08-13-2016, 12:32 AM
Taking in a breath of the warm, humid air of an early midsummery night really does hit the spot, I have to admit, even if walking around in that same air wasn’t the most pleasant experience in the world. My light boots tap gently against the cobblestone path beneath Ciamath and I, though the steps of the significantly larger woman beside me wearing heels nearly drowns out my own steps completely.
Subtlety isn’t her thing, I decide, if it wasn’t obvious enough already.
She hasn’t let go of my hand yet. It’s not like I mind - she feels a little cold to the touch, but body heat’s starting to fix that issue. What’s more pressing on my mind is the fact that she seemed so uncomfortable in the store a moment ago. The last few minutes I’ve spent walking with her, I’ve been wondering how I’m going to talk to her about this, and I’m starting to think maybe it’d be best if we didn’t… or at least it might be best if we saved it for when we have a room or something.
The rest of the walk was mostly silent. A few times I would glance up at Ciamath, and fewer times I would catch a glimpse of her looking down at me with concern. However, she seemed to wordlessly play it off. Arriving at the place Ciamath had said we would go to, however, broke the awkwardness quite effectively.
“This is the place,” Ciamath declares. It looks nice enough, at the very least for a place not up to snuff with the modern world, or what I know as the modern world. Light pours out of windows, revealing shadows of people dancing and drinking and generally being happy and silly as some like to be during the night. A smile crosses my face. I would’ve never thought I’d end up in a tavern…
“...are you listening?” I feel a hand gently ruffle my hair. “Heeeey,” I complain, only to hear Ciamath giggle. “You’re a Prime, so I’m going to let you act like a grown-up. You have your own money, so I’m going to let you use it as you see fit. The only rule I’m going to make for you, however, is that I don’t want you drinking.”
I immediately catch what she means. “Okay, so, booze is off limits. I had halfway figured that’d be the case here, but…”
Ciamath cuts me off. “I would, too, but it’s not enforced everywhere. Most places I’ve been to here won’t serve liquor to anyone under eighteen, which I think is reasonable. You look nowhere near that age, so I don’t think anybody’s going to be serving anything like that for you. With that out of the way,” she finishes, “I’ll get us a room. As long as you don’t cause any trouble - and I know you won’t - you can wander around as you please. I’ll find you when I have our room.”
I nod, conceding that sounds pretty reasonable. That, and the thought of dealing with people while I have a sword over my shoulder makes me itch a little. “Okay, sounds good. Now I guess I ought to figure out what to do…”
Ciamath pushes through the door and I follow. The sound of some sort of treble-type woodwind instrument I’m unfamiliar with reaches my ears immediately. Assorted sounds of talking and cheering and yelling and even some oddly powerful whispers come next. Figures of all shapes and sizes make the place look like a sort of organized chaos, and Ciamath seems to weave through it with ease. A few people even make way for her, though I do catch notice of somebody seem to go out of their way to try nudging her off balance.
A drunk-looking, fair-haired man with a very ragged-looking beard laughs at his failed attempt with people who are presumably his friends. Aside from looking less than well-kept in the hair department, he looks relatively well-off, with what appears to be slightly nicer clothing than most I’d seen in the day. At his hip I see an axe, which unsettles me, though it makes me realize maybe it’s not entirely peculiar to be armed around here.
Another glance around makes me realize not too many people openly bear arms, or many don’t at all, unless everybody somehow has the ability to stuff a sword down their shirt without issue.
I turn my attention to where the music is coming from. Someone who looks very well-kept, almost like a noble, stands on a slightly elevated ground acting as a sort of stage dominating one corner of the room. Not far from it is a number of tables, a few booths and on one wall is a staircase, which I’m guessing leads to a few rooms.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. I nearly jump in response, but I stop myself upon realizing from the slender black-gloved fingers that it’s Ciamath. “Come. Let’s sit down somewhere - you must be hungry,” she says.
I take her by the hand and lead her to one of the booths. She emits a faint noise of shock as she follows along behind me. I sit down on one side and she sits down in the other. I rest one elbow on the table and crack a smile. “So you got us a room? We’re not gonna be homeless?” I joke. “Nice that we’re getting some food, though. I don’t think I’ve eaten all day…”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the guy from earlier being a general bother to what looks like a waiter of sorts. I can’t discern any details from their conversation at the kind of distance we have, but based on the look on both their faces, the exchange isn’t pleasant. “Neither have I, though I’m rather used to undernourishment. A life of traveling does at times leave you lacking in supplies,” she explains.
I nod, though less from actual knowledge and more from common sense. I hope I can, at some point or another, learn a bit about traveling, though. “So you’re a traveler. Any stories you can tell me?” I ask, bracing for a flurry of a response.
Before I can get one, however, I notice something put down in front of me. “A menu for you,” says a baritone voice with an almost silky quality to it. “And one for you, as well. May I get anything for the two of you to drink, or anything to whet your appetite?” I turn my head up and see the same waiter from earlier - messy brown hair, maybe not even a foot taller than myself, though his features are rather squared and rough.
On instinct I almost ask for a root beer. It occurs to me, though, that I probably won’t be able to get a root beer here. “Uh… I think just water for me,” I answer. “I will have the same,” adds Ciamath.
“Please have a look at what we’re offering tonight. If you haven’t made your decision by the time I return, I may wait - the night remains young,” goes the waiter, and he takes his leave. As he does, I can’t help but look to Ciamath and comment, “he’s so polite! Is service here always so nice?”
She’s infected by my pleased demeanor as she replies, “it always has been, though I do make sure to stop by here when I come to Camelot. Like Falconsflight,” she explains.
All the hairs on my body stand on end as I hear a loud CRASH. What sounds like glass shattering and something wooden breaking reaches my left ear, and I see - what else - bearded blondie causing trouble. I see a tray, a few large broken glasses and what looks like some kind of booze spilled on the ground. Most notably, I notice a large wet patch on his collar and upper chest, along with some foam on his chin. Looking up a little farther, he is not in a good mood.
“Did you just waste my buddies’ round?!” he bellows. It takes me a moment - the waiter. He picks himself up off the ground. His palms look faintly bloodied, and suddenly my heart sinks. Oh, Gods, is he okay? I worry, only for the drunkard’s shouting to return me to reality. “Paid for that in advance, I did! Get me another one!”
The waiter’s hands clench at his sides for a moment, though he seems to quickly regain his sense of professionalism - seemingly without the notice of the axe-wielding fellow. “Yes, sir. I will be just a moment,” he replies, and begins to walk away.
Suddenly I see the axeman pick up a glass bottle. He looks nearly red with anger, and I get the feeling this isn’t going to go well if nobody intervenes.
Nobody’s going to.
I have to.
He lifts the bottle high and, in a flash and a blur, I find myself intercepting the swing of a bottle with Beskyttende. The impact is powerful, though I manage to hold until the threat of glass shards hitting me or the waiter is gone. I lower the shield and, not quite knowing what to say, I grin cheekily. “Careful with that,” I start. “You could hurt someone.”
For a moment I see fear in his eyes, though he quickly reaches for the axe at his side. “No place for kiddies,” he sneers. “Ain’t it about time for beddie-bye?”
I sigh, though I continue to smile. “Ah, yes. Height jokes, the pinnacle of originality against somebody like myself. Though someone with such dull wit as your own shouldn’t be expected of much--”
What remains of the bottle swings at me. I duck under it and, in a fraction of a moment, climb onto the nearby bar, draw my sword and press the flat of it to the man’s neck. “Your move,” I hiss. “I say we call this a draw. You return to your table, I’ll return to mine. Just know that this will never happen again.”
I feel… powerful.
It takes me a moment to realize an axe is coming at me. I stop the blow somewhat painfully with Beskyttende, then pull back my blade and hop over the man’s head, using the pommel of the sword to deal a blow to the nape of his neck. He tumbles forward, though perhaps not as fast or impactfully as I’d hoped. As I land, I sheathe my blade and hang my shield at my back again. “I think it’s safe to say you’ve had too much,” I bark at the axeman. “And if I was the owner of this establishment, I’d kick you out.”
The waiter picks up the dazed man by his collar with remarkable ease, lifting him up off his feet. “Get out before I throw you out,” he bellows. One look into his now-crimson eyes and I’m terrified and off my power trip. “If… you mean me as well, I understand, but--”
My former combatant’s body whistles past me and out the door. The waiter’s blood-red pupils flicker with thought. All eyes are on the two of us, and if not, they’re on the door. “I saw you with Ciamath. Am I not mistaken?”
I gulp. “Yes, but if you’re punishing anybody, don’t--”
“Your meal is on the house. A mark of my gratitude, for doing what I had been meaning to do for me,” he interrupts, then dusts off his palms. While they’re not perfect, they appear to be in good condition again. His pupils fizzle and fade into little black circles again. “I request that you not take up arms in my establishment again, though I am in your gratitude this instance, Prime.”
I nod, then laugh nervously. “Sorry if I, uhm, took it a little too far… still not used to this whole ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ thing,” I admit.
The waiter remains unfazed. “You hold power, though you lack polish,” he observes. “Much like myself. You can do better, Prime.”
I shudder. “Can we-- what’s your name? I’m Joline, but I guess somebody calls me Jojo now.” I offer a hand. He accepts it and we shake. “I am Granville, proprietor of Familiar Angel’s. It is a pleasure, Joline.”
I nod. “Okay, we’re not going Jojo. Whatever floats your boat, Granville. You… you don’t have a nickname, do you?”
“...Spaghetti Bolognese powdered lightly with parmesan cheese for the Prime,” goes Granville as he places a bowl of pasta with a layer of thick, reddish sauce over it before me. “And, as is the usual, steak prepared medium well for the regular,” he adds as he places a plate covered with squares of broiled meat with hints of pink before Ciamath. “Call for me if I can be of any assistance.”
“Thank you!” I chime as he walks off. “Um, Ciamath… I wanted to say sorry for making a scene. I just saw something that needed to be done, and I did it. If you think less of me, or feel any sort of spite towards me--...”
Ciamath tilts her head. “Why would I think less of you, Joline?” I feel slightly taken off-guard. I don’t think she’s actually referred to me by name before, and if she has, she was really subtle and quiet about it - which is impossible, because Ciamath is not subtle. “You did what I would have done. If I were to think you in the wrong, I would be a hypocrite. But for you to have done what you did… using your speed to your advantage, that amazed me.”
I laugh awkwardly and nervously, tugging at my shirt collar a little. “Yeah, it amazed me, too. I don’t think I’ve ever really fought anybody in my life… I feel like if I had, I’d know, and… I just don’t. Moving like that just felt natural. Not like it was the only thing I could do, but like it was the thing to do. Do you get what I’m saying, or am I not making any sense?”
Ciamath nods. “Now I see. Fighting is a mix of instinct and strategy. Neither one is entirely relied on by any given warrior, but you… what you did was much more an act of instinct than of strategy or higher thought. You simply did. You did not think to do what you did or plan to do so, you simply carried out the actions.”
I gulp down a mouthful of noodles and nod in agreement. “Sounds about right.”
“That can be very dangerous,” Ciamath adds. “When you were fighting a man drunk and blinded to reason, you could afford to fight more sloppily. Against those trained with a weapon in a clear state of mind, you will have no such luck.”
I have to admit that fighting scares me. It does more so as I realize I pulled a sword without hesitation. “If it helps any,” I reply, “I’d rather solve as few problems as I can with bloodshed. If I never need to pull this sword on anybody again, I’d be happy.”
Ciamath smiles. “That’s very noble of you,” she says warmly, though her expression drops to neutrality again. “Please, pursue that goal with caution. Primes have the blessing of Omni that they need not fear death - though I fear how long that may last. Take every step here with great care.”
I twirl a bit of spaghetti on my fork and grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way!”
“...Ooh, the room’s so nice!”
I step into the room after Ciamath. She steps out of her boots, and I follow suit, kicking mine to the side of the door. A large window with more panes than I’d bother to count vertically separates my bed and hers. A table stands under the window, and a dresser sits at the edge of both our beds. Closer to us is a sort of living room - a pair of couches, some chairs, a large table and an unlit fireplace lie in wait, covering most of what would be empty space. A shut door leads to what I would assume is a bathroom.
A shower would be nice, but I’m afraid of what I’m gonna see when I walk into that bathroom.
That aside, the regal purplish carpet beneath my feet feels nice and plushy, and I can only assume the beds - which match in colour to the rug - will be equally as comfortable. “How’d you score a place like this, Ciamath? Or is this your regular room?”
Ciamath giggles. “Where is your coinpurse?”
I check my hip and my heart sinks. “Shit-- someone took it!... Ciamath.” I go deadpan as she dangles the now-empty bag in my direction. “This is where I regularly stay. Your coin covered just over half of what we needed, and I paid for the rest. We have the room for two nights, though I asked the second night be written off for some time in the future.”
I shut my eyes and frown. “Gods, I have to keep a better eye on my money… that being said,” I warm up again and head for one of the beds, “this place is really nice. And if this is what getting pickpocketed gets me, I invite it, Ciamath.” I stick my tongue out in an attempt to bring across I’m joking.
Meanwhile, Ciamath is sitting on her bed, removing a few parts of what I can only hesitate to call an outfit. It’s then that I notice there is a degree of armor to it, it’s just that it seems to look very… not armor-y. There’s wristguards, the spaulders are the most obvious bit, what looked to be thigh-high boots is actually two separate things - a pair of ankle boots and light greaves, there’s the chestguard-thing…
...I really don’t understand this place. But I do have to admit Ciamath’s a total cutie in it, whatever it is, so I’ll let it pass.
“...What?” Ciamath asks. “Is there something on my… everything?” she manages to hold back a bit of laughter.
I find myself without words for a moment, and I feel a sort of hotness rush to my face. “I, well… I mean, I was curious… you’re… not sleeping in that, are you?” It doesn’t look like you’re carrying a change of clothes, so…”
Silence.
I decide to keep going. “So… I thought I might make you something. With Omnilium,” I add crucially, holding my hand before me and calling upon a ball of the stuff. She sits back and watches curiously. “If that’s the case, by all means - surprise me,” she replies.
I shut my eyes. Something comfortable… but maybe something cute, too. Something I won’t get funny looks for conjuring up, though. Something… like a sweater! Not something puffy or bulky, just something light, like Ciamath seems to like. Maybe white would look nice on her… maybe with a turtleneck. Maybe a ribbed sweater would be nice? What’s… what’s a ribbed sweater again?
“...Oh, how interesting,” Ciamath remarks somewhat gleefully. I open my eyes. Ciamath is holding a sweater as per my description up to herself. “Would you mind looking the other way for a moment?”
I do precisely that. About half a minute later, I get a tap on my shoulder. I turn around. Ciamath seems content to only wear the sweater - what remained of her outfit that wasn’t armor lay on the dresser by her bed. “So how does this look? Is it as you imagined?”
Suddenly I get a memory of something. Something I recall being asked to do at times when I was trying something new on… but who had asked me, I can’t recall. “Twirl,” I request.
Ciamath kicks off the ground with one foot and stands on her toes with the other, spinning a full circle once before stopping and sitting back on the bed. “Well?”
“Wonderful,” I decide, beaming and flashing a thumbs-up.
Ciamath matches my expression with one of her own. “Would you mind getting us a little more money in a moment? I might like to ask for something to drink later. Nothing I wouldn’t let you have,” she clarifies. “Besides, I already know you have plans to be awake for some time tonight.”
I shrug, producing my phone and flicking through a few menus to get to the Dataverse. “Sure, no problem. Let me know how much we spent on the room, and I can cover that, too.”
I spend the rest of the night messing around on the Dataverse a bit, along with getting enough coin to fill my coinpurse again, after taking it back from Ciamath. A little while after, Granville stops by with a mug of some kind of incredible-smelling tea for Ciamath, some of which he leaves at my bedside as well. I also decide to try messing with the Stradi-Various a bit, leaving its case at my bedside. A bit of messing around teaches me I can use it to sing - it vanishes into my throat, leaving my vocal cords feeling… a bit like jelly.
After a while spent toying with the Stradi-Various’ abilities, along with exploring the Dataverse and watching maybe too many random videos, I drift off to sleep.
Subtlety isn’t her thing, I decide, if it wasn’t obvious enough already.
She hasn’t let go of my hand yet. It’s not like I mind - she feels a little cold to the touch, but body heat’s starting to fix that issue. What’s more pressing on my mind is the fact that she seemed so uncomfortable in the store a moment ago. The last few minutes I’ve spent walking with her, I’ve been wondering how I’m going to talk to her about this, and I’m starting to think maybe it’d be best if we didn’t… or at least it might be best if we saved it for when we have a room or something.
The rest of the walk was mostly silent. A few times I would glance up at Ciamath, and fewer times I would catch a glimpse of her looking down at me with concern. However, she seemed to wordlessly play it off. Arriving at the place Ciamath had said we would go to, however, broke the awkwardness quite effectively.
“This is the place,” Ciamath declares. It looks nice enough, at the very least for a place not up to snuff with the modern world, or what I know as the modern world. Light pours out of windows, revealing shadows of people dancing and drinking and generally being happy and silly as some like to be during the night. A smile crosses my face. I would’ve never thought I’d end up in a tavern…
“...are you listening?” I feel a hand gently ruffle my hair. “Heeeey,” I complain, only to hear Ciamath giggle. “You’re a Prime, so I’m going to let you act like a grown-up. You have your own money, so I’m going to let you use it as you see fit. The only rule I’m going to make for you, however, is that I don’t want you drinking.”
I immediately catch what she means. “Okay, so, booze is off limits. I had halfway figured that’d be the case here, but…”
Ciamath cuts me off. “I would, too, but it’s not enforced everywhere. Most places I’ve been to here won’t serve liquor to anyone under eighteen, which I think is reasonable. You look nowhere near that age, so I don’t think anybody’s going to be serving anything like that for you. With that out of the way,” she finishes, “I’ll get us a room. As long as you don’t cause any trouble - and I know you won’t - you can wander around as you please. I’ll find you when I have our room.”
I nod, conceding that sounds pretty reasonable. That, and the thought of dealing with people while I have a sword over my shoulder makes me itch a little. “Okay, sounds good. Now I guess I ought to figure out what to do…”
Ciamath pushes through the door and I follow. The sound of some sort of treble-type woodwind instrument I’m unfamiliar with reaches my ears immediately. Assorted sounds of talking and cheering and yelling and even some oddly powerful whispers come next. Figures of all shapes and sizes make the place look like a sort of organized chaos, and Ciamath seems to weave through it with ease. A few people even make way for her, though I do catch notice of somebody seem to go out of their way to try nudging her off balance.
A drunk-looking, fair-haired man with a very ragged-looking beard laughs at his failed attempt with people who are presumably his friends. Aside from looking less than well-kept in the hair department, he looks relatively well-off, with what appears to be slightly nicer clothing than most I’d seen in the day. At his hip I see an axe, which unsettles me, though it makes me realize maybe it’s not entirely peculiar to be armed around here.
Another glance around makes me realize not too many people openly bear arms, or many don’t at all, unless everybody somehow has the ability to stuff a sword down their shirt without issue.
I turn my attention to where the music is coming from. Someone who looks very well-kept, almost like a noble, stands on a slightly elevated ground acting as a sort of stage dominating one corner of the room. Not far from it is a number of tables, a few booths and on one wall is a staircase, which I’m guessing leads to a few rooms.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. I nearly jump in response, but I stop myself upon realizing from the slender black-gloved fingers that it’s Ciamath. “Come. Let’s sit down somewhere - you must be hungry,” she says.
I take her by the hand and lead her to one of the booths. She emits a faint noise of shock as she follows along behind me. I sit down on one side and she sits down in the other. I rest one elbow on the table and crack a smile. “So you got us a room? We’re not gonna be homeless?” I joke. “Nice that we’re getting some food, though. I don’t think I’ve eaten all day…”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the guy from earlier being a general bother to what looks like a waiter of sorts. I can’t discern any details from their conversation at the kind of distance we have, but based on the look on both their faces, the exchange isn’t pleasant. “Neither have I, though I’m rather used to undernourishment. A life of traveling does at times leave you lacking in supplies,” she explains.
I nod, though less from actual knowledge and more from common sense. I hope I can, at some point or another, learn a bit about traveling, though. “So you’re a traveler. Any stories you can tell me?” I ask, bracing for a flurry of a response.
Before I can get one, however, I notice something put down in front of me. “A menu for you,” says a baritone voice with an almost silky quality to it. “And one for you, as well. May I get anything for the two of you to drink, or anything to whet your appetite?” I turn my head up and see the same waiter from earlier - messy brown hair, maybe not even a foot taller than myself, though his features are rather squared and rough.
On instinct I almost ask for a root beer. It occurs to me, though, that I probably won’t be able to get a root beer here. “Uh… I think just water for me,” I answer. “I will have the same,” adds Ciamath.
“Please have a look at what we’re offering tonight. If you haven’t made your decision by the time I return, I may wait - the night remains young,” goes the waiter, and he takes his leave. As he does, I can’t help but look to Ciamath and comment, “he’s so polite! Is service here always so nice?”
She’s infected by my pleased demeanor as she replies, “it always has been, though I do make sure to stop by here when I come to Camelot. Like Falconsflight,” she explains.
All the hairs on my body stand on end as I hear a loud CRASH. What sounds like glass shattering and something wooden breaking reaches my left ear, and I see - what else - bearded blondie causing trouble. I see a tray, a few large broken glasses and what looks like some kind of booze spilled on the ground. Most notably, I notice a large wet patch on his collar and upper chest, along with some foam on his chin. Looking up a little farther, he is not in a good mood.
“Did you just waste my buddies’ round?!” he bellows. It takes me a moment - the waiter. He picks himself up off the ground. His palms look faintly bloodied, and suddenly my heart sinks. Oh, Gods, is he okay? I worry, only for the drunkard’s shouting to return me to reality. “Paid for that in advance, I did! Get me another one!”
The waiter’s hands clench at his sides for a moment, though he seems to quickly regain his sense of professionalism - seemingly without the notice of the axe-wielding fellow. “Yes, sir. I will be just a moment,” he replies, and begins to walk away.
Suddenly I see the axeman pick up a glass bottle. He looks nearly red with anger, and I get the feeling this isn’t going to go well if nobody intervenes.
Nobody’s going to.
I have to.
He lifts the bottle high and, in a flash and a blur, I find myself intercepting the swing of a bottle with Beskyttende. The impact is powerful, though I manage to hold until the threat of glass shards hitting me or the waiter is gone. I lower the shield and, not quite knowing what to say, I grin cheekily. “Careful with that,” I start. “You could hurt someone.”
For a moment I see fear in his eyes, though he quickly reaches for the axe at his side. “No place for kiddies,” he sneers. “Ain’t it about time for beddie-bye?”
I sigh, though I continue to smile. “Ah, yes. Height jokes, the pinnacle of originality against somebody like myself. Though someone with such dull wit as your own shouldn’t be expected of much--”
What remains of the bottle swings at me. I duck under it and, in a fraction of a moment, climb onto the nearby bar, draw my sword and press the flat of it to the man’s neck. “Your move,” I hiss. “I say we call this a draw. You return to your table, I’ll return to mine. Just know that this will never happen again.”
I feel… powerful.
It takes me a moment to realize an axe is coming at me. I stop the blow somewhat painfully with Beskyttende, then pull back my blade and hop over the man’s head, using the pommel of the sword to deal a blow to the nape of his neck. He tumbles forward, though perhaps not as fast or impactfully as I’d hoped. As I land, I sheathe my blade and hang my shield at my back again. “I think it’s safe to say you’ve had too much,” I bark at the axeman. “And if I was the owner of this establishment, I’d kick you out.”
The waiter picks up the dazed man by his collar with remarkable ease, lifting him up off his feet. “Get out before I throw you out,” he bellows. One look into his now-crimson eyes and I’m terrified and off my power trip. “If… you mean me as well, I understand, but--”
My former combatant’s body whistles past me and out the door. The waiter’s blood-red pupils flicker with thought. All eyes are on the two of us, and if not, they’re on the door. “I saw you with Ciamath. Am I not mistaken?”
I gulp. “Yes, but if you’re punishing anybody, don’t--”
“Your meal is on the house. A mark of my gratitude, for doing what I had been meaning to do for me,” he interrupts, then dusts off his palms. While they’re not perfect, they appear to be in good condition again. His pupils fizzle and fade into little black circles again. “I request that you not take up arms in my establishment again, though I am in your gratitude this instance, Prime.”
I nod, then laugh nervously. “Sorry if I, uhm, took it a little too far… still not used to this whole ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ thing,” I admit.
The waiter remains unfazed. “You hold power, though you lack polish,” he observes. “Much like myself. You can do better, Prime.”
I shudder. “Can we-- what’s your name? I’m Joline, but I guess somebody calls me Jojo now.” I offer a hand. He accepts it and we shake. “I am Granville, proprietor of Familiar Angel’s. It is a pleasure, Joline.”
I nod. “Okay, we’re not going Jojo. Whatever floats your boat, Granville. You… you don’t have a nickname, do you?”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“...Spaghetti Bolognese powdered lightly with parmesan cheese for the Prime,” goes Granville as he places a bowl of pasta with a layer of thick, reddish sauce over it before me. “And, as is the usual, steak prepared medium well for the regular,” he adds as he places a plate covered with squares of broiled meat with hints of pink before Ciamath. “Call for me if I can be of any assistance.”
“Thank you!” I chime as he walks off. “Um, Ciamath… I wanted to say sorry for making a scene. I just saw something that needed to be done, and I did it. If you think less of me, or feel any sort of spite towards me--...”
Ciamath tilts her head. “Why would I think less of you, Joline?” I feel slightly taken off-guard. I don’t think she’s actually referred to me by name before, and if she has, she was really subtle and quiet about it - which is impossible, because Ciamath is not subtle. “You did what I would have done. If I were to think you in the wrong, I would be a hypocrite. But for you to have done what you did… using your speed to your advantage, that amazed me.”
I laugh awkwardly and nervously, tugging at my shirt collar a little. “Yeah, it amazed me, too. I don’t think I’ve ever really fought anybody in my life… I feel like if I had, I’d know, and… I just don’t. Moving like that just felt natural. Not like it was the only thing I could do, but like it was the thing to do. Do you get what I’m saying, or am I not making any sense?”
Ciamath nods. “Now I see. Fighting is a mix of instinct and strategy. Neither one is entirely relied on by any given warrior, but you… what you did was much more an act of instinct than of strategy or higher thought. You simply did. You did not think to do what you did or plan to do so, you simply carried out the actions.”
I gulp down a mouthful of noodles and nod in agreement. “Sounds about right.”
“That can be very dangerous,” Ciamath adds. “When you were fighting a man drunk and blinded to reason, you could afford to fight more sloppily. Against those trained with a weapon in a clear state of mind, you will have no such luck.”
I have to admit that fighting scares me. It does more so as I realize I pulled a sword without hesitation. “If it helps any,” I reply, “I’d rather solve as few problems as I can with bloodshed. If I never need to pull this sword on anybody again, I’d be happy.”
Ciamath smiles. “That’s very noble of you,” she says warmly, though her expression drops to neutrality again. “Please, pursue that goal with caution. Primes have the blessing of Omni that they need not fear death - though I fear how long that may last. Take every step here with great care.”
I twirl a bit of spaghetti on my fork and grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way!”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“...Ooh, the room’s so nice!”
I step into the room after Ciamath. She steps out of her boots, and I follow suit, kicking mine to the side of the door. A large window with more panes than I’d bother to count vertically separates my bed and hers. A table stands under the window, and a dresser sits at the edge of both our beds. Closer to us is a sort of living room - a pair of couches, some chairs, a large table and an unlit fireplace lie in wait, covering most of what would be empty space. A shut door leads to what I would assume is a bathroom.
A shower would be nice, but I’m afraid of what I’m gonna see when I walk into that bathroom.
That aside, the regal purplish carpet beneath my feet feels nice and plushy, and I can only assume the beds - which match in colour to the rug - will be equally as comfortable. “How’d you score a place like this, Ciamath? Or is this your regular room?”
Ciamath giggles. “Where is your coinpurse?”
I check my hip and my heart sinks. “Shit-- someone took it!... Ciamath.” I go deadpan as she dangles the now-empty bag in my direction. “This is where I regularly stay. Your coin covered just over half of what we needed, and I paid for the rest. We have the room for two nights, though I asked the second night be written off for some time in the future.”
I shut my eyes and frown. “Gods, I have to keep a better eye on my money… that being said,” I warm up again and head for one of the beds, “this place is really nice. And if this is what getting pickpocketed gets me, I invite it, Ciamath.” I stick my tongue out in an attempt to bring across I’m joking.
Meanwhile, Ciamath is sitting on her bed, removing a few parts of what I can only hesitate to call an outfit. It’s then that I notice there is a degree of armor to it, it’s just that it seems to look very… not armor-y. There’s wristguards, the spaulders are the most obvious bit, what looked to be thigh-high boots is actually two separate things - a pair of ankle boots and light greaves, there’s the chestguard-thing…
...I really don’t understand this place. But I do have to admit Ciamath’s a total cutie in it, whatever it is, so I’ll let it pass.
“...What?” Ciamath asks. “Is there something on my… everything?” she manages to hold back a bit of laughter.
I find myself without words for a moment, and I feel a sort of hotness rush to my face. “I, well… I mean, I was curious… you’re… not sleeping in that, are you?” It doesn’t look like you’re carrying a change of clothes, so…”
Silence.
I decide to keep going. “So… I thought I might make you something. With Omnilium,” I add crucially, holding my hand before me and calling upon a ball of the stuff. She sits back and watches curiously. “If that’s the case, by all means - surprise me,” she replies.
I shut my eyes. Something comfortable… but maybe something cute, too. Something I won’t get funny looks for conjuring up, though. Something… like a sweater! Not something puffy or bulky, just something light, like Ciamath seems to like. Maybe white would look nice on her… maybe with a turtleneck. Maybe a ribbed sweater would be nice? What’s… what’s a ribbed sweater again?
“...Oh, how interesting,” Ciamath remarks somewhat gleefully. I open my eyes. Ciamath is holding a sweater as per my description up to herself. “Would you mind looking the other way for a moment?”
I do precisely that. About half a minute later, I get a tap on my shoulder. I turn around. Ciamath seems content to only wear the sweater - what remained of her outfit that wasn’t armor lay on the dresser by her bed. “So how does this look? Is it as you imagined?”
Suddenly I get a memory of something. Something I recall being asked to do at times when I was trying something new on… but who had asked me, I can’t recall. “Twirl,” I request.
Ciamath kicks off the ground with one foot and stands on her toes with the other, spinning a full circle once before stopping and sitting back on the bed. “Well?”
“Wonderful,” I decide, beaming and flashing a thumbs-up.
Ciamath matches my expression with one of her own. “Would you mind getting us a little more money in a moment? I might like to ask for something to drink later. Nothing I wouldn’t let you have,” she clarifies. “Besides, I already know you have plans to be awake for some time tonight.”
I shrug, producing my phone and flicking through a few menus to get to the Dataverse. “Sure, no problem. Let me know how much we spent on the room, and I can cover that, too.”
I spend the rest of the night messing around on the Dataverse a bit, along with getting enough coin to fill my coinpurse again, after taking it back from Ciamath. A little while after, Granville stops by with a mug of some kind of incredible-smelling tea for Ciamath, some of which he leaves at my bedside as well. I also decide to try messing with the Stradi-Various a bit, leaving its case at my bedside. A bit of messing around teaches me I can use it to sing - it vanishes into my throat, leaving my vocal cords feeling… a bit like jelly.
After a while spent toying with the Stradi-Various’ abilities, along with exploring the Dataverse and watching maybe too many random videos, I drift off to sleep.