"Ahooeny caeouu drughaaen peeood?"

Lorelei didn't say anything.

"Reeodunda aeeoghuth fluaeurn.Traeeneth juoorun aeeeuught?"

Lorelei still didn't say anything.

"Aeeouned eoueauuu droouiiie . . ."

"Does anyone know what the fuck Pete is trying to say to me?"

Lorelei knew that her temper had become a little shorter than usual since reading the slew of missed notifications from her Guide and, subsequently, the Regional System Administrator. Conscious of not letting her poor humour impact the group, she'd been doing her best to maintain a sunny disposition as they began their stumbling journey across the city. And she'd been, largely, pulling it off. That is, right up until an elderly northern Tank decided to strike up a conversation with her. The fact that he was still pretty much naked as he did so didn't do much for her mood.

"Can you seriously not understand him?" Michael materialised out of a shadow beside her, his sister, as always, glued to his side.

Lorelei smiled a tight grimace of apology to Pete, who blithely waved it away. "No. Not at all."

The Veiled Stalker frowned, once again reinforcing in Lorelei's mind his startling similarity to a bemused rodent. "I mean, he's from Newcastle. It's not like he's not speaking English or anything!"

"She's a right snooty cow, this one," Michelle commented ever so helpfully. "Bet she's never even spoken to anyone working class before."

Lorelei almost gasped at the unfairness of that. Fortunately, though, she managed to restrain herself. As she was currently eight minutes away from losing possession of the Skill - the talent she had 'stolen' from something called a [Grizzled Belcher] that had been within her Skill's 'active' range when the reset came - this was a very good thing. Gassing her companions to death was hardly the best way to make friends and influence people. It was embarrassing enough that she had to stay downwind of them all.

"It's not a class thing," she said. "I'm the first member of my family to go to university . . ."

"Oh, whoop-de-doo! Proper little Ron Weasley, aren't you?" Lorelei wasn't sure what she had done to offend Michelle. And what was it with the women in this group? She had Hild, and now Michelle, wanting to claw her eyes out, and Chrissy saving her life with a stripper pole. Much more of this, and they'd need to start a girl band and marry Premiership footballs.

"Aoeudhfgtre?" Pete asked, looking concerned at the rising tension.

The two Veiled Stalkers turned to look at Lorelei. "Well? He asked you a question."

Lorelei took a deep breath - which nearly made her vomit. Seriously? How much longer was this Skill going to last? - and tried to find her calm. The loss of her System Guide's snarky words was playing on her mind more than Lorelei would ever want to admit aloud. From the very first moment that the integration had taken place, she had been able to call on it to help her find her centre, even if, most of the time, it was just to have a proxy focus for her feelings of anger and bafflement. She found it helped to have something to rage against. But there had also been comfort in having access to something that knew what was happening. She hadn't realised how much she had got used to that.

"Look," she said gently to Pete. "I'm so sorry, Pete. I don't know why, but I just can't make out what you are saying."

"Snooty. Cow."

Ignoring Michelle, she took the tank's calloused hand in hers and looked into his eyes. The fact doing so was the best way not to look at the rest of his semi-naked body did nothing to detract from the sincerity of her gesture. "Is there something you need from me? That you want me to do?"

"Fuck's sake, love, he's not fucking Lassie!" Michael said, and then started barking madly at his sister.

"What's that, Mick?" she asked, playing along. "Has Timmy fallen down the old mineshaft?"

"Is there any chance at all you two could, you know, fuck off?"

Then, an idea occurred to her, and she turned to face them fully, letting her rancid breath blow towards them. With a few disparaging comments about her oral hygiene, they both opened portals of shadows and disappeared into them. As Lorelei watched, they each popped back into being a little way down the road, gesticulating wildly - and profanely - at her.

"Why can't I ever steal a useful Skill like that one?" she thought before remembering she was still holding Pete's hand.

"Pete, I'm so sorry. What is it you need from me?"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The big man's face creased into a frown of concentration, and this time, when he spoke - with exaggerated care - she could actually understand him. "Can ye mek us a shirt, pet?"

Lorelei almost laughed at the expression on his face as much as at the incongruity of the request. "A shirt?"

Pete pulled his hand away from hers and gestured at his naked torso. "Aye, it's not reet for an auld fella like us to be gannin' aboot starkers."

Lorelei did her best not to look down - trying to decipher his words helped. "You're embarrassed about being naked?"

"Aye. If ye could knock us up a shirt, just to tide us ower till a find some proper armour, I'd appreciate it, like."

Lorelei did not know whether it was the clearly conscious effort Pete was making to be understood or if she was actually finding it easier to understand his accent. "I'm sorry, Pete, I don't think I know how to do that. I was able to make Hild that leather chest piece because I already had the Leatherworking Skill. I haven't got anything like Tailoring . . ."

There was a soft ding in her head that, obviously, Pete heard too. He cocked his head and smiled. "It sounds like ye might've just learnt it. What d'ye reckon?"

Lorelei was torn. She had nothing against doing a little bit of needlework for Pete - in fact, she could even imagine she'd find the activity reasonably therapeutic. It was something she'd enjoyed pre-integration. Lorelei had taken up sewing to pass the interminable stretches of time in the evening that the Prick with prick had left her hanging at a loose end. Initially, it was just something to do, a way to keep from glaring at the clock. But over time, the gentle, rhythmic motion of the needle through fabric became more than a mere distraction; it had become - if not a source of joy - then at least of deep satisfaction.

Lorelei had learned to appreciate the intricacies of the craft—the snick of scissors slicing through the fabric, the delicate tension required to pull each stitch just so, and the meditative state she entered as patterns slowly blossomed beneath her fingers. It certainly beat ugly crying in front of Sex and the City.

By the time their relationship was winding down, what had started as simple hems and patches had evolved into an impressive repertoire. Lorelei had mastered French seams, deftly handled tricky buttonholes, and even dabbled in decorative embroidery, each project more ambitious than the last. The act of creation, the challenge of perfecting a new technique, had become her solace. It probably said nothing good about how often the wanker had let her down that she'd basically developed the skill set of a Victorian spinster. One of her friends had even joked that she was turning into Miss Havisham. "Although without the wedding dress to repair," the wag had added.

They didn't see so much of each other after that.

Lorelei remembered one evening in particular: the sun had set long ago, and she had just finished an elaborate floral design, the final flourish in a series of increasingly complex projects. It was then she realised she wasn't just filling time anymore; she was genuinely enjoying herself. The irony wasn't lost on her. Waiting for a man who could never be punctual had unlocked a passion she hadn't known she possessed.

"Actually, Pete," she said, her tone lightening, "now I think about it, I'd love to make you a shirt."

*

"We're going to have to kill her," Hild said, her face dark. "We've no other choice."

Steffan shook his head. "I'm not talking about this anymore, Hild. I don't know what's got into you, but we're not going to 'kill' a member of our party. Lorelei isn't to blame for the things her Class does."

"Then who is!" she shouted at the man's back as he walked away from her. "Every hour that goes by, we're playing Russian Roulette. It's just a matter of time before she steals a Skill we need at exactly the wrong moment. And even if she doesn't, we're still all sitting ducks in combat. You saw what happened with the Urban Shadow. Are you going to keep us safe from the next fuck up? What happens the next time we get 'unlucky', Steffan?"

But the young Necromancer had sped up, joining Chrissy, Kriss and Zorrobar a little further up the road. His Zombie army moved to shadow his progress, leaving the Valkyrie alone at the back of their group. Hild cursed a blue streak after him, but if Steffan heard, he ignored it.

Why couldn't anyone else see how exposed they all were right now?

And it wasn't just that Fortuna's Herald had forced a quest to cross the city upon them, with all the inherent dangers that brought with it. Hild wasn't wild about that, but it had at least bound the group a little more tightly together. To be fair, if it hadn't been a compulsory quest - which she instinctively hated - she might have suggested something similar herself. And it wasn't even what had happened with them all suddenly experiencing life at Level 40. She understood that Lorelei had been doing her best to help out and that she couldn't always control the consequences of the actions of her Class.

And it wasn't even that unexpectedly granted Title - Hold a Grudge - where she was given a 2.5% increase to all stats, providing she harboured tremendous ill-will towards someone - with Lorelei fitting that bill quite nicely.

No. It was a combination of all of that, plus how she saw Kriss looking at the younger woman.

Hild knew there was something ridiculous about the schoolgirl crush that she was harbouring for the party's Healer. She was a big enough girl to know it wasn't reciprocated - and that was fine. You didn't need to make all the shots you took. But something was grinding her gears about such a sensible, capable man preferring that chaos monkey to someone who actually had valuable abilities. And yes, she had seen the last series of Game of Thrones and was self-aware enough to see the parallels.

"You have the right of it, you know?"

Hild turned to look into Michelle's rat like face. "What?"

"She's dangerous. We'd be better off without her."

Hild scanned the group, gingerly picking its way across the ruined remains over the flyover that led to Spaghetti Junction. They'd determined that the single most straightforward way to Lichfield Cathedral was to get out of the city centre and then follow the route of the M6. Steffan had been keen to go 'cross country', but the majority voice had won out. They didn't let his Zombies vote.

"This you speaking, or you and your brother?"

"Just me for now. I'll get him on board, though."

Hild did not miss the way the Veiled Stalker's eyes were lingering on their Healer and felt a pang of disgust. What on earth had gotten into her that she was conspiring with such a creature? And over a man?

But then she watched as Pete appeared a little way ahead of them, sporting a very snazzy-looking tunic, and the rest of the group burst out in applause for Fortuna's Herald. Including - she was irritated to see - Kriss.

"What are you thinking?"

And Michelle's ratty teeth were suddenly displayed in a wide smile.