The one on the left is terrified. Bringing her hand up to her face, brushing away a piece of hair that had already been brushed away, and then back down, adjusting and straightening her dress. Watching me devour the leftovers from dinner, hard bread and cold stew. Trying not to watch but keeping an eye on something unpredictable, feral.
“You must be very hungry,” says the one on the right.
She's also terrified, but being more productive about it. My eyes flicking over to her eliciting a sort of nervous smile. Chewing is difficult. Teeth sitting in my head all wrong.
They had found me in one of the communal dorms, slumped next to a bunk bed. More accurately, the newbies had found me first, but they'd gotten these two, who'd half carried me a short ways to here, a kitchen, and had sat me at a small table. There'd also been a struggle, embarrassing to even call it a struggle, weak as a newborn kitten.
“You must be a late arrival,” says the one on the right.
“Very late,” says the one on the left.
“It is after midnight,” the one on the right quickly adding. “Excuse me, but that looks rather awkward, do you think maybe you want us to help you?”
Holding the spoon is difficult, my fingernails long and jagged and cracked.
Looking over at her, not responding, and then continuing to shovel in little spoonfuls. It's delicious. Anything would probably have been delicious. Anything to fill the hollow hole in my middle. The one on the left taking the opportunity to get up and hustle away. The bowl nearly empty, so lifting it to my mouth and drinking the rest. Putting it down and emptying the glass of water again. Starting on the piece of bread.
“I'll get you some more.” The one on the right taking the opportunity to get some distance. Walking to the other side of the kitchen, watching me, and refilling the bowl and glass.
Not according to plan. Really playing dirty.
The one on the right returning to her seat, setting the bowl in front of me. The one on the left coming back with a small pair of scissors. Taking my left hand and trimming down the nails, then the right. Starting to do the same to my toes.
Finishing the bread and starting again on the stew. Noticing my left hand holding the spoon. Not according to plan at all.
“Do you think maybe-” Stopping. The voice weak from disuse. All wrong. “Do you think maybe you could help me cut my hair?” The tangled nest extending the entire way down my back.
“Maybe in the morning,” says the one on the right, “it's very late.”
“Well, you could give me the scissors and I could do it myself.”
At the words the one on the left clutching them tightly. The two slowly looking at each other and then looking back at me.
“No,” says the one on the right, “I think we'll hold on to those for now. We'll help you tomorrow.”
Shrugging and then redoubling my efforts on the stew. Both helping me to stand, tottering unsteadily, and then leading me out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Center of gravity wrong. Gait wrong. Bones wrong. Entering one of the dorms and grabbing the closest free bottom bunk. All the work and effort of the last few days, the exhaustion and full belly taking their toll. Not even managing to get under the covers before closing my eyes.
***
It hadn't been a dream.
Waking up to the sounds of people walking around, engaging in soft conversations. Someone had been kind enough to throw a blanket over me during the night. My rags left little to the imagination. Still emaciated, but less gaunt. And female, definitely female. Funny joke, probably a violation of who knows how many things if we were anywhere civilized. Going to find Carol in here and kill her real slow. Still, even coming in half dead, that stew and being able to sleep in this bed, better than being stuck in a pod. Anyway, lets see who you are.
Name: Lucilia Macarthy Profession: Runemage Level: 0 Sex: Female Experience: 500 (0) Age: 20 Until Next: 1500 Health 11 Mana 7 Stamina 13 Spirit 8 Strength (STR) 53 (1) Constitution (CON) 59 (4) Dexterity (DEX) 65 (12) Agility (AGI) 85 (17) Discipline (DIS) 73 (11) Aura (AUR) 76 (13) Logic (LOG) 67 (13) Intuition (INT) 70 (15) Wisdom (WIS) 39 (-6) Influence (INF) 73 (11)
Gave her my surname, probably part of the transfer process. But that age. Isn't the absolute lowest age for Academy graduates at least twenty two or twenty three? And then the experience, 500 from what? Maybe coming in here last night gave some. Don't remember that being the case but it's been awhile. Certainly been more than four hours since coming in, just after eight, so it could have been absorbed. Finally, the most pressing. Runemage. Enormous feeling of relief. She didn't lie about that, at least. Still, probably not going to be throwing fire. Lets take a look at the skills.
They're so expensive, all the physical ones. The magic ones, yeah, much better. There it is, Runemancy.
First rank.
Read Magic: Increases understanding of all magical writing, granting the caster 5 additional ranks of the Arcane Symbols skill. Additionally, when casting from a scroll, reduces the penalties associated with casting from spell schools outside the caster's sphere. Always active.
Not terribly exciting. Only have so many points, can only see the next.
Second rank.
Runic Shield: Creates a magical barrier, imbuing the caster with the benefits of a shield as if one were equipped, increasing melee and ranged DS accordingly. Duration is 30 minutes per Runemancy rank. Effectiveness is further increased with more ranks in Arcane Lore, Shaping.
That seems really great. Gives benefits of a shield as if one were equipped. Makes the horrendous cost of Shield Use not matter. No attack spells, though, so going to have to build for a weapon, at least right now. Suits me fine. Should be able to get enough experience to get to level 2 not fighting anything, just wandering around town. Here goes, the essentials, can always change it later if something pops up.
Name Trainings Bonus Armor Use 1 5 Physical Fitness 1 5 Simple Weapons 1 5 Arcane Symbols 1 5 Magic Item Use 1 5 Harness Power 1 5 Mana Control 1 5 Runemancy 1 5 Perception 1 5 Climbing 1 5 Swimming 1 5 First Aid 1 5 Trading 1 5 Stalking and Hiding 1 5
Much different than the Thief. No ambush, combat maneuvers, lockpicking, disarm traps, pick pocketing, thrown weapons. Single training everything, won't even let me double train weapons. Shouldn't Arcane Symbols be at six ranks, though? No big deal at the moment, figure it out later. Still able to get Stalking and Hiding, not to a similar degree, but should be fine. Low level stuff isn't quite so unforgiving. Six days, can probably hit level 7. After all that stats are:
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Health 17 Mana 12 Stamina 14 Spirit 8
Exciting getting to try something new. So the plan now: mooch off this newbie dorm as much as possible. Won't let me in after level 5, can sleep and eat here today and tomorrow, and probably no more than that. Smells like breakfast is ready, too. Time to seize the day. Throwing off the covers and, hmm. Going to need clothes. Why'd this girl get stuck with rags? And this hair is too much, huge hassle. That's the plan, then. Get some clothes, get breakfast and get those women from last night to help do something about this hair.
Standing, trying to stand, and immediately being hit with vertigo. Leaning against the bedpost, trying to clear the cobwebs. Only useful for laying on my back, it seems. Banishing the thought. This isn't going to be that easy, is it? Giving my arms and legs little shakes, trying to get the blood flowing.
Looking around. Neither of those women are in here. Anyone else look like they even have half a clue? Some of the newbies over there talking with each other in small groups or getting ready for the day. Giving me the occasional furtive glance. Doubt it. Walking back out to the corridor, walking still doesn't feel normal at all, and almost walking into some guy coming into the room. The guy giving a slight jump in surprise. Tall, very tall. Have to crane my neck back to look at him.
“Oh, um, excuse me,” Bringing his eyes down to look at me and then pulling them back.
“Those two women that run this place, where are they?” This singsong soprano is going to take some getting used to.
“They're, um,” he says, still not sure where he should look, “think I saw one of 'em in the mess hall.” You think, or you know? Swear they get dumber every year.
The guy moving aside and letting me through. Mess hall, mess hall, smells like it's in this direction, probably near the kitchen. My stomach rumbling in agreement. Scraping of silverware and clattering of plates, should be right here.
The room surprisingly full. They've been here almost two cycles now, how's it still so full? A group just about to leave, stopping and staring at my entrance. Everyone's eyes on me, the dull drone of conversation stopping. The woman from last night, the one on the right, a scandalized expression on her face, slowly twisting into fury.
It was the nearby group that had my attention, however, allowing me to finally realize a most harrowing fact, shaking me to my core. The worst surprise, possibly, since getting here. Either everyone in this group is secretly a giant, or that guy in the hallway hadn't been especially tall. How short, five foot three? Less? Five foot one? The numbers beginning to swirl in my brain.
The woman from last night marching over, In a quiet, angry voice she says, “Don't you have any sort of-” Stopping at my dead flat stare. She's taller than me, too. “I suppose you don't, now do you? You come with me right this instant.” Grabbing my hand and leading me away, unresisting, down the hall and past a series of doors before coming to one. A shower room.
“Strip,” she says. Looking at her, not comprehending. “Get those filthy rags off.”
Taking them off. Not much to take off, anyway.
“Clean yourself.” Giving me a wash cloth from a nearby bin and a bar of soap. “I'll get you a change of clothes. Something close to your size.” The words stinging like a whip.
Turning on the water and then standing under it, numbly. Delicate little hands and dainty little feet. Surreal but sort of sinking in. Hair getting heavier with the weight of the water. Squishing the bar of soap in the washcloth and then cleaning my face, and over the top of my head, letting the suds run down. Then the shoulders, arms, and pits, with wispy little hairs. Then small breasts, thin torso and waist. Then girlish hips, behind and legs. Standing up straight and flipping the hair forward, running my fingers through, trying to remove some of the tangles. Barely succeeding.
Turning off the water, standing there letting it drip off. Trying to wring out the hair and water coming out with each squelch. Getting the bright idea to try and shake it dry like a dog, stopping after a few shakes, regretting it. Finding a towel and starting to dry off, trying to pat dry the hair. There, on the wall, a mirror. A sullen looking girl with bags under her eyes. Sunken cheeks. The door opening and the woman coming back, her arms full of an assortment of clothes with a hairbrush on top.
“All set?” Much less angry now, trying to be cheerful. “Had a bunch of stuff available in our donation box. You folks always come in with such varied outfits. If I don't have anything here you can dig through, if you want. Take a seat right here, lets see if we can do something with your hair.”
Sitting on a bin she'd turned over, the brush not-so-gently trying to smooth out all the mats and tangles.
“I really like your hair.” she says, while brushing.
“Just cut it.”
“You don't want that,” the woman still brushing, “it must have taken years for it to get this long.”
“Can't fight with it. It's a liability.”
The woman making an annoyed sound. She was probably going to retort but then held it in and kept brushing. Sitting there in silence, letting her work. Finally the woman finishing, walking around me, nodding her approval.
“I wasn't joking, I'm going to need to cut it, it's too long.”
“Don't,” she says. “We can do something with it.” Pushing through my exasperated look. “Listen, it must have been something important, something special. You should try and have some more respect for that. You can't just...” trailing off. “Just try and take that into consideration before you do something that can't be undone.”
Her expression earnest, even plaintive. My first impulse to reject it out of hand. But thinking about that sullen girl in the mirror with dark circles under her eyes and wane cheeks. And then add to that, hacking off her hair.
“What'd you have in mind?”
“Braid it,” she says. “That's what some of the girls do. You can put it under your gear when you're in the field. I can show you, it's really easy.” Tough to say no, she's very persistent.
“Fine.”
“Let's do a single braid.” The woman moving behind me and pulling my hair back. “Take it in three parts and like this. This side over here, and this one here.” Continuing the entire way down. Holding the end and leading me to the mirror. “See, that looks great. I love your hair.”
The girl in the mirror still had bags under her eyes and sunken cheeks but didn't look quite so glum. It did look good.
“Okay, now you try.” She let go of the end and started undoing the braid.
It was simple, even not being able to see. After a few false starts, and then almost getting a bit lost in the middle, managing to make it all the way down. This girl's hands are pretty deft. Years of practice working on equipment, reaching blind spots and picking locks undoubtedly helped as well.
“You're a fast learner,” The woman suddenly sounding very unsure of herself. Some of the tightness that had been in her eyes last night returning.
“All thanks to you. Hey, could you get me something to tie this off. Maybe some spider's silk. Well, that's probably asking too much. Any sort of thread should do.”
“Sure. Take it apart one more time. I'll be right back.” Quickly leaving the room.
Pulling it apart and then starting again. Starts a little rough but when it gets going it's not a problem. Counting out the number of individual braids. Getting to the bottom. Hasn't been that long, one more time, getting better each pass. Done and done.
Not back yet. What kind of clothes did she bring? Certainly an assortment. No complaining, beggars can't be choosers. Underwear first. Too big, too big, too... risque. Maybe this pair, off white, plain. Looks small, but my frame isn't exactly big. One leg in, other. Not quite snug, maybe even slightly loose. Oh well. And not enough up top to worry about. Should be set.
Next pants. Digging through the pile and laying out several pairs. All too big. Maybe this pair, did pinstripes ever go out of style? Baggy. Going to need a belt and then roll up the ankles. Next a shirt. Ugh. These are the choices? Like a clown vomited up several different children's birthday cakes. Guess this one is probably the closest to my size, maybe. Orange and yellow. Or this other one. Green and red.
The woman returning, finding me lamenting over the choices, holding orange and yellow in one hand and green and red in the other. My braid had partially come undone while searching through the clothes. Okay, this one, the orange and yellow. Discarding the other. That jacket over there, dull grey, a bit tattered, will complete the ensemble. May as well embrace it. Hobo chic.
“You got it?” The woman handing over a small piece of thread without comment. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you.”
Dropping the shirt, reaching back to restart the braid and my pants falling down. Starting at the top and counting out each braid. Swinging it over to the front and then tying off the end, the dark thread contrasting with the straw colored hair. The woman standing there, watching me, her prior feigned cheerful expression had thankfully devolved into a more natural, uncomfortable one.
“Almost done, just need to get socks.”
Of course no matching pairs. This one, just past the ankle. The other, mid calf. Pulling on the shirt, roomy, grabbing the jacket, pulling up my pants and holding the front with one hand.
“Seriously, thank you.”
The woman nodding. “Let's get you some breakfast.” she says. Leading me back out the door and down the hall. Holding my pants up the entire way, clothing feeling like a tent, socks padding on the floor. Reentering the dining hall, less busy but still pretty full.
Tossing the jacket at an empty spot. Turning around, getting a plate and going down the buffet, mouth watering. Eggs, bacon, biscuits – biscuits! - and fried onions and potatoes. Filling up the plate and bringing it back to the table while holding my pants up both ways. Heading back and getting glass of lemonade. The other people at the table giving me curious looks. Ignoring them in favor of my meal.
Amazing. Thought the food had been good last night. Finishing the plate, nearly licking it clean, and heading back for seconds. Sitting fat and happy and content, feeling more energy flowing through me, the exhaustion receding. Looking around, neither woman in the room. Grabbing the empty plate, balancing the glass on top of it, and heading back to the kitchen. Here they are. At my entrance the one that had been helping me today looking up and making a face. The one from last night just stopping and staring. Walking over to the one from today, putting my plate down and then wrapping her in a hug, which she hesitantly returned.
“I want to thank you so much for what you did for me today, and for last night. I'm sorry I just dropped onto your lap and you had to put up with me. You've been far kinder than I probably deserve.”
Turning to the other one and giving her a hug. The woman standing stock still.
“Thank you, it means so much.”
Giving me an awkward pat with her hand.
Turning and finding the source of the smell. A pot of coffee. Walking over to the counter, pulling my pants up, again, because they had fallen down, again. Grabbing a cup and then filling it. This is going to be great.
It was bitter, the taste harsh and acrid. First taste of coffee, huh? Keep drinking. Oh man, if this is bitter, how awful are those herbs going to taste? Downing the whole cup.
“I am really, really sorry about this. I know I've been a pain, and I'll be out the door real soon, but I need a belt for the pants. Bit of rope'll be fine. And I need some shoes.”