Monday, April 26, 2021

Battle Vixens! - 81




Episode 81: Dinner With a Monster

Finally, Beryl took a long, deep breath through her nose, and picked her head up off of her shoulder. "Awwh, Emma...you're far too kind. There are...some things I wish to say to you, if you'll allow it. Other than apologizing again." She slowly put the two-tailed foxgirl down in front of her, far enough away to look down into her face with a marginally less despondent smile.
"Um...sure?" Out of the veritable whirlwind of emotions Emma had been put through over the past few minutes, the one that stuck most strongly was still confusion.
"Maybe, we could sit down...?" Beryl moved slowly around her toward the couch, just—walking. Whether the "teleporting" she was reported to always do was actually something she could only do in people's dreams, or was somehow exclusive to body she used there, was hard to say. Maybe she just felt like walking. Emma followed her, sitting on the complete opposite side; some of her uncertainty about the Giver's motives had returned, edging her toward caution. If the tall, blonde woman minded the distance between them, it didn't show on her face.

"I knew...fairly well in advance that your world would come under attack," she began calmly. The 'game' with all the vixens is not the only thing I've done to help. A few years ago, I set out to establish several identities for myself in this world, maneuvering each one into a position which would allow me to help coordinate your defense and push your general understanding of magic forward. No position of authority, but many in support to the kind of people I deemed best for those tasks. I thought, so long as I'm assuming a bunch of human identities on this world, maybe I could dedicate just one purely for some fun. And, I saw you."

"I thought...you were the weakest, most useless person ever. Because that tended to be what you thought of yourself, and I didn't really go looking for evidence to the contrary. 'Look at this poor, fragile child always berating herself for the tiniest of things', I thought. 'Look at this...clumsy, stupid fool. It'll be fun to help her out, maybe turn her into someone amazing.' So I made a smaller game for myself within the big one, where I'd just live with you for a while and, once things really got started, see if you ever figured out who I really was.
"Whenever you wanted to know something about me, I fished for guesses from you until you ran upon the sort of person you seemed to hope I would be—or what you found most believable, if that didn't really apply—and then fell silent so you'd assume you were correct, taking on those traits for this role. I really took this body out to soup kitchens and churches and all manner of other charity events, cooking for more needy people than you can count, just so that I could truthfully say I was doing it as a statement and cement this identity in your mind for real. But...as I actually got to know you, I found out that I was wrong. You, were wrong," she lifted an index finger off of the couch to point for a second.

After dropping the hand, the Giver paused for a long moment, quietly watching her. Emma didn't even realize at first that she was giving an extremely skeptical look back, but when she finally did, it wasn't surprising.
"...You aren't fragile, Emma. A fragile thing breaks once and can never be repaired. You've fallen apart and put yourself back together so many times that you're an expert at it, that you can even help other people do the same.
"You aren't weak. You take one night to get over the kind of trauma that emotionally cripples people for their entire lives, and then go back to being your usual cute, cheerful self again. Not that there aren't scars, but...before long, you hardly even notice them over the ones that were already there.
"You aren't stupid, not by a long shot. I chose a 'learning' power for you—something like mine in a completely different way from Amp—because, by then, I knew that your mind would make some of the best use out of it. It gave you access to two brains, sure, but doubling processing power doesn't matter if the program is no good. You've surprised me and everyone else time and again with the kinds of things you can notice and put together, and how quickly you do so.

"...I admit you are a little clumsy, in your human form, but you're pretty darn good at anticipating things that'd trip you up and being extra careful around them. Do you even realize?—it's been years since you last stumbled without catching yourself right away."
After another long, intervening pause, Emma finally scraped together some words to say in response. "...You really...mean, all of that."
"I must: I can say it in firm, declarative statements. I think maybe you were already beginning to believe some of it before I said it, too. You've been feeling more confident in yourself lately, and I couldn't be happier for you."

Beryl paused again, looking away—toward the wall Emma had thrown everything into, which was mysteriously lacking in damage—and looking depressed again. "Oh, Emma...even if you live for thousands of years, to me it won't be more than a brief gust of wind blowing through the room. A candle that burns out in a day or two, at best. But I still..want to see you shine your brightest, while you can. I legitimately hope your world survives. I can't...derail my plans to ensure that it does so, even if I know that they will cause you more pain. So I'm stuck in all the games I've made, and I can't really defy their rules.

"...You 'won' by working out my identity, without any real hints at all. I'm very proud of you. I..gave Light a big one, and confirmed it for her during our talk Wednesday. She told Amp, and they didn't know how to tell you the truth. They were already worried I would retaliate if they did, and then I convinced them it was for the best that they didn't. I hope you aren't angry with them."
"...You're really good at convincing people to do things," Emma said.
"Hmmh," she nodded. "Anyway...I have to give you your prize and then leave. I can't be 'Beryl' again, after this. I have to play fair, and talk to you where I do everyone else. As far as being in this body and getting to be near you, and cook for you goes...this has to be goodbye. I can't imagine that you want me around anyway. So...I need to make sure I say and do everything I want to, before then."

It took Emma longer than it should have to realize that she was crying again. She wiped her eyes on a sleeve. No, even after all of this—there was no taking back everything that the Giver had done. She really didn't want to go on living with someone like that, in a body she'd used to decieve her from the very first day they had met. It would be emotionally impossible for her to act like everything was normal, or to even relax at all while living with this person. But even though she agreed completely, it still made her miserable to think about it.

"...There's something unique about your power that you probably haven't realized yet. Oh, Amory told you part of it—he knows that whenever you learn something now, your power comes back a bit. But in truth, that isn't something you've spent returning at all. When you learn something—anything—new, you actually gain a tiny bit of new power, permanently. For you, knowledge is literally power. It matters not what sort of thing you learn, whether it is about your powers or someone else's, or how someone else feels, or some new bit of science or mathematics—anything will do. You can learn in human or in fox form, it makes no difference. It's far too gradual to perceive much of anything from a single event, but it will build up over time, as it already has been. Or...have you not noticed, that you are markedly stronger than when you first began?"
"N-not really..." But, thinking about it, it was hard to imagine doing things as powerful as she had the day before—during that fight alongside Ning, when she was neither "boosted" nor "desperate"—back when she was fighting Light. Sure, some of it had taken a lot out of her, but back then she wouldn't have expected to be able to do some of those things at all—even if she had known the relevant powers then.
Beryl just slowly nodded, seemingly in reply to these thoughts.

"...You've got a taste of what it's like to be able to concentrate on two things at once. Did you know you can do that even if you've recombined into one body, as you are now? Anyway...in the same way, I can think about hundreds of different things simultaneously," she said; it didn't sound like she was boasting at all, just stating this fact as a preamble to whatever was coming next. "While I've been talking, I've also been trying to think of a good prize, since I never specified what that would be in the original 'rules'. As much as I'd like to instantly push your powers to their highest potential, I actually can't—since they grow on their own, as I just explained. That is: It would be actively harmful to your potential to do so, and I cannot do anything that directly harms another, even just their magic. I suppose I've accidentally blocked myself from even helping you slightly bend the rules of that game. So, instead...

" You don't...like your body. I mean—your human form. At least, it's not what you'd consider 'ideal'."
"..Not really, no."
She shook her head slightly. "A shame your vixen forms are closely modeled after it, then—but you have the hero now to fix that whenever you like."
'The hero'? Oh...Light, she realized after a second.
"I've got a spell which would enchant your body—just the human one—for about a week," she continued after just enough space for Emma to think that. "If you focus hard on some change you want to your physical form, which lies within the bounds of what normal humans of your world can look like, the enchantment will then gently 'push' your form to make those changes. The shift will always be gradual, anywhere from a few minutes for something extremely minor to an entire day to complete a major alteration. A week should be plenty of time to go back and forth between a few different looks and decide what you really like best.

"Would you...like that?"
"I—" She interrupted herself sharply, hesitating. "...Um..."
"..You're worried that if you say 'yes' you'll miss out on something better, maybe in the sense of being less 'selfish' for you. And you're worried that saying so would amount to being greedy and insult me somehow. With how I normally am, I understand—it's hard to believe I wouldn't be willing to make an offer and yank it right back again if I don't like how you respond to it. But I won't do that; I just want to give you something nice. Believe me, if I had thought of something else appropriate that you could possibly like better, I would list it as an option. However, I also don't want to spend the energy or force the spell on you if you won't even like it; that wouldn't be a very good gift at all."

Emma needed a moment to process that torrent of words. This was...admittedly a bit like the version of this person Light and everyone else seemed to encounter, except that she was employing it to encourage Emma to take something she would've really wanted under most circumstances.
"...Hey, it's good to be selfish sometimes," she said, faintly smiling. "A more confident Emma can do more for the people around her, and if a few changes to something as malleable and shallow as your appearance can help you feel that way, then I'd think it's worth it."
"...I admit I would like it," she said slowly, "and..it's hard for me to think of something I'd want more right now. If it's not..making me, or one of the others stronger, or just..putting up a big shield so those things can't get to us anymore."
"Mmh..." She nodded. "It's so easy in concept, but the price of blocking off the enemy's entryway to even a single world is too much for me to afford. I must consider the wider scope of the problem. If you could shield your world that way indefinitely at the price of...other people you don't know and may never meet, but in numbers too large for you to properly conceive of, suffering the same fate and far worse...I don't think you would even ask for it."
Speaking of selfish wishes. "No, I...can't imagine anyone would want that, ever," she said.
"You'd be surprised.

"...As for making anyone else stronger, well..your friends have been growing in power, and will continue to do so, in their own ways. I've occasionally spurred it on directly, but that usually isn't necessary. Again, I'm being careful with how I spend my resources; if I can cause someone to grow on their own and it's cheaper, then most of the time I practically have to."
Emma had never even thought of things this way before at all. Probably no one else had, either. Yes, the Giver was creating and actively enjoying a blood sport on their world, but she was also engaged in protecting or helping to protect who-knew-how-many other worlds and all the people who lived on them. Even her immense, untouchable-seeming level of power had a limit, and by the sounds of it, that limit was being stretched thin. She probably made sacrifices constantly in one place or another; she probably always had to think very hard about how to spend every single drop. She had downplayed this significantly when she spoke to Light, clearly on purpose, but the way she had talked about being on a treadmill, and "right where you are is the best you can do"...it was clear this affected her, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

"So, I'll cast that spell before I leave. There are a few, smaller gifts I want to give you first...not, necessarily as some kind of official prize, just...because I wish to give them. Like: I made sure our entire conversation went unheard. Neither the wall, nor anything else, was broken," she said, waving vaguely toward the undamaged wall across from them. "And, I think I'll pay both our rents through summer. Some of my other identities on this world are paid unreasonably well, so it's less than nothing. Perhaps next year, you can be someone else's cool, older roommate, and eventually part on better terms than this. I'll leave you all my cookbooks, too; I'm confident you can learn to make every recipe in them without much difficulty. Speaking of that, though...

"I wonder...if you'd allow me to make supper after all, one last time."
"I...yeah, that'd be...wait." Emma thought of something else. "You can...poison people. Putting the wrong ingredient into a meal, or just preparing some things wrong, isn't 'direct violent action' toward anyone. If they're allergic to something, it doesn't even have to really be poison. The victim themselves chooses to eat it."
"I have thought of that before," Beryl said, nodding, "and I can think of no reason why it wouldn't work. But I have not once tested it—unless you consider spicy food poisonous. Truth be told, I've never cooked for, nor even served, anyone else before you, so I've never been in a position to try in the first place. And I will not try it now, either. If you need proof, I'll tell you what I made isn't poisonous after it's done, too."
"It's..th-that's okay," Emma said. "It's just something, I kinda realized aloud?"

Beryl nodded slowly, and then pushed herself up onto her feet. "Okay, I'd better get started. We'll have ourselves a feast tonight, and it'll be all cleaned up before I leave. You just sit back and wait!" For the first time since Emma had worked out the truth, she actually looked happy and confident, the way Beryl almost always had.

Emma stayed on the couch while she cooked. As the last of the sun's rays left and the only light coming into the living room was from the kitchen, she just tried her best to comprehend what she had just experienced, a task made significantly more difficult by that whole entire roller coaster of emotions still severely stunting her ability to think straight. It threatened to give her a headache; she couldn't even figure this out enough to put it into words right now. She needed someone to talk to about this, but it felt like a kind of betrayal to tell anyone.
Did Beryl really deserve not to be "betrayed" that way, though? Did she expect not to be? Even if she was acting on impulse, she had to know what Emma was going to want to do afterward. It would be terribly cruel to expect her to keep this bottled up and not talk to someone about it! No, no—she always thought several steps ahead, and if she wanted to, no matter how she felt, she could've just said "Yep" and vanished, leaving behind whatever prizes she liked, and in so doing perfectly maintained her previous, untouchable image. She chose to stay, and to say all of that, knowing full well that Emma couldn't not talk to, at least Amory about it. And he would tell Light, if she didn't; that she had found out the truth about Beryl was something both of them would want to know, and knowing it would raise obvious, natural follow-up questions. There wasn't really a way around it.

She leaned out from the kitchen, waving. "Emma~. Dinner's served!"
"Oh, um..." Standing up, the two-tailed fox-girl made her way around and into the kitchen, sitting down across from Beryl to eat. It was bizarre to be repeating such an ordinary ritual under such exceptional circumstances, but it was also comforting, in its own way.
The food was delicious, and not even particularly spicy. "I know it's unfair of me to read your mind for your worries, but—I just can't help it," she said once Emma started eating. "Tell whoever you like whatever you want. I don't care anymore. Hey, while you're at it, tell Light I like her!"
"Hhck!" Some food got caught in Emma's throat; she managed to cough and swallow, gasped for air a little bit and hoarsely said "Wh-ha-at?" before taking a long sip of water.

Beryl was still smiling, not seeming particularly worried about Emma almost choking. It seemed like it didn't matter to her since she hadn't actually choked, and—maybe—she had timed the announcement intentionally to ensure it was "almost". This was, after all, far from the first time she'd said something while Emma was eating that had this sort of effect. "You heard me. I think she's great. Do you know, that in all of the time that anyone has known I exist, I haven't been made fun of once before now? People are so afraid, because they know I'll see it and they think I'll retaliate or something. It's ridiculous!"
Recovering enough to clear her throat, Emma then said, "I really don't think you should be surprised if people are scared of you."
"Perhaps not. But I think you aren't, now? Or if you are, you're pretty good at hiding it. No one's ever screamed at me to shut up before," she said, smiling. "Even though plenty of people I've talked to have badly wished that I would, they never chose to say so.

"...Light certainly isn't frightened. Not a bit. Instead, right now, she hates me sooo much, that just thinking about things I've said to her makes her angry. It's adorable!"
If Emma was ever over being confused in the first place, this just kept it coming. How was hatred cute? Had she presented herself to Light in the worst possible light, on purpose, to provoke that?
"I know, I have strange tastes," she said, responding to her general confusion but not the specific thoughts.

Beryl leaned forward over the table a bit. "The little hero defines herself partially in contrast to me. I'm certain her power will break ties with me, and be entirely her own, before anyone else's. Oh, it's exciting to watch her grow and fight." She sat upright again, then leaned back in her chair some. "I suspect I'll miss that the most once this world is safe and I must leave it behind. Most worlds that have a shot at surviving only need pushes here and there—some little, some big—to have the best chances of defending themselves. But since yours began with nothing, there's just so much ground to cover, so fast, and you're all covering it better than I could've hoped for. Is it wrong to feel proud of you all? My personal influence is really a relatively small contribution to all that growth."

She took a moment to actually start eating herself instead of continuing to gush. Emma took advantage of that time to think, and began to have an idea. The Giver had made it clear she couldn't—or wouldn't—make anyone stronger. But...wasn't there one thing she could do without spending any more of her resources?
"Hey, um..how good are you at predicting what'll happen? I mean, when the monsters will attack or not...?"
"Pretty good. I do have a lot of experience watching its behavior. Timing is the most difficult thing to work out, beyond telling whether or not it intends to strike on a given day, and how many times."
"What about where it's gonna hit?" she said, taking up Beryl's singular-pronoun treatment of the existential threat to Earth. "Or, what kind of, things it's gonna hit with?"
"Hmm.

"Well, that's very hard to work out at first. It acts more or less randomly for its first few attacks, probing for where the most magic, or the most potential for magic, is. Over time, it because better at sensing where magic is most concentrated and targets those places the most often. And it gravitates toward appearances that perform well in three equally important metrics: Closeness to creatures which the target world's mythology considers threatening; effectiveness at killing and eating powerful mages; and effectiveness at destruction in general. It's been trying to take your world for two full weeks now, and so has begun to develop habits. Yes, I think I can get a pretty good read on where and what it thinks will work 'best' at this point."
Emma looked up into her face. "So.."
"Aah, I understand," she said, nodding. "If you're looking for an unselfish prize, information is a big one. Perhaps you're right, and your people could use as much of it as I'm able to provide. That's no gift or prize, I'd say, merely a logical extension of what I've already been doing. Maybe I've got a use for this body for a bit longer after all, even if it can't be around you."

Emma couldn't be entirely sure if she'd really contributed anything to this decision. Maybe Beryl had been planning it all along and wanted her to feel like she was coming up with the idea, or...maybe she really hadn't thought of doing this before. She didn't say one way or the other; optimistically, maybe it was just so obvious in hindsight that she'd almost be ashamed to admit she hadn't already thought of it.

They both ate quietly for a minute or two. Then: "Hey. That thing Simon suggested you do, the journal? You should totally do that. Now you know there's no one who'd blow your secret by just waltzing in to look over your shoulder at your computer screen, and your homework's all done, tomorrow would be a perfect day to start it."
"Mmphf." Emma chewed and swallowed. "I guess...I could at least try."
"That's the spirit! I guarantee you, it'd be a primary source cited by history books for as long as your present civilization survives. Oh, not that I think you ought to spend all day on that. Like I was trying to subtly hint before, a day off from fighting is a perfect time to ask No for a second date, riight?" 'No' being code for Amory, still.
"Um.." She just looked away, blushing—but it wasn't like she hadn't thought the same thing.

"Heheh, sorry, sorry. I hope my language doesn't give you the impression that you must do anything. I've never been in the habit of ordering people to do things, or forcing anything on anyone." This seemed to ring true; even the power she'd offered people, with its possibly horrible price, had been an "offered gift", which people could choose not to accept.
Beryl nodded. "There are people who have still never used the power I offered them. A few died during the enemy's first couple of strikes because they refused to take it, even when it would have saved their lives. It's a shame, but I respect the decision nonetheless." It was almost like...a rule she imposed on herself, similar to 'never lie'—except that this didn't sound limited to any one world.

Before they knew it, their plates were empty. Beryl sat smiling down at her for a long moment, before sighing. "All right. I feel I've kept you long enough, and I know I've said all I had hoped to, now. I know how you feel about my little game, so it was unreasonably kind of you to allow me to pretend, one last time. I'm very grateful for that." She stood up, and seemed to indicate that Emma should do the same—coming around in front of her.

The alien intelligence was crying again, just silent tears coming down her cheeks, but she seemed to have a genuine, almost peaceful smile on. "I wonder...if you'd indulge me with another hug, though?" Emma just picked herself up and put her arms around the thing she'd called her roommate, letting herself be picked up for a minute before being set down again. "...Thank you."

"No more stalling, now," she said, rubbing her hands together briefly. "You still want that spell?"

"...Yes."
"Okay. Hold still a sec." Beryl stretched her hands, and then placed the right one gently on top of Emma's head, saying...something. It was a little bit like the phrases everyone could use to change back and forth; it felt like she "recognized" it the way she did when Light used her own; but it wasn't quite as extreme a level of recognition as that. It sounded maybe two or three sentences long, somehow, even though it had a kind of indistinctness to it that made picking out individual words seem impossible. She didn't learn any part of it by hearing it, but she could still feel it. There seemed to be no visible effect, but it made some sort of warmth spread from the point of contact down across her body, after which the hand lifted off and dropped back to its owner's side.

"Despite everything...it has been fun, more than I could've imagined. I hope you enjoyed it some of the time, at least," she said. "I feel certain we'll talk again, but...goodbye, nonetheless. Oh, and try to keep the hero alive for me, please!" She smiled big, and then just..vanished, clothes and all.
Emma put out a hand slowly, into the space the Giver had occuped just a second ago. "Bye..." She could probably hear that, but of course it was just like her to not stick around long enough for it to be in person.

Emma looked around the kitchen for a few seconds, finding the silence temporarily crushing. She needed something else to think about or do, before she could even begin to process all of this. She slowly recited the phrase to change back to her human form, and picked her glasses off her nose, going to the sink to clean them up.

As she did, she thought: Well...it'd be nice to not need them at all anymore, wouldn't it...?



This title isn't a song title (that I know of), but it seems like it'd actually be a good title for a metal song, or maybe something by Alice Cooper.

Anyway, as "cover images" go, I would imagine the previous episode being a picture from Emma's POV sitting on the couch, Beryl looking down at her with a friendly smile, except that her shadow cast against the wall behind her would have obvious fox ears and tails and maybe red glowing eyes in that way some "threatening" silhouettes do. This one would be the same basic idea, but with her sitting down at the table looking straight across, the smile a lot smaller, and the same "Giver shadow" would appear much less threatening somehow.

Sunday, April 25, 2021

Battle Vixens! - 80




Episode 80: Figured You Out

By the time she woke up, it was late afternoon. Emma's glasses had slid partway down her nose; she was collapsed into the couch in a manner which probably wasn't very good for her back. "Mnngh..." She sort of fidgeted in place for a second or two and let out a soft groan, part of her still not wanting to wake up, before jerking upright. She almost immediately stretched, quietly yawning. She took her glasses off to rub her eyes, then put them back on, looking around. The only light coming into the room was sunlight through a window, and it had dimmed considerably, turning the golden shade of the mid-to-late sunset. There was a sense of something being different.

After a moment's half-awake thinking, she put together that her roommate's bedroom door was slightly ajar; it had definitely been shut before. But there wasn't any light coming from inside, as far as Emma could tell. She took a moment to quietly take a deep breath and brace herself for more human contact, resolving that she had definitely rested enough by now, and called: "Beryl?"
A computer chair rolled back a little and then creaked, the sound of its occupant standing up, and the door opened the rest of the way, the tall blond woman shuffling outside with a kind smile on her face.
"Oh, hey there sleepyhead!" she said, coming over in front of the couch. "You were fast asleep when I came in, so I tried to be as quiet as a mouse and didn't turn any lights on. Hope I didn't spook ya."
"No, um..thanks," Emma said, scooting herself back on the couch to sit in a somewhat better posture.

"Seems like you're always tired lately. Are you alright?" Beryl leaned down a little toward her.
"I'm okay," she said. "Just...very busy, lately. Lots of...stuff to deal with."
"Hey, maybe I can make something special for you tonight. And surely you can rest tomorrow, right?"
"Mmhm.." Something in her mind twitched, like a car sputtering and failing to start. She still wasn't entirely awake yet, mentally speaking, but tried her best to grab hold of the thought.
"Hey, have you been on a second date with No yet?"
"With..um...?" Oh. "...Not, just yet. We've hung out a little, but nothing official."
"Well, then call him!" She straightened up, putting her hands out. "Make 'official' plans for tomorrow. No school, so nothing to stop ya, rii~ight?" Beryl gave the slightest bit of teasing tone to the question, suggesting a level of..naughtiness that Emma didn't really have plans for. A usual sort of joke, for her.

The engine spun up properly this time, and started consuming gasoline. No school tomorrow. No attack tomorrow.

...Try to enjoy the break.

It was nothing more than a coincidence, at least at first glance. Beryl had no way of knowing what was really occupying her time, and even if she thought for some reason that the attacks were inconveniencing Emma in more...normal ways, that message from the Giver had been totally public. It was probably on the news, even! But there was just something...

About it...

No, it wasn't really about what she'd just said at all; it was a pile of other things on top of it. Disconnected information all stowed away in Emma's head, from the past few weeks and beyond, all clicked itself together rapidly like one of those puzzle boxes where nothing fits unless you have everything already in the right position, and then suddenly it becomes whole.

Beryl said: "If you weren't taking those steps forward, then instead of staying where you are you would've gone backward. Sometimes, right where you are is simply the best you can do."
Light said: "She told me that the best we—the best anyone can do is stall them."
Beryl said: "You go after him, girl. Take what you want. Don't let anything or anyone stop ya."
Light said: "Our powers are fueled by—she used the word 'desire'. Whatever it is the person wants, basically. And she said she needed people with 'violent desires', or at least desires that basically make a person need to be violent to fulfill them."

Beryl never gave a straight answer to almost any question. She instead prompted Emma to play a weird kind of guessing game of sorts with her, giving negative answers to wrong guesses and saying nothing to indicate when she was right. Sometimes she said things in the form of a question, or implied something, but not once had Beryl ever directly stated any one thing that Emma thought she knew about her background, family, education, or present or future employment.
Amory said: "She claimed that she never lies, about anything. Some kind of rule to this whole 'game', to make it more challenging to manipulate people, I guess."

Contradiction: The Giver was mean-spirited, cruel, and downright hateful. She openly admitted to intending her actions to result in people being hurt or killed, to not caring about anyone's life, to "enjoying" other people's violence and pain. When Emma herself had been put through the excruciating pain of being eaten by one of those monsters, she had practically dangled that in Light's face to make her feel horrible. Beryl was nice! She was kind, and caring, and always trying to look out for Emma and make her feel better. Beryl was...Wait, Beryl..?

A Beryl was a type of gemstone. Diamond, Sapphire: Gemstones. The Giver was undoubtedly, undeniably full of herself in a way that made it totally plausible she'd name herself exclusively after valuable things like that. She had a weird sort of playfulness about her that made such "theme naming" totally believable even though it could backfire very easily on any secret identity she really wanted to keep.

It was the span of a second or two, and her roommate had turned around to start heading toward the kitchen. If there had been any discernible look on Emma's face, she probably hadn't seen it at all. There was an easy test; the Giver had one clearly-defined trait that was so powerful, immutable and intrinsic that her "princess" Amory had a weaker form of it, that even illusions which resembled her kept some degree of it. Beryl had just said something teasing again, and Emma was going to pick up a pillow and throw it harmlessly at her back in retaliation.

Her hand went onto the pillow, but wouldn't close to grip it. Beryl took a step away. She tried again, getting the pillow in her hand and raised, and then just put it down again. It was a surreal feeling for Emma's body to simply disobey her intentions, a little like how it had felt when Light briefly, accidentally assumed control of Minus, but not quite as uncomfortable. No, this didn't feel wrong like that, which granted it an even deeper sense of mental dissonance. Nothing was actually controlling her body, it just didn't want to do this.

Light said: "It was so weird. I tried to punch her, and I just..couldn't. I could take some of the steps on the way, but one of them always just, failed somehow. The same thing with kicking. She wanted me to try just so she could show it to me, and then gloat about it."

"...It's you." Emma felt sick. There was only one person like this, who could have this effect, in all of the world—in all of the universe, or multiverse, or in whatever other, larger views there were of "everything that exists".
"Hmn?" Even though it had been almost a whisper, Beryl heard it and stopped in her tracks, halfway turning her head around. She at least knew that Emma had spoken, if not exactly what. No, who was she kidding—the Giver could read minds. Every thought in Emma's head over the past several seconds was like an open book to her. This was a show, for her own personal amusement and no one else's. Just like every-STUPID-thing else.

"IT'S YOU!!!" Emma threw the pillow which was still in her hand forward—not at Beryl, but in her general direction, where it sailed past her without making contact—and shoved herself up onto her feet. "The Giver, or Watcher, or whatever other DUMB, PRETENTIOUS NAME you came up with for yourself today!"

She had turned entirely around by now, and just paused for a second before saying, "..Oh. Yep. You got me." The quiet, casual response took long enough for Emma's eyes to catch up to her emotions and start pouring tears of rage out. She picked up the nearest thing on the coffee table in front of her, a book, and threw it—well aware that she couldn't see where she was throwing through the mess the tears were making of her glasses. It hit the wall.
When she got emotional, Emma was usually an incoherent, babbling mess. When she was angry with herself, she usually withdrew and tried to find somewhere to hide. She'd never really, actually been angry at another person before. Her most immediate thoughts manifested in a one-word scream. "WHY!?"
"..I thought it'd be fun." There was something in Beryl's tone that Emma did not pick up on right away, not until later: A hesitance, an uncertainty that was completely uncharacteristic of both who she really was, and who she'd pretended to be for so long. In the moment, her mind was too much of a wreck to handle subtlety and only picked up on the words instead.

"FUN!?" Emma took a small step forward, but was arrested by the coffee table. "YOU THOUGHT IT'D BE FUN?!" A part of her demanded that she not just awkwardly shuffle around it, and another part argued that she couldn't very well vault it. But, of course, she really could. Her phrase came out in the same kind of angry shout as the rest of what she was saying, and she split into two, both easily clearing the table with a short jump and then advancing on her target steadily as she continued to yell at the top of all four of her lungs.
"What part of any of this—" "—is fun to anyone but you!?—" "—You made me come up with a whole history for your—" "—completely fake identity, pretended to be nice all while—" "—planning the whole time to hurt everyone!"

"There are plenty of people I never planned on hurting, and indeed haven't," she replied calmly.
Plus produced an indistinct chunk of solid metal and threw it forward."You've personally caused millions of people to hurt and kill each other!—" Minus did the same with a fist-sized block of wood. "—You went out of your way to set things up so we'd all be motivated toward murder!"
She took a couple of steps back, toward the wall. "I can't help that violent powers were necessary to defend yourselves, nor that they led to some harm." Her expression wasn't one Emma had ever seen Beryl make, emotionally blank and infuriatingly calm.
"You goaded people into killing each other deliberately!—" "—You helped turn Tobias Mond into a murderer and then personally arranged her execution!" She was throwing more things, just whatever her powers gave her, one after another in tandem. Maybe some of them were actual weapons, but most were just malformed chunks of "weapon-stuff". Every single one conveniently missed Beryl, sometimes by less than inch, and loudly hit the wall Emma was technically aiming at.
"Tobias had already—"
"YOU INTENTIONALLY" "LED ME" "INTO TRYING TO KILL LIGHT!"
She was looking down at the floor, and slowly tilted her head up just enough to point her eyes at Plus's face. "...But you didn't succeed, did you?"

"SHUT UP!!! JUST—SHUT UP!!!!!" both of her screamed in the Giver's face. Plus strengthened herself, putting her hands under Beryl's arms and gently lifting her forward so that her back was pressed against the wall. Her voices continued in unison: "YOU KEEP ACTING LIKE THIS IS ANOTHER ONE OF YOUR STUPID GAMES, AND YOU CAN WIN JUST BY SAYING THE RIGHT THING!" Minus drew a dagger made of shadow and placed it just barely far enough away from her neck for the blade to not make contact, well aware that her hand was shaking and could easily slit the tall woman's throat by accident—not that it ever would. "YOU WON'T EVEN TAKE A SECOND TO THINK ABOUT WHAT I'M FEELING, OR ABOUT WHAT ANYONE ELSE IS FEELING BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID! YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ANY OF THE PAIN YOU'VE CAUSED EVERYONE! AND YOU WON'T EVEN TRY TO UNDERSTAND WHY I'M ANGRY!"

Still holding the lie of a person she'd thought was nice five minutes ago, and the knife not quite against her throat, Emma panted, gasping for air in the wake of achieving a level of volume she would never have thought herself capable of for an instant, much less sustaining it for so long. The Giver's expression was unreadable for a long moment until her head tilted ever so slightly to the side.
"You know, you'd make perfect casting for a remake of The Shining."
"Wh—" "—What?"
She shrugged. "Well, would it help if I said I was sorry?"
Minus leaned slightly forward. "...It would help if you meant it," she said, her rage focused into a quiet, hoarse, shaky near-whisper. She took a small step away, dropping the dagger out of existence, and Plus slowly set Beryl down as her expression changed to one of curiosity.

"I wonder..." She looked between Emma's two bodies with a slight smile, but it wasn't any of the smiles Beryl had ever had before. It wasn't happy, or kind, or teasing. It wasn't a cruel, predatory grin or some kind of complete troll-face like she imagined being used against Light. It was sad. "You should know by now, I don't lie—not to the people of your world. It's a rule I set myself, as an added challenge, to see if I could make things go the way I want without ever saying something that isn't true. And—just to ensure I didn't lie by accident, I put a little geas on myself to enforce the rule."
Her voice was quiet and calm, but warm somehow—like Beryl was supposed to be. The sadness from the smile carried into it, just a little bit. "Geases are stronger than curses, you know, since, they require a willing agreement to activate—they can simply prevent a person from doing a thing, not just punish them afterward. So I literally can't say something to you, or anyone else from your world, that I don't mean—or at least believe to be the truth. So, I can't just...say I'm sorry. Not unless I mean it. I wonder...if I can mean it. Let's find out."

Emma had no idea how to react to any of this. She just stared quietly as the transdimensional alien super meta-god looked down at her for a moment with a serious expression like she was gathering her thoughts to say something important. Finally, she said: "Emma, for the pain I've put you through..I'm sorry."

So, she was really sorry? Since when? Emma's expressions were identical ones of total confusion. "..H-heheh.." Beryl grinned just slightly, and giggled; for a second Emma's anger from before flashed in as she thought her confused look was being made fun of—but then she realized there were also tears coming from the tall woman's eyes, even as it progressed into full-volume laughter. "HaaA~Hahahaa!!" She was bent forward slightly from the intensity of it.
"What—" "—what's, so—" "—funny?"
"Heheheh..oh, no no," she turned her head upward enough to face Emma and shook it, "not you, dear. It's just that—I can't be sorry. I shouldn't be. I have no logical reason, to be sorry!"

Drawing herself up, the Giver continued: "With every decision that involved or directly affected you, I have always chosen to act in a way which would result in the greatest possible net benefit to you. Not that that was the highest priority most of the time, but it was always easy to arrange within the rest of my plans. I know that I have never personally done a single thing wrong to you. Every bit of pain you have experienced as a result of my actions has led to far greater joy, or else helped to strengthen you beyond what you thought possible before. I have even, if half-accidentally, surrounded you with some of the most powerful protection and aid that I could have hoped to provide. But—"
Beryl sniffed, loud. Her voice wavered unsteadily as she continued: "But seeing you like that, your poor little heart in turmoil because of things I've done, or said, I hurt. Me. And so I'm sorry anyway!" She spread her arms out theatrically for a moment, before abruptly dropping them back to her sides.

Emma was utterly speechless—not only did she have no idea what to say, but saying anything felt horribly wrong. So Beryl just stood there quietly crying for over a minute, before slowly gathering herself again. "You tell...Clark Quinn sometime...he should be mindful of what he wishes for other people. He might have a gift for prophetic curses."
"Um..?" This seemed to be in reference to something Emma hadn't heard about at all.
"I must be sorry because, even though I knew exactly how this was going to turn out in the end, I really started to think of you as an actual friend of mine. H-heheheh..." Her soft chuckle was desperately, painfully bitter. "I don't have any of those. How absolutely, utterly foolish of me. I'm sorry."

The Giver was an ancient, immortal, perfect trickster. She could behave any way she wanted to, no matter how insincerely, and still not be "lying". She'd never acted sad or uncertain around anyone before, not that Emma had ever heard of, but if baring her predatory fangs, magically evoking an aura of power to cause fear, and threatening violence she could never personally enact were on the table, then so was this—fishing for sympathy, or something, and once she had it she could make her victim do whatever she wanted. But...
She'd said she was sorry. She'd then proceeded to practically spill her guts aloud, expressing utter confusion at what she was feeling. It was difficult to imagine the purpose of a performance like this, if it was somehow a ploy—there were so many, much easier ways to make Emma do pretty much anything. She didn't have to be this vulnerable to convince anyone of anything, and she—she loved looking untouchable and eminently powerful, unattached to everyone and everything, with the only stakes she cared about at all being her personal entertainment.

Putting all of that aside, it was impossible for Emma to see someone this upset and not want to do something to help them. She'd been there, so many times, and almost felt that pain right along with them. So she pulled herself together into a single body (since it made her a bit taller) and stood on her tiptoes, leaning forward to put her arms around the strange being who had occupied her apartment for over a year. Beryl didn't ask for anything else, just returning the hug and gently picking her up the rest of the way before weeping quietly into her shoulder for an indeterminate length of time. For all of her reported behavior around Light and Amory and everyone else, her hands didn't even move toward Emma's ears or tails once.



Frank glanced out the window as he came out of his office. Sunset. "Hm...a bit late," he remarked, looking to his secretary. "Sorry to keep you so long, Opal."
"It's no trouble, sir." He heard her sniff, and turned to see a few tears coming down her cheeks.
"Is something wrong?"
She paused, wiping her face on her sleeve—appearing surprised by the tears. "No, nothing. I just..remembered something sad, is all. Please, don't worry about it." She grinned, and appeared to have stopped crying.
"Well, all right." Frank nodded, and continued his routine to leave the office for home. "You let me know if I'm working you too hard, hm?"
"Believe me, sir, I would."



"...Watcher?"
"Hmn?"
"Are you...crying?"
"Well. This body has tear ducts, unlike yours."
"Indeed. But. I've never seen you use them before."
"Is that so?" She smiled. "Well then, have your fill. You may never see it again."
"Aannd it's, too much to hope that I'd ever learn their origin, I suppose."



This is one of those episodes that I've been looking forward to and writing in my head for quite a while now. Actually, this is technically "half" of the episode I was writing in my head because it came out very, very long and had what seemed to be a natural split point which was also an opportunity to slot in the two little extra scenes at the end. Plus, I had a good idea for the title of the remaining "half". Said "second half" will post tomorrow.

Saturday, April 24, 2021

Battle Vixens! - 79




Episode 79: I'm So Tired

Lunch was in a mid-sized conference room that had a table just barely big enough to fit everyone. On one side, the conversation was dominated by Simon and a few of the people from the VI's PR department working out a plan for Ning's "unmasking" the next day, including how to deal with her actions on the very first day everyone had their powers. A pretty solid plan, which she actively agreed with, fit itself together over the course of the meal.

On the other side were the majority of the vixens—Light, Gemma (back in combined form), the five who had decided to show the latter their powers, and a couple of the other amnesiacs. It seemed a few of the puppeteer's former victims had indeed already left, one way or another. They had what appeared to be casual conversation, asking the two visitors about their powers, their interests (but not in much detail), and a few questions about what they knew of their personality from the few times they'd met them in puppet form. Rowan sat near the middle, mostly quiet, stepping out once to answer a phone call.

Before they knew it, it was over, and everyone said their farewells; the three visitors headed out to get a ride back to their town. Around the halfway point of the drive, Emma's phone buzzed and she pulled it out, giving it a mildly confused look once she'd had just enough time to read the notification...and then muttered, "Oh."
"What is it?" Ning asked.
"Um, a certain someone's on twitter now. Didn't think I was following anyone called 'Sapphire', but um...yeah. I guess everyone is, now."
Light said, "So, what'd she say?"
Emma took a moment to bring up the full text. "Hmmnnh..

"No attack tomorrow. Try to enjoy the break.
"...Thought you might appreciate the use of a medium everyone can see."



The small group of "reborn" vixens stayed behind in the conference room when everyone else left. "Soo, that was Light, huh?" Serra said, introducing the topic on nearly everyone's mind. "She seemed pretty nice overall."
"Yeah...nice," Cynthia said, with a tone that made the word sound slightly like an insult. "...Weird."
"Hey, it's better than I expected," Warp said. "I thought for sure she was just reading cue cards in the interview. People who're all cool and perfect in public are usually total jerks in private. Com-plete-ly fulla themselves, think they're the most important part of the world..."
"You'd think she was," Cynthia said, "the way some people around here talk. Make her sound superhuman, like..she can do anything."

"...Not to interrupt, but aren't we all 'superhuman'?" Kagee's interpreter translated.
"Aghh, no, I mean like..." Cynthia waved her hands incoherently.
"We can each do junk like teleport, or throw fire around," Dawn expressed for her—having felt the same way about Light herself. "But we're just, like, normal people inside. We get tired, or angry, or do stupid stuff nonstop."
"Yeah!" Cynth nodded. "Light sounded like someone immune to all of that. But she's not. Like, somethin' was really..ticking her off today. It wasn't us exactly, but...

"...Heh. I dunno, I guess I was sorta hoping she could wave her hand and help me remember everything. Or, say just the right thing to help me feel like...I'm not totally lost anymore." Dawn gave her a worried look, but she waved it off.
"Well, what can I say?" Serra said, putting a hand out over the table. "I guess everyone's just been normal people, ever since the beginning."
The Japanese vixen spoke up again. "I don't want to live in a world of superhumans like that. It's better to know that even a 'hero' struggles."
"Maybe for most of 'em," Warp said, drumming her fingers on the table. "I'm with Cynth and Dawn, though. I'd like to have just one fix-all-er around who doesn't."



They arrived at Ning's house first, and she went inside to tell Amp to come out. "Whoa, hey.."
"Yeah, I know, I look different. Did you remember Light can change how people look using our keyphrase?"
She tilted one ear sideways, thinking. "...Now that you've mentioned it, I do. Uh, we had lunch like you suggested."
"Great; I ate, too. Were you good, Nadia?" Her granddaughter was just barely peeking her head up from behind Amp's enormous tail.
"Mm-hm. Ning, you grew up!"
The white-haired vixen chuckled. "I suppose I did. Well, I won't keep you any longer," she said to Amp. "Got some things to get put together, myself."
"Okay. See you."


They drove to the garage Amory's car was in after that, and once everyone got out, Light hid the other two vixen's transformations back to normal so they could drive to the apartment complex with minimal trouble. Emma had a short walk to get to her own car, and drove very carefully until she got back, finally really feeling the exhaustion from the fight. Not only that, but dealing with so many people for so long! They were all generally kind people, and she'd mostly enjoyed it—especially learning some new powers, she had to admit—but it got exhausting for her after a while.

When she came to her apartment, she opened the door hesitantly, listening, and was relieved to find that her roommate wasn't there. As much as she liked Beryl, her overwhelming presence would just..make Emma want to hide in her room and take a nap. Instead she sat back on the couch and took a nap. The difference was subtle, but very, very important.


Only once they reached their apartment did Light turn back to normal, and Blake went and collapsed into the living room chair, staring up at the ceiling. "Long day, huh?" Amory said quietly.
"Long day."
"You had something to eat?"
"Yeah. VI fed us lunch."
"Are you..okay? Wanna talk about anything?"
"Not really. I mean..."

He took a second to drop his view forward again and turn toward Amory, who was standing near the door to his own room. "I need to process. Before I talk. And, very tired. Maybe sleep."
"That's cool, man. I'll be here," Amory said, nodding, and heading into his room to get some neglected homework done. Maybe a day off would do them all some good. A week off would've been better, though—not that the Giver had control over it in the first place.



Marcus had no idea how tired he really was until he took the hat off and turned back to normal. At that point his body screamed at him for sleep and food so hard that he couldn't decide at first which one to satisfy first. Well, hunger like this was bound to upset his stomach and interrupt sleep, so he scrounged up some leftovers and scarfed down an entire plate. He had to admit portions like this weren't too abnormal for him, but he usually at least ate slower to try and feel full sooner.

His roommate finally woke up about halfway through the meal, giving him a look as he went over to the fridge. "Big breakfast, bro?" Thaddeus...or, Thad as he preferred, was a straight-up jock. Not stupid, not a jerk, but one-hundred-percent jock, including having a metabolism and body type that Marcus sometimes had to fight hard to not be too jealous of.
"Dude, don't even start. I've been awake, all morning."
"Yee-eah. You run a marathon during that time? Pffsh." He retrieved his breakfast of two cold slices of pizza and plopped them on a plate, having no idea how close to reality that description felt. "Hey, how's the battles today? Anything happen yet?"

'The battles' was such a weird way to put it, but it was Thad's preferred term. "Yeah, everyone around here fought somethin' this morning," he said, trying to think how to talk about it like he hadn't been there. "Light and Magus fought those chimera things right outside here, and a huge worm ate Ning."
"She okay?"
"Yeah. Gemma survived that..lightning long enough for everyone else to show up. Dr. Quinn even came to help."
"Which one?"
"Uh..both, actually. Anyway, they all took it down together."

"Well, good. Ning's cute," Thad said. "Gemma, too." He wasn't as avid a fan of all the vixens as Marcus was. He understood the importance of them literally saving the world daily, sure, but his...personal interest in them was of a different sort. "Heyy, did the new girl give an interview yet?"
Marcus managed to avoid choking on his food mostly by virtue of expecting this question. "Nah." He was also able to brace himself sufficiently for what followed.
"Pff, too bad. She looks super cute even in the blurry action shots we got so far. Love to get somethin' a little closer up." Thad had a type, after all.

"So, what about Rowan and them, huh?"
"I got hungry before I could catch up on it much," Marcus said—technically true. "I know they had to split into three teams to fight one of those turtle things, and the big dragon. I also heard Rowan did this crazy thing that made like, a huge snake out of water with teeth and like, piloted it from inside its head to bite the big dragon's neck? Dude, it's crazy."
"Mm-mh! Have to look up any images they got of that," Thad said. "Bet she looks awesome." He liked 'cute' girls, but fiesty ones—fighters, he might say—especially. An independent girl with some real fire to her was what appealed personality-wise. Having an expression of that "fire" in terms of action shots of the vixens all being superheroines probably delighted him the most.

It had been a little surprising to learn, but he also didn't care a bit if they were "really" male like Rowan. But, at least, he considered married people off-limits, and didn't seem to comment that way about Petra even though she was otherwise completely his type. Marcus generally found this all harmless enough; a guy had a right to fantasize sometimes, and it wasn't like Thad expected to ever meet one of them in person in any meaningful capacity...but it was really surreal now, thinking how he might react to learning the truth. He was kind of glad Thad didn't know about the whole 'testing something for the VI' business, actually.

Finished eating, Marcus yawned as his body's need for sleep reasserted itself. "Ah, 'scuze me. I'monna take a nap."
"You do you, bro. Got up waay early for the weekend," Thad said, giving him a thumbs-up. "See-yuh."
"Mm-hm."



"..went very well, and we now have contact with both Gemma and Light."
"Good, good." Dr. Brand nodded distractedly, shuffling through a pile of fox masks built out of a few different materials that populated one side of his desk. He picked one up, looked it square in the face as he quietly growled for a second, and then chucked it at the corner of the room. It didn't shatter—which was probably what he wanted—but clattered satisfyingly loudly on the floor as it landed.
Ezekiel gave his partner a long, searching look. "..Care to explain?" he said calmly afterward.
He picked up another one. "Every single one—" he threw it, and it broke in two. "—of these should work—" (he threw another one, which landed with a singular clack) "—by all the principles we've put together, but that tests we developed say they won't," he punctuated with a third one, which managed to stick itself directly on top of his first toss. "I have personally, wasted, the resources and time that went into making these...abominable masks."

"You remember how many hats, bracelets, rings and necklaces we went through before finding one that worked," Dr. Bridges said. "It's inexact. We don't know enough to get consistent results out yet; that's rather the point."
"This isn't progress," he replied, his frustration remaining peaked. "It's trial and error. Stumbling around in the dark! We should know more by now."
"Look..you've clearly hit something of a wall," Ezekiel said gently. "I know, I've been at my 'other job' quite a bit lately. Perhaps you could take the rest of today off, and come at it with a fresh head tomorrow? I can look through everything and see whether I have any ideas."
"Hrmmmhh." If there was one thing Dr. Brand hated, more than anything else, it was being inactive. It was why, shortly after becoming 'professor emeritus', he went looking for another job. That was when he'd realized just how much he hated it. But sometimes, a little rest was what the brain needed to come up with something new. This, too, the old theoretical physicist knew; it was surely advice he'd told his own doctoral students from time to time.

He sighed reluctantly. "All right. It beats staring at these masks."
"I hope you can find something more relaxing to do than throwing them at a wall," Ezekiel replied. "Maybe a nice cup of tea."
"..Right." Dr. Brand stood up. "I'll see you tomorrow." Nodding to his partner, he stalked out of the office and on his way to some much-needed rest. Only once he was completely gone did Dr. Bridges get up and start cleaning up the thrown mask pieces, neatly stacking them along with the intact masks from the desk over in one corner of the room, where they'd take up as little real estate as possible.

Maybe these would work as keys, and their tests just had some unexpected false positives. Ezekiel picked them up, one by one, and ran through the tests himself, just to confirm his colleague's findings. He left the broken ones alone—of which there were more than just those most recently thrown.

Being fox masks, Dr. Brand didn't just see his own failure and frustration when he looked at them. He saw the Giver. He saw a complete expert in the field who outright refused to share her knowledge openly. Someone who treated understanding like a tool to gain leverage over others, teasing them with little hints and less expecting them to understand than enjoying the show their struggles resulted in. He expressed open disgust whenever she came into conversation; that was one thing he had in common with Light.

Ezekiel Delano Bridges—Zeno—didn't quite share that hatred. It probably helped that he had no firsthand experience with her, but...maybe it was just professional curiosity. It was hard for him to conceive of a psychologically stable immortal, and he wondered how someone managed to be as ancient as she claimed to be—and probably had no reason to lie in said claim—without going entirely mad. If anything, he found it surprising that she was helping anyone to any degree, that she seemed to make carefully-concocted plans and then go through them. How had she not bored of seeing the same scenarios over and over again to the point where she just decided by now to act randomly, or at least arbitrarily, in hopes of someone reacting unexpectedly?

Maybe she was truly alien, in a way that neither he, nor any other human, could conceive of or relate to. Humans were finite down to their physical makeup; there was an astronomical, but still finite, number of configurations of brain cells and neurons and synapses. If you randomly generated brains for long enough, you could get two identical ones. Humans could only remember so much, because the physical storage space for that memory was only so big. Since she had never bodily appeared—to his knowledge, at least—perhaps the Giver didn't have that kind of physical brain. Maybe she had a magic brain, or a magic mind, or something.

If he weren't trying desperately to help magic available for the world at large, he might be studying the puppeteer's victims like mad. Amnesia like that was unheard of in his field; the idea that something heretofore undiscovered, a "soul", could carry information from one body to another, was insane. How did it function? Did a soul have its own collection of "neurons" and "synapses" made of some kind of magic "stuff"? Was it more like a hard drive somehow, with ones and zeros? Or did it operate on some architecture no one had even thought of before? Well, maybe they appreciated not being "studied". But what he wouldn't give to trade the power he got for something that could deeply probe the minds of others—with their willing participation, of course. No one reportedly had received that kind of power, despite the fact that the Giver herself was pretty forthright about having the ability to read minds. But then, mind-reading didn't sound very useful against the enemy she purportedly wanted everyone to fight.

All of the masks were in the 'done' stacks by now, and Dr. Brand's findings were confirmed. Of course; he hadn't expected his colleague's precision to wane no matter how tired and frustrated he was. But Dr. Brand himself would've insisted he double-check everything first anyway. So, either they had misunderstood something about the successful creation process for Magus's hat, or something in their testing method was producing consistent false negatives in this case. The only way to really know for sure was...probably to find a willing test participant and have them try on the masks one by one to see if any one bonded successfully.
If he could accuse his partner of anything, Ezekiel thought, it was destroying a few masks out of their sample which could, theoretically, have been the only ones that worked. But these had all been produced on such similar principles that, if only one or two worked and no others, then what they were working with was sensitive enough to tiny changes to effectively be luck. Luck wouldn't do, so in that case they needed a different method anyway.

Ezekiel got up and stretched before moving to his own office. It was time to crunch his way through the data—something Dr. Brand was usually better at. But maybe, just maybe, he'd spot something his colleague hadn't.



Just to be absolutely clear, the title is only in the first person because that's how the Beatles wrote it.

Friday, April 23, 2021

Aetuornos Beta 2-4




2-4: Monastic Genesis

The five visitors to Greenleaf (as a repetitive NPC informed them to be the town's name) all happened to converge on the blacksmith's shop at about the same time. "Hey, welcome!" A short, blonde elf girl who didn't look particularly suited to the job waved to them from next to the anvil. "New players, I'd guess?"

Ronin and Jack exchanged a look. "Uh, yeah. You?" the mage said.
"Staff. Trying out a few 'jobs' and appearances for a bit. I can give y'all the lowdown on crafting if you want, or just do a bit of it for you. Either way."
"I'm..already familiar with that information," Noire said. "What would I need to make some improvements to my daggers?"
"Oh~, lemme take a look," she said, and the rogue presented the weapons, handing one over after a gesture requesting she do so.

"Well, I don't know how it works," Thora complained. "Could one of you explain it?" Noire and the smith looked equally ready to do so, and the latter waved to the catgirl to go ahead.
"I did already tell folks this stuff several times today," she said. "Explain while I work though. I'm sure I can at least fix these up a bit. What've you got on hand for materials?" Some of the bits of claw and teeth from the winged lion-snake thing seemed to be sufficient for an upgrade, and she got to work.

Noire went through a brief explanation of the crafting system as she knew it, the staffer nodding the entire time that it was correct. When she mentioned alchemists, Jack raised his hand and waved it around like an eager student. "..Yes?"
"I though alchemists were one of the classes," he said. "But like, not available yet?"
"Well, there are alchemists—those whose crafting profession involves the creation of potions—and then there are Alchemists. They're like a weird mage-slash-noble class whose power is all centered on creating and using items of all kinds, not just potions," the rogue said. "As to why they're both called the same thing...I guess we could blame real-world ambiguity for that confusion."
The elf girl nodded, "Mm-hm. 'Potionmaster' just seemed so cumbersome, when real alchemists are folks who deal with potions."
"So anyway..."

By the end of the explanation, the smith was mostly through working on Thora's club, using some of the giant slime's remains to improve it somehow. Everyone involved thought it would be best not to question it too much. "Hopefully we'll get all those systems implemented pretty soon," she said. "By the by, have any of you noticed a purple light in the sky on the way here?"
They looked at each other for a moment. "..Nope," Jack answered first. "Why?"
"Hmm. It's just, there've been a lot of adventurers coming through the area today. Some wandered the fields, some entered caves and still others found old ruins to explore. But many who returned, or arrived here for the first time, reported their encounter with a strange girl wreathed in purple flames, flying through the sky above them. Several encountered unusually big, strong, or aggressive monsters which had a similar aura about them, and a precious few claimed to actually see her tossing those flames down to do that to the beasts. Things are tough enough around here already without all the monsters getting stronger."

Noire knew a quest hook when she heard one—and so did Ronin, judging by his expression. "I suppose we could try to find this girl," she said, getting in first. "Do you have any idea of which direction she might be in?"
"Hmm. Most recently, I think it was folks coming from the west who saw her, or at least a purple light of some sort above them. That's still a pretty wide area for just the few of you to explore, besides that you've no healers among you. But there's meant to be a monastery somewhere northwest of here, and a nature garden to the southwest, so maybe you could find someone at one of those places on your way."
"Suppose we split up," Ronin said. "We're really two parties here to begin with. We could check the direction of that garden?"
"Works for me," The catgirl said, looking to her other party members for input; they didn't have much.

"Welp, all done." The smith offered Thora her weapon back. "Your club oughta hit a little harder now."
"Sweet!"
"Hey, my turn now, right?" Jack said, waving his axe toward the elf girl a bit irresponsibly.
"Jack! Cut that out!" Ronin sighed. "Perhaps you three should go on ahead. I suspect this won't take very long."
"Very well," Noire said. "I bought a few signal-flares from the shop next door. We could readily alert one another with those should we see this mystery flying girl."
"Sounds like a decent plan," he nodded.



Celestials had a certain stereotype.

When people thought of celestials, they thought of big, scary warriors in armor, with blazing weapons—usually swords—held in hand, and gigantic pearly white wings spread out behind them to make their appearance all the more imposing. They thought of the "protectors of humanity", the "servants of Sol", an entire race of stonefaced warriors who were best off not challenged, not questioned when they made a sudden request, and—for Kitsune—not pranked.

This image played a large role, for centuries, in many of their race choosing to hide their wings among all but their closest friends, appearing instead to be just magically-gifted humans. Their descendants from the second generation onward tended to never even find out they had celestial blood; many of them fell completely under the veil, in fact, never learning of magic at all. That was not considered a problem until a large contingent of those descendants all suddenly broke veil at once and turned on the magic world as a whole. In the wake of the disaster, Sol asked his people to at least ensure their families didn't fall under the veil anymore, and preferably to hide their wings a little less often, too. Some blamed the stereotype itself for the problem, of course. But stereotypes tend to exist for a reason.

Zefinar's wings weren't white, but he was proud to otherwise fit that image many had of his people. He didn't demand others do the same—understanding well Sol's desire that all of humanity exercise freedom of will—but in the two hundred-plus years since his creation, Zefinar had slain many demons and fought in many battles, fending off chaos wherever it was found. When he told people to do anything, it was because they were in serious danger, and his tone of voice alone tended to communicate this fact well enough for them to obey. Even other celestials came to respect and sometimes fear him, which was just fine with him since it aided more than it hurt his efforts to do his creator's will. He was even privileged with the duty of guarding Sol's domain for a brief time, but felt his experience and skill were wasted in such a relatively safe post, eventually asking to be dispatched on more meaningful missions again.

The world was in something of a lull since the lifting of the veil. That is: There were less dangerous situations cropping up and lesser demons getting loose, more people able to comprehend what was happening and properly defend themselves when that did happen, and...overall, less frequent needs for a martially gifted celestial like Zefinar to exercise his craft. This could only be good for the world and humanity, of course, and he shared his creator's joy in seeing it—but, at the same time, hoped that his skills would not become completely obsolete as a result. Danger would surely appear again someday, maybe larger than ever before, and people like Zefinar still needed to be around, and to be sharp, to confront it. Perhaps he rationalized his own desires some, not wanting to feel useless, but the concerns born from that rationalization were still no less valid.

Lately, a group largely consisting of ordinary humans worked with a few of those who could use magic to produce a device—or, maybe more accurately, an interconnected system which the device granted a connecion to. Zefinar little understood the inner workings of the device, and saw little worth for himself in its purpose—some manner of partially-social game or something. He probably wouldn't have known, much less cared, about it at all, if not for his latest orders, relayed by another, younger celestial from the organization who were formerly responsible for helping maintain the veil. Essentially, while the system wasn't especially of interest, the technology involved had much potential, and for whatever reason he was chosen to test it out.

Whether he was the only one testing the device and system, Zefinar didn't know, and didn't ask. He was confused if not disappointed to be given such a trivial-seeming task, which would perhaps seem better suited to someone created in the past few decades and more comfortable with modern technology on the whole—but none of this showed on his face or in his words. Instead, as a faithful servant to Sol, he accepted the task and asked only the practical questions of what and how.

The big pod the human company sent Zefinar was large enough for a human with his build, but had no possibility whatsoever of accommodating his wings. It had been not required, but suggested, that he choose an ingame appearance very unlike his own, so he went with a human female form—which would have no wings—so it was just as well he hid them before he began anyway. For "class"—once it was explained to him—he chose a monk, who was described as a devoted warrior, and balked slightly afterward to find that the game had its own, fictional gods and he had to choose one to "serve". Eventually he settled on "Luminiere", a god of light, since that was the closest thing to a sun god the game had. Sol himself had had other names over the ages too, all of which were associated with the sun or at least its light...so this would have to do.

Lying down and activating the device by some buttons inside, Zefinar felt a forced meditation state attempting to impose itself on him. This seemed to be their way of bringing the "player" into an imaginary world, so he allowed it to work after a moment, and his false, mental self in that shared world found itself falling.

The old celestial's first instinct, of course, upon finding himself in a sky-like area and falling downward, was to spread his wings, but he suppressed that quickly enough to avoid pushing his real body out of the pod with them. Probably most of the company's clientele weren't so used to being in "two places at once" and wouldn't have difficulty focusing only on the imagined body for long periods of time; he would just have to do his best with keeping his real self still.

Anyway, the "falling" was unusually slow, and after a moment it became clear what was going on: This was a medium in between his original mental state and the shared one, being used to help acclimate him to what would be the imagined body's drastically different appearance. And...it accomplished this by simulating transformative magic. Zefinar's body tingled strangely, and he shuddered a bit.

His sole previous experience with being transformed hadn't been especially pleasant. Later attempts at transforming him had been blocked by some charms he kept going or enchanted items which he wore at all times. Reminding himself that he was in no real danger here, he tried to relax and let it happen. Fortunately, the simulated magic appeared intended to help him in this too, as the tingling settled into a more pleasant sensation not unlike his body being gently massaged and pressed down on from all sides.

"Hmm..mmh." The result of that sensation was his body beginning to shrink. His toned arms and legs began to lose definition as he became shorter and slimmer, their muscles diminishing and softening. His body instinctively fought back once or twice, partially undoing the last second or so of change each time, but he managed to reel that in afterward, and the transformation seemed to accelerate as a result.

Looking down, Zefinar could see his clothes shrinking too—much more than his body was, in fact. Already his pants only reached down to his knees, and his shirt had pulled itself entirely off of his stomach, with its sleeves almost gone. Divested of that covering, he could see his arms, legs, and midsection were all completley devoid of body hair now, as well as bear witness to the last of the solid, manly shape of his limbs giving way to a slender, feminine form. His hands were smaller and more delicate now, the callouses of many battles nearly finished fading from view.

He shuddered once again, just slightly, at something gently touching the nape of his neck. Putting a hand up, he was relieved to find that it was just hair—growing longer, of course, to fit a more feminine form. More examination found it longer in the front too, and all beginning to bunch itself together near the upper corners of his head somehow. Then...

"Aa~ah..!" The old celestial got a sensation down between his legs—his manhood beginning a rapid decrease in size—which shouldn't have felt especially good, but did anyway. It made his heartbeat accelerate a bit, his cheeks feel warm—all in the simulated body, of course, not the real one, but these feelings did a good job of making it hard to focus on anything but the body they were coming from. He almost missed the fact that he was being made to cry out too, and his voice was changing in the process.

"Aa~aahmm, mmh.." Zefinar made an effort to close his mouth and suppress his reaction, but this only seemed to agitate things worse. His body squirmed as the last of the downward and inward shrinking completed, and then the bulk of his hair, now tied up by ribbons where it had been gathered before, streamed out in two long black tails that fell far enough down to touch his lower thighs. "MmnNNAA~Aaah..!" And, at the same time, the change between his legs sped up, and his voice pushed its way out of masculine range through some continued futile attempts to keep himself quiet.

Finally, it melted away, a bizarre and unreasonably pleasant sensation which caused her to gasp high and follow that up with a somewhat pathetic and squeaky "Haa~ah" of a sigh, equal parts relieved and confused. Panting softly as she calmed herself, the new girl wondered if this was how transformations usually felt under the purview of Zotha. It was uncomfortable in entirely different ways, but there was no contest between this and the excruciating pain of her previous experience.

However, thinking of the change in the past tense may have been a mistake, as Zefinar's body began to make clear. Her hips and thighs began to push their way out, her waist pressing inward at the same time, all of which drew an irritatingly cute "Wa~ah!" of surprise from her lips. Then, just as suddenly, her chest joined in on the assault, pushing itself forward into the tight top which remained of her shirt all at once, and drew a somewhat more mature "Oo~oh.." out of her as the appearance of the new breasts confronted her with another brief spurt of a woman's pleasure, down in the new equipment she'd just been handed.

While she caught her breath, Zefinar happened to look down and realize that the ground had materialized below her—the acclimation accomplished, this was the simulated world itself. Some manner of miniature monastery, just a few buildings connected together, stretched out below her; initially it seemed like she was going to crash into a roof of one of the smaller buildings, but her fall abruptly slowed down, confusing her attempt to catch herself, and she went through the roof instead—landing unceremoniously on the floor of a room inside that building. She still managed to plant herself on a knee, a foot, and her hands, a good position for a short and relatively painless fall, and stood up almost immediately.

"Hmmph." Her voice wasn't as high normally as those last few sounds, which was a relief; it was just about mid-range, if anything. Looking around, this seemed to be a modest bedroom of some sort. Zefinar shrugged to herself and headed outside, doing some stretches to try and get used to her smaller, somewhat weaker form. It seemed decently flexible and agile, at least, and she actually felt stronger than she looked...


The setting of this "game" was meant to be a world overrun with wild beasts and monsters, which the players were tasked with fighting. Monks were an unarmed, armorless class, she'd been told; they used a combination of their fists and magic related to their chosen deity to fight, and could heal others with their touch. While Zefinar's weapon of choice was a sword, the old celestial had trained in the use of a great many weapons and martial arts, and was certainly no stranger to unarmed combat. She made her way out of the complex and onto the nearest road, seeking out some of these hostile creatures to test her skills, and this strange body's powers, on.



The road to the monastery seemed to be free of monsters, and no sign of a purple light or a girl in the sky, either. Eventually (that is, after not very long at all) Thora got bored of just walking. "Say, Noire."
"Hmn?"
"You said you were brought up hunting for prey and stuff, right?"
"Yep."
"So, you ate like..raw meat?"
"Sometimes. It's not as if we didn't have the means to cook, but all being werewolves, we didn't really need to either."

"...Ough, sometimes I get a bad craving for the stuff too, it's horrible."
"Why's that bad?" Fiori said. "You can get raw meat at pretty much any grocery store, right?"
"Certainly, but it's—enncgh." The catgirl made a disgusted face for a second, and then cleared it by quickly shaking her head. "Okay look, when you hunt something and eat it right away, it's hot. Like, the inside of any living mammal is. The texture is very different on something that was alive five minutes ago, too. So—it's—ahh—" She seemed to take a moment to struggle with coming up with a good comparison. "Okay. You both like ice cream, right?"
"Sure."
"M-hm?"
"Imagine if, somehow, someone was able to make something that was the shape and flavor of your favorite kind, except it was served hot and it had the texture of, I-I don't know, beef jerky or something? Really, seriously—imagine biting into that while your brain wants—expects—normal ice cream."

Thora had difficulty even putting a mental image of the taste together in her mind, but probably made a face anyway; the necromancer seemed to do likewise.
"Yeah, exactly. Just, completely the opposite of what it's supposed to be like. That's what it's like eating long-cooled, often refrigerated meat from the store. A-and I could, microwave it or something to make it warmer, but that doesn't fix the texture problem and now I'm cooking it, so why not make it actually cooked so it tastes good? Long story short, the only way I can sate that craving is by buying livestock and killing it myself, or..going hunting out in the woods and same. And, good luck finding a place to do that around a suburban house without looking like a complete psychopath."

"..Sorry if that brought up any unpleasant mental images," she added after a moment. "It's easy for me to forget not everyone's as closely familiar with 'killing to eat' as I am."
"I'm fine," Thora said; actually, she was now trying to think of a way to cook meat that might make it taste like something fresh and raw. It might appeal to some 'total carnivore' types who complained if their steak wasn't literally bleeding. If the cooking process still killed disease the normal way, it could even be a safe 'curiosity food' for anyone who wondered what that tasted like. If she did get a good idea for it, this werewolf was probably the person to pitch it to for early testing.
Fiori had a...different response: "Oh, like, it's no problem for me either. When I was in eighth grade my class toured a farm, I got lost and wandered into the front door of their abattoir. And oh boy, it was active, too."

"Uh..you're...okay though...right?" Noire said, recovering after a very long pause between the three of them.
"Oh, sure!" she said in a chipper voice, with a quick nod. "I tried to go vegetarian for a couple of weeks, buuuut I got over it." Maybe a 'dark' class like Necromancer suited her real personality better than Thora had first thought...

A short walk later, the rogue stopped in her tracks—which both of her party mates had learned by now was a sign something was up, and reacted accordingly. Thora gave her a questioning look.
"Sounds of a battle up ahead. Get ready," she said, drawing her daggers and starting forward—but not at full tilt, clearly meaning the berserker to pass her with her wider strides.

They crested a hill, and several yards off before them was a human girl wearing shorts and a crop-top, completely unarmed, with a pair of ridiculously long black twintails. She was surrounded by five beasts which looked sort of like the results of a mad-science genetic experiment that crossed wolves with wildcats and then grafted metal, hedgehog-ish quills all across their backs. No sooner did this sight come into view than one of the beasts pounced at her, and she leaned back, limboing impossibly deep to pass just underneath it, and stuck her fist up into its underside, a brief flash of golden light appearing around it like a hologram of a short blade tapering to a sharp tip at the end. However, it was a very real cut the monster's underside received from it, more collapsing than landing on the other side of her.

Two more came at her at once, and instead of straightening up she planted her hands on the ground, backflipping over them so that they ran right into each other; she somehow chained this into a sideways dive-kick complete with another, much longer blade of yellow light that extended from her lower leg to well past the foot, which buried itself deep into the head of an unsuspecting beast, killing it. She pushed off its head and pirouetted in midair to deliver a combo of kicks to the remaining monster's snout, sending it sliding back away from her as she landed neatly on her feet.

This chain of attacks took all of a second or two to happen, and afterward Thora stopped in her tracks. "Should we even, uh..interrupt?" she said quietly as the stranger raised her foot and stomped another blade deep into the head of the stunned monster. Looking closer, there were two more corpses that she'd made before they'd even arrived.
"At this point it seems more like kill-stealing than helping," Fiori agreed. The three survivors were spreading themselves apart across from her, snarling but staying back. She held a fighting stance facing them, seeming to wait for them to make the first move.
"Nonetheless, she is outnumbered at the moment," Noire argued. "Let us lend our aid before she corrects that." She ran down, raising one of her daggers up before tossing it into the side of the nearest beast, landing just below the start of its spines. The thing yowled and turned toward her, curling itself into a ball as it charged so that the only thing exposed were its spines. By now Thora had caught up, and she raised her club to swat the beast back the way it came from, letting it crash into the other two.

"Allies!" the stranger greeted them as the catgirl ran up to sweep her thrown dagger back into her hand. "Your aid is not necessary, but appreciated nonetheless." Well—at least she didn't sound angry with them? She then ran up to the collapsed pile of beasts and kicked hard into the same underside she'd limboed under before, stabbing a light blade deep into the thing's flesh and killing it. Fiori came up and slashed the one that Thora had batted back, having Roth shoot some flame into the wound right after. The third beast got up and made to slash at the stranger with its claws; she easily sidestepped each swipe, punishing every single one with a swift kick to the beast's head. Noire kept up with this dance from a bit to one side, watching for an opportunity to throw or stab without risking harm to their new "ally".

Fiori's target pushed itself up and made to bite at her; she hopped backwards and Thora, having caught up to the faster Necromancer by now, sent her club into the thing's side, finishing it off and sending it on a sideways roll that stopped against another beast's body. By now the one striking out at the stranger was clearly exhausted, and she gave the catgirl a small nod before doing a backflip-somersault way away, giving her plenty of room to duck in and stab down through both of the thing's eyes, finishing it off.

The unarmed stranger crossed her arms, surveying the dead monsters as the party of three approached her. "You three appear reasonably capable. Others playing this 'game', I suppose?"
"That'd be correct," the rogue said. "You seem to be a..monk, I suppose?"
She seemed about to say no, but paused to correct herself. "I have chosen that as a false profession for the purposes of this 'game'." Again with the air-quotes tone on that word. "My name is Zefinar, a humble servant of Sol."

Fiori appeared somewhat confused by this announcement, while Noire—if very briefly—had a similar response to Thora. Oh no, a celestial?! Or, more specifically, a 'servant-of-Sol-for-life' type? What was one of those doing playing Aetuornos!? Instead of asking that, the catgirl said, "You refer to your real self with that, hmn?"
"Of course. What other self is there?"
Noire came slightly closer. "How..familiar are you with role-playing games, Zef?"
"I ordinarily have no time for such triviality," she replied, not seeming to mind the shortening of the name. "I am only playing this game on orders to test the underlying technology."

"Well, you aren't meant to introduce your real self to others in this sort of game," she explained patiently. "The entire idea is to play the role of someone other than yourself. Often someone cooler, stronger or more powerful than you really are, but sometimes just—someone different. Isn't it helpful to be familiar with perspectives other than your own?"
"This is true, but I little see the point in lying about my name or identity," she replied.
"Well, see, it's not lying, it's like writing a work of fiction together," the catgirl said. "Everyone has the understanding that if I tell you my name is Noire, I mean my character's name is. No one's deliberately deceiving each other, at least insofar as that."
"Hmph. I suppose if I allow you to call me 'Zef', and tell you that I am a 'monk in service to Luminiere', this would help your enjoyment?"
"Certainly," Noire said cheerfully. "And you seem to be an exceptional fighter, based on your performance against these beasts."

"That I am, either way," she stated—her tone not proud at all, but conveying a statement of a clear and obvious fact. "I must be; my typical duties involve much combat."
"Impressive. Well, my companions here are Thora, a berserker, and Fiori, a necromancer." Zef immediately gave the latter an absolutely terrifying look, which faded after a second or two—but not before she took several rapid, incautious steps backwards away from her and nearly fell over.
"Not a real necromancer," she clarified to herself, aloud.
"Uh, r-right, definitely not!" Fiori squeaked, hugging her scythe like it was a teddy bear. "Justinthegame!"
"Excuse me, then."
"Yyes. And I, myself, am a treasure seeker," Noire continued smoothly. "We are presently on the lookout for someone rumored to be flying above this area, enchanting monsters into much stronger and more aggressive forms. Would you be interested in joining us on this quest?"

"..I suppose it is preferable to wandering aimlessly," Zef said after a moment's consideration. "Perhaps an enchanted monster will also prove more of a challenge to take down."
"More than likely," Noire said. "To be honest, we came this way in search of a healer to begin with. Thora's style of combat tends to cause her frequent injury, and while she is exceptionally tough, anyone can only take so many hits."
"Hmph, 'I'm tough' is no excuse for being reckless and sloppy," the monk said, crossing her arms and giving the tall demon a look of severe disapproval.

"H-hey, I'm not any kinda fighter in the real world," she protested. "That's just how the berserker class works."
Zef's eyes narrowed a bit. "...If you say so. Nonetheless, I wouldn't withhold healing from one in pain, if I can give it."
"That's..a relief."

The monk turned toward Fiori again, who had gone to stand over the largest pile of hedgehog-wolf-thing corpses. "...What are you doing?"
"Oh, uh, don't mind me~. Just collecting monster souls," she said.
"Necromancer class stuff," Noire clarified further. "They'll have a tactical purpose for her later."
"..Understood."
"But, we should go about collecting the spoils while we're at it, anyway. The pieces monsters leave behind tend to be useful for crafting items or improving equipment. Or—they can at least be sold for money to afford other supplies," Noire explained patiently.
"I had the basic idea of this game explained to me," Zef said—bluntly, but not sounding particularly annoyed by the explanation. "I chose a class which possesses no equipment to upgrade on purpose."

"Nonetheless. You did most of the fighting and slaying here," the rogue persisted. "It would be terribly unfair for you to claim none of the reward. I'm certain someone as clever as you could find profitable things to buy with the money."
"Hmmph. Just pick out whatever you think is fair." Thora increasingly had the sense that, despite anything she might say to the contrary, Zef was genuinely interested in the 'kill stuff' aspect of the game—and not much else. Well, it took all types...