“I’m back, Teral,” Penbrooke proclaimed, punching his arm to the ceiling and posing with flair. He then stopped and blinked at his surroundings. “What the… this ain’t no lake…”

Looking about himself with a crinkled brow, he extended his arms in front and moved them erratically like a maestro before an orchestra of ghosts.

“Ah right, this must be because of the auto AI feature that’s supposed to continue making progress while I’m afk,” Penbrooke mumbled absentmindedly. “I thought it would only grind xp and farm stuff though, not hand in quests and move about randomly as it likes. Hmm, I could have sworn there was a setting to control the AI behaviour, no? Where was it again?”

I was wrong: this can’t be modern Felsian he’s speaking, so it must be an older variant. I guess he really is a knight from centuries bygone, then.

After a few more seconds of conducting the spectracular music, he must have lost all hope in the band as he seemingly dropped them without notice. “Bah, I can’t find it – I suppose I’ll just have a look later. Anyway, I’ve got a new main quest here. [The Beginning of a Grand Adventure: Arrive at Fragrant Grove]. I wonder where that is—”

“Helloo, Cal,” Auntie Jane interjected as her bewilderment at his behaviour reached a tipping point. She waved her hand across his vision. “Are you okay?”

Oh no. Please don’t do anything weird here, ser.

“Ah, my most sincere apologies, fair madam,” Penbrooke said, bowing with a flourish that at once looked both elegant and absurd. “I pray I did not cause you any offence, for it was not my intention to ignore you. I confess I am well, thank you.”

“Huh?”

Disregarding her confusion, his gaze shifted to appraising the supplies on the countertop. “Those look useful.”

Ser knight, why are you ignoring her again? Look at her; she’s staring at you!

But the oddball knight did not appear in the slightest troubled that he’d left Auntie Jane hanging mid-conversation; he instead skulked up to the countertop and shifted sideways a few times until his back obstructed her view.

You’re clearly aware of her! Why did you bother to be polite if you were just going to shun her the next second?

It was almost like the knight had concluded the conversation at his greetings, thereby spitting in the face of ordinary social conduct.

Wait, what are you doing now—

Penbrooke picked up each item on the countertop and had them magically disappear; simultaneously, he paused amidst this action every now and then to glance behind him, like he was scared Auntie Jane would suddenly vanish and was checking out of paranoia to see if she was still there.

Cal was rendered speechless, baffled by what he was witnessing on so many different levels.

Auntie Jane caught on to the situation quicker than him as she spoke up following the third time Penbrooke did this: “It’s okay, you can take them. Like I said, I prepared those supplies for you.”

“Oh, even better,” the knight said with a chuckle. No longer hiding his actions, he openly took the remaining supplies.

“I didn’t know you had a dimensional storage item,” she said in a voice tinged with curiosity. “Where did you get it from? Did Lily give it to you?”

Penbrooke flashed a cheeky smile at her while tapping his nose. “A hero has his ways, fair lady.”

She pursed her lips at this, meanwhile he, having emptied the table of its supplies, proceeded to the cabinet by the edge of the kitchen; its glass display revealed crockery sets and various kitchenware inside.

Out of them, Penbrooke was particularly besotted with a decorative porcelain tea set that he lifted delicately and inspected like a prospective buyer at a luxury store.

“These look good. I wonder how much I’d get if I sold them." He picked up a closed teapot and peeked inside. "No goodies in here, though maybe they only appear once I've shattered the teapot... Should I?” Although his voice was scarcely louder than a sigh, he couldn’t hide the way his eyes were a-glitter with desire.

“Calvin,” called Auntie Jane.

Oh shit. You gotta stop at once, ser knight.

Nonplussed, Penbrooke distractedly glanced up from his piggy bank towards her, “Madam, my name is Ser Penbrooke of—” He stopped his introduction on spotting the glint in her eyes, her cold aura causing him to gulp.

“Aha, I’m merely jesting, my sweet, primrose lady.” He laughed nervously for a few seconds to clear the tension, before testing his luck again with a raised eyebrow. “Unless…”

She returned his serve with a flinty stare that bore into him, and Penbrooke rushed to place the tea set back into the cabinet with exaggerated care. “Of course, fair lady. I wouldn’t want to take more than is proper,” he said, rubbing the back of his head disarmingly.

Seeing that her expression was still steely, he grimaced and mumbled to himself, “Shit, I’ve taken aggro. I guess you can’t take stuff in people’s sightlines after all. Best I escape from here.”

He made a show of confidently walking past her towards the doorway to leave; yet he also leapt out of his own skin when she called his name. “Cal.”

Pulling himself together, he hunched his torso forward, drew his head deeper between his shoulders, and gave her a sycophant’s greasy smile. “Cal here, yes ma’am. Anything of issue?”

You’re the issue here! Stop ruining my image in front of my aunt, and give me back my body for crying out loud!

“You only just got here. Why don’t you stay the night with us before heading out tomorrow? Or at least join us for dinner.”

Evidently taking her words as a threat, tension surged in Penbrooke’s chest and wrung his gut like a washrag.

“N-no, that’s okay, ma’am,” he stammered out, forcing a sycophant’s smile. “I’m full, stuffed actually, couldn’t have a bite more. Although I’d love to stay overnight, evil never rests and so a hero’s duties can never wait.” He shrugged helplessly, feet inching towards the exit all the while.

She sighed at his overreaction, but let him go. “Well, if you’re firm on that, I suppose there’s nothing I can do.”

This relieved Penbrooke – as noted by the sharp drop in tension – and Cal, too, who feared he’d otherwise die from cringe before the day was through.

As the oddball knight made for his escape, wiping cold sweat from his brow, he came across a half-open room on the way.

Stuck on the door was a sign: a child’s crayon drawing showing two happy stick figures – one big and one small – playing with toys. Fenced off from them was a demonic, Medusa-like being with cruel eyes and definitely no mates.

Despite the painter’s juvenile artistic skills, you could perceive their intentions as the beast was palpably jealous of the duo’s friendship. As if this wasn’t enough, there was a bright red circle with a line crossing through it placed on the beast, the drawing seemingly both a sign and a ward against the beast.

When Penbrooke approached the room, he heard footsteps come from within and soon after the door opened to display the two stick figures in real life.

Jessie rushed to embrace him, her bouncing jugs catching him by surprise.

Oi, eyes up here, buddy.

“Oh, Cal, I’m so sad to see you go,” she said, peering over his shoulder to stare at her mum. “I would have loved to join you if only not for that foul witch, the most wicked being in the lands.” The glint in her eyes duelled against the hardened steel in her mother’s eyes.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

When finally released by Jessie, Uncle Gil patted Cal on the back. “Good luck out there, Cal. Make sure to come home safe, my boy, and don’t be looking at any other girls while you’re out there.”

“Daaad,” Jessie said with a stamp of her feet. Having lost her duel, she was flushed and woozy and held onto the wall behind her for support.

Penbrooke awkwardly laughed off the comment and moved to the foyer, where he must have recognised Cal’s boots from wearing them last time as he laced them on.

He was about to leave when he felt his body being picked up, turned around, and hugged again. “Were you going to leave without giving your auntie a hug?”

“Of course not,” Penbrooke answered his aunt swiftly, no doubt frightened he’d given her reason to question his allegiance.

Meanwhile, Jessie tittered away in the background. “See, even Cal’s scared of you.”

Ignoring her, his aunt patted him on the head and gave a maternal smooch on the cheek. “My Caly-Waly isn’t scared of me, are you?”

Et tu, Auntie? And here I thought I’d killed that pet name off years ago, yet it turns out you’d just been nursing it in your heart all this time. What a bittersweet betrayal to see me off with.

“No, not at all,” Penbrooke asserted against the claims he was scared whilst shivering. “I’m just feeling a bit cold, that’s all. The weather’s not hot enough for me…” His voice trailed off as he clocked onto the blazing heat today.

…

Clearing his throat, he pretended the last few seconds hadn’t happened. “Anyway, I really must be going now. Don’t want to be late or anything to, um, yeah.”

Just go, please.

“What about your backpack?” Uncle Gil asked.

But take that first! If they happen to look inside, your honour will be ruined and all the other knights will laugh at you. Trust me.

Penbrooke chuckled disarmingly. “Ah, I must be getting on in the years – honestly I’m forgetting everything nowadays.” Unexpectedly, he picked up the backpack and wore it on his back instead of whisking it away into his dimensional storage space.

Good, good. Crisis averted. Now please leave already; I can’t take this any longer.

Penbrooke was about to leave, for real this time, when Jessie came up and – likely having felt threatened by her mum’s actions – kissed him on the other cheek.

Cal knew the oddball knight probably came from a time when young maidens acted demure and not nearly as uninhibited in front of others, nor could Penbrooke have known that it was in fact a sisterly kiss and nothing further.

All the same, Cal wished the bloody spirit hadn’t reacted with a gaping smitten expression, even performing a knightly bow at the honour...

Oh come on, what kind of soft, self-abasing knight are you? Now, what the hell am I going to do the next time I see them. Fuck!

----------------------------------------

Gilbert stared at the oak door through which Cal had just taken his leave, and commented: “My future son-in-law sure was acting strange, huh.”

Jane hummed assent with a bemused expression. “When I spoke to Lily yesterday, she was in hysterics while recounting some of his recent roleplays. I know he’s still at that age where boys let their fantasies run their minds, but honestly even I didn’t expect to see it come out like that. And here I thought Lily had been exaggerating.”

Recalling Cal’s sudden personality shift, she chortled gleefully.

And while she did that, Gilbert reached for the coat rack and put on his tan trench coat and deerstalker hat.

“Gilly, can you not,” Jane said sharply on noticing. “You’re far too old to be acting like this anymore.” Then spotting her daughter rushing towards the coat rack, Jane snatched her up by the scruff of her neck to prevent her from falling for this Pied Piper’s stupidity spell; yet the well-intentioned action was not appreciated by said beneficiary, who struggled like she was amid her death throes.

Only after a while of being incapacitated did Jessie come to terms with the futility of her struggles and bawl for her father: “Dad, you’ve got to save me. She’s got me. She’ll have me gutted and worse!”

“There’s only so much of your dad’s folly I can let you join in with. Any more and I fear you’ll have no working brain cells left,” Jane said all too seriously, shaking her head.

Refusing to get drawn into their catfight (over him, in a way), Gilbert took out a smoking pipe from his pocket, lit it with a match, and took a deep puff to complete his image as a hard-boiled detective. The voice that came out of his lips had a considerably lower pitch and dripped cynicism.

“Private, you ensure the wicked witch is kept occupied and unable to intervene during our mission. I will tail our target and report back afterwards.” He saluted towards the sacrificial lamb. “I expect to see you healthy and hale on my return, private.”

Jessie saluted back having realised how pivotal her role was. “Yes, captain,” she said, and resumed her death throes, much to her mother’s chagrin.

Detective Gilbert, meantime, skulked out of the house intending to sprint down the street in case Cal was long gone, though he lucked out and spotted his target a few houses down instead. Dropping to a crouching position, Special Operative Gilbert peeped over the fence and took a gander through his binoculars.

His target was acting beyond suspicious, hiding in the shadow of a house that had an open door and showing the tell-tale sign of a criminal from the way he shiftily scanned his surroundings like he was waiting for someone or something. Or scoping a target out…

It then occurred to Investigator Gilbert what was going on: this miscreant must have spotted an unprotected house and become overwhelmed by the temptation to burgle. Yet the fact he was proceeding with caution and listening out for signs of life from the house before heading in showed that he was no brainless beast but a seasoned professional.

Don’t tell me my Callie-boy is a criminal through and through. I should go over and stop him.

Wait, Agent Gilbert, don’t let your emotions cloud your mission objective. Your job is to investigate his activities; any interference risks us learning information of greater import.

Ah, apologies, Spymaster Gilbert. And thanks for catching me.

Anytime, agent, anytime.

Taking another puff of his pipe to get back into his sleuth persona, Reporter Gilbert popped out his notebook and started scribbling his observations. When he was done, he peeked over the fence to see that Cal was gone.

In fear he’d lost his target, Gilbert the Snoop slunk down the street and found a tree to hide behind with sightlines into the house.

He crept a little out of cover to spy inside and through the window spotted his target, who was scanning the living room for items of value.

Strangely, he started by smashing a few jars on the floor, each time looking disappointed afterwards as though he'd been expecting some other result than shattered ceramic fragments littered across the floor.

Moving on from this odd course of action, he then began to burgle; though instead of wildly rummaging through the cabinets and drawers as one might expect, the scoundrel showed a trained eye for value alongside a gentle touch (that belied his jar-shattering impulses), pilfering only a few small and expensive items which he chucked into his dimensional pouch.

Peeper Gilbert read his lips and saw he was murmuring something about a full inventory. Could it be this crook had a warehouse full of stolen goods somewhere out there? Was he perhaps the head of a criminal syndicate that warred against the valiant Riversdale Guard Force behind the scenes?

Imagination going into overdrive, Daydreamer Gilbert watched the remainder of the burglary absentmindedly until it wrapped up a few minutes later, in that time coming up with several more plausible backstories for the young felon; in this fashion, Guardian Angel Gilbert observed from the shadows as the young gangleader/desperate drug addict/daring Robbing Hood escaped with the loot.

Look at the way my future son-in-law walks so casually down the street, like he’s done nothing wrong.

Indeed, Agent Gilbert, I admit I wouldn’t bat an eye at that fine young gentleman if I came across him on the street; I’d think him a law-abiding citizen like any other with that relaxed demeanour of his and, in fact, I’d even think him a good match for my cutie-pie daughter. Impressive, really.

Uh, Spymaster Gilbert… aren’t those my lines to say? Remember, I’m the sympathetic good cop who’s wet behind the ears, and you’re the tough, unyielding bad cop. Together, we make up Detective Gilbert, who’s stiff on the outside but soft on the inside: hard-boiled style.

Gilbert gave a toothy grin, clicked his fingers, and pointed finger guns at a squirrel a few feet away that was half-watching him, half-stuffing an acorn into its cheeks. “Ding.”

The squirrel continued stuffing the acorn into its mouth, unimpressed. “Tough crowd, whatever,” Gilbert grumbled, returning to his internal dialogue.

Oh, sorry about that, agent. It’s just all this stress I’m under because of the stupid witch of a wife I have. You wouldn’t believe what she did recently.

I believe I would, sir; trust me, I believe I would.

Ha, you’re a good man, agent – I recommend you get out of this line of business early before it eats you alive, like it did to me. Anyway, let’s see what my lines were, um, er, ah right: agent, stop being all soppy and return to base already!

Sorry, sir. At once, sir.

Mission complete, Detective Gilbert went back home where he was surprised to find his private still alive, even if restrained by the wicked witch.

“Well?” Jane asked, finally releasing Jessie, who fell right back into her mother’s arms out of fatigue.

“I did it, captain,” Jessie reported. “I made sure she couldn’t move a muscle.”

Her mum snorted but otherwise ignored the bluster; she waited on her husband’s answer.

Hanging his coat and cap up (and doing the same mentally by stepping out of his persona as a dual-personality detective), Gilbert chewed over his thoughts.

It’s true my future son-in-law is a criminal, but does that make it right of me to ruin his future prospects by snitching on him to this rule-abiding puritan? After all, this is the same prude who made me a laughing stock at the last biker gang meet-up as punishment for making a single innocent request, so heaven knows what she’d do to my Callie-boy if she found out about his sticky fingers.

Besides, what exactly is the problem with my future son-in-law being a skilled and wealthy professional? In a trade that won’t be dying out anytime soon, too. Reaching his conclusion, Gilbert knew what he had to do…

“Oho. If you wanted to know, you shouldn’t have thrown away my black studded leather clothes,” he said, his voice suddenly cracking with emotion. “Or your sexy schoolgirl outfit – it still had life left in it.”

“You!” Jane cursed, rushing to cover their daughter’s ears before she heard anything further.

“And all because I told you I wanted to try it on. One time, that’s all I asked for, Jane.” Gilbert’s arms were quivering with indignation. “I’d always wanted to find out how it feels to rebuff the creepy teacher's advances, only for him to blackmail me onto his lap anyway. And yet you still threw it away!”

“Motherfu—”