungsten, claws that could tear open concrete if she so chose. Her yellow-painted chestplate resembled armor more than an approximation of a woman's chest, and yet Nile had always felt January's shape was attractive to him. He cursed the designer who had granted her these female wiles.

“It couldn't hurt, could it?” Nile pondered.

"Remember the last time you attempted to "archive" some literature I scavenged?" He replied, fishing the makeshift book that was more like a political pamphlet in size, out of his jumpsuit's breast pocket. The reflective Cyrillic lettering along the sleeves glinted as it caught the lights on January's chest.

"I simply followed procedure, pilot." January responded, surprisingly straightforward.

"What kind of procedure involved you busting open a comic book and destroying the bindings? Do you know how much comic books sell for?" Nile adjusted the surprisingly intact car seat until he was sitting upright once more. He stared at January, genuinely curious. He hadn't bothered to ask at the time, but now couldn't hurt.

"I was following a process known as "scanlation"," January began, "my archives told me this was the most efficient way to preserve drawn media." She was clearly being honest. Nile could barely operate the computer to run diagnostics on her, let alone the internet to confirm what she had said. It was likely better to take her word.

"Yeah, but I was trying to sell that…" Nile sighed. He couldn't even begin to be disappointed with her. January's tail swung back and forth gently in recognition of her partner's apparent resignation. It was mesmerizing to watch.

"The stars in the sky couldn't put a man to sleep like watching that tail." He thought to himself. It genuinely seemed like whatever roboticist had designed the exosuit had given her curves in all the right places.

“Is it fun?” Nile asked, suddenly.

“Is what fun, darling?” January responded.

“Scanning books.”

“Well, it’s sort of like reading them, except they’re archived forever.”

“I mean, if I read something I like, I remember it for a while.”

“But if I scan something, I can remember it forever.”

"Yeah, but January," Nile sighed a little, "I'm never gonna be able to read Magnificent: Volume 2 ever again."

At this, January's actuators spun quietly. She contemplated saying something to assuage his worry. Humans, she had learned, were extremely sentimental. Even this human, a creature she had come to feel something resembling a romantic feeling for, wasn't immune.

"I treasure my human. I think that's enough, right?" The visualizer that sometimes displayed a basic face upon the exosuit's visor switched on, and January's confused expression was displayed across it. Her status indicator light flashed a strange orange-yellow, blinking after several seconds.

"It's the same thing I feel when I imagine something happening to you." The young man had left the relative shelter of the burnt out car husk, stretching as his worn combat boots crunched dry soil and gravel.

"I'm nearly indestructible. And even if I weren't, you could transfer my AI core."

"To what, January?" It was obvious Nile really liked the form she'd always been in. The armored combat exosuit she inhabited was, to both of their knowledge, the only body she'd ever had.

While she tabulated and processed a response, Nile pulled his goggles over his eyes. The tranquility of the night made him regret that the pair were here for a job.

"Babe, it's time." He said, nonchalantly.

"Finally! And here I thought I'd have to comfort you, or something. You humans are all so unpredictable." January let out a relieved laugh, her shoulders and visor opening slowly so Nile could climb inside. She presented her hand in a graceful way, like a princess in a fantasy novel. For a moment, the display of delicacy took her pilot by surprise.

Nile took his time grabbing her hand and climbing upward. Eventually, he reached the top of the automaton and climbed inside, his legs fitting into the spots they were expected to, without much trouble. As he slotted in his hands and arms, the visor closed above him, and he felt strangely claustrophobic. January’s heads-up display lit up his vision and he could see directly through the crystalline helmet that adorned the top of his girlfriend’s head.

“I’m… still not used to that, you know.” Nile said, nervously.

“Hah, it’s okay. You’ll have to get accustomed to being inside me sooner or later.” January chuckled mischievously.

Nile’s cheeks grew hot as he tested the grip within the arm slots.

“Let’s go, alright?”

The pair began walking slowly through the clearing, further away from the husk of the burnt-out car and towards a large, cracked wall. It reminded Nile of castle walls from old books he had read. The crunching of dried leaves underneath reminded the pilot that just a week ago, the trees were drying up and shedding their foliage.

“Hey, January?” Nile called for his partner’s attention, flexing his finger control repeatedly.

“Yes, Pilot?”

“Do you think there’s any place where the weather is stable?”

“Well, I couldn’t say, but given the amount of radiation permeating almost every place we’ve been, it’d have to be in some far-flung corner of the continent.” January said, in a rather serious voice. Nile thought she sounded more like a calculator than an AI when she spoke like that.

"Then, I'd like to travel to the far-flung corners of the continent with you." Nile said, opting to be thoughtful and romantic instead of saying something that would offend the one-ton death robot he was riding inside.

"Huh!?" January sounded more like a surprised schoolgirl than a hyper-intelligent AI with her response. Nile was sure that if she could blush, the reinforced glass and other alloys that made up her visor would be a deep crimson.

"Yes, I'd like that a lot, pilot." She responded, after a few seconds of gathering herself again.

The pair had eventually reached the base of the wall, and Nile ran January's hand up against it.

"Structural integrity couldn't possibly be above 25%" She said.

"Best course of action?" Nile replied, curling his girlfriend's powerful metal gauntlets into fists. The thought of a weak stone wall he could practice smashing through actually excited him a little.

"Find the front gate, Nile?" January replied, completely deadpan.

The pilot was left deflated as he commanded his legs and torso to pivot and began to move around the perimeter of the wall wordlessly.

Dried leaves gave way to dewy grass and green trees as the pair continued to follow the wall around to the other side of the seemingly endless structure.

"I can't tell which side is natural." Nile said.

"Well, it's all natural."

The young man ignored his partner's snark and continued to direct her until they came to a small brook that ran underneath the seemingly impenetrable (extremely penetrable, were you to ask Nile) wall.

"Wait!" Before January could get her point out, Nile had activated the thrusters and the pair launched across the brook at tremendous speed, until the shocked pilot deactivated the propulsion system. Exhaling loudly, he relaxed all his limbs, standing there for a moment.

"You don't even know how to adjust the levels."

"Do you have some kind of tutorial program? Otherwise, this'll probably keep happening."

"A tutorial?" January asked.

"Yeah, some kind of instructional course."

"You want your girlfriend to run a tutorial program?"

"When you put it like that…" Nile fell silent. The sound of swaying foliage and a light breeze was the only audible sound. An owl, or whatever horrible equivalent lurked within the arcane darkness created by eldritch radiation, hooted loudly. Somewhere in the distance, January could detect something large skittering through the woods, and several heat signatures from within the walls of the stronghold.

"Heat signatures within the stronghold?"

In an instant, January had taken direct control, shocking Nile. Her tail, sharpened to a point like a spear, stood erect and ready to strike, more like a scorpion than the lizard-like figure her partner had long decided she resembled. From her back she retrieved a rifle, matching her body's yellow-and-black color scheme. Training it on the signatures behind the wall, she continued to track them as they continued to move. Her body remained hunched, digitigrade legs primed and ready to launch a mass of metal actuators and lethal power towards the threat lying behind the weakened stone stronghold walls.

"Jan… your status indicator…" began Nile, recovering from his shock.

"Signatures detected. I've engaged combat mode."

Nile's heart began pounding in his chest as the heat signatures materialized on the inside of January's visor, made visible to the young human. Surely whatever it was didn't know they were here? Did engaging the thrusters alert whatever word on the other side of the wall? Did it know what lie in wait on the other side? He brushed his dreaded, curly hair from in front of his eyes and tried to steady his breathing as the blips on the screen representing the targets continued to move along the wall.

Without words, Nile maneuvered his partner forward, careful not to wrap the large metal fingers around the trigger of her rifle, resting on the guard instead. He vaguely remembered a post on some BBS or other about "trigger discipline" and felt proud of himself.

As the pair tracked the signatures, neither had taken notice of the looming shadow of a gate that was quickly approaching. In fact, they had missed it so clearly that even January nearly lost her balance. The drawbridge lowered slowly, making creaking metal sounds as it did.

"Jan…" Nile began.

"Yes, I know."

The heat sources moved towards the drawbridge as it lowered. Water reflected the moon's blue glow upon its surface, rippling gently as crusted dirt fell into it from the bridge.

January stood stock-still. If she could hold her breath or still her heartbeat, she would.

"So, d’you think it's Horrors?" Nile asked, his hands tense on the trigger guard.

"I'm not sure! Horrors could mess with my heat sensors as well." January responded, pondering.

"Alright. Well, now would be a good time to tell me if you have some kind of active camouflage."

"What do I look like, a Stealth Suit? With plating like this?"

Nile was about to think of a rebuttal when they were interrupted by the sound of several guns cocking. A dog barked loudly directly outside of the cockpit.

“Now, you drop that weapon nice and slow, varmint.” Spoke a man with a heavy accent. From January’s visor, Nile could see the man wore a large mustache, curled at the ends, sort of like a character from an old archived cartoon his partner had shown him in the past. Not sure whether he should speak through January’s comms or let her talk, he remained silent. The exosuit’s headlamp illuminated more of the people that surrounded the pair. One of them stepped back in shock as the light’s intensity increased.

“I think this is more than five signatures, Darling.” January spoke directly into the cockpit.

“Speak up! I know you ain’t dumb.”

January’s tail swayed anxiously. A man who was behind the duo fell onto his butt. “Holy shit, sheriff! The tail’s bladed!”

“‘Plannin ta dice us up, were ya?” The man, now known to Nile as Sheriff, had readied his weapon and pointed it directly at the crystalline visor adorning January’s head.

Then, January herself spoke.

In what Nile could only assume was the most intimidating voice she could calculate, January spoke. Her voice projected at maximum volume through her comms, Nile moved her head down to face(?) the man known as Sheriff.

“I would lower my weapons, if I were you.” She spoke firmly. Her normally sweet and pleasant voice carried no emotion save for the coldness of a block of ice. Her rifle was still trained on him.

“I don’t think I will. What are ya, anyway? Fuckin feds?” Sheriff wasn’t backing down.

The rest of the group was quiet. A few held lanterns or flashlights, to which fireflies drew close, their strange purple glow randomly lighting up like some kind of strange morse code.. Even the dogs had grown quiet.

“That’s none of your concern. Are you really in any position to ask questions?” January popped a round the size of the man’s forearm out of the chamber with a *ping*, and it fell to the ground in front of him. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, glinting in the bright, blinding LED headlight.

“Sheriff, we oughta light it up, right?” Another armed man spoke, to which Sheriff held up a hand, signaling him to stop.

“Hey…” Sheriff squinted. “I think this fuckin’ thing has a pilot. Quimby, take a look at the head here.” he motioned a man with a makeshift shield to come a little closer to January. Nile shrunk back against his beloved girlfriend’s cockpit as much as he could, but there was no doubt he had maneuvered her head too close to the resistant man.

“I’m going to kill them. If they touch you, I’ll wipe them out.” January growled internally, in her normal, caring voice, albeit threateningly. The coldness from before had melted to address her partner. Somewhere in this dire situation, Nile felt relief.

“Why don’t you come on outta there, little man?” Several of the gunmen now had their rifles trained on January’s visor. The tension grew thicker than the miasma the pair had traveled through to get here. The fireflies flickered faster and faster, their frantic dance matching Nile’s heartbeat.

“I don’t want you to kill any of them.” Nile said, swallowing spit down his dry throat nervously.

“Unfortunately, darling, there’s no laws for robotics in this world.” January responded, the growl in her voice still evident.

Nile finally understood the feeling her threatening tone elicited from him.

“You have no idea how attractive hearing you talk like that is.” He said, without a hint of shame.

A blushing face flashed across the inside of her visor. She didn’t need to say a word. Silently, Nile opened the cockpit with his hands up.

“Alright, here I am.” The young man stepped out of January as she knelt down to give him an easier time. The wrench on his belt swung gently back and forth, and he moved his goggles off of his face.

“You don’t sound so scary when you ain’t in your little weapon, huh?” Sheriff looked relieved, and extremely angry. He pointed the gun at Nile as January’s cockpit closed. She stood back up slowly, the sound of grinding gears and rolling actuators filling the night air. Seeming to get the gist of the situation, she stopped moving completely. Her tail froze in place, her hands gripping the rifle stiffly.

“Yeah, you got me.” Nile sighed loudly.

“I reckon you’ve got some explaining to do.”

“If you answer my question, mister… Sheriff?” Nile said, a little unclear.

“That’s m’name.” Sheriff’s grip on the rifle tightened. The young man felt for a second he could grab his wrench and take a swing, but thought better of it. The night air, which had been breezy ten minutes ago, was as stagnant and stale as a humid summer day. At the rate the weather was changing, the sun would simply appear on the horizon any minute now.

“The sun’s the only consistent thing in this world.” He thought to himself.

“Do you guys live here?” Nile began, sweating a little without the pleasant breeze from earlier. “Is this an Oasis?”

“I reckon it is, by way of us makin’ it one.” Sheriff replied.

“So it isn’t an Oasis. That explains why the structure didn’t appear in January’s computer.”

“Hey, boss?” The man known as Quimby spoke up as the trees in the distance rustled loudly.

“What is it, Quimby?”

“I’m thinkin we got somethin big comin.”

“Alright, here’s the plan. We kill this little bastard, take this piece of equipment, and head back inside.” Sheriff said, his voice sounding a little panicked.

“I really would rather resolve this without bloodshed.” Nile said, trying his best to sound calm.

“And I would really rather you explain what you and this piece of military shit were doin’ skulkin around our base.”

“Oh, that’s easy. I came here looking for parts to scrap. I’d heard this structure was abandoned, so my girlfriend and I came out here to check.” Nile finished, his demeanor still calm.

The rustling in the trees grew louder. Even Nile could hear it, now. Not only that, several trees began exhibiting the same behavior. Nile tried to guess what variety would appear from the forest. Insectoid, perhaps? A few of the men surrounding January began to back away, heading back towards the drawbridge connecting the road they were on to their stronghold.

“Yer girlfriend?” Sheriff said, trying not to lose his cool in front of his men.

“That’s right! I named her January.”

“You’re noth’n better’n a man who falls in love with his car. That thing ain’t alive, an ye can’t fuck it. Ain’t much of a woman, is she?”

Nile’s brow furrowed in frustration. He spat on the ground next to Sheriff, to which the disrespected leader raised the butt of his rifle.

A large oak that had been standing at the edge of the treeline let out a loud, violent crunch. It would seem to anyone, even without being able to see the specifics, that the trunk was being split.

“I wouldn’t lose your cool, Sheriff.” Nile said. “My girl wouldn’t like it much.”

He pointed the rifle straight at Nile’s head. The diminutive pilot flinched a little at the much taller bandit about to fire 7.62x54 directly into his skull. Even the shaken goons stopped moving towards their escape to take a look at the turn of events.

“That’s the FUCK it.” The leader had made to pull the trigger, but something stopped him. In an instant, a finely sharpened blade attached to the tail of a particularly feminine exosuit had sliced him from his head to his crotch. Blood sprayed from the halves of the newly vivisected Sheriff Jacob Bellvue.

“January! I told you not to kill anyone!” Nile said, the side of his face he had turned towards the slaughtered bandit covered in blood and viscera. He wiped bits off his face as several of Sheriff’s men, confused without their leader. Some of them ran for the drawbridge. One of them tried to shoot Nile. His disappointment was genuine, moreso when he saw his girlfriend’s tail raise above her head defensively.

Without a word, The assailant was impaled by a spearlike tail that had come from above to end his life like an oversized scorpion’s sting. January shook her tail and his corpse slid off, dropping into the river below the drawbridge. The trees that had started cracking at the treeline flew from their roots in the ground, a few toppling over, some of them flat-out careening into the clearing.

“No more, alright?” Nile climbed into his beloved’s hand. The hand that brought death, yet gently cradled her pilot. He clambered back into the cockpit, complete lack of finesse in his movements. In truth, Nile was scared out of his wits. He could barely even think straight. But who was he trying to impress anymore?

A moment later, the Horrors had risen from beneath the weald they had been slumbering in. The commotion probably wouldn’t have awoken them. The bloodshed, however?

That had probably done the trick.

“I’m sorry! When he pointed that rifle at you, I just lost my cool, you know!?” January replied, sounding genuinely remorseful. One of Sheriff’s men, not sure whether to aim at the duo or the approaching abominations, took a pot shot at January’s plate armor. The shot ricocheted, landing near his feet. He jumped back in fear. Before he could scream out, however, a tendril had wrapped around his ankle. In the dark of night, it looked more like it had consumed his foot. A visceral crack echoed through the air as his foot was ripped off entirely.

“Nile, this isn’t good.” January sounded a little worried.

“Yeah?”

“This looks like a swarm.”

The darkness that had removed one of the goon’s extremities extended, taking shape from a formless mass of writhing, glowing eyes and skittering legs.

Creeping darkness.

The miasma that had pursued them before they had arrived in front of the stronghold intensified. If he weren’t inside of January’s cockpit, Nile felt like he would’ve suffocated. A few of Sheriff’s remaining men forced the drawbridge door closed and were likely cowering behind it.

“dO YoU LOVE me noW?” a horrifying, ear splitting sound that attempted to mimic a human voice rose from the crawling swarm of Horrors.

“Fall back, Jan!” Nile, who hadn’t taken direct control yet, commanded. His partner obliged, leg thrusters moving her backwards rapidly as the nightmare creatures drew closer. Any of the goons who hadn’t escaped were swallowed completely by a wave of eyes and writhing limbs. Misshapen legs, bulging, catlike eyes that shifted and darted around eclectically, consuming anything living. The disgusting miasma that rose from the mass smelled of death. There was no doubt about it.

“B-BASTARD!” One of Sheriff’s men tossed his torch in fear. It landed within the writhing mass with a wet smack. The childlike legs and other bent limbs shook violently. The creature seemed to let out a cry at the impact of the flaming wood. It sounded like a baby’s cry, and had January not been reinforced, it felt like it’d crack the glass of her visor. Nile readied a shot from the rifle.

“AR-CH1E engaged.” January responded. “Aiming calibration incomplete.:”

“We don’t have time to calibrate, babe!” Nile almost yelled back.

“You’ll have to aim manually, then.” January responded, dashing and thrusting upwards to avoid the reach of the creeping darkness as it snuck its way towards the couple. Dark tendrils that nearly missed January wrapped around a tree like a looming shadow, cracking bark and wood and toppling a massive leafy elm, sending it crashing into the drawbridge.

“You know that saying about crunch time being the best time to learn?” January said, speaking without a hint of fear.

"T-that's just too much pressure..." Nile replied, activating the upward thrusters, sending January into the sky. His hands were shaking from his partner's rapid movements and several near collisions with a mass of writhing limbs and twitching eyes.

"Don't worry, darling." January's voice took on a calming tone as the pair took flight. Directly below, the creature collided with the weakened walls of the stronghold like a disgusting, otherworldly fist pounding on a door, making loud splashing and squelching sounds as inky black liquid coated the grass and filled the moat, soaking up water flowing from the creek.

"Just how high are we going, January?" Nile said, nervously. Up in the sky, the blue moon was completely visible through the clouds. Nile remembered a book he'd once read that said that the moon was supposed to be white.

"High enough for a clear shot, my love!" January replied, stabilizing in the air. Nile looked downwards and realized he could see the stronghold within the huge walls they had just been circumventing earlier. It looked like a small settlement, and in the dark of night, the panicked inhabitants scrambled about like ants as the abomination slammed itself into their protective walls, probably made worse by the death of what Nile assumed was their leader.

"Alright!" January's voice snapped him out of his daze. Nile raised his hands, and so too did his beloved companion. January's grip tightened around the rifle and her finger eased toward the trigger with precision Nile didn't know he had over the controls yet.

"Here we go."

Nile looked downscope and attempted to find any kind of heart or core to the mass of blackness that flowed below, like ink spilt from a bottle knocked over by a careless quill. Nature gave way like a painstakingly written manuscript, completely coated and indistinguishable from the rest of the nightmare. He realized that the swirling liquid river of limbs and eyes converged on one point, directly below the pair.

"Think that's the heart?" Nile asked.

"Some kind of core, darling."

Without saying a word, Nile pressed down on the trigger. Even with January's shock absorption, the recoil made him shake a little. Huge casings fell to the earth beneath them. Nile kept firing. The rounds were tearing holes clean through the mass, revealing dead grass beneath for just a moment before being swallowed up again.

"Keep firing, darling!"

Nile did as he was told, stabilizing and firing repeatedly, the volley of rounds carving an opening within.

"Alright, now what?" Nile asked, looking at the hole in the mass directly below.

"Now we run out of power to the thrusters."

"Eh?"

Nile barely had time to react as January began falling towards the ground, quickly hitting terminal velocity.

"Let me handle this one!" The AI called out, her voice echoing outside the cockpit. Nile hurriedly scanned all of her status readouts, many of which were flashing. Nothing was red, which struck him as odd. It seemed this wasn't even close to her full capacity.

January reached for her broad tail, which she grabbed in her powerful hand. It detached from the base at her back with no effort. In its solid, stiffened form, it felt like a spear in she and Nile's shared senses. In an instant, he knew what to do. He brought up their other hand upon the shaft of the thick, bladed tail-spear, which only a few minutes ago had been prehensile and scorpion-like. It felt natural in the couple's hands. Though whether this was due to his connection to his lover, or some other sixth sense was beyond Jim.

The pair pointed January's tail downwards, and directly toward the quickly reforming Horror-mass as they reached terminal velocity.

The pair smashed into the ground with terrifying force, the hard dirt, gravel, and abominable flesh below cratering beneath their impact.

"I think I know where this is going." Nile spoke up, tail-spear clenched tightly.

"I promise you'll love it. On a side note, have you noticed that we're basically holding hands like this?" January sounded a little excited at the prospect.

"It feels right. It feels even better than when we're separated." The pilot replied. "I've been meaning to mention it, actually. Every time we're together like this, i-"

“-Feel like we’re completely in-sync?” January cut him off.

“Yeah!” Nile replied, the crawling chaos at their feet closing in slowly, but surely. A gunman from upon the top of the wall took a potshot. The sound of a bullet pinging off of January’s plates shook them from their romantic reverie.

“Activate the thrusters, please~” January requested politely. As swiftly as if it were his own body, Nile obliged. The looming darkness and cacophony of screams and foliage destruction melted around the pilot as he shifted his lover’s leg thrusters to full capacity, sending the pair flying forward. He gripped her tail-spear in his hands, January’s grip tightening with his own.

“We’re going to aim for that big eye, right in the center. It seems to be the core.” The AI guided Nile gently. He could feel his heart rate slow down at her calm tone. Around all the heads-up display data shown on her visor, he could see his target. The eye seemed to stare directly back at him. It didn’t have eyelids to blink. The pupil dilated suddenly upon the realization that they had technically locked eyes. Was it in rage? Terror? It bore through January’s hard alloy exterior and into Nile’s soul.

Nile readied the spear like a mounted knight, up to January’s shoulder level. The actuators inside her arms whirred as he did so. The pair was launched towards the monstrosity with all the force January could muster. Nile yelled out himself, a battlecry, and something uncommon for him. With perfect precision, and a disgustingly loud squelching sound that seemed to silence everything else, January’s tail pierced the large core eyeball.

The limbs of the creature, horrific liquid tendrils made up of separate human appendages melded together and writhing about, flailed wildy. A scream that could break concrete rang out from the center of the mass. It echoed like a thousand voices reaching crescendo at the same time.

“DoN’T yOU LOOOVe mE? wHY WOuld YOU???” The Horror cried out. Tendrils thrashed against January’s body as the pair struggled to retrieve her tail, which had penetrated directly through the eye and to the other side, releasing some sort of purple mist and soft pink tissue.

One of the limbs smashed against January’s side, and it seemed the absorbers couldn’t stop the full force. Some of the shock transferred Nile, and he exclaimed in sudden pain.

“Darling!?” January’s voice echoed in the cockpit in worry.

“Don’t worry. We’ll… just have to reinforce your side plating next chance we get.” Nile responding, his hands in the arms slots of the suit and gripping for dear life.

“Use the thrusters backwards.”

“Ah, oh yeah. I didn’t think of that.” Nile did as he was asked, still gripping the spear. The sudden backwards force sent the pair flying as well as January’s newly freed tail, and a long ocular nerve, releasing with another squelch. January’s absorbers stopped Nile from feeling anything except a lot of bumping as the lovers careened and collided with the already cracked fortress walls, crashing through in a mess of concrete and construction dust. January’s form lay up against the wall like a drunk taking a rest before catching the train in the middle of the night, and Nile was just as dizzy.

As the dust and smoke cleared, a woozy Nile could see the sun starting to rise. There was no chance they had been fighting for an entire night, and the sudden arrival of daytime seemed to be some sort of effect of the environment. January’s heat sensors were beeping quietly. It seems the signal directly ahead of them was fading slowly? The destroyed core lay on the ground in a heap like minced meat in front of the disgusting Horror mass, which had begun shriveling and letting out weaker and weaker screams, like a child continuing to throw a tantrum after losing its voice.

“My little dragoon~” spoke January softly. She began moving autonomously as she collapsed the large anti-material rifle that lay at their feet.

“Eh? Nile couldn’t even find it in him to be flustered. He let out a sigh of exhaustion, releasing his hands from the controls. January let out a shudder. He couldn’t tell if it was a system reaction or her disappointment that their hands were no longer connected.

The destroyed trees and foliage that had gotten in the Horror’s path revealed a beautiful sunrise. As the horrible, inky-black creature shriveled and shrank, Nile could see bodies, destroyed and strewn about upon the now-dead grass.

“I could finish them all, you know?” January said, taking note of where her beloved was staring. “But I won’t.”

“They won’t mess with us, I don’t think.” Nile responded, recalling the sniper who had taken aim at the pair uselessly during the fighting. He had probably run off or hunkered down after he had failed.

“If they did, I’d kill them. How could humans be so ungrateful? After we saved them!”

“We did kinda kill their leader.”

“Touche, my love~”

Nile yawned loudly. It was at this point that he realized he could barely keep his eyes open. His side ached, and his heart rate dropping so suddenly from the lapse of action had caused him to become drowsy in record time. He opened January’s visor, letting in some of the warm air.

“Aren’t you worried about breathing in any of those Horror vapors?”

“Won’t you close the visor if you sense I’m at risk?”

“Right again. As if I’d let anything hurt you.”

“That’s why you’re the best, darling.” At this, January let out a squeak, a sound Nile didn’t think the beautifully synthesized voice could produce. It echoed against the remaining intact walls of the dilapidated fortress and into the morning sky.

“Hey January?”

“Yes, Nile?”

“I’m going to sleep.” Nile said flatly.

“Do you want me to photograph this sunrise? It seems unique, like the one from the Western Sector.” January responded, recalling a strange order Nile had given her just the other day.

“Nah, no need.”

“Hmm? Why’s that?”

“I’ll be sure to see plenty more sunrises with you, so there’s no need to photograph every single one.”

January’s flustered shriek could be heard throughout the remnants of the Horror-filled forests. Nile sincerely doubted they’d be coming out to hunt tonight.

( You're about to view content that the journal owner has marked as possibly inappropriate for anyone under the age of 18. )

"Ah, sick again, huh?" Your achy eyes open slowly to find a mop of white hair draped over your face, obscuring your vision. Fogged-up, oversized lenses and a pale, freckled face sits uncomfortably close to you.

"It happens. I'm only human, you know." You reply, stretching.

"Shall I make you some more soup?" Jam asks, a hint of eagerness in her cute monotone voice.

"You mean cup noodles? Did you wait several months to make me cup noodles again?"

Jam's cheeks turn a little red, and she holds two arms behind her head playfully. "Maybe?" She says.

"Do you remember how?" You ask.

"Of course!" Jam replies proudly. She's playing a Gameboy advance with her other two arms. She has a heavy sweater on, so you can't occupy yourself counting her freckles or whatever it is you do. Of course, she isn't wearing pants.

"Well, then yes, please."

Eventually, waiting for your eldritch freeloader to make noodles takes too long, and you feel sleep taking you. In your dreams, you imagine horrifying, twitching tendrils, and dark sludge pervading every crack and crevice in your house. Your mind races as you struggle to escape. You feel tendrils wrap around your legs as your body, wracked with pain, fights in futility. You break free for just a moment, long enough to escape your bedroom. As you approach the kitchen, panting heavily and leaning on a wall for support, you see Jam, perched on a kitchen stool, like some kind of kitchen gargoyle, crouching over a cup of noodles on the counter. Steam rises from within, as well as…

Tendrils. Squirming, monstrous appendages wriggle back and forth, springing out of the cup as if they were always in there and waiting to be awoken.

“Jam!?” You manage to choke out. She turns to you in shock.

“Human!” Steam from the noodles coats her glasses, but you can see a toothy smile on her face. She grabs the cup of noodles with two of her hands and offers it out to you, her hands stretched as far as they can go, still perched on the stool.

As she does so, tentacles fall from the cup to the ground, leaving an inky black trail across the dark kitchen floor. Before you can react, they’re upon you. You’re entangled and despite how much you try to struggle, you’re far too sick to fight back. Your vision grows dark,

Eventually, you wake up. Your eyes shoot open to find your oft-unreliable girlfriend standing at the doorway, noodles in hand.

"Human!" Jam looks at you, puzzled by your state. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, better now. What a horrible dream."

"Ah, well, I don't have dreams."

"I'm sorry." You reply.

"It's alright! I enjoy being awake all the time. Plus, dreams are for those who truly sleep."

"Like humans?"

"Right. You're only human, after all." Jam giggles, sitting down your cup noodles on the end table, and kissing you on the cheek gently.

The cold of her lips against your cheek is surprising, yet totally expected, like the touch of winter against uncovered arms.

From the corner of your eye, you think you can almost make out something dark and wriggling retreating through the doorway and out of your room.

"Thanks, Jam."

"You need to be out of here by midnight, okay?" I barely remembered the stern voice of my balding manager, Robert. He had tried to drill the idea into all of us working the Halloween night shift at Spirit.

I could hear him shuffling papers in his makeshift office, created out of those portable cubicle walls, situated in the corner of the store. He seemed restless today, but I guess it was to be expected on pack-up day.

It was genuinely incredible that the seasonal pop-up had cleaned up its stock from the cheap, temporary shelves so quickly. All that remained were a few masks and accessories at the checkout lanes. I looked at my phone absentmindedly, trying to ignore my coworker who had been pestering me all night. I kept pretending the earbuds in my ear were actually playing something and disregarding her calling of my name.

11:45. The storm the weatherman had predicted for tonight raged on outside. The strip mall streetlights were buffeted by the downpour, and I could barely see my car. For a second, it seemed it had been swept up by the storm, but there it was, the shitty, riced-up Honda Civic, parked next to Trattoria Pasquale so I could eat my lunch break slice of pepperoni, sausage, and olives far away from the chattering teenagers, and as close to freshness as I could get it besides just eating it in the pizzeria.

The dull incandescent lights that lined the ceiling flickered slightly, causing the jumpier employees to look around nervously. I heard a gasp from the glasses-wearing girl manning the register next to mine. She looked ready to cry.

Rachel was a pudgy college student who had taken a liking to me since I started working there at the beginning of the month. She was a scaredy-cat who always seemed to be grappling with the start of an anxiety attack. Whenever this would happen, she'd start talking to me.

Why she'd take a liking to a twenty-eight year old guy working a seasonal store that didn't exist 10 months out of the year was beyond me. I decided not to think about it, distancing myself as much as I could socially.

I'll probably be back here next year. I hope you won't.

A couple of the high schoolers had tried to make friends with me as well, and I immediately alienated myself by mentioning some Japanese gacha game I had been blowing my meager paychecks on. They kept their distance after that. Guess that wasn't cool to anyone but the other old people I talked to on various ancient forums.

Was it even cool there?

I continued staring idly out the window, feeling like one of a few remaining crew members on a doomed ship as I watched the high school kids getting picked up by their parents or fishing their keys out of their pockets nervously, not particularly eager to drive in the inclement weather.

There were two reasons I wasn't among those departing.

The first was that I knew why Robert wanted us to leave before midnight. He was absolutely the type to try and deny the workers overtime. Anyone who had signed up to work this past week, Halloween night included, clearly needed the money. I suspected it had been a ploy by Corporate, but I'm sure the bitter jerk'd try it himself. He couldn't force me off the clock, so I'd wait for the hour to roll over before clocking out.

The other reason was far more simple, and less spiteful. The weather was terrible, and truth be told, I didn't want to walk out to my car.

But I guess I could walk someone else to theirs.

Rachel had finally worked up the courage to actually touch my shoulder. Her hand was so sweaty it could've soaked my shirt. I couldn't be that intimidating, could I?

"Hey, um… Andre?" She spoke up, her voice docile and soft.

I turned to look at her immediately, making it clear my headphones weren't playing anything and that I had just been ignoring her for the past five minutes. She looked a little hurt.

"Yeah? Whaddya need?" I said, removing my earbuds so as to soften the blow.

"Can you maybe… walk me to my car? I don't really like how it looks out there." She asked, her head turning to the downpour beyond the shop windows. I looked out along with her, then at her. Her shoulder length curly hair was spread across her sweater wildly, a result of packing in a rush with the rest of the employees. She wore those big circular glasses that made you wonder if they were actually prescription or just a fashion accessory. Was that a hint of pumpkin wafting from her?

Don't you fucking dare. Why are you smelling her?

"Sure, whatever." I said, ignoring the gut feeling. I quickly lay down my cellphone on the register, locking it before she could see the Discord channel full of anime girl tits I was browsing without thinking-

- Not thinking of until just now, that is.

I grabbed my coat, hanging on a little hook below the register, and walked towards the door with the nervous shortstack.

Why would you think of another human as a shortstack? Are you good, dude?

“Alright! After you, then.” I tried my best to sound upbeat as I held the door open, exposing the interior to the elements. Cold autumn wind blew inside, sending a shiver through one of the teenagers who hadn’t put on his jacket yet. Rachel brushed past me, pulling her coat closer to her chest. I let the door close behind me, and followed behind her. The wind whipped at my face and I pulled my hood over my head.

“You know, Andre, you don’t talk much.” Rachel said, crossing the parking lot a few steps ahead of me. I could’ve just as easily walked ahead of her, but then I’d look awkward. I don’t know what car she drives.

I shrugged. She couldn’t see what I was doing through the downpour, so I replied. “I don’t talk much here.” It was true. I wouldn’t shut up when I was among people who shared my common interests. What did I have to talk about with some Velma from Scooby-Doo lookalike and a bunch of teenagers?

“Well, you seem perfectly capable of it!” I couldn’t tell if Rachel had perhaps gained some modicum of confidence in between the entrance to the store and the parking lot. Maybe she spoke so clearly because of the sound of the wind. It’d definitely drown out her voice if she spoke like she normally did. We passed by my shitty car and shuddered a little, hoping she didn’t see the ahegao bumper sticker. I meant to remove that a month after I’d bought it at a convention. I’d told myself “remove that sticker, please” every time I passed by it for the past two years. Even for me, it was a bit much. If only I’d had the power of hindsight when I was posing with my car for photos I did nothing with besides link to off-topic threads on the forums I still visited.

Rachel, not seeming to notice me reeling in shame, continued her walk - maybe it was more of a waddle - to her car.

“I don’t have much to talk about with you guys, is all.”

“Are you an anime fan, Andre?”

“Depends on who’s asking.”

“J...just me.” She had lost some of that energy.

In truth, I wasn’t sure of what to say next, either. I watched the girl in front of me, her hair soaking wet from the downpour. She occasionally turned back to me as she closed in on her car, a 90’s sedan, complete with the shitty angular body. I absolutely despised how every car was so angular back then.

“Yeah, I do.” I finally choked out.

Don’t. Do NOT.

What’s the worst that could happen? She’s at the same job as me. She’s older than all the other employees, save for me and Robert. What is she, like twenty-three? That’s fine.

Why are you thinking about that?

I shook my head, my hood flailing a little in the rain. Rachel unlocked her car with the fob and I heard the familiar beeping indicating the door was open. I hurried over, rain bouncing off my windbreaker, most of it soaking the overpriced Superdry jacket. I approached Rachel.

“Think you’ve got it from here?” I asked, trying not to sound cold. I’m sure I sounded cold anyway.

“Ah, yeah. One more thing, Andre.” the brunette responded, the sound of her car starting making me jump a little. “Sorry.” She said, noticing.

“Yeah?”

“Can I have your phone number?”

See what I mean?

I took a step back. Dramatic, yeah, but one fitting how I felt. The chilling wind flew up under my jacket. So much for a windbreaker. The lone streetlamp above shone down weakly on the both of us, like some kind of low-budget stageplay spotlight. If it weren’t for the fact that it was 40 degrees and pouring rain, I’d say it was making me sweat like being under a spotlight, just the same.

“I don’t mind. I’m really bad at texting, though.” I quickly pulled myself together and shot back. I couldn't get close to another person like this.

Might as well.

I nodded.

“Alright! I’ll give you mine.”

“O-okay!” I was surprised with how forthright she was. She pulled out her phone. It had a background from an anime I recognized. How had I never noticed? She held it under the cover of her car’s interior.

“Alright, here.” She showed me the “My Number” section. I didn’t even know phones had a “My Number” section. I’ve had the same phone number since I was 18. Have they always had a “My Number” section? I reached for my back pocket to grab my phone, realizing with a gasp, and that sinking feeling you get when something basically attached to you at all times is missing from its natural place. The same feeling I bet you’d get if you opened a treasure chest and there was an indent where the treasure should be, but there’s nothing there.

Dread.

I looked back across the parking lot at the lit up Spirit Halloween storefront, and then back at Rachel. The downpour was lightening up a little, and I could make out the last teenager heading to his Mom’s car.

“I uh… left it in the store.” I said, kind of shamefully.

Why are you like this?

Rachel’s face sunk, then returned to normal.

“You aren’t just saying that to avoid texting me, are you?” She raised an eyebrow. She was just messing around, okay.

“N-no, seriously! I left it back there because I was intending to hurry back.”

“Well, I’ll wait. Come back soon, okay?”

For some reason, upon her saying that, my body felt lighter. I nodded like a schoolboy sent to get back the kickball and started across the soaked parking lot, my sneakers splashing loudly as the rain died down. What an odd feeling. A guy walking out of Trattoria Pasquale gave me a weird look. I barely even noticed. I hoped he hadn't noticed the ahegao sticker on my car.

You cut yourself off from everyone here until someone else expresses interest in you, and then…?

I reached the store in a minute or two, cursing the sedentary lifestyle I’d lived for the past six or seven years. I was already panting a little. The bell rang as I walked into the dimly lit store. It looked so weird entering after all the cleaning and merchandise had been boxed and moved. It was even weirder that the store was technically open ‘til eleven. What were we even selling at that point? Last minute spooks? Trendy knockoff costumes for next year?

I had just reached my register and scrambled to scoop up my phone. 11:57. The last teenager was walking out of the store. He waved at me and headed for the door. I gave him a nod in return. I ran to clock out at the little computer terminal by the door, choosing to wait a few moments for my hours to roll into overtime. Who was I to say no to 22 extra bucks on my last paycheck?

I stared at my phone, illuminating it repeatedly whenever it dimmed from inactivity. For some reason, my throat tightened up as the clock ticked. He did tell me to be out of here before midnight.

So what? I wasn't some teenager he could bully into being paid less.

A bead of sweat ran down my temple. I hadn't felt excited about disobeying another adult since I was a freshman in college. Wasn't I too old for that?

12am. Welcome to November, eh?

I took my time heading for the wall-mounted computer terminal for clocking out. At this point, the store was completely quiet, save for the dull buzzing of the cheap incandescent strip lights and Robert sorting papers in the back.

I clocked out and headed for the front door, not even thinking twice about the balding cue ball who was likely only seven or eight years older than me

You'll probably end up like him.

"As soon as this temporary job ends, I'll look for something serious." I thought to myself, feeling that bullshit kind of epiphany you convince yourself you're having when you're feeling motivated for once.

Maybe things are turning around, though. I'm about to go get a girl's number and head home for a nice sleep. All in all, not the worst Halloween.

As I reached for the door handle, all the lights in the store shut off. Shrouded in complete darkness, I panicked and yanked the door a bit harder than I expected to. It hit the wall and in a bit of shock I flew through the threshold.

You know that feeling where you've been speeding in a car and your pupils dilate to take in more surroundings, but when you stop, everything sort of comes back into normal focus?

Just your nervousness. At least, I think it is.

Yeah, imagine that, but a cute girl who was expecting you to come back out in a few minutes is slowly growing further from you. The weak breeze that had been blowing when I was outside last had worked itself up into a strong gust.

"Hey!" I called out to Rachel from across the parking lot.

From the distance it seemed like she had actually noticed me. I don't know how far I seemed to her, but to me, Rachel felt about half a football field away.

I waved.

She waved back.

Maybe I was having some kind of mental thing. I hadn't been attracted to anyone who wasn't some anime girl in a few years, after all. That can take a toll on anyone's state.

I started to jog towards the car, my sneakers splashing in puddles as the deluge of rain grew in strength. The downpour was immediate, and having pulled down my hood when I went back into the store, the cold water mixing with the unnaturally blowing winds made me feel like I was being attacked. I sped through, hitting my top speed. I ran right past my car.

And then I ran right past my car again.

It was a moment before I realized I wasn't getting any closer to the light post where Rachel had her car parked.

The parking lot continued to extend like I was on a treadmill, my speed increased and my heart started pounding in my chest. The rain beat against my face and body until it looked like I was fighting through a waterfall.

Rachel's car grew further. My lungs burned from years of neglect. I'd probably collapse if I actually made it to her at this point.

My brain couldn't grasp what was happening. It didn't make sense. As I passed by my car for the fifth time, the ahegao sticker on the back a blur, I thought to stop on my next lap. I stopped as suddenly as I could, my sneakers skidding on the rain-soaked pavement, the blacktop glazed with water. A small splash beneath my feet signifying my stop. The rain had seemed to calm down a little, too. As I prepared to make a run for it, I felt something yank on the hood of my windbreaker. I stumbled backwards, and onto my butt. On the way down, I heard the familiar ringing of the entrance bell for the Spirit Halloween.

"...You waited to clock out, didn't you?" Asked a stern voice. I shook my head, rising to my feet shakily.

"Robert?" I asked, turning to face him. The balding man looked genuinely upset. I'd made jokes at his expense plenty of times in the past, but at the moment I really didn't have anything funny to say in my defense. I guess it's that kind of authority that comes with age that you can exude when you really want to? I don't think I have it, at any rate.

"So, what was it, some kind of "fuck you" to me? You don't actually think I care if anyone working at this Halloween store gets overtime, do you?"

"Well-" I cut myself off. Any rebellious intent I had went out like a doused flame. I turned to look at the parking lot briefly. I could see Rachel, still waiting patiently at her car.

Robert sighed, but in less of a "this fucking guy" way, and more of a "boy, do I feel for you" way.

"She's not really out there."

"What?" I replied, confused.

"Well, she's there, but not here." He began, moving towards the door. As he opened it, I rushed towards the threshold, ready to yell for Rachel. He put a rather large arm in front of me, barring me gently from passing. A strong, unnatural wind whipped in from the outside. Gusts and my own hair beat me about the face, causing me to squint unpleasantly.

"Hey, what the fuck gives, Robert?" I said, growing agitated. I was certain it had something to do with me running towards my car repeatedly for five minutes.

You're just tripping right now. You could make a run for it.

Why would I be tripping?

I looked through the doorway. There was nothing out there. Like, literally nothing. Infinite blackness, at least as far as I could see. Regardless, the strong wind blew in as if an industrial fan was pointed into the store. With some trepidation, I moved my head to the left of the door, til I was looking through the glass front window. I saw the calm parking lot, light drizzle and all.

I saw Rachel again. I saw my shitty ricer with the ahegao sticker. I saw Trattoria Pasquale and the flickering parking lot light posts. So why couldn't I see it through the door? I looked at Robert, the bewilderment clear from my expression.

"You ever wonder what happens to Spirit Halloween locations after Halloween?" He said, a dark look spreading across his face.

"No, I've literally never thought about it once. Don't we just ship everything back to corporate?" I replied, incredulous. Just what was he getting at?

"Incredible, Andre. You're like a mirror of myself when I was your age." He chuckled, closing the door. "Right down to that "screw you" attitude you've got. And it's exactly why I'm still here."

"Still the manager of a dead-end job?" Robert's glare pierced me like an arrow. It was clear he was trying, rather awkwardly, to relate to me. I have no idea why I snarked him like that, especially given the situation. I suppose it's the only thing stopping me from having a breakdown about what I just saw.

"The reason you couldn't get to your new girlfriend," he began, ignoring my flustered objections, "is because you waiting til midnight to leave bound you to the store before it left the human world. I pulled you inside so you wouldn't get caught in limbo."

"What? Are you on something?" I replied, my repertoire of quick quips clearly completely exhausted. What the hell was he talking about?

"It's called Spirit Halloween for a reason."

"But I've seen other locations open on November first!"

"This isn't one of them."

I walked over to my cash register, leaning on it for support, my breath still a bit ragged from the sprint I just ran outside. My phone sat on the counter, illuminated by a bunch of messages from the various Discord servers I was in.

I suddenly remembered that Rachel had given me her number.

Bingo! Just tell her you're talking to Robert and you'll be out in a little bit.

"Ah, yeah. That isn't going to work." Robert said, as if he could read my mind. "Look at your last received message."

11:59PM, from "anime feet club". My phone had the correct time and date, but no mobile data connection. It was November 1st, 12:11AM.

There was a phone signal, though.

I opened up the keypad and dialed in Rachel's number as quickly as I could from memory. It's incredible the feats even an attention-deficit addled brain like mine was capable of when stressed.

The phone rang a few times. I looked up at Robert. He was tapping his foot, peering out of the window like he was expecting something to happen.

"H...o, -dre?" A feminine voice answered. Rachel had to be expecting my call.

"RACHEL!? I'M SORRY, I'M KIND OF STUCK IN THE STO-"

"can't… ear you very well." Was all I could make out before the line went dead. I slumped against my cash register counter.

"Wow, you actually got through to her? We must still be in limbo. Those 5G towers are pretty strong, eh?"

I shot him a look of bewilderment. I didn't have the energy for this.

"Well, since you're going to be here for the next year, I won't have to take a week to mail you your final check." Robert said, as if he hadn't just watched me lose my will to live.

"I-I have direct deposit." I stammered, unable to do anything but answer him with complete seriousness. That remark he'd just made had me floored.

"Oh, well. I guess it's good you don't need money in the non-denominational Spirit World, eh?" He said, letting out a hearty chuckle.

The last thing I remember before passing out on the smelly rug in the middle of a Spirit Halloween was that cue ball bastard's laugh. It rang in my ears like an alarm bell as my world went black.

Hey, sort of like what happened to my actual world, right?

The streets were filled with the ruckus of traders and the loud rumbling of gears turning as the huge gates of the Walled City of Astra opened to allow merchants and other entrants within it’s interior. Market stalls buzzed and people rushed down the cobblestone streets on the warm, gray day. Despite the gloom that normally hung over the city right before a downpour, the energy was still palpable.

Charlotte’s ears twitched in frustration as she walked past a Royal Knight, seemingly heading back to his station, as he was alone. For a moment, she was distracted, as she tended to be when gazing at knights. The regal trim on his armor made her gauntlet and mail, while expensive, look downright quaint in comparison. Her clawed, rodentlike hands curled into fists for a moment, and as he kept walking away, she exhaled loudly and sighed. She took a look at the image from the poster on the bounty board she had snatched up earlier, taking a moment to study all the features of who she was looking for. Despite being caught up in a city crowd, the presence of people several feet taller than her didn’t distract her from her reading, although it was starting to block out the light. Dogs barked and apothecary door bells rang as people rushed to get their last minute shopping done before the downpour.

“Weather-Watchers say it’s gonna be uh… what was that word, Milly?” An older man spoke as Charlotte walked by his market stall. Despite the sounds of the city all around them, the man’s voice carried as if it were sent directly to her ears.

“Torrential, Martin?” Replied a middle-aged woman, red hair tied in a bun. She fixed her glasses and adjusted the merchandise on the stall table so as to look more appealing.

“Aye, torrential! It’d be a right shame if ye got yer beautiful fur wet, little miss.” Martin called out, very clearly referring to the Ratkin walking by the stall.

“Don’t sexually harass the beasts, Martin! That one looks quite mean, don’t she?” Milly snapped at him, causing Charlotte to stop in her tracks. Despite the city being filled with every race in the Kingdom of Redding, every variety of beastkin not too big to fit within its walls, every type of pack animal, exotic or common, why had these two decided to call out to her? She gently fingered the flintlock in its holster on her waist, changing her mind and instead turning to the couple.

“Is there some way I can help you?” Charlotte responded, still confused as to why they had started a dialogue about her appearance out loud.

“Aye, mousey,” The man began. “You can buy somethin."

Charlotte took a look at the stall. The table was laden with various cheap magical sundries. Things you could find at the shop of a hedge witch who'd just moved into town, or a nonmagical peasant who fancied himself a collector. A silver mirror that made scrying easier for beginners, a scarf that could hold a single magical incantation within its fabric…

And a scraggly-looking doll. It had brown hair, made of wool, and one of the button eyes was missing. None of it was remotely interesting, but the doll still called to Charlotte. She eyed it for a few more moments.

"First off, I'm a Ratkin."

"Eh, mouse, rat, what's the difference?" The old man responded.

"Plenty, you geriatric." Charlotte snapped back.

"Me hubby's got plenty of good years left, ya cheese-eater!" Milly chimed in.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Does he tell you he doesn't "feel up to it" when you're in bed?" Charlotte's sharp teeth caught what little sunlight broke through the gray sky and glinted mischievously.

The older woman's face went almost as red as her hair, and she turned away, shooting a death glare at Charlotte, and then her husband. Martin looked helplessly at the beastkin, who flexed the fingers on her gauntlet, impatiently.

"So, I'll tell ya what. Gimme that doll, and I'll leave ya be.”

Martin looked to his wife, who at this point was seething. The gathering clouds above the city seemed to pale in comparison.

Grumbling, Martin thrust the doll into Charlotte’s hands, aggressively. She received it with care and unconsciously held it with a gentle grasp. She flicked the older man a few silver pieces, and started to walk away as they landed carelessly on the table. “Pleasure doin business with ya, Martin.” Within moments, the Ratkin had managed to make her way back into the crowd. Milly scooped up the silver pieces before her bumbling husband could even make the motion to, turning her nose up at his exasperated attempt to apologize.

Charlotte’s nose sniffed at the strong smell of ozone. The scent permeated even the various scents of the market district’s food and spice stalls. The familiar scents that reminded her of why she preferred life in the Walled City to normal Beastkin villages were slowly being smothered by the pretense of rain, and would likely be extinguished for several hours during the oncoming storm. Normally, she couldn’t move with as much freedom as she did. She had to make herself small among the knights, adventurers and traders rushing and bustling, or be squished between a sweaty Half-Orc’s leather armor and a Paladin’s tower shield while trying to hurry to her favorite kebab stand before the lunch rush. The beastkin shuddered at the thought, and silently thanked whatever strange goddess was being worshipped by the citizens that week.

Astra was a city of trends. The Walled City originally didn’t allow witches within the city walls. It wasn’t a royal decree or a law within the Kingdom of Redding, but each time a witch would open her apothecary or offer her services within the city in any official capacity, they’d be run out, through bureaucracy or violence. Charlotte chalked it up to the fact that witches were still feared within the Kingdom. She didn’t blame them, though. Any Witch she’d ever had a job to hunt was nothing but trouble. Luckily, it wasn’t anything but Hedge Witches, charged with something extremely minor, but placed upon the bounty board nonetheless. The one time they hadn’t just paid off their bounty when asked, she had chased them through the countryside for three days.

Charlotte sighed in exhaustion even recalling the event. Slipping the doll into her satchel, she approached her normal haunt, a tavern named The Bloodied Dove. The barkeep, whom she was rather close to, had never explained the meaning behind the name, and Charlotte couldn’t seem to get an answer out of his sister, the innkeep. No matter how drunk either of them got, they were as tight-lipped as ever.

She walked inside, the ornate Elven bell above the door ringing loudly like a shop entrance as she did.

“Ah, me favorite customer. ‘Ello there, Charlie!” Said a loud, friendly voice from behind the counter.

Charlotte blushed a little at the use of her nickname. It faded quickly when she realized that there were no new customers sitting around the bar. It was the same old drunks and laborers, just off of work.

“Ah, Boris, didn’t I tell ya not to use that name in front of people?” Charlotte responded playfully, her braid bouncing along with her mood. Entering the warmly lit, wood-floored tavern always did well to raise her spirits. The grayness outside was no exception.

“Can’t a guy call his favorite gal by her favorite name?” He replied, letting out a belly laugh, and filling up a tankard with an amber liquid. Foam frothed and rolled over the top as he completed his pour, and he slid it over to Charlotte, who had plopped the seat closest to the entrance of the pub, and whose ears were currently flopped downward in embarrassment at Boris’ decree.

“Who’s even going to hear? Little Renvaldt? The Halfling’s buried in his drink! Ha ha!” Renvaldt, a halfling who worked as an Artificer-by-Contract, raised his hand woozily. In the hand was a tankard the size of his head, sloshing with liquid.

“Renvaldt is the least of my concerns.” Charlotte responded. “What happens if someone walks in?”

“Ooh, sweetie, don’t tell me you still want to use this place as your “place of operations.”...” came a voice from behind Charlotte. She sipped from her mead, attempting to ignore the rebuttal from the Innkeep and Boris’ sister. “I’m afraid we don’t have that many interesting customers. As much as we love havin’ ye here, shouldn’t you be doin’ that at a much busier place?”

“I… Well, I’ve tried, but it’s hard to be intimidatin’ looking like I do.” Charlotte looked a little down.

“I’d say yer pretty scary with that big golden claw ye’ve got, Charlie.” Boris cut in. “Bren, get Charlotte’s room ready, will ye? I don’t want me girl going out in this weather.”

The black fur on Charlotte’s face took on a slightly reddish hue. “Not in front of Renvaldt, Boris!”

Charlotte seemed ashamed at the treatment, but in truth, she treasured it more with each passing day. It had only been a few years since her family had passed, but the owners of the Dove had taken her in with open arms and a warm hearth.

“You’re thinking about the day we metcha, eh?” Boris filled up Charlotte’s tankard almost as soon as she had finished the last gulp. She nodded a little, looking out the windows at the tavern’s entrance as the last few traders escaping the rain found their places among the alleys and main street inns. “It was only a few years ago, huh?”

“I don’t even know why ya keep drinkin me mead. I ain’t got Beastkin Brew and it’ll take ya a whole barrel to get drunk. You’ll be full before ya feel the buzz.” He was right. Beastkin livers were much tougher than a normal human’s, but Charlotte had only once stooped as low as to down the swill known as Beastkin Brew.

“Aye, last time ye had the stuff was the same day they passed, eh?”

“I don’t even know if they died the day I got the news, Boris.”

“Ya said that before, didn’tcha?”

“Sorry. It’s just… This rain is depressing.” She said back, wistfully.

This weather marked the beginning of the Rainy Season in the grasslands of Lamonde. Many traders were stuck in Western Redding until the end of it, which could last up to three months. Airships didn’t fly cargo in the inclement weather, and had to work on extremely tight schedules to beat the Weather-Watcher’s predictions.

“The last time it was this bad really was five years ago.” Brenda, the innkeep, said.

Charlotte recalled silently, the last time she had consumed Beastkin Brew. The pouring rain, her matted fur, and the bare-knuckle brawl she’d gotten into with an Elven drunkard who was on the streets outside of the Bloodied Dove. The elf, unscrupulously wandering about the Tavern Lane with a swiped mug of a beer in hand, had proclaimed he had seen “The Death of the Lord and Lady”, in one of his prophetic dreams. On the way to the Bounty Hunter’s guild, Charlotte had received a letter correlating with his chants. In her anguish, she had swallowed all of the contents of her flask, quickly falling into a horrible haze and pummeling the Elf, who was cheering at the death of her parents.

Wait, was he cheering? Charlotte could barely recall. Any event during the fight was a mess to her. She could recall the feeling of blood dripping from her claws, pouring rain running down her messy hair, an angry scream to the heavens, drowned out with rolling thunder.

And blackness.

A warm bed. Friendly faces. Brenda and Boris.

Since then, the human innkeepers had cared for her. She seemed to attract real doting humans, even as an adult. Not that she minded. Having never really been a part of beastkin society, she didn’t even think she’d fit in. She knew nothing of them beyond the few times she'd visited Beastkin settlements chasing bounties.

Charlotte, intending to distract herself, pulled out the rolled-up parchment with her current bounty on it. An artists' recreation of a woman with strong facial features and shoulder-length brown hair looked back at her, rather menacingly. The woman seemed enraged even through the parchment. A large scar across the bridge of her nose caught Charlotte’s eye.

The Guildmaster had been surprised at Charlotte's choice of bounty, given that the case only resurfaced based on hearsay.

"Oh, who's that now?" One of the regulars, an olive-skinned woman with long, platinum blonde hair, asked in a sing-song voice. She was sitting two seats away from the ratkin, and had an unsightly scar over one eye, but Charlotte had always thought it made her more attractive. The woman was apparently a bard, though Charlotte had never heard her sing. She wore some kind of western desert garb, hanging completely off of her right shoulder, leather armor adorning her chest underneath.

"It says "Elizabeth the Undying." Charlotte said, handing the bounty over.

"She hasn't been seen in five years, Charlotte.” The woman replied, “But I can see why you chose her. That’s quite a bounty.”

“Her crimes are even more interesting, Lami. I mean, “Thievery of Magical Heirlooms, yeah. But “Evading Death?” How is that a crime?” Charlotte pondered.

“Guess that’s why she’s “Elizabeth the Undying, huh?”

“Stories say she simply “walked off” a volley from royal archers. And as of last week, there’s word she’s been spotted South of Astra.”

“And you’re going to bring her in?”

“Alive, I think.”

“Well, ya certainly won’t be dragging her corpse into the Guild!” Lami laughed, and passed the handbill back to the beastkin. She flashed the bard a forced smile. The storm continued to rage outside. The rolling thunder shook the small tavern, and likely the surrounding buildings. Charlotte took another swig of mead, and turned back to stare outside through the front window. Rainwater ran down the glass and made it hard to view what was actually happening, and the sound of the downpour pounding against the roof felt warm.

It made Charlotte sleepy.

Perhaps she could close her eyes for just a moment?

Boris eyed Charlotte expectedly. She worked tirelessly to bring in petty bounties. Seeing her fall asleep at the bar like a child was to be expected somehow always brought a grin to his face. Every time she’d get rejected from another “noble” knight’s order that didn’t accept Beastkin, she’d take out her anger on some poor fifty-gold thief and head back to the Dove. Today had likely been no different. Although she didn’t talk about it, the room in the Inn in which Charlotte took up indefinite residence was covered in those propaganda posters that orders of knights would hang around Astra or any other major city to recruit new Pages and Squires. When her parents first passed, Boris and Brenda had attended her first few tryouts. They watched her stroll confidently onto the practice grounds, and win most of her sparring sessions. She wasn’t a perfect fighter by any means, but she knew her stuff, and that alone would be enough to be recruited as a Page. But time, and time again, Charlotte had been turned away when they saw how she’d wrap her tail around an opponent’s legs to sweep them up. She noticed too, so she stopped doing it as frequently.

The next? They turned her away for using her sensitive ears to dodge attacks by detecting the breeze behind a sword strike. She made it less obvious.

Eventually, she had told the two to stop coming to her trials. Perhaps she thought they didn’t want to waste their time? But the siblings loved watching her try her best, and had told her as much.

Boris’ thought was interrupted as the entrance bell rang. The door was open with an unnecessary amount of force. In the doorway stood an imposing figure. A large woman with a cloak and riding hood, dripping with rainwater. As she stepped into the light, Boris could make out a huge sword sheathed upon her back. Her boots left watery shoeprints as she slowly made her way across the tavern.

“Ah, ‘ello there! Welcome to the Bloodied Dove, miss. Boris gave his friendliest welcome. He’d seen weirder customers. “You look like you just crawled out of the Eastern Sea!” He chuckled at his little quip. The woman seemed to smile at it.

“Hah, thanks. Feels like I did, too.” She hung up her long cloak on the coat rack. It touched the ground regardless. “Sorry ‘bout your door, man.”

“Think nothin’ of it, miss! It ain’t broken, right?” Brenda said, looking up from wiping down a table absentmindedly.

Charlotte’s eyes hadn’t moved from the lady swordsman since she walked inside. Something about her was really familiar. The thought nagged at her head and her ears twitched in annoyance as she struggled to think.

“Hey! I got somethin’ on my face, mouse lady?” The woman looked directly at Charlotte, puzzled. Her expression was one of frustration, and Charlotte didn’t blame her, given that she had been caught in the rain. Charlotte’s focus was such that even shrugged off the mouse remark.

“No. It’s nothing. You just look like someone I know.” The thought continued to attack Charlotte’s brain.

“Ah, well, based on the looks I got coming into town yesterday, I was under the impression I look pretty distinct.” The woman let out a hearty laugh. Her body was covered in toned, firm muscle, and she didn’t wear any kind of armor, save for a pair of expensive-looking bracers. She donned a loincloth, and her chest was wrapped and covered, even just barely. She was dressed like the cover of those old “Barbarian Woman” smut novels sold in the “less reputable” bookstore down the street from the Dove. A decorative-looking choker with a gem hanging off it was fastened around her neck. Given her intimidating appearance, It looked like a dog’s collar, and Charlotte almost snickered out loud at the comparison.

She shook her short, auburn hair, and a few drops of rainwater landed on Charlotte’s fur. She exhaled through her nose in annoyance, an act that the large woman didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze on the new entrant was shaken by a tap on the shoulder.

Lami the Bard stood behind Charlotte, looking rather serious. Her normal expression of drunken contentment was replaced by one of shaky nervousness. Charlotte was unnerved at the strange strange lack of composure from the regular. She had immediately stopped drinking from her mug of Elvesbrau, something she didn't do until her fourth or fifth pint.

It was as if a filament was suddenly sparked within Charlotte’s brain. The woman who stood in the vestibule of the tavern, dripping with rainwater, shook her head. More rainwater flew off in every which direction. Charlotte could almost feel the disapproving glare coming from Brenda. As if right on cue, the innkeep rushed over to her. The warrior looked guarded for a moment as Bren muttered a small incantation, lowering it as her body dried suddenly.

The fugitive, Beth the Undying, stood in front of Charlotte, gigantic, broad blade strapped across her back.

Beth stood there, rubbing the back of her head in relief, and profusely thanking Brenda. She didn’t seem dangerous.

But Charlotte had a job to do. She did her best to restrict her hostile glare. Lami gripped her shoulder, presumably to calm her down. The bard had a pretty strong grasp, too. Boris, noticing his surrogate daughter’s expression, poured her another mug. He’d seen more than enough bar brawls that he knew when something was brewing besides the mead. Charlotte’s attention fell from Beth for long enough to grab the mug and place it to her snout.

Beth strolled over to an empty barstool, seemingly ignorant, or uncaring of the current feeling in the air. She plopped her muscular frame down upon it, and raised a hand calmly to Boris.

“Why hello there, young lady. Welcome to the Bloodied Dove. ‘An just what can i do fer you?” Boris said, calmly.

“Eh, get me a pint of your strongest.” Beth said, letting out a relaxed sigh. “And maybe some information.”

“Oh? We ain’t much of an informational tavern, but we help where we can.” Boris replied, deftly filling up a tankard with Dragon’s Milk.

“Well, alright! Any of you guys seen a witch? Big, green hat, bushy red hair?” Beth asked, her expression genuine. “HUGE freckled butt?” She chuckled lightly.

“Oh, yer the type that’s into witches, eh? Well, can’t say many pass through here, unfortunately.” Boris shook his head, handing her the tankard.

“Shame. Well, she’s a strong lady. She’ll probably catch up eventually.”

Charlotte was practically shaking in anticipation. The way Beth downed the tankard, the rippling of her muscles, the size of the blade she effortlessly carried on her back - it felt more like adoration of her form than the excitement of the hunt.

And that 15,000 Gold Bounty. Not even Lami could stop the smile growing across her face. Her rodentlike nose twitched, as if she smelled something important.

“Hey, Boris?” Charlotte spoke up.

“Yes, ‘darlin?” He replied.

“You’ve got a little bit of Beastkin Brew left, right?”

“Ah, yeah, but that stuff ain’t no good for ya, my lil’ cabbage.”

“D-don’t call me that in front of people! And it isn’t for me. It’s for our large visitor, over there.”

“Beastkin Brew could kill a human, dummy! I couldn’t ever serve that to a patron.”

“Well, luckily, that patron can’t die.” A mischievous smile grew across Charlotte’s visage. For a moment, there was silence. The only sound was the ancient clock on the wall by the staircase to the lodging, and the rain beating down on every surface outside. Beth’s riding cloak, hanging on the coat rack, dripped quietly into a puddle of rainwater beneath it. Lami inhaled deeply.

Renvaldt, still asleep, let out a grumble, his snores cutting the tension like a knife.

Beth turned her head slowly to meet Charlotte’s intense gaze. For a moment, their eyes locked, Beth breaking away first.

“I don’t want any trouble, mouse.” She began, trying to defuse the situation with a light tone. “I’m just here to find my lov-er… friend. I’m here to find my friend.”

“And I’m about to collect on a bounty.” Charlotte said, completely shrugging off Lami’s grasp, and standing up from her seat. Compared to even Beth’s sitting height, she looked downright diminutive.

“Oh, no ye aren’t!” Boris cut in. “Not in my bloody tavern ye ain’t, and not in this terrible weather.”

“Can it, Dad!” Charlotte spoke up, calling Boris by the title he’d assumed she thought of him for years at this point. The shock was visible upon his face. He had actually quieted down to think of a response. Brenda looked from Boris, to her adoptive niece, and to Beth, who had a dark look on her face.

The beastkin pointed at Beth like a challenge bowman declaring his target. The ferocity of a creature three times her size burning away in her eyes. Beth could see it too.

“You ought to listen to your dad, Charlie.” Beth said, semi-mockingly.

“And you ought to come in peacefully. Beth the Undying, I, Charlotte, Knight of the Bloodied Dove, and licensed Silver Rank Bounty Hunter of Clan Cazador, am officially claiming your bounty. Step outside, please.” Charlotte ignored Beth’s goading and recited her speech to the letter. Her chest raised in pride, and Boris gave her a waning smile.

“Everywhere I go, it’s like this. What’s the charge, even?”

“It says… Er, I mean “Evading Death, theft of a Magical Heirloom.” 15,000 Gold. You can pay your bounty to me, or I can take you into Clan Cazador for processing.”

“Ah, man, I seem to have left my giant sack of gold in my other loincloth. Would you mind waiting around while I go get it?”

“‘Fraid not. If you go outside, I will follow.” Charlotte was doing her best to keep calm. In truth, she didn’t want to sustain any damage to Boris’ pride and joy. Had she made her feelings known out loud, Boris would’ve gladly corrected his adopted daughter. She was his pride and joy.

But the room was silent.

“How do you wanna do this?” Beth said coolly. Not a hint of anger in her voice. She already knew it wasn’t anything personal.

“I prefer to settle it with a duel. Just because you’re undying doesn’t mean I can’t knock you unconscious, right?”

Beth wasn’t actually sure. She’d passed out before, but she couldn’t recall if it had been through battle. The curse that kept her alive wasn’t really specific on what else could happen. She’d definitely been hurt before, so it stood to reason that she could fall unconscious through a strong-enough blow to the head, though whether her regeneration would wake her up or not was another story entirely.

“Lemme finish this pint, first.” Beth said to Charlotte, who nodded. She grabbed her sword and pistol, heading for the door in silence. She looked back at Beth before walking outside, the bell above the door ringing loudly. The sound of rain intensified for just a moment before being muffled by the closing door again.

“Listen, man. Do you have a back entrance? I really don’t want to hurt your daughter.” Beth said, doing her level best to be considerate. She’d seen enough parents separated from their kids.

“There’s one by the stairwell. I’d be quick about it, though, Charlotte’s real good at sniffing people out.” Boris responded.

“Not in this weather, I bet.” Beth grinned wryly.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Well, regardless, I appreciate the drink.” Beth dropped a handful of silver pieces on the counter. “Keep the change, barkeep.”

“Thank you, Lady Beth.”

“Awh, please, Lady doesn’t really suit me.” Beth laughed, pulling on her damp cloak and walking through the back exit. She pulled the hood over her head, closing the door behind her.

The second she set foot in the pouring rain, she felt the cold metal of a flintlock barrel against her head.

“You’re right. Lady doesn’t suit you. It’s more like coward.” Charlotte said, her voice filled with venom.

“Isn’t a Bounty Hunter supposed to remain cool? What did I even do?”

“You’re trying to run away in a duel! One you accepted.”

“Trust me, kid, I’m doing this for your good.”

“And you think I can’t take you?”

Charlotte’s question had a prompt response. Beth’s broad blade was pulled from her back in an instant. In a single swipe, it felt like the pressure would knock Charlotte off her feet. She jumped back in anticipation, and saw the downpour stop in the space her opponent had slashed, for just a moment.

“You can fire that gun, you know. Right through my godsdamned head. I can’t die, little mouse.” Beth said intimidatingly.

“I told you, I don’t intend to kill you. I’ve only killed one bounty, and I don’t intend to make you the second.” Charlotte’s words were followed by the sound of blade leaving sheath. She stood stalwart, facing Beth with her shortsword.

“I’m going to break that. Probably your arm, too.” Beth moved quickly, bringing down her sword. She struck what felt like a liquid, though the ringing feeling of metal clashing was normal. Her strike was knocked off course, and when she regained her grip, Charlotte stood there, fur, hair and whiskers drenched, and her armored forearm held in front of her. The quiet streets of Astra echoed the sound, although It hadn’t travelled far.

“What’s the deal with that gauntlet?” Beth asked, hoisting Unsterblich up onto her shoulder.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? What’s with your sword?”

“Well, just like me, it can’t be destroyed. I presume whatever you just did was meant to damage my blade?” Beth responded.

Charlotte said nothing. She hopped from leg to leg, like a pugilist readying himself before the next bout. Her large tail swiped from side to side in anticipation. In the next moment she was running towards Beth at full speed, sword in one hand.

“You should know better than to charge m-” Beth’s rebuttal was cut as Charlotte’s gauntlet grasped her face. With the momentum from her charge, the ratkin had leapt toward her opponent’s face, and was attempting to slam her head into the cobblestone.

“Since you can’t die, this should probably do the trick.” She thought to herself, pushing as hard as she could. Beth’s powerful neck resisted as hard as it could, but within a moment, Charlotte heard a sickening twist and crack, and nearly relented. She thrusted her hand forward and shoved it as hard she could as Beth’s towering figure fell to the rain-slicked ground. With a loud crunch that made the young bounty hunter cringe, Beth’s body fell still, her sword hitting the ground with a loud, reverberating clang.

For a moment, Charlotte stood atop her opponent, confused.

“There’s no way.” She gasped, realization starting to sink in. There probably wasn’t any way she was actually undying. There was a chance the firing squad had missed her vitals, and perhaps this Beth was just particularly hardy. Maybe she had found a medicine woman quickly after her escape. Either way, Charlotte had just taken a life, hadn’t she? Her pulse raced with worry.

“You’re fuckin’ right, there’s no way!” In a split-second, Beth’s muscular hand had wrapped around Charlotte’s ankle, and she panicked. The beastkin kicked against Beth’s chest with her clawed foot, but Beth didn’t release her grasp.

“God, you’re just like an actual rat. That was really annoying of you!” Beth spoke with a hint of frustration as her neck contorted and cracked back into place.

Somewhere, deep down, Charlotte was relieved. Her heart had nearly sunk when Beth stopped moving. She was truthfully thankful she hadn’t murdered her opponent. But now she was in deeper trouble. She grabbed her shortsword and stabbed at Beth’s arm, but save for surgically cutting at each of her fingers, it was clear the brown-haired swordswoman wouldn’t relent.

“Here, have some payback!” Beth’s nose streamed rivers of blood as it readjusted. The beastkin didn’t realize she’d broken the woman’s nose. In her panic, Charlotte drew her flintlock. As she cocked the gun back, She felt the air whoosh past her as if she was being thrown through the air.

She was being thrown through the air. She felt her tail searching for solid ground as she sailed. In her fear of leaving the ground through someone’s volition other than her own, she panicked and fired the flintlock. In any other situation, She’d be proud. The shot was dead on, and the bullet sailed through Beth’s chest. Charlotte saw raindrops fly in the opposite direction as she was headed as she collided with the side of “Samira’s Sundries” with a loud smack. She let out a loud groan as the wind was knocked from her chest, and sank to the ground. Thanking whatever god was popular that month that gravity had finally caught up to her, she wheezed and struggled to get up.

“And that wasn’t even with all my strength, Charlotte.” Beth had risen, and began walking towards her, a hole through her chest, leaking blood and viscera everywhere. Rain had loosed Charlotte’s well-styled hair, and her bangs fell long in front of her face. She got back up to her feet, shakily, and panted loudly as she regained her foot.

“Stop this nonsense, little mouse.”

Charlotte gritted her teeth. for the first time in a very long time, she had bared her Ratkin fangs at someone. Her large buck teeth were clearly visible, something she did well to hide from anyone else. She stood on shaky footing, waiting for her vision to clear, She held out her gauntlet in front of her. Her matted fur ruffled gently in the breeze, The rain pounded her padded armor. The chainmail in between gauntlet and armor jingled as her body shook. Rolling thunder struck a tree outside the city walls, loud enough to shake the buildings, but Charlotte stood as tall as she could.

“You know, the stance you take when holding your sword is odd. I was trying to figure out what it was.” Beth said, standing a few feet from Charlotte, who kept her gauntlet held in front of her. “I’ve seen other beastkin in my travels with Keiko, you know? She’s told me lots about you guys.”

“So… what?” Charlotte still found it in her to respond impatiently.

“Don’t your kind normally stand digitigrade? Why are you always standing flat-footed?”

The idea of such a preposterous question didn’t even register with her right away.

“W...why? It’s obvious.” Charlotte coughed. Her parents had always taught her to carry herself like a dignified human. Of course, her previous parents were dead, so who could say if they were right? Years of posture training, and she had eventually remembered to stand flat-footed. She was so proud the day she could do it without a hint of uncomfortableness that she had strolled all around Astra that day.

“It ain’t natural. Wouldn’t it feel better to move around normally?”

“Wouldn’t it do for you to shut up!?” Charlotte snapped, releasing a burst of energy from the gauntlet as Beth drew closer. She was knocked off her feet, and Charlotte fought to stay upright.

Beth was correct, though. The beastkin still felt more natural standing like her kin than as a human. And so, at the sake of her pride, she did so. She immediately felt a little lighter. Her flintlock lay at her feet, a splintering crack down the barrel. It would appear as if she’d landed on it.

Boris watched in shock from the window. Lami, as well, had joined him, looking on in surprise. The shockwave from her gauntlet had deflected any raindrops for a moment, as well.

Charlotte took a deep breath, and felt a pain in her side. She’d definitely broken a rib or two from colliding with the building. It seemed to be the lower ones, so her lungs weren’t at any risk. She readied herself like a runner preparing to take off from the starting gates, and made a sprint for the large blade laying on the ground near her opponent.

Beth was getting back up from the gauntlet’s shockwave, shaking her head. “DAMN. That hurt worse than the day after a Dwarven drinking party.” Blood flowed from the hole in her chest, and her nose was still bleeding, however, it was all clearing up, albeit slowly. In an instant, she lunged for Charlotte’s tail as she passed by. It wriggled free from her grasp and Charlotte skidded across the drenched ground, her clawed feet gaining traction quickly. She faced Beth on all fours, her rodent paws wrapped around the hilt of something peculiar.

Beth’s Unsterblich.

The voice of the sword rang throughout Charlotte’s cloudy head. “Oh, I’m quite interested to see where this’ll go.”

Charlotte spoke out loud in confusion. “H-HUH?”

“Show me, Charlotte. Show me the dance of the cornered rat. Pick me up, if you can.”

Beth, who had regained her footing, was gaining speed towards Charlotte.

“You really don’t want to do that!” She yelled out. The anger was audible in her tone.

Charlotte struggled to lift the gigantic, broad blade off the ground. With a bit of help from the energy stored in her gauntlet, she managed to bring it up to her knees, arms quivering with the effort. She lifted the rest of her body determinedly, holding the blade. Beth rushed towards the Ratkin with a speed that belied her appearance. Charlotte stood stock still, holding the sword as steady as she could, waiting for the right moment.

As soon as the undying swordswoman entered her range, she lifted the blade with all her might, screaming out loud, a sound loud enough to pierce through the veil of the storm. She discharged the gauntlet one more time. Beneath her. A burst of energy launched her towards Beth at full speed. She was shocked it worked. She gripped the hilt with both hands, flying towards her unexpectant opponent. Beth stopped in her tracks as the blade of her own sword ran through her midsection at near terminal velocity. But it didn’t stop there. Lightning struck and thunder roared its furious bellow as the weight and speed of the stab continued to push the two warriors. Beth grabbed the blade with both hands as it ran through her intestines and out her back, her feet searching for any traction on the slick ground, her scream of pain shaking the windows around them

Charlotte’s eyes, wide open and wild, were only focused on the target in front of her. She put as much force on the hilt as she could, continuing to push, letting out her own yell of effort. Blood streaked Unsterblich and rivulets trailed along the broad side of the sword the ground, getting lost in the cracks in between the cobblestone and swirling away with the downpour. Charlotte’s grip on the hilt had begun to hurt her hands.

They had stopped moving

Beth coughed up blood. Her hands were shaking from ceasing the blade’s advance.

“Bravo, beastkin. You’re definitely going to regret it, but bravo!” The sword spoke to her. It was the last thing it said to her. Charlotte released the sword, panting heavily. The skin on her palms was torn from how strenuously she had been gripping the sword. She fell to one knee in exhaustion.

“Didn’t know Orichalcum could store energy like that, eh?” Charlotte said, in between gasping for breath.

The motionless Beth, a sword driven through her stomach, had stirred ever so slightly. Her eyes shot open, and in them, a wild fury.

“My OWN SWORD? REALLY? ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?.” She sounded like a woman possessed.

“She… got you good.” Unsterblich spoke to her. She silenced it within her mind.

“I’m going to make you into a rat kebab.” Beth said, not fully aware of what she had said herself.

It was true that Beth didn’t want to take any children from their parents… But every warrior on a battlefield was someone’s child. This was a battle, now. The ratkin had evaded her for far too long.

The expression of victory drained from Charlotte’s face slowly, washing away with the downpour. Her ribs ached, and her hands were raw. Her vision was blurring, and the rain didn’t help. But, did she really have to see the face of the warrior about to take her down? Would it be ceremonious? Beth didn’t seem the type for last rites and ceremonies. Her gauntlet felt lighter than ever. Her whole body did.

Her ears drooped in defeat. The sight would be adorable without the context of a duel to the death.

Beth’s large intestine draped her sword like a Christmas garland. She pulled, with a pained scream, and yanked it from her insides like a sword from a stone. She vomited blood. It was sickening. Did Charlotte really have any right to be sickened by it? She had caused it.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. It’ll heal up. Worry about yourself. You’ve pushed me way too far, now.”

Beth winced and brought the blade up above her head. The wound Charlotte had made was starting to seal, sickeningly red chunks of organ and viscera were reattaching in tendrils and clumps as she watched. It almost distracted her from the stance Beth took.

Like an executioner. Like a guillotine.

Boris the barkeep burst from the door and ran towards the pair, followed by Lami the bard, and a groggy Renvaldt the Artificer. Brenda the innkeep stood in the doorway, mortified. Boris had almost made his way to the pair, when Beth had turned to face him menacingly, blood streaking once side of her face, sweat and rainwater dripping over her eyes and broken nose and bloodied lip. “Stay back.”

Boris felt a primal fear overcome his parental instinct, and he froze in place. Lami gripped her daggers in worry. Renvaldt, sobered by the rain, looked on in horror as Beth swung the sword down with all her might.

It was a lucky angle.

Charlotte parried the swing with her gauntlet, at great cost. Even the flexible, magical Orichalcum couldn’t stop the brunt of the attack, and her arm cracked and twisted unnaturally on impact. Pain shot through her whole body and she let out a bloodcurdling scream. The sound brought tears to Boris’ eyes. He snapped out of his trance just as Beth’s blade was deflected out of her weakening grip, slamming to the ground and sliding along the cobble. Several people taking shelter in the various side shops and taverns walked outside to hear the source of the commotion.

Charlotte lay on the ground in a pained head, quivering from the strike to her arm. Her whiskers drooped pathetically, and she could barely keep her eyes open. The wild fury in Beth’s eyes didn’t seem to dissipate. Several skilled-looking warriors from other buildings had drawn slightly closer to the scene.

Just when it looked like all of the patrons of the Bloodied Dove would have to step in, a mortified voice rang out.

“Oi, Beth, what’re ye doin!?” The source of the voice was a plump woman, with long hair, redder than the blood spilled between Beth and her opponent. Adorning her eye was an expensive-looking monocle, and her large, wide-brimmed witches’ hat had a droopy point with a crescent moon ornament hanging off the tip. She hopped off of an ornate, golden staff, which had flown her to the scene. At the top was a lantern. A blue flame danced within.

Beth stopped what she was doing, her fists still curled.

“Oh, me darlin dear. Whatever were ya plannin to do with ‘that poor Ratling?” She said, her voice both calming and condescending at the same time. The warriors who had drawn close stepped back in anticipation. The woman, wearing heeled boots, kind-of waddled towards the scene. Despite this, nobody had it in them to laugh. She seemed supremely powerful. The aura she exuded caused the rain to disperse wherever she was standing.

“Bounty Hunter.”

“And someone’s daughter, it seems.” She said, motioning her head towards Boris, who had run over to cradle Charlotte’s body.

“She wasn’t gonna kill ye, I promise it!” Boris said, tears in his eyes. “I suppose it’s ‘alrigh ye just knocked the shite outta her, but still…”

In an instant, Beth’s faculties returned to her. She looked off to her side, where Unsterblich had flown. She stared at the witch in her bright red eyes. They seemed kind of disapproving, and it was the first time she’d seen the witch-turned-lover show such an expression.

“Ya got a bounty on ye?”

“Ah, yeah… from the last time I was teleported to this realm.”

“Why dint ye tell me, bloody meathead? I coulda paid it off.”

“Well, in all honesty, Miss Keiko, I didn’t remember. It’d been five year…” Beth trailed off.

The unconscious Charlotte had been turned over by her adoptive father, and from within her leather armor, a ragged doll, hand-sewn and with wool hair, had fallen to the ground. Beth’s eyes widened.

“W...where did she get that!?” Tears began to form in Beth’s eyes. The wild ferocity and intensity she had shown just a moment ago began to fade.

“I don’t rightly know! It’s the first I’m seein' it!” Boris replied. Lami the Bard had also taken a spot next to Charlotte’s limp body. The ratkin's chest rose and fell weakly.

Beth reached her arm over to the unconscious ratkin. Lami the Bard drew a dagger with a vicious glare.

"Relax, I'm not going to hurt her." Beth said softly, surprising, considering she had just been letting loose death knells that would shake a dragon. Keiko stared at her partner suspiciously. The little flame demon in her lantern danced around in its glass enclosure, visage displaying a little grimace.

The warrior woman grabbed the doll off the wet ground and clutched it tightly to her chest. A warmth she hadn't felt in ages coursed through her body like the color returning to plants in the spring.

"Your daughter… she fought pretty well, you know?" Openly sobbed, shifting her gaze between the doll and Boris, who was holding Charlotte tenderly. "Miss Keiko, can you help me out, here?"

Keiko sighed and stepped closer to the scene. Whatever kind of ward the witch had conjured to protect her from the weather expanded to encompass all of the Dove's occupants.

"She's tryin ta say she's sorry." She explained. The redhead snapped her fingers, and a glyph appeared above her open palm. A sack of gold pieces landed from what seemed like thin air. It jingled loudly as it sat upon her hand. She gently placed the gold on the ground next to Charlotte.

"Yer a bounty hunter, 'aintcha?" Keiko asked, squatting down next to the barely-conscious beastkin. "Close the contract, aye?"

A weak smile grew across Charlotte's face, and she held her good arm up, clutching a shiny silver badge. It had a small amount of Beth's blood on it.

"N...negotium Certus." The beastkin muttered, pressing Beth's blood into the badge. The handbill for her capture suddenly burst into flame. In an instant, it was reduced to ash.

Boris looked jumpy at the turn of events for a moment, then looked back down at his daughter. Keiko gave the older man a warm smile, leaving the bag of gold next to his kneeling form on the cobble.

"Oi, Beth, ain't ye got something to say?" Keiko turned to look at her partner, who had wiped the welling tears from her eyes by now. The warrior, whose wound slowly closed even as they spoke, looked down at the much shorter witch.

"Am I supposed to apologize?" She asked, confused.

"No? Didn't ya just take something from her?"

"Oh! Uh, yeah, this doll." Beth began, holding it gently, her cheeks a little red." It belongs to one of my kids."

"Did Charlotte take it from them!?" Lami looked incredulous.

"Lami, ye pig-brain, why would Boris' daughter steal from a child!?" It was Renvaldt who had spoken this time. Lami's face flushed and she looked back to the swordswoman, waiting for the follow-up from her.

"Nah, it wasn't stolen. My kids are… far away. I can't see them right now." Beth looked away. There was a motherly glow about her face as she responded. It was unlike any expression Charlotte had seen her make until this point. The nearly-unconscious beastkin could almost feel her anguish.

She was also dealing with her own. She had unwittingly moved her arm, likely to make some kind of comforting gesture, but it sent a wave of agony shooting up to her shoulder. She let out a pained squeak. The rain outside of Keiko’s paling had increased in intensity. A few of the people who had left their shelters to inspect the fight continued to look on in amazement at the odd sight. Displays of powerful magic weren’t uncommon in Astra, but something so simple, yet practical seemed to really surprise them.

Keiko was used to the glances. She didn’t fight much, and people tended to be shocked when they saw how much practicality witchcraft could have.

“Ye really shouldn’t be moving with yer arm all banged up like that, sweetie.” She said to Charlotte, leaning over her and Boris, and putting the bag of gold pieces on the ground beside them. “I know someone who can ‘ave that all patched up in no time.”

Charlotte, at first, found it hard to part with the gauntlet, even temporarily, as the medical-mage attempted to examine her broken arm, but when she finally released the pained grip she had maintained, it slid off without trouble.

“If it weren’t for that gauntlet, you wouldn’t have an arm left, little missy.” the nurse said to her, looking worried. "Luckily for you, that'll heal up well with some treatment from our head nurse. Thank your blacksmith for that Oricalchum!"

Charlotte thought to herself for a moment. It’d probably be nice to keep a smithy like that in her good graces. They had seemed more than happy to work on one of the rarest metals around. After the beastkin had spent hundreds of gold on the parts, she couldn’t find any blacksmiths willing to risk their reputation to work on it, so it was a miracle that it had even come to be.

The ornate, golden gauntlet lay on the table beside Charlotte. The plain medical examination room was small, and separated from others by a thick curtain, most likely arcane in origin.

Outside, the storm raged on. As was typical for the rainy season around central Redding. She tried to fix her braid that had come loose. It was a lot harder with one hand. Her toes curled with the effort as she strained to make the precise movements with her fingers. Just then, she heard the door to the examination rooms open.

“She’s just beyond here, right?” Spoke a familiar voice.

“C’est vrai~.” spoke a singsong voice, in a language Charlotte didn’t understand. A few moments after, The light above her bed was blocked out by the huge frame of Beth standing above her. The ragged doll she had reclaimed earlier was attached to her clothing at the waist. It seemed she was intent on not misplacing it again.

“Hey, little mouse.” She said with an apologetic look on her face. If Charlotte didn’t know any better, she’d say it was a “sorry for pulverizing your arm” look.

“I didn’t say it before, but ya know I’m a ratkin, right?” Charlotte replied, looking slightly annoyed.

“I know. It’s just a nickname I chose for ya.”

“Hmm. That mean you got nearly laid out by a little mouse?” A mischievous grin grew across Charlotte’s face.

“Hey, don’t get it twisted. I could’ve ended that anytime I wanted to.”

Charlotte was sure she was telling the truth. Less so when she thought about how long Beth had gone before ending the fight. It really wasn’t the time to doubt her abilities, though. The grin remained as Beth pressed on.

“The uh… blade. It told me it talked to you.” Beth pointed her thumb toward her back. The huge broadsword caught the light of the examination room like sharp fangs catch the glint of a lantern.

“It doesn’t talk to many people. Maybe it saw somethin’ in ya?” The swordswoman shrugged. Charlotte’s whiskers and perked up at the thought. She hoped Beth didn’t see. For a moment, the only sound in the exam rooms was the rain pounding the windows and the occasional groan of someone from a few curtains over.

“I guess it wasn’t expecting me to use it against you.”

“That was some pretty smart thinking.” Beth walked over to the gauntlet on the table, and picked it up, examining it. Out of reflex, Charlotte attempted to reach for it with her dominant arm and recoiled in pain.

“Yeah, probably wanna give that a rest. And while you’re at it. You should give this a name. We can discuss it over drinks! I’m pretty good at names.” Beth said, pointing to the gauntlet, as if she weren’t talking to someone who had impaled her hours ago.

“I’ll think about it.” Charlotte said, an actual, genuine smile forming for the first time in a while.

“By the way, if you’re interested, my old lady - the one from this world, the witch. She said she might have a job for you.”

Jam tending to you when you have a cold, but she can't make cup noodles to save her life, and when you weakly whisper to her to hold you, she turns bright red. She proceeds to wrap all four arms around you from behind. Immediately, you feel a shocking cold, almost painful. Despite this, you feel warmer than you've felt all day. The comfortable feeling of CRT television static fills your body.

"You can... tell me to let go, human, I don't produce any body heat." She says, sighing. Her mop of white hair drapes over your face gently.

“Since when have you cared what your body temperature is like?” You try to quip, coughing a little.

“Since we’ve been growing closer.” She replies. Despite her usual monotone, she sounds bashful. And while it’s true she has been more… handsy than usual, you didn’t notice until now.

“Jam…” You start. Through your clogged nostrils, you catch a whiff of what smells like your usual shampoo. Jam doesn’t really need to bathe, let alone use your toiletries. She’s bragged about as much to you.

“Yes, sickly human?”

“Is that my shampoo?”

You feel all four of her thin arms tense up at once.

Immediately, one of your Elder God roommate’s cold, freckled hands releases you, and you hear an indescribable sound.

“Human.”

“Yeah?”

“I made some cup noodles.” Jam replies, proudly.

“Oh, is there some alternate timeline where you can actually steep cup noodles?” You say, laughing a little.

Jam’s cheeks puff up in a cutesy pout and her yellow eyes flash with mysterious intent,, before returning to normal.

“I could reduce you AND these forsaken noodles to DUST.”

“You won’t.”

“And why NOT?”

“Because this is the first time you’ve ever successfully made cup noodles. I doubt you’d destroy the results of your efforts for nothing.”

In the past year or so you’ve lived together, you’ve repeatedly shown her how to make them. With all the timelines the two of you are together in, it’s likely in the millions.

Jam grimaces in acknowledgement, one of her free hands scratching her head as she thinks of what to say next.

“Human. I am going to play Phantasy Star IV. You are going to watch.” Jam says, matter-of-factly. The very idea of playing a loud 16-bit JRPG hurts your sickly head, but if it’ll make her happy to know she’s successfully changed the subject, it’s fine by you. You prop yourself up, feeling a body ache. To your dismay, it doesn’t go away once you’re nestled in Jam’s bony, freckled arms, but you feel a little more comfortable. If this is what a selfish eldritch deity wants, then it’s hard for you to imagine what it’d be like if she were more generous. You slurp at your cup noodles, and Jam steals a glance at you, her sharp teeth bared in a full grin, before turning back to the game’s prologue.

The summer before I was to begin the sixth grade, my family packed up and moved us from one end of the state, to the other. Despite them saying they would try and bring me back to visit my friends, I wasn’t ever expecting to see them again. My hopes dwindled gradually with each mile-marker we passed. Our new place had a gigantic backyard, bordered on the far side with a densely packed treeline. It gave me no shortage of bright ideas for the first few summer nights, with the gentle breeze blowing through the tall grass and big bushy trees.

When we first moved in, I remember the next door neighbors greeting us and immediately pulling my parents aside. Of course, they weren’t out of earshot. They told my parents, in no uncertain terms, that they need to keep a nearly constant watch on me. That kids in this town and the neighboring city were going missing since the Springtime.

Well, that fear didn’t last long.

Within weeks, I was enrolled at Shikaakwa Summer Camp.

“They can’t kidnap us all, right?” I remember thinking sarcastically as I was once again uprooted from a place I had grown used to.

“Don’t worry, they’ll find the culprit in no time!” I remember my mother telling me as we passed under the arches of the camp entrance. The attempts to assuage my worries fell on deaf ears.

A full house. Dozens of campers and about twenty staff were gathered by a flagpole in a field under the blazing summer sun.

Within an hour of my parents dropping me off with my bags, I had been introduced to my cabin supervisor, a much older teenage girl named Katherine.

Within a few days, I had somehow gotten a hold of news, despite the cellphone ban, that the search for the kidnapper had come to a long-awaited close. That they had finally caught the guy.

Well, they didn’t.

I know they didn’t. How?

Because a week from the day that the search had been called to a close, I ran into the culprit, hunched behind the outhouse closest to my cabin, claws-deep in our cabin supervisor’s skull. Poor Katherine never had a chance.

My flashlight illuminated the ghastly scene. Her pitch-black eyes caught the glint of the LED. She turned to face me, her face covered in blood and viscera. And she spoke. In the lowest, softest, raspiest voice that sounded ever-so-slightly like the camp counselor, she spoke.

“Don’t r-run. Pleeease.”

( You're about to view content that the journal owner has marked as possibly inappropriate for anyone under the age of 18. )

“You are not to close the doors of this theater until eight o’ clock, is that clear?” My boss’ warning tone reverberated in my head as I started to shut off the projectors one room at a time.

“Screw him.” I thought to myself, picking up the pace and eating a stale pack of Twizzlers. The dark corners of the dimly-lit theater lobby created shadows in the glow of the bright red exit signs. It wasn’t just spite that drove me to close the theater early. There was literally NOBODY here. Why would anyone visit in the middle of a pandemic, anyway?

I took a deep breath and braced myself for the hardest job of the evening, before heading over to the register to count the till.

“Fourteen whooole dollars.” I said, to nobody in particular. “I’m really glad I didn’t lose count.”

If you’re wondering, yes. I do talk to myself from time-to-time. What else could I do around here? I barely got reception in the lobby. I’m not going to go outside into the late December air just to shitpost on Twitter. Not only that, a storm was reported to be blowing in within the hour. Weathermen are never exact, I’ve learned.

I stretched and exhaled loudly, heading over to the old-fashioned clock-in machine and turning the switch on the side until the time said 8:13, and sliding my timecard in for a stamp. I didn’t use it to give myself more hours. I just wanted it to look like I had closed at eight. I’m not that shitty.

I was pulling on my coat and headed for the entrance gate to the theatre to close down the big metal gate when a noise caught my attention.

The thing is, my mall is dead.

Not just in that it had no customers. The mall is failing. There’s two open stores, an arcade that seems to lose machines every month, and the movie theatre. But as I stepped outside of the theater, I definitely heard something that wasn’t the rattling of the gate. I slammed it shut and heard the click of the lock. As the sound reverberated through the large, hollow halls, another sound joined it.

A machine beeping. A tune, perhaps? It sounded eerily familiar. To the left of me was the exit to the outside, and my car, sitting under the only parking lot light that still worked. Every night, I’d run my cowardly butt across the desolate parking lot to my car and sit inside my car, hoping nobody’d approach the driver’s side window like they tend to do in all those stories I read online.

I shook my head and snapped out of whatever weird trance I was in, deciding to investigate the sound. The dimly lit emergency lights of the mall guided me down the huge walkways. Within a few moments, I found the source of the noises.

The last store, at the very back corner of the mall.

The Arcade. Quarter Up. Just seeing the sign lit up gave me a weird, foreign feeling in my stomach.

Wait.

Why was it lit up?

I approached slowly, pulling my jacket tight, as if it were going to provide me some sense of security. The noises grew even louder as I did so, and a second later, I could pretty clearly identify individual ones.

It was the sound of an arcade. A bustling one, at that. Arcade machines played their little theme tunes, designed to entice children into jamming their last quarter in. The flashing lights above some of the cabinets could be seen even outside the shop’s limits. It sounded like a busy night at Quarter Up. More busy than it’d been since I was a child.

“Uh… H-hello?” I stammered out in confusion, approaching the doors, the handles of which were shaped like two halves of a quarter. No response. I figured, since it was so loud inside. But, looking through the clear glass of the arcade, I could see it wasn’t lit up at all. So where had all those lights come from? Where is the noise coming from?

I resolved internally to yank open the door and find out the source of my dissonance. It was driving me insane. I pulled it open quickly and took a few steps inside, not sure what to expect.

Quarter Up was indeed bustling. There were kids of all ages, and even a few adults, taking up all the cabinets. There were more cabinets in there than I had ever seen, even as a kid. Most of the classics and even some of the machines I had never gotten to play on because they were a bit too old. I was floored at the sight. Didn’t any of these people care about what was going on outside? I remember the arcade always closed late because the owner knew the mall’s manager, but it had been closing early every day since the mall had started declining.

I walked across the floor, weird moving leds illuminating spots at my feet on the space-patterned carpet. The foreign feeling from earlier was spreading throughout my body. I felt warm all over as I gazed in dumb wonder at the carefree arcade fun everyone was having. I kept walking til I reached the help counter I had found myself running towards repeatedly as a child. I expected to see the owner, Charles, sitting behind the counter and cleaning extra joysticks, as I had seen him do so many times in the past. I didn’t.

Behind the counter was a tall, pale girl.

She had a mop of messy white hair, and it looked as if her ears were pointed. I couldn’t make out anything else, as she had her back turned.

Not for long, though.

“H-hello?” I stammered nervously, still confused about the situation, and hoping to be elucidated by this mysterious somebody.

“Oh, a new human!” She turned around quicker than I expected and I almost fell on my ass in shock.

“Yeah, aren’t you?”

She giggled. “Let me take that for you!” She grabbed my jacket with one of her sets of arms and handed me a roll of quarters with the other.

Wait.

“Y-your arms… You…”

“Hmm? Speak up, Human.” She responded. She wore huge spectacles, and even in the low light of the arcade, I could tell her face was peppered with freckles.

I opted to say nothing. I was already worried enough. Now she had my jacket. My car keys were in there. If I could just get to it again…

But I couldn’t. As I stared at her, dumbfounded, She hung up the jacket on the coat rack behind the counter. I remember Charles would do that so none of the kids would lose their coats zig-zagging between the rows and alleys made of arcade cabinets.

“Incredible.” She said, turning back to me.

“Huh?”

“You’re at an arcade, I’ve handed you a roll of quarters. You’re just going to stand there? You’re just as dense as he is.”

“Who?”

“Another Human. You needn’t know any more.”

I nodded.

“Anyways, go play! I suggest that one, right there!” She was pointing towards a brand-new Smash TV cabinet. “It just arrived today, after all!”

“Wait, today? Today as in… December 13th, 2020?”

“Huh? No! Today! December 13th, 1992!” She said with a smile, “Or, did you hit your head somewhere here? Human memory loss isn’t something I can reverse without you going insane.”

I didn’t know what to say. The room was spinning around me at her confident declaration. I gazed around. The people playing on the machines didn’t seem bothered at all that they were stuck thirty years in the past, if that is what happened.

“Hey, mister, move it! I gotta get more quarters!” a kid behind me pulled on my shirt rudely.

“I… okay.” I stumbled, almost drunkenly, towards the machine she’d pointed to.

As soon as I touched the twin joysticks for Player One, a warmth spread throughout my body. The foreign feeling that had been plaguing me for the past few moments had risen to a fever pitch.

I unwrapped the roll of quarters and popped a couple into the machine, and played a few rounds of Smash TV. Before I knew it, the quarters were used up. I snapped out of whatever trance I was in, and as I stood up straight, I realized I had broken a sweat.

“Hello, human.” Said a voice behind me. I turned around to see the odd… creature? Girl? Whatever she was.

“I have a name, you know.”

“And I don’t care what it is.” She responded, curtly. Her voice was somehow monotone, despite all the emotion she had been showing up to this point.

“How did you do this? How did you… The arcade…”

“I just snapped. Everything in this arcade is… exactly as it should be, for 1992. Well, except for you. You don’t look quite old enough.” She laughed. Her voice was raspy, but cute. Looking at her more closely, her mop of white hair had a few strands of solid black, right in the middle. It looked so natural I couldn’t tell if she had dyed it or not. I say natural, but honestly, I don’t think anything about this girl was.

“Tell you what, human.”

“Y-yes?”

“I need someone who is actually familiar with these to play with me. Seeing as you did pretty well on Smash TV, I’ll cut you a deal. I won’t trap you here forever if you keep playing until I get bored.”

“what?” I was taken aback. How could she say something like that so nonchalantly? Trap me here forever? I immediately got off the arcade machine and scrambled for the door, pushing past several kids who were waiting on line for a chance at Street Fighter II Turbo. The room was spinning as I tried to pull on the arcade doors.

“It’s a push, Human.” The girl’s voice spoke directly in my head. She wasn’t behind me, but it sounded like she was. I could hear her clearly over all the sounds in the arcade.

I pushed as hard as I could, and it wouldn’t budge. “Is this some kind of weird joke?”

It was then that I realized I was pushing nothing but air. I rushed my way forwards and into the Smash TV arcade cab. I fell on my ass again as I looked up and saw her.

“You can try all you like. I’m not going to let you go til I’m satisfied.” She said, shrugging both pairs of arms. “Besides, I have your car keys.”

“What’s your problem!?” I responded, my fear and worry giving way to anger.

“My problem, Human, is that you’re speaking to me like we’re equal. If you’re trying to ask why I’ve locked you in an arcade, it’s a long story. I don’t suppose you’d want to listen to an explanation as to why I’ve revived an obscure arcade in an even more obscure mall solely to spite my human roommate who told me not to break and enter to use arcade machines because I’m upset with him?” She responded in the verbal equivalent of a run-on sentence.

I’m going to be honest, I didn’t process a word of it after the first sentence.

“Eh? Huh?” I replied, my previous bluster gone.

“That’s what I thought. Now, you’re going to play Streets of Rage 2 with me, or you’re going to live in an arcade trapped in the 90s for the rest of your life.”

“Are you some kind of arcade ghost? A Gremlin?”

“A damn Gremlin? Are you kidding me, Human?” She looked offended at this. I shut my mouth.

Our play session seemed to go on forever. After Streets of Rage 2, we moved on to Lethal Enforcers, and then to Golden Axe. She definitely seemed to take a liking to the Sega machines more than others. At times, she would push me aside, and play a game on both players with all four of her long, lanky arms. She was thin and flat-chested, but she didn’t look young. Well, she looked young, but as if she were young for her age. She was taller than me, even, and I fancy myself a pretty big guy. She had been hunched over or sitting every time I’ve talked to her prior to this. As hammered away at the controls, I noticed the phone in her back pocket was illuminated with the phone symbol.

Somebody was calling her. The screen read “Human <3”. Did she just refer to every human by Human?

It was then I realized that I still had my cell phone. Oh god, my phone! I reached into my own back pocket to grab it and began to unlock and dial. She noticed what I was doing immediately, and calmly snapped her middle finger and thumb on one of her many hands. My phone turned to dust in my hands. I let out a weak whimper.

“Few more rounds of Golden Axe 2.” She said, flashing a smile at me. Her teeth were impossibly sharp and white. When you imagine someone having sharp teeth, you imagine shitty, jagged messes of teeth, right? No such thing with her. They were as straight as can be, and locked together like the bars of a cage. But her smile was genuine, despite all this. Her yellow eyes pierced through me.

I reluctantly obliged, and sighed, getting back on the machine with her. It felt like an hour before we were done. I was genuinely exhausted by the end of it. She seemed bored with Golden Axe as well. She walked me over to another, more familiar-looking machine. Familiar in construction, but I don’t think I’d ever seen this game in an arcade.

“Did you know this didn't come out until 1993?” She said, a mischievous smile on her face. She snapped her fingers and reached into what looked like a dark void in the air. She pulled out another roll of quarters. “Just a little rift in space-time, and you too can have a super rare Sonic arcade game in your possession.” She seemed almost ecstatic as it started up. It seemed like she wasn’t necessarily a Sonic fan, but more a fan of the perceived rarity of the cabinet. I myself wasn’t really an expert on arcades, but I had never really seen the machine in all my visits to Quarter Up. She was practically drooling as she pulled out a few quarters from the roll.

I was staring at her in anticipation, and she seemed to take her time hovering the coin over the slot. The tension was broken, however, when a child interrupted her focus.

“Uh, Mister Charles?”

“WHAT DO YOU NEED, HUMAN!? YOU DARE INTERRUPT ME!?” She screamed back, and her voice pierced my eardrums violently. The child didn’t seem to hear any of this.

“Er, yeah? What do you need?” She bent over to look down at the kid. Did the little dude not notice her arms? Did he think she was Charles?

“Yeah, Roger stole my roll of quarters. I’m really getting sick of him.”

“You know what? Here.” She reached into a void, grabbing another roll. “Take this. If he says anything to you, knock him upside the head with the whole roll.” She handed it to him with an approving nod, and her normal(?) unsettling smile.

“Thanks, Charles!” He said, running off. Almost as soon as he left her sight, she turned around and plopped the quarters into the machine. She placed her hands on the trackball controller and began to play.

I settled in to watch her. It seemed she didn’t always need me to participate. She was intense in her focus. It seemed like the whole world had ceased to exist around her.

Soon enough, it had begun fading away for me, too.

Literally. My focus on her snapped when I realized we were playing in complete blackness. There was nothing but me, her, and SegaSonic Arcade, the light from which was the only illumination in the immediate area. It shone on her face, but didn’t reach any further. The only sounds were her heavy breathing and the arcade machine.

I panicked a little, and started to move away from her, to find the exit.

“Almost done.” She snapped her finger and I reappeared right beside her. “Keep watching.”

It seemed like she had lived up to what she said. Within a few moments, Quarter Up faded back into view. But it wasn’t like it was a few hours ago. It was gray. The only lights were coming from the arcade machine. There were no kids. The abundance of arcade sounds was gone. There was just me, and the four-armed girl, who had worked up a profuse sweat playing Sonic of all things. She stepped away from the machine, and looked down at me, one set of arms at her waist, the other two holding and cleaning her glasses. The Arcade was strangely cold, and that warmth I had felt while playing games had completely dissipated. I suppose it was some sort of nostalgia.

“Well?” She said, expectantly.

“Huh?”

“You can go, now.” She pointed to the door. As I turned back to look at her, my jacket was in her hands.

I reached for it, and grabbed it reluctantly.

“Your keys are there. I’ve got absolutely nothing to gain by tricking a human as dense as you.”

I heard them jingle as I put my coat on and backed away, towards the arcade door. I kept my eyes on her, and her, me.

“I… Goodbye, I guess.” I managed to eke out. I was still gathering myself. It felt like only moments ago I was playing Smash TV.

“Don’t forget to think of me whenever you’re running late, Human!” She said, waving one of her arms.

I stumbled out of Quarter Up, half in-shock and half because I forgot that it was a push instead of a pull door.

The mall skylight was covered in a layer of white, so I couldn’t tell what time it was. Not like I had a phone to tell, either.

I reached into my back pocket anyway, and, lo and behold, my phone was there. In good condition, too.

The screen read 6:13 AM. The mall would be opening soon. I rushed out to the side exit, occasionally gazing back at the dim sign for the arcade. Was she still in there? If I went back inside now, would I find that same lively Quarter Up from the 90s? Would She be waiting for me? I pondered over this as I leaned against the side exit door, before realizing escaping the clutches of her bored whims was probably more important than finding out if she was an arcade ghost. Or a Gremlin.

The morning sun and winter cold greeted me harshly. I was so accustomed to the low lights and gentle warmth of the arcade that it hit me like a truck to be out in the cold. I got to my car in what felt like record time and started it up, eternally grateful that it warmed up so fast. As I sat down, I felt something hard under my butt. I got up to identify and move the object.

It was a roll of quarters.

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