Speaking of repeated patterns, I have a feeling I’ll be having to interface with my inventory on occasion on Rayileklia, excruciating though it may be. I wish I had the bag that hides inside Luni’s harp, the one that seems to have extradimensional storage space. Or the one that we found that she gave to Linti that had the same properties. Stowing all the weapons and magic items in physical space is a hassle. I’m probably spoiled with how reliant I am on my inventory, the abilities tied to it, and my space magic. I’ve also got a veritable fortune in duplicates of one deadly spear that I hope to never introduce to Rayileklia. A single copy of it could probably sell to traders, collectors, or warriors, for vast sums. I don’t want to risk bringing even a single copy out of my inventory however.
Harriet asks, “May I offer a suggestion?” My raised eyebrow and slight nod confirms that she should continue, “If you are looking to be less conspicuous, perhaps a rain poncho with a hood for, um, Teuila was it? Lovely as you are young lady, your appearance is definitely not the norm.”
Teuila looks downright bashful as she interlaces her fingers together and drops her hands to their lowest point. She swivels slightly, avoiding our gazes as she mumbles, “Oh, um, thank you.” To recover from her embarrassment, she faces away and raises her right hand to scratch the back of her head while pretending to inspect carvings along the walls.
Mairess Harriet Du Pon De Brook queries, “Not used to compliments, that one, is she?”
I flush with my own embarrassment. Have I not complimented Teuila enough in our decades, or centuries together? Hm, it’s not that. Emotions are still complex for her, hard to process, even more difficult to display the way that she wants. I shake my head in response, not being able to come up with a succinct answer, at least not one that I’m willing to share. Teuila’s emotions and how she handles them are private, privileged information. I wouldn’t betray that trust, or share it, unless she asked me to, or I could somehow tell that it was the right thing to do based on her wants or needs.
Harriet strokes her chin thoughtfully. The slight sag of the flesh in her aging face causes her to briefly create a double chin whenever her thumb pulls forward. She decides to conclude our trading, and wraps up all of the bookkeeping in scant moments.
Our host states, “I’ll need to summon a partial council. If you’re willing to part with any more gemstones or foreign valuables, the council would need to be apprised before I purchase more. I’d be grateful if you would strategize, and return to speak with me before you set out. Perhaps you can see our San Tiago. He was not keen on my last plan, but may be keen on what you come up with. He’ll also be able to direct you to, hm, local resources. If you catch my drift.”
I nod appreciatively. I do indeed catch her drift. Inconspicuousness is something I’m striving for at the moment. We’ve already made unintentional waves with Keeley Johnston. I’d prefer to avoid making the same mistake twice. She indicates where to find Tiago’s apothecary, and home, amidst the layout of the town, saying that it’s coming time for lunch soon. How anyone can tell what time it is, without a visible sun overhead, is a bit baffling. I don’t see a clocktower or rain dial or anything either. Teuila and I must have been marching through the night to get here, and though Te might not be, I’m already feeling a tad exhausted. Waving, the two of us take our leave of Harriet Du Pon De Brook, our honorable Mairess and host.
I ask Teuila, “Te, do you need to take a break at all or anything? Our bodies are a bit different here. Eating is different, healing might be different. I don’t know if exhaustion is the same. At least we’re still not like humans back home, but, well, you know.”
Te shrugs, “I don’t actually know, dinkbutt. I’m not really tired or anything. I’m mostly pumped up. Plus that Tiago guy seemed nice, I’m keen to meet his hubby. I don’t know about you, but part of me thinks they might remind me of Lao and Ag. Lao was so good at taking care of us, kind of like our doctor, you know? I’m hoping Tiago’s husband is a silly storyteller, or something.” Her face droops with sadness as she realizes what she’s talking about, “Sorry, forget I mentioned --”
I wrap my arms around Teuila as tears stream down my cheeks. Teuila playfully socks me in the gut, bonks me in the arm, and raps me on the head as we stand in the constant drizzle. She sniffles and tilts my face up to meet hers. We kiss, for what might be the first time on Rayileklia, at least with as much passion as we’re currently demonstrating. Our hopes for home, our fondness for our family and each other, all of our love, we try to pour into a kiss that necessity demands take the place of our psychic bond.
And of course that gets whistles and hollers from townsfolk, catcalls I think they call it. Ugh, humans. The moment thoroughly spoiled, we wander around town vaguely in the direction of Tiago’s apothecary. It’s almost exciting to take note of the swath of people preparing lunch, or stopping a task to head somewhere to get lunch, or otherwise change up what they were doing suddenly. With how closely this resembles Earthly customs, I’m reminded of how stark a contrast our world is to this one.
On Can’Z’aas, we all just sort of bought provisions from magical shops, or ate from our inventories whenever we felt like it. Well, we operated that way at least until the shield needed to be constructed. Linti was pretty regimented in awakening pre-dawn to go dungeon hunting, but she was the only person I knew like that before we had to start building the shield. We didn’t have work shifts or anything seriously scheduled for the most part. The humans did, and they took well to the construction of the shield, but for us critterkin, well. The thing that had the most regularity for any of us was that eventually we’d all retire to wherever our families called home. Many of our families had one or more dedicated storytellers to help wind down the evenings with tales or histories. We may or may not have shared a meal during that time, again, nothing was set with regularity.
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Taken a different way, our lives were fantastical, magical, extraordinary. Humans lives were subjected to aspects of magic, but even those were regular, or regulated. We could bounce back from injuries, so we could carry on moving from one whim to the next. Humans had to suffer a healing process like the one in my memories of Earth. They had to have economy, and work, and schedules, and just, so much of what I’m seeing here on Rayileklia. Yet something tells me I’ll see another facet of human life entirely in the Celestial Imperium. Aasimovia might be teeming with life, despite its mass of undead, but it’s also laid back in a way most humans on Can’Z’aas or Earth could never hope to be. Perhaps it’s because of their faith.
Hm, speaking of teeming with life, I’m surprised we didn’t run into any wildlife whatsoever on the way to Autumn Brook. Though, I suppose, wildlife probably has adapted to remain better hidden, in safer cover, on Rayileklia. They’d have to, to survive the constant bombardment of acid rainfall. That begs the question of what happens to all these cats and dogs and other animals bounding about the city. Do they all have homes? Or do they simply find stoops to rest on with awnings overhead?
Teuila begins to excitedly point something out, and suddenly I’m jolted back to reality as she’s inaudibly squeeing. She virtually pleads with her eyes after she sees that she’s made me aware of the shopping row that excited her. Huh, it looks like at the end could be a sort of leatherworks, or clothier, or something. We might not need San Tiago to find local resources, as Harriet put it, after all.
Teuila apparently had that far destination in mind when she realized we were in a sort of merchant’s row kind of a street. There are woodworked items to the northwest of us, pottery and clay cookware to the north, fishing equipment northeast, but along this southern row, further from the docks, is a line of clothing stores that ends in aforementioned leather and fur clothier.
I’m always startled to remember that, though she’s a warrior through and through, Teuila never had access to the things that allowed her to show her excitable side, save one time in Eimsas. It might even be a part of what, to her, defines her femininity. A portion of the subconscious reason that she identifies with female pronouns, even though none of us critterkin have, well, the biology related to either sex.
Is it inherently feminine to enjoy looking at, or shopping for clothes? No, I don’t necessarily think that. I do however think that Teuila might call it part of her girly side, her words, not mine, if we were in our psychic bond right now. After all, I know her through and through, to the very depths of her core. We’ve spent decades, maybe centuries, mapping out her psyche, exploring the facets of her emotions, or even just lazing about in idyll bliss, talking about whatever suited our fancy.
Oh, I’m being dragged along by a happy, excited Teuila. She virtually skips as we approach the shop that caught her eye. I’m not even sure how she spotted what it was, since it’s at the end of the row. Maybe it has a scent or an odor? I’ve been without a sense of smell so long, that I forget if that’s something we could use to navigate with.
Te pauses outside the shop as inspects the leather cuffs she wears. They’re similar to archery bracers, with a longer guard on the inside, to prevent the snap of the bowstring from skinning her inner forearm. She’s ambidextrous, so having two of them makes sense. I’ve seen her shoot both right-handed, and left-handed, depending on the space available. The bracers’ sylvan iconography is distinct from anything else she’s wearing, but most of our clothing is basically ruined with mud, so everything is a dull muddy brown at this point. Symbols and designs don’t show up at all. The bracers actually do have some sort of magical archery enhancing effects, and small hidden pockets but we’ve never really explored their full benefits.
Teuila wears half of a frown as she gazes down and does a halfhearted twirl, holding the air as if holding a skirt. I think Teuila’s probably a bit saddened that her gorgeous chocolate-and-cherry dress is all messed up with acidic mud. We’ve both taken to wearing the white Valkyrie gear, the padded clothing that goes under the armor. Of course it stained even faster, more noticeably, than her dress, or my leaf leather gear, but it holds up better against the acid. There’s an ever-so-slight fraying of her normal clothes, that the Valkyrie gear doesn’t display, after hours of trekking through the acidic drizzle.
Teuila lets the drizzle help her wipe down her white clothing, running some mud off of it to the ground below. She looks a fair deal more presentable than me. But she also looks like some kind of fantasy being compared to humans. No normal human has this lustrous, thin though it may be in this form, beautiful layer of copper fur, or tail, or just, most of her gorgeous features that make her Teuila. Regardless, lacking any self-consciousness, Teuila saunters into the store, silently begging me to follow. She spies the only other individual in the shop, and heads straight for the man at his counter.
Te’s chattering excitedly at the shopkeep who appears to be partially taking a break, just keeping an eye on the two of us, as we’re the only ones in his store at the moment. He doesn’t appear to be responding to Teuila at all, just nodding along as she speaks, while he eats. Te yells a thanks as she darts off to browse his wares. Teuila eyes some corsets with curiosity. She then inspects several jerkins and gambesons. There are signs that everything is hand-crafted by Berinon Tanner.
The fellow at the counter looks like he might be named Berinon Tanner. He looks like he might be named a lot of things as he spears a hunk of cheese with the tip of a carving knife. Despite the rough stab, he nibbles the cheese, savoring it, between large mouthfuls of a hunk of bread so warm that it still lightly exudes steam. I unintentionally lick my lips as I salivate at the idea of more food that isn’t just digital fish, cragbeast meat, or insect flesh. Being in my short, cherubic form, I probably look like some poor beggar child staring at his food, so I quickly avert my gaze and bumble about the shop, trying to pretend to look interested in his wares.