Vol continued walking backwards while he considered it, not bothering to look behind herself as she walked around an older man in a purple robe.

Maybe I'll just tell her the deal's off. Not gonna deal with someone hassling me all the time just to pay for a helmet, and she's been getting a little annoying. I can get that for free at home while Rebecca's in town. Hm. Then I could go fish, couldn't I. There's some big lake over here. "Alright. I got, uh…" Carl tried to recall some of the more stupid-sounding ones. "Toiler. Laborer. Drudge." He stared at her.

She continued walking and not-laughing.

"Peon."

Her eyes crinkled.

"Grunt."

"You're joking." She turned to her left—his right—down another street, still walking backwards.

"Dogsbody."

Vol tripped and sprawled over onto her back, her hands over her face. Except then he looked closer and realized she hadn't tripped, she'd actually somehow managed to lay down onto her back mid-step, crossing one leg over her other knee, and the mechanics of such an act performed at such a speed made his head hurt. "I'm not laughing," she said loudly through her hands. "Not. Fucking. Laughing." She took a deep breath and held it.

Carl stopped next to her foot. She's… Huh, she's really not laughing. Okay, I'll give some points for effort. I probably would've laughed.

The dark-haired woman laying down on the side of the street let out her breath and moved her hands from her face. "You, uh, got some great classes, Carl."

"That must've been hard," he said.

"You have no fucking idea," she said, pushing herself to her feet. "The system's something, isn't it?"

"Yup." Carl sighed. "So all this stuff's useless?"

"Probably?" Vol started walking again, this time facing forward. "I'd have to check your stats, and I'm not in the mood for any of that shit right now."

"Do you really have to curse so much?"

"What? Because I'm a woman?"

"No, it's just… You know. If you use 'em constantly they sort of lose their effect."

"Effect can go fuck itself. I'll talk how I want."

Carl chuckled. She's a real character alright. Maybe not so much like Tim. He probably would've told me to fuck off.

"You have kids, don't you, Carl," she said, looking back at him. "Don't have to answer, it's not a question. We're here." She pointed to a sign with a shining metal shield on it hanging outside a glimmering, polished red stone building with purple lines etched into it on their right.

"You've been here before?"

"Nah, no sense covering up a body like mine with armor," she said in a tone containing a ludicrous amount of arrogance. She pulled the door open and shot him a look that he was nearly positive was meant to indicate further sarcasm or something close to it, but it was so freaking hard to tell with the stupid dating bandanna she was wearing.

"So you don't do much fighting," Carl reasoned, stepping in behind her.

"Not really. Can if I have to though."

The shop they'd entered was very small, and it was also almost exactly what Carl had expected an armor shop in a game to be like. The upper halves of a couple suits of armor hung on poles, shields hung along the walls, various armored gloves, and bracers, and greaves, and sabatons, and what even were half of those things now that he considered it, but they were definitely all over the shop. There was a raised stone countertop set into the far wall with a tattooed woman behind it and a shirtless man who was half-muscle, half-fat standing in front of it.

"Two weeks," said the woman with the tattoos.

The chubby man sighed. "Okay."

Vol turned back to him. "Why don't you browse a little?" She pointed to a cluster of helmets on a shelf against one wall. "See if any of those're close to what you want while I do some negotiating."

Carl shrugged and set to checking out some helmets. Not gonna complain if she wants to try saving herself some money. He looked at the first one.

The sound of the door opening drew his attention, but it was just the chubby guy leaving, and his companion-for-the-day was now standing at the counter.

"How long's a helmet take to make?" she asked.

Carl looked more carefully at the first one. Hm, don't think I want something with a big spike on it like this has. Would probably be hard to get into a car with it.

"What type of helmet?"

"You know, the type that goes on your head."

"I know what a helmet is, I meant the style."

Carl started looking at the next helmet over, feeling vaguely amused at another person's trials having to deal with Vol, who was sort of hard to deal with but was also growing on him the tiniest bit. This one's got a lot of holes for ventilation, I guess? No holes. Need something nice and safe. Sturdy.

"Um, I think it was something like this. And then lots of padding inside. Light too."

"You're not intending to—"

"Nah, not for fighting. It's a gift. For driving."

Carl moved on to the next helmet. It wasn't as shiny, but it did have a cool mouth guard thingy on a hinge that sort of reminded him of the armor he'd given Ir'alith, who was someone he both needed to think about and then also should probably stop thinking about, but it was somehow a confusing topic, so he decided to just focus on the present.

"A helmet for driving? Well, if you're paying. Shortest I can do is probably three weeks. Cerularia is extremely—"

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"No, no. I mean how long does it take Laetoria Cerularia to make a helmet like this?"

"Maybe a couple hours? But—"

"I want it within two days."

A fourth helmet was what Carl looked at now, and this one was much less interesting than Vol's negotiating tactic, which seemed very to-the-point but also probably not very likely to succeed unless she was willing to throw way more money than she'd implied at the problem—throwing money at problems tended to make them go away.

"No, that's—"

There was an odd clacking sound.

"How much to have it in two days?" Vol asked.

"I… I…" the woman stammered, and Carl glanced back to see her staring down at what he imagined was probably an incredible amount of currency that Vol had placed on the counter in front of herself.

"I need it today, but I know Cerularia's work is the best, and I have respect for her. How much for two days?"

"I… I sh-shou—"

"We've not finished our deal. Leave, and I won't buy your steel."

The rhyming distracted Carl enough that he wasn't even bothering to try looking at the helmets anymore and was just watching the negotiations, which were maybe swinging in his favor since waiting three weeks for a freaking helmet was insane.

"T-twenty thousand?" the woman with the tattoos said, seeming unsure.

"A fair price." There was a noise like a number of coins being tossed onto a surface. "He'll describe what he needs," Vol said, pointing her thumb back at him.

Huh, I didn't expect that to work.

Vol whispered something further to the other woman before she stepped aside and looked back at him with what he was positive had to be a smirk on her face under her bandanna.

"Um…" The woman at the counter looked back and forth between him and Vol a number of times, seeming a bit dazed, and he walked closer, taking note of the pile of coins in front of her. "What…" She broke off her sentence and grabbed a nearby pencil and started sketching on a piece of nearby paper after flipping it over. "Like this?" she asked while sketching a rough version of a racing helmet which looked just like the one he'd described earlier.

"Yeah, pretty close," he said. "Needs to have padding all around the inside too. I want it to be comfortable to wear for a long period of time."

"Do you have a preference for materials?" she asked.

Carl grimaced. "Sturdy on the outside, soft and comfortable on the inside, not too heavy? Not really an expert."

"Okay, so probably…" She began annotating the paper with illegible scribbles.

"And I want a gold crown p… Actually, can you make it like, a real gold crown going around the top?"

Vol's hand crept onto the counter and deposited another three coins.

"Y-yes, yes, of course!" the woman said, sounding a little shaken.

"You okay?" Carl asked. He was paying attention to details now, and something like this wasn't going to go unnoticed.

She nodded, suddenly seeming excited. "Of course! It will be a victory for Laetoria Cerularia to be the one to make this helmet! She'll be delighted! Will you be the one wearing it? I'll need measurements."

"No, it's for…" He grimaced. Shoot, this is gonna be tricky if I wanna surprise her. "Her head's maybe around the same size as yours? How close does it need to be?"

"Ah, for a woman. A strap can be used to adjust the fit if you don't have the exact measurements?"

"Hm. Nah, I think I'm gonna have to come back after I get the measurements somehow," he said reluctantly. "Tomorrow, I guess. Is that a problem?"

"Well…" she glanced towards Vol. "No, no, of course not. You can bring the measurements tomorrow morning, and the helmet will be ready the next day."

"In the morning," Vol added.

"Y-yes, yes," said the woman.

There was absolutely something weird going on at the moment. Carl was absolutely aware of that. At the same time, however, things were working to his benefit, and he absolutely didn't care that much as long as he was getting the cool racing helmet-crown he wanted for Mina in a timely manner. "Alright, great. See you tomorrow, then."

"Carl, I'll be out in a blink," Vol said, giving a nod towards the exit.

"Okay." Maybe she's gonna give 'em the "talk about me and you're dead" speech. He chuckled to himself as he pushed through the door and back out to the street. Nah, with her it's probably something dating-related. At least she's a bit less crazy about it than people in the other city. It was like they were addicted or… Well, maybe they were. Wonder if anyone's done any studies about…

A blue status window appeared.

Fissep increases to 1.

Carl stood a short distance in front of the door staring at the new window. What the actual heck is 'fissep'. Maybe Vol knows. He refrained from closing the annoying, unmovable status window, barely even thinking about how it was just sitting there taking up space in his vision like a really annoying leaf, or bug, or something stuck to the windshield of his car, which was something that wasn't really a problem anymore with the advances in dynamic car-cleaning systems that had succeeded the traditional and venerable wiper.

"Urgh, people," Vol said behind him.

"What's fissep?" he asked, turning to look over his shoulder.

"Mm?"

"Fissep." He pointed at the status window.

"What are you doing!" Vol hissed, waving furiously at him. "Get rid of—Fuck, too late."

"He got a stat!" shouted a female voice off to the right.

"Hey, you! What stat did you get? How'd you get that?"

"Let's go," Vol said, walking briskly back they way they'd come.

"Uh, dismiss. What's—"

"Stop him!" came a shout from behind.

"—going on?" Carl asked. He started after her.

Vol started to jog. "People," she called back to him, sounding like she was really annoyed, which was something to consider since she'd spent a lot of time here, so if she found something annoying, then probably it was gonna be really freaking annoying, and—

A blue status window appeared.

Logorrhea increases to 1.

"I got another one," he called as he ran behind her. He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw half a dozen gladiator-y people sprinting after them, looking like they were swiftly closing.

"Don't fucking encourage them!" Vol snapped. "This way!" She put her left arm out to snag the edge of the building at the nearest cross-street and hooked herself around the corner.

He charged around the corner after her and almost fell when a hand reached out and dragged him inside the building. "Whoa! Dismiss."

He was propelled through a doorway and into a chair.