And what did she know, Rora was right. Mila had escorted her favorite duckling back to their home, where they had snagged a table for long enough to go over their spoils and decompress, but after a couple of hours, they stashed their goods and split up.

Mila was not sure where her friend had gone off to but Mila had gotten a jump on some of her easier chores around the inn. Hinges got oiled and realigned, banishing any squeakiness that had managed to slip into the joints, and a few locks got tightened back up, vanquishing any looseness that made them a hassle to use.

Neither task took more than a screwdriver, a hammer, and a smidge of grease, hardly a brain-crunching challenge, but that just meant she was mentally chomping at the bit for when she returned to Orist the following day for the hope of future discounts.

Their issue was a much more fascinating problem. Apparently they owned a family heirloom of sorts, a big boxy monstrosity that amounted to a giant mechanical calculator that used a crank to register when it was time to math the stuff. Most fascinatingly, to Mila, it was not in the base-2 system that she knew how to do things like that with, a consequence of her college education and too much Minecraft. It was regular ol’ base 10, ticking away with a vast array of gears and little spindles and shafts. It took a while of Mila’s head being stuck in through the access door and Orist doing basic addition on the machine at her direction, but Mila eventually put her claw on the problem - a gear-shifting lever had somehow gotten knocked out of alignment.

Once identified, it took a bit more time for Mila to manage carefully infiltrating the machine to fix the issue, but she eventually managed to worm her arm in deep enough to adjust it to its proper place. Only after assuring that Orist was far away from the controls of the machine, though.

That all ended up taking several hours, more than expected but seeming like no time at all. The next couple of days helped even everything out - the weather drying out a bit let Mila and the others do some practice outside, and Mila finished up the rest of her chores, even if they did not have the big excitement of a mechanical calculator.

Mila even took the time to crack open her big instruction manual and begin truly internalizing some new maneuvers, primarily centered around using her new tail weapon. It made her feel particularly dangerous, which in turn had her feeling pretty good.

Beyond her exercising, which still had no small amount of marveling at her speed and flexibility, Mila mostly stayed in. Pulpy novel goodness was a comfort food for the soul, and even after she had eased much of the stresses from the last two weeks, she found herself not coming up with much reason not to indulge.

She was still in the midst of the second act for one of the trashyish romance books (Heather still was containing her ass-kicking potential and it was driving the kobold up the walls) when Aluca somehow managed to infiltrate her unlocked room and bodily pry her out of her reading den.

“You’ve hardly left for days, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you swiped my blankets for your… nest,” he accused, meeting the disbelieving harumph with a raised eyebrow, the second coming up to stave off the excuse that yes, yes, she had come out for the necessary chores and to practice stabbing imaginary people to death. Mila could already hear him picking apart her defenses, and part of her agreed with the phantom arguments.

Her brush with law enforcement, piled up with the grisly work just days before, had been rough. While the whole “getting isekai’d” thing was a big monkey wrench in the works that she was in no way going to bring up with her friends, it did not actually make the bullshit any worse. Pair that with her actually feeling better, and it was likely time for her to do something else than continue tearing through the book haul.

And so she split the difference, plodding along after the man while keeping her novel tucked under an arm. That way, she could peek some pages whenever she had the opportunity, and still be around for the food and drinks and whatever nonsense arguments that she felt overqualified to weigh in on! Just one of the many ways that Mila felt she exemplified the best of a kobold’s many archetypal traits, clever as she was.

Less clever, and in no way unexpected, was how little progress she actually made on her book once she got downstairs and into a booth. The clientele was nicer than usual, a little less Rat-Hate than she preferred, but every time she’d drift away from Aluca and Hughstace’s lopsided conversation and into the written words, they would inevitably spout off some opinion or fact that blatantly needed correcting, bringing her back.

Were she keeping track, she surely must have read the same left page a dozen times before she admitted to herself that no reading was gonna get done, thunking the novel onto the table and sliding it further away out of her reach.

A good amount of the time, once she had put her book away, was spent by their resident human lamenting his bullshit magical abilities, something of a chronic topic for the fellow. While Mila could admit to herself that she was a bit jealous of being able to vaguely gesture and sprinkle some new age ingredients to produce nonsense results, she was vocally sympathetic to Aluca’s points of contention - those ingredients were expensive, unreasonably so and the price was always going up, and the work of a wizard was not what he had ever wanted to do.

No, his actual interests were of the chemical kind, although that included a good bit of biology for the Fantasyland analogue of the profession. But by his own telling, his family had wanted him to train in the mystical stuff for prestige and purpose and yada yada, and he had been unwilling to stand up for himself at the time. His spine had only formed years later, when he ditched the family business to leverage his talents for himself, even if he did not feel passion for them.

They were all, one or another, running from something. Well-adjusted folks avoided tromping out into the dangerous wild world and running towards the pointy bits. But where Hughstace’s circumstances were completely unknown and Mila tended to give an invective-filled sentence summary for herself, Aluca laid it all out, dissecting each little factor.

Others might try to paint his rehashing as a pity-party-type-deal, but Mila would likely tell anyone saying that to, kindly and quickly, fuck off. Hughstace would not say that, but the kobold pinned them as being of much the same mind. Trying to process all those expectations, how they interacted with what Aluca wanted for himself, where his talents and existing knowledge laid, it was not easy. Mila strongly suspected it never would be, and while she was up front with Aluca on the topic, she also made sure to reiterate that he was not at fault for anything negative in the situation.

That all the discussion meandered and was constantly interrupted by drinks and several orders of steamed catfish and potato dumplings meant she had no clue which end of the conversation was up when Naw-Naw finally glided over to the table. Mila did not actually know if the gnoll had been in the kitchen or outside, but watching them slip onto the bench and, without slowing, bodily slide Aluca further in was a treat that disrupted the talking enough that a change in topic was clearly needed.

Mila, much more focused on stuffing her face with the pierogi-adjacent treats, let the others figure that out for her. So naturally, she should not have been surprised when she was brutally, verbally ambushed.

“So, Mila. While we have you here… what’s the deal with you and Rora?” Aluca slung her way, right as her jaws snapped shut on a morsel. It took her a few seconds of chewing and a hearty gulp to be ready to answer, being the classy lady that she was.

“Like, with that? Things are mostly normal, we went shopping.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

The others had been informed of their brush with the local law, and had been understanding of Mila’s reaction, so that probably was not it. Naw-Naw’s follow-up was not the sudden illumination that it felt like it should be either. “Ya goof, he’s talkin’ ‘bout the two of ya. Ya know.”

Naw-Naw made a gesture, bringing their two sizable hands up parallel and then hopping them together. Mila looked at the hands before straightening up in her seat, eye ridge quirked. They could not mean….

Or maybe they could. Maybe Mila’s odd appreciative glance was less subtle than she thought. It caused her to blush a bit, heat rushing to her face and scales rising just slightly along her cheeks. A glance around the room was unneeded to ensure that Rora herself was not present, but was done anyway.

“I mean, well, shut up. I dunno. Maybe?”

Truly, a poet for the ages. One who was wasted on her uncomprehending audience, apparently.

“Like, I don’t want things to be weird, right?,” she tried again. “We all work together, it’s not the safest work, and, well….” What happened when she completely bombed that relationship, too? Mila left that unsaid.

She knew she was not that most even-keeled kobold, after all. She would be the first to admit that she seemed to oscillate between anger at the world at large and sadness that she was not acting on that anger enough, even if she did not know how. And Mila did not want that to splash all around her like stomping through mud, especially if it meant getting mud on Rora.

The look that the other three shared amongst themselves was suspicious, though. A silent message passed among them and right over Mila’s head, which in turn gave her the sense that a pit was starting to open up under her feet.

Hughstace was the one who spoke. “What about the Saturday before we left for… the last job?” The mention of the job put a momentary cloud over all of them, but Mila set to wracking her brain, brows knit, and the others watched her even as the pit below her grew, larger and hungrier.

The Saturday before had been started in a different bar, a change of scenery in part because the establishment was trying out a new dish and Naw-Naw had wanted to sample it. Mila remembered not liking it, while the others had enjoyed it enough - some kind of stringy plant thing? Shitty eggplant squash stuff, no clue what it actually was. Leaves were involved. After some time there they had returned here and kept drinking, brought the party back with them and….

And probably kept drinking, because Mila’s memories swiftly vanished into nothingness, obliterated by enough alcohol to kill a bear and an empty stomach because the food had not been tasty.

Mila could feel the pit creep up into her metaphorical stomach now, its looming dread hanging over her too. The three knew something because they remembered, and given the topic, she wanted to scream. Instead, one hand found the edge of the table, latched on hard, and pulled her forward to fiercely whisper through clenched fangs, “What about that Saturday?”

The others at least keyed in that something was wrong and stooped low over the table to meet her, Aluca moving a hefty glass out of his way. “You got, uh, pretty tipsy,” he informed, which, yeah, she was catching onto that fucking fact. “And after a while, you and her wandered off to… have a chat. Less sneaky than you thought you were being, though.”

Mila could feel the presence of deeper meaning in the words, although how much was there she did not yet know. Her toe claws clung to the edges of the pit, holding her up and waiting for the barest breeze to plunge her into the frozen abyss, yet somehow intuiting that their time was imminently up. She closed her eyes briefly, sinking down and forward so that she could halfway press the top of her face against the table before muttering, “‘Have a chat’ like what?”

Mila did not want to look at the others, to see their confusion or pity or condemnation for what she was implying here.

“Er. Well. A quite pleasurable one. Rora seemed to be… very vocal about her enjoyment.”

The cutlery on their table began to rattle and shake as Mila’s other hand also found its grip on the table, small muscles straining to try and lift the heavy wood up high enough that Mila could slip under it as it fell and be squipped flat. Anything to escape, even if it meant not existing. The abyss was upon her, dragging her down, and she was a big dumb fucking idiot who, quite clearly, maybe had a binge drinking problem.

“FUCK!” escaped loud and clear with the last surge of her minuscule strength against the furniture, enough to silence the other patrons that were present.

The reiterating “Fuck” came softer as Mila’s muscles gave up, letting her body pool up on the table and drip down some into the seat. A viscous puddle of big dumb idiot.

It explained the weird little moments that she had just barely picked up on with Rora, too, the awkward looks and pauses. Mila should have known that she had screwed things up, but even if she had put that together, this was a fuckup far more colossal than she would have imagined. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands, squeezing hard and barely even feeling the prickle of claw tips.

Naw-Naw had silently changed seats and slid in close, hand reassuringly on Mila’s back, but it caused a spike of anger to rise up within the kobold. Her metaphorically melty form congealed and Mila jerked up, ready to lash out, but the words died before they got anywhere close to her lips.

All three were worried, really worried about her, and even she could see that. It would have been much nicer if any of them had said something sooner but biting at them would just be an attempt to blame anyone else other than herself. And beyond that, they….

“You don’t understand, y’all.” Mila’s voice was low and she could feel her traitorous body waver the sound, just a little bit, to match her eyes that suddenly felt watery. “It’s a kobold thing. It’s… ugh.”

“It’s a whole long thing and has gross biology reasons and babies. But kobolds don’t do one night stands. Courtship is a whole long thing and just….”

The explanation did not pick up, and in the gap, Mila hoisted a heavy cup of water and drained it. She definitely did not use that as a distraction to swipe at her eyes and try to recenter herself. And if she did, she definitely succeeded and she was the picture of perfect calm.

“Darlin’, explain it to us slowly. Take your time, it’s alright…,” Naw-Naw reassured. Mila chose not to recognize the vipery gaze that Hughstace swept the room with, telling anyone still hushed in the hopes of getting some new gossip just how well that would be taken. Those who had been holding out for scraps caught the message and got back to their own conversations.

The boiling cauldron of sadness at how Rora must feel and anger at herself continued to churn and bubble and hiss but Mila took a little bit of time, not making it any less bitter or volatile but moving it off the heat, just a smidgeon.

After a little bit, enough time for even the more resolute eavesdroppers to take the hint and fuck off, Mila tried to start over. “Kobolds have a lot of hatchlings. And healthy kobolds have a whole lot more, when they get around to it.” And because it needed to be reiterated, she did, “A lot.”

“So for us, ‘proper romance’ is slow and drawn out and just… not like the stupid books we read. Not that there’s anything wrong with all that,” Mila fluttered a hand, waving off the nonexistent defenses from the non-kobolds. Hell, Scienceland Mila grokked it, even if her style had been more leaning into certain stereotypes about what was brought to a first date. “It’s just not how things are done proper for us. It’s scandalous.”

There were sounds of acknowledgement from the mammals, a grunt of understanding and a pair of thoughtful hums.

“And I, fuck. What, I got way too drunk, whisked her away, ravaged her, and then I just go on like nothing happened because I don’t remember jack shit? What a piece of shit thing to do.” Tears threatened to rise up again, burning hot.

“‘Ravaged’ might be you reading too many bodice rippers,” Aluca oh-so-helpfully supplied, and nearly earned an empty cup to the face if Hughstace had not shot a hand out to intercept. While the vessel clinking down onto the table was firm, it was the human who caught the rebuking glare.

Mila had more on her plate, though. Her mouth opened to spill out something more, but there was no defense for her actions, not one she could find nor one she would field if she could find it. It took a few tries before anything burbled up, “If I wanted to do something, if, that’s all… I wanted to do things right for her, ya know? Fuck. Not take advantage of her and hurt her and ruin everything and….”

Her mind raced around in circles, no clue where to go, and Mila’s words died with it. Thankfully, she was not the only person at the table. “Now, I reckon this does change some things, I think,” Naw-Naw slowly supplied steadily, watching carefully to make sure their words were landing properly. “For one, we should have said somethin’ sooner. Immediately, since you were up that bad. But!” A heavy finger prodded at Mila’s chest from across the table, straightening her up a little bit.

“There’s no way you did anythin’ that Rora wasn’t fully enjoyin’ and party to herself. And you only messed up how you think Rora would wan’ things. That you are thinkin’ of what she wants is good, but it’s a damn sight better if’n you just listen to her, yah?”

“Your best bet is to do just that. Talk to her, listen to what she has to say for herself. Talk for yourself. I canno’ speak fully to the matter, but I’m pretty sure you’ve botched things much less than you think.” Having said their piece, Naw-Naw eased back, nodding once deeply.

Aluca actually piped in with a tidbit that was genuinely helpful. “You’re getting in your own head too much.” And after a few moments, Mila hesitantly nodded too. Maybe, hopefully, she was. And at the very least, she owed Rora an explanation for something. Anything. Sitting silent as a stump certainly was not the right thing to do.