Spider Man and The Orcish Therapist

Palmira was suddenly woken up by someone slamming on her door.

"Palmira!" Osma's voice boomed from the hall. "Are you awake?"

"…What?" she croaked, blinking the gunk out of her eyes.

"Ah, good. Make sure you're dressed and meet me in my office in ten. I'll be going over your assignment one last time before you head out."

"…What?"

"Don't be late!"

She stared up at her ceiling as footsteps faded from her door. Why had she decided to join a guild again?

Ah, right. Money.

That she wasn't getting.

"…Hey, kid, did you fall back asleep?"

"I'm tempted," she groaned, but got out of bed regardless. She'd never been able to fall back asleep once she woke up anyway. "…What should I be wearing?"

"Well, you only have three outfits. Just pick your fanciest and hope it's good enough!"

Palmira groaned, but got dressed quickly and made her way down to Ósma's office.

"Excellent," Ósma nodded as she entered. She gave him a mulish glare, leaning heavily on Morte to keep herself standing. "Someone who's actually punctual. This may not sound like a lot right now, but you're exceeding all of my expectations."

She grunted.

"Of course," the old orc nodded genially. "I don't expect you to wake up this early every day—only on the days you have guard duty. And just so you know, I will be waking you up myself if you don't get up on time."

"…Why is it so early?" Palmira groaned, stifling a yawn. "The sun isn't even up!"

"Because you're taking over the morning shift. Normally house guards live in the same area as their employers, but you don't have that luxury, so you'll have to get up earlier to make it on time. Also, here," he shoved a tray towards her that she only just noticed was there. Slices of bread, cheese, and cold cuts of meat were piled on it. "Only today I'll be letting you eat in here, since I'll be taking up some of your time. Starting tomorrow I'll expect you to eat in the dining hall like normal."

Palmira blinked, and then nearly fell onto a chair. She grabbed something off the tray at random and began shoving it in her mouth as Ósma started lecturing her on her new job.

"As I told you yesterday, you will be temporarily joining the Ambrosi Famiglia's guard detail. While you are there, your job will be to stand around and look imposing. They are unlikely to give you a more important post than that. Also, while I doubt I need to tell you this, please remember that you are only a temporary member of the Ambrosi household guard, and as such you are unable to exercise any of the normal powers granted to such guards without direct supervision. Also, that even if you were a full house guard that you lack the power to arrest people in the first place, so please don't go mad with power."

"Whay, wha?" she swallowed the food in her mouth. "Sorry. Um, what do you mean they can't arrest people? I've definitely seen them do that?"

"Do you not know the difference?" Ósma frowned. "Hm. No, I suppose you wouldn't. Well, to sum it up, the City Watch is employed by the city to keep the peace and if necessary defend in case of siege, while the House Guards are employed by specific Famiglias to protect their property. While the duties of House Guards from Famiglias as powerful as the Ambrosi could be treated as interchangeable with the City Guards, they lack judiciary and political power and cannot make any official arrests."

"…Huh. I didn't know that."

"If you are ever unsure what to do, simply ask someone else what to do and follow their lead."

Palmira nodded, having planned on doing that anyway.

Ah, speaking of being unsure what to do…

"Hey, Ósma," Palmira frowned, having suddenly remembered a question she'd been wanting to ask him for a while now. For some reason, it made her feel a bit embarrassed, but she needed to know regardless and Morte was being suspiciously tight-lipped about it. "I have another question. Unrelated to the, um, job."

Ósma raised an eyebrow. "Is this a personal question or a work-related question? Because while I can answer the second, I may not be the best person to go to for the first."

"The first one. And I asked Morte, but he refuses to answer!"

Ósma frowned, leaning forward. "Okay, now I'm worried. I feel I need to know for sure now, just in case it's some ploy by him to manipulate you into doing something unwise."

"Hey!" Morte scoffed. "There's no plot afoot here! It's just—I'm going for a fun uncle kinda vibe, y'know? The fun uncle can't be answering questions like that!"

"…And now I'm worried for different reasons," Ósma sighed. "Fine, hit me. What's wrong?"

Palmira took a deep breath, and blurted out, "When I'm around Lorenzo and sometimes Chiarra I feel kind of sick. Like I'm about to puke but I can't cause I haven't eaten anything in days and my hair catches on fire and I'm not sure what that means 'cause it's never happened before and I don't know what's wrong with me because it doesn't happen around anyone else!"

Ósma stared at her for a long moment, before letting out a long, tired sigh and rubbing his forehead. Palmira fidgeted, unsure what to do, while the old orc looked like he'd really rather be anywhere else but here at the moment.

"…Okay," Ósma grunted. "Okay. Run that by me again. You feel ill around Lorenzo and Chiara? Do you mean they make you feel uncomfortable?"

"Um, no? Kind of? It's hard to explain…"

"Right…" he took a deep breath. "Okay, hear me out here, but it's possible you might be feeling attracted to them."

"Attracted? Like, sexually?" Palmira blinked. "But I don't want to have sex with them?"

The old orc choked. "What—wait, if you know what sex is, then why are you asking me about this!?"

She gave him an odd look. "Of course I know what sex is. My friend Maria is a prostitute and she has sex all the time. It's part of her job, if you didn't know."

Ósma gave her a look that spoke volumes. "Okay, ignoring that, what do you think sex actually is, and more importantly why do you think people do it?"

"Well it's, you know," she made a lewd gesture. "It's what you do when you're feeling horny. You get horny, you go to the pillow district, and you pay for a prostitute. It's a bit like going to the barber, yeah?"

Ósma looked physically pained, and Morte was making odd wheezing sounds.

…Had she, had she gotten something wrong?

"While that is a very…" he searched for the right word. "…practical way of thinking of sex, that is not the way most people think of it. For example, ah, why do you think people get married?"

"Tax cuts."

"…I'm sorry?"

"You pay less money in taxes if you're married," she told him. Really, this had been explained to her when she was a child, how did he not know this? "I was told it also comes with the added benefit of free sex, though that's probably not as important as the tax cuts. Then eventually you can ask for the Goddess' blessing to have a child, which means you pay even less in taxes."

Ósma worked his jaw, staring at her like he was seeing her for the first time. She didn't really understand why he was so confused. "…Has anyone ever explained to you what love is?" he finally asked.

"Yeah? Love is what you feel towards your family. When they were still alive I loved my mother and father. I wasn't so young I've forgotten that."

"Okay," Ósma nodded. "Right. Okay. At least that's normal. Do you know what romantic love is?"

"…Isn't that like an art thing?"

"No—well, technically yes—but no. Not in the way I mean it. It's like," he waved one of his hands in the air mindlessly. She quickly stuck another slice of meat in her mouth as she watched. "You want to be with them. All the time. You want to get to know them better. And yes, you want to have sex with them. But the sex isn't the important part, it's the—the them. You want them. Does that feel at all familiar to you?"

Palmira frowned. "…A little. I kind of want to talk with them more. And when I was riding with them it felt… nice, I guess?"

"Right, that!" Osma nodded with a sort of relieved desperation. "It might not be inherently romantic, but you feel attracted to them, yes? You want to hang out with them, get to know them better, that sort of thing?"

"…Yeah, I guess I do."

"That's completely natural. We've all been there, trust me. Otherwise, I'd say just… don't worry about it too much. But if you do, ask someone else, okay? Someone who'd be better at explaining all of…" he waved his arms around. "…This."

Palmira nodded slowly. "…Um, Thanks, Ósma. I don't know if this helped all that much, but I sort of have a clearer idea of what's going on now."

"Well, I suppose that's the best I could hope for."

They fell into an awkward silence after that. Palmira used the time to devour more of the cheese platter. She was already feeling more awake now than she was before.

Ósma opened his mouth again, before closing it. Finally, he sighed, and said, "There's one more thing I wanted to tell you before you left. Come tomorrow there'll be a Bishop coming by to inspect our guild for heretics and heathens. As such, I want you out of here as soon as possible and I don't want you back in until after the sun's set. Understood?"

"What?" Palmira glared at him, slightly affronted. "I'm not a heretic! I know I might not be the most pious woman in the world, but I go to church!"

"I wasn't talking about you," he gave her a calming wave. "I more meant the necromancer's staff you carry around everywhere."

"I don't go to church!" Morte agreed shamelessly.

"Oh," she felt herself flush. "Um, alright, I'll be out of the guild then. …Is the Bishop coming because of me?"

"What? Oh, no," Ósma shook his head. "This visit was planned weeks before you arrived. The Lady Pontiff is worried about the religious strife occurring in the Holy Volan Empire, and has been sending Bishops all over the peninsula to make sure none of us think about following their example. It's really more annoying than anything. I had to make sure about a third of our guild was out of town when they came, since we don't bother enforcing religion here. The Bishop was actually supposed to be here a couple days ago, but they got delayed by news of that hydra you killed."

"But we killed it?"

"Aye. But where there's one hydra, there's bound to be more. It took a couple of days for other teams of adventurers to clear out the whole area and make it safe enough for travel again."

Palmira blinked. She hadn't known that. She reached down for another slice of bread, only to hit plate. Looking down, she realized with dismay that her plate was empty.

"Otherwise, don't worry too much about it. This isn't the first time the north has come into conflict with the church, and it probably won't be the last. Just keep your head down and don't go pissing off any priests and you'll be fine."

"If you're sure."

"Now, that's the last of the information I needed to give you," he gave her a halting nod. "And, also, if you can't find anyone else to talk to about your… issues, you can come talk to me. Please try and find someone else first, though."

"Right," Palmira nodded, jumping to her feet. "Does that mean I should head out now?"

"Aye. You'll be reporting to their main villa in the city, located beneath Vesuvius in case you weren't sure. Report back to my office once you've returned."

"Got it," she made her way to the door, before pausing and turning back to him. "Um, and thank you for listening. It means a lot."

And with that she left.

Once she was gone, Ósma leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Teenagers."

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

--

The sky was still dark as she left the guildhall, the sun only just beginning to rise over the buildings. Despite that she wasn't alone as she made her way to the Piazza del Drago, as other early risers slogged their way through the streets past people dragging themselves home from their nightshifts. The streets of the Old Quarter were filled to the brim with people, yet the only noise was the sound of shoe against stone and the occasional yawn echoing off the buildings. Once she passed by a café that was actually open this early, and it was packed with half-asleep customers downing coffee, tea, wine, and countless types of pastries in a vain attempt to wake themselves up.

Palmira couldn't really sympathize. She always had more energy than she knew what to do with, and it took something really strenuous to make her as tired as these people looked. She asked Morte if that had something to do with her magic.

Morte called her a freak of nature.

She started carrying him upside down for that.

The closer she got to the Piazza, the more people filled the streets, some of them getting just a bit too close for her comfort. She huffed, spitting out a gout of flame that curled around her neck and played with her hair. People backed off after that, and the less savory types eyeing the young girl walking alone quickly turned around at the sign she was a mage.

Breathing easier, she made her way into the Piazza.

Unlike the streets which were mostly still closed and relatively bare of people, the Piazza del Drago was packed at all times of the day with merchants and shops, bakeries and restaurants, and even a couple people playing on flutes and makeshift drums around the square. The smells and sounds of the city seemed to wake everyone up, granting the Piazza a life that the rest of the city lacked at this ungodly hour. Though most people were simply setting up at this time of day, it still made the Piazza feel as full as it would get once the sun fully rose.

That said, the people were never the main attraction of the Piazza del Drago.

Vesuvius loomed overhead, as always. Its great skull acted as a nest for most of the city's drakelings, many of whom fluttered over when they saw her. But she shook her head, waving them back—for the first time in her life, she was here on a job instead of for them, and that meant she wouldn't have time for them today.

Instead she made her way to the villas resting beneath the rest of Vesuvius' corpse.

The Villa dei Ambrosi was home to the Ambrosi Famiglia, one of the three largest Famiglias in the city. It was a complex of dozens of ancient fortresses and mansions built beneath the ribcage of Vesuvius, connected and expanded on constantly for centuries. You could tell the age of each building by what they were made of—as the oldest were built from black scales the size of horses and bleached bone several meters in length, while the newer buildings were much less extravagant marble and limestone. Surrounding the whole complex was a massive wall of scale and stone that danced its way between Vesuvius' ribs, separating the Famiglia's land from that of the city. Between the black scale and stone and the white marble and bone, the only color she could see from the outside were the numerous golden roses that grew from gardens both within and without the walls, the Famiglia's House Crest made manifest.

When she had first arrived in the city she had thought it an awe-inspiring sight.

These days she decided she preferred the practicality of the Capparelli Famiglia in the Duke's Quarter instead.

She made her way to the walls, shaking the thought away. She was working for the Ambrosi now, best not to let her thoughts of them show on her face.

"Halt!" she flinched, despite knowing it was coming. She had to force down the instinctive urge to run. Instead, she waited as one of the guards marched up to her. It was a dwarf half her size but wielding a halberd thrice his. "Do you have business with the Ambrosi?"

"What the flying fuck is wrong with that dwarf!?"

"Yes," she managed to nod, ignoring Morte's comment. It didn't seem like the dwarf heard him. "My name is Palmira di Firozzi, and I'm here to act as a temporary guard until a replacement is found. My guildmaster said you would be expecting me…?"

"Hm. Aye, that we were. But you look a bit younger than we were expecting."

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"Probably not," the dwarf rubbed his bare chin. "But I'll be bringing you to see my superior regardless. Want to make sure we've got all our ducks in a line before we go getting you trained up."

"Surely you see it too, right? I'm not alone in this, right!?"

Palmira gave the dwarf a shaky smile, quickly wiping her sweaty hands against her armor once he turned around. She knew she was supposed to be here, but talking with city guards always made her nervous.

She followed him to the walls, being let in through a small side-door instead of the main gate. The other guard on duty gave her an odd look, but a smile from the dwarf dissuaded him from saying anything.

"Here we are," he told her, leading her into a small gate house. "The captain should be waiting for you in here."

Palmira followed him, peaking over his head to see who the captain was.

Then she froze on the spot, her expression dropping into something that almost resembled hate.

The guard captain was an Örümcek. Those people were some unholy combination of spider and man, a humanoid body with a black, chitinous shell instead of skin and four massive spider's legs sticking out the back. Eight red eyes dotted their faces, while greyish fuzz grew around their necks almost like scarves. Standing at full height, they were over a head taller than the average person.

Him being an Örümcek was not however the reason she looked at him with such hate. No, her reason was much more personal.

Fangs sleek with poison snapped in surprise when the Örümcek noticed her. "…Svani, please tell me this girl didn't try to break in here?"

The dwarf—now named Svani—gave the spider-man an odd look. "No? She's here for the job. Ósma recommended her, remember. A, ah, Palmira di Firozzi?"

"…She's what?"

The Örümcek turned back to look at her, exhausted exasperation writ all over his face.

Palmira stared back up at him with dead eyes.

Of course, Ósma had to go and find the one person in the city who'd arrested her before to be her new boss.

Palmira forced a bright smile onto her face. In a tone so chipper it was obvious it was fake she greeted him. "Hello, Signor Cherven! I didn't know you were captain of the guard now! Did you get a promotion? That's such a shame, don't you think? I think the position of lackey suited you much better!"

Cherven stared down at her. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking with his spider-like face, but the slump of his shoulders told enough. "…What are you doing here, brat?"

"I'm here as a part of my job as a law-abiding citizen of the Cadorna Famiglia," she told him through a gritted smile. "My boss specifically chose me to act as a substitute guard for the foreseeable future. As such, I… look forward to working with you."

Cherven clacked his mandibles, closing all eight of his eyes in exasperation. "What did I do to deserve this…?"

"I don't know, Signor Cherven!" Palmira continued smiling cheerfully. Yup, absolutely cheerful, no underlying resentment here. "Maybe it was when you arrested a couple of homeless girls just trying to make a living?"

"I gave you two three warnings!" the guard captain snapped. "And every single time you came back and did it again!"

"Nobody was getting hurt!"

"You were trespassing and extorting tourists with cheap drawings!"

"Cheap art that's probably worth more than this building with how famous Lenna's gotten!"

"Why are you even still here then!? Last I saw you two got picked up by the Gennarelli Famiglia! Why aren't you living it up in one of their villas right now?"

"Gee, maybe it's because those snobby rich stronzi only cared about the girl making the art and not about the girl who only made the charcoal! Maybe then if you had just kept your buggy mouth shut my friend would still be here and I would've been off the street years ago!"

"Well you seem to be doing fine now, if you've gotten a job as a city guard!"

"No thanks to you, though!"

Someone coughed off to the side.

"Um, signor," Svani the dwarf looked incredibly uncomfortable. "She's the person we were told to wait for, right? Shouldn't we just explain the job to her first…?"

Cherven twitched awkwardly, before slowly nodding. "Yes, you are correct. And I… apologize that you had to see this. It was unprofessional of me. I'll pay for tonight's drinks as an apology. Now, as for you."

It took all of Palmira's willpower not to stick her tongue out at him.

"You will be put on rotation with Svani and Ester this morning. They will explain everything you need to know." He gave her a once over. "Also, stop by the armory and cover up your Cadorna crest with an Ambrosi one. While you may be Cadorna, in the eyes of the people you must be Ambrosi. I will also…" he sighed. "I will also explain more to you later. Once I've calmed down enough to act professionally. Can I ask you to offer me the same courtesy?"

Palmira desperately wanted to say no.

But she also wanted to keep her current job, so she smiled through gritted teeth and told him, "Of course."

"Then, Svani, Palmira, you are dismissed," Cherven nodded crisply at them. "I'll send someone up at noon to relieve you of your shift."

And with that Svani ushered her out of the room, almost dragging her back to the wall.

Palmira followed along reluctantly. Not that she didn't want to leave, but she was feeling unbearably hot. Like she was being burned alive from the inside out, like fire was pressing against the inside of her skin, wanting to be let out. Like she was one wrong moment away from combusting, and she wanted to scream but she couldn't because it was almost like… like…

Like she was suffocating under the ash cloud as her lungs burned

"So," Svani knocked her out of her thoughts. "I don't know what beef you have with the captain, or what you did before you got here. But now that you're working as a guard, I just want you to know that none of that matters."

"Huh?" Palmira blinked, startled as a plume of fire burst free from her mouth. Luckily the dwarf had his back to her so he didn't notice.

"I just want to make it clear here and now," the dwarf turned to her, looking her in the eye. She had to bend down a bit to help him. "Right now, your only duty is to the Ambrosi Famiglia. Do your duty well, and everything will work out fine. Even if the captain's biased against you, he can't do anything so long as you don't act out of line. So just… follow the rules, yeah? And you'll be fine. It's only for a couple weeks at worst."

Palmira's mouth twisted, but she sighed. "I understand."

The dwarf nodded, and the two of them made their way back to the gate. "Good. Oh, and a word of advice. The captain's going to be buying us drinks tonight. Best drain him for all he's worth, eh?"

Palmira snorted, deciding then and there to do just that. But despite the idea of bankrupting the bastard, she still felt angry and maybe a little scared. She hadn't remembered that day in a long time, but somehow seeing Cherven just brought back things she'd rather kept buried.

Maybe this job was going to be harder than she thought.

"Seriously, is nobody else going to talk about the beardless dwarf!?"