Chapter 42

Bath

The women’s bath is surprisingly empty. Its only other two occupants passed me when I was coming in, and now I have the whole thing to myself. Which, honestly, feels kind of wrong. I remind myself that it’s really just the time of day; it’s hard to remember that it’s barely noon yet.

I would have thought that a medieval public bath for a secluded village would be something more like old, reheated water in a stone basin, but even this far out, the Imperial culture values cleanliness. I even had to shower and wash before I entered, just like going to a public pool.

The facilities, themselves, are actually pretty nice. They’re not fancy, but they cover all of the needs. The shower area is sealed brick, like the entrance, with drains in the floor, but everything else has a love for this warm, reddish-brown wood. That stays true even out here in the bathing area, itself.

The walls remain plaster. Given the understandable humidity, I’ve come to the conclusion that it must be some sort of clay-based mix, or perhaps they lacquered over it with some sort of waterproofing sealant, like with the bricks. In either case, both it and the wood are water-tight and pristine.

As for the dirty water, there is none, not even as I’m sitting in it. The circular bath is perhaps a dozen feet across and has a big, covered drain in the middle, with fresh water pouring in constantly. Again, the similarity to a pool back on Earth is striking.

As I’m lounging in the hot, steaming water, though, it’s really not the architecture of the place that’s absorbing my thoughts.

Ayre is a guy?

It just doesn’t compute. There’s absolutely nothing masculine about the elfin archer I’ve been traveling with.

... Is that rude to say? Am I allowed to think that about someone I consider a friend?

I’ve known effeminate guys before, but Ayre isn’t like that, either. There’s always something about a guy that reminds you they are a guy.

My mind flashes through all of the cultural issues from back home I haven’t thought about since I came here. It’s like a deep reflex that’s been burned into my brain. My conditioning tells my body that it’s a danger, like that will-o-wisp, that my gun can’t shoot, with social death the consequence of failure.

All the same, it’s the only frame of reference I have for considering the issue, so I swallow my trepidation and dive headlong into that database.

I don’t think Ayre is some local equivalent of transgender. I’m not sure what magic makes possible here in that regard, but he clearly expected me to realize he’s a guy. It had the awkwardness of having to point it out, rather than that of revealing a secret.

It occurs to me only now that the status window doesn’t even have an entry for biological sex. But then, it’s not an ID card. Its primary purpose is to relay combat readiness to the person to whom it belongs, making such an entry doubly redundant.

Maybe it’s a culture thing. It’s possible everything I’ve ever relied on as clues in this regard are primarily cultural. Add in the fact that Ayre isn’t even human, and that could be why it blindsided me.

But Ayre isn’t the only elf I’ve met since coming here, and I don’t just mean Yorin. They’re definitely a minority, but not to such a degree as to be exotic. The wheelwright is an elf, and that man has abs that could shred cabbage from curling wagon parts all day. He’s slighter than the blacksmith, sure, but you’re never going to doubt he’s a man, in behavior or form.

It’s hard to believe there’s some sort of elfin tomgirl subculture that’s never come up before now and nobody’s commented on. It’s not impossible. After all, most of my time here has been pretty secluded.

I can’t rule it out entirely, like a tourist that’s never heard of gal culture, but it doesn’t feel like the right answer. Such subcultures tend to thrive on over-expression. When you hang your identity on a particular style or trait, it’s only natural that you overemphasize it. The whole point is that it’s how you’re different from everyone else around you.

That’s one of the reasons effeminate guys are always so obvious. Even if they’re otherwise completely passing, they’re going to paint a red flag on themselves by overdoing it. They don’t behave like it’s natural for them to behave that way. They act like it’s a feature.

Ayre doesn’t act like anything about her-- him is extra. Ayre just acts like Ayre. Fashionable, cosmopolitan, giggly Ayre, with legs to kill for and a smile to die for. Nothing forced, nothing postured, just genuine Ayre.

Is that it? Is it really that simple and I’m just overthinking something again? Ayre is just Ayre? Maybe, but it doesn’t solve my original problem. Do I treat him differently because of it?

... Nah. That wouldn’t be fair, and I’d never be able to stick to it, anyway. Ayre hasn’t complained so far. I should trust her to speak up if there’s a problem.

... Speaking of problems, the other side of the wall, where I assume the men’s bath is located, started getting awfully rowdy not long after I settled in here.

I hope they’re not giving Ayre any trouble. If things sound like they’re going to get out of hand, I’m going over there and testing how Paralysis Rounds work when wet.

Fortunately, it never reaches a really concerning level and settles back down soon enough. I’m left to my own thoughts once again as I let all but my head sink below the churning water. Its movement toward the drain ever so gently tugs my body with it, softly stretching me out.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

... I’ll bet it was Ayre they were worked up about. I let my imagination run a little wild, picturing all of the grown men freaking out when a cute girl seems to have mistakenly walked into the wrong bath. Trying to cover themselves while panicking about making sure none of their glances happen to pass even vaguely in her direction.

In my mind’s eye, the recollection of those noises fits perfectly, even if it’s a bit too stereotypical an interpretation to be particularly likely.

”Um ...”

My eyes snap open at the sound of the familiar girly voice. That did not come from my imagination.

”Ayre?”

Sure enough, there stands the elf I’ve been traveling with the last couple of days, torso all wrapped up in a towel with a smaller one over the hair, just like I’m wearing mine. And a face as red as a tomato.

”... I, um ... made the men’s bath ... uncomfortable. They ... asked me to leave.”

I can’t help it. Before I can do a thing to restrain myself, I throw my head back in cackling laughter.

Poor Ayre pouts at me, ears angling down. “What’s so funny?”

”Nothing! It’s nothing!” I wave my hand back and forth as I swallow air in an effort to get a grip on myself. “It’s just, I could hear the noise from over here! I was just thinking, I’ll bet that was all over Ayre! Pretty thing walks in and they all lost their minds!”

Now, I motion to my friend standing before me. “I thought it was too silly to actually happen, but not only did they flip their lids over a cute girl walking in, they kicked her out!”

I actually dunk my head under the water to stifle another cackle-fit. When I pull it out, Ayre’s still standing on the wooden walkway that goes around the bath, looking lost.

I wave the elf on in. “Come on, you’re gonna get cold just standing in the open air! You paid for the bath, and you want to actually finish it, right? There’s plenty of room!”

That makes him start. “Uh ... are you sure it’s okay?”

”Nobody else in here but me,” I reply. “And since it’s a public bath, I wore a towel in, same as you. If anyone else comes in, they’re not going to know any better and we’ll be wrapping up, anyway. And, besides, Yorin says baths are great for forging bonds. If a priestess says it, it’s gotta be true, right?”

That puts a frown on Ayre’s face. “Sometimes she does things that don’t seem very priest-like.” The frown shifts, becoming more thoughtful as the elf meets my eyes. “That usually seems to be your fault.”

I point a finger back. “Hey, I warned you of that day one.”

”This is only day two.”

”And you’ve already found out I’m no liar!” I motion to the water again. “Now, are you getting in, or are you going to wait until I get out and leave you in here alone?”

Ayre swallows at the threat and is soon easing down into the water opposite me.

His adventuring clothes don’t exactly mask his silhouette, but with nothing but a wet towel sticking to it, Ayre’s body shape is really obvious. I can’t help but think how, if he were from Earth like me, trying to wear men’s clothes would just make him look like he snatched them from his boyfriend. They wouldn’t look right on him at all.

I mean, unless you were into that look, but it’s generally considered pretty provocative, and that doesn’t seem like Ayre’s preference. From what I’ve seen, the elf’s tastes lean strongly toward cute over lewd, regardless of how much might technically be covered.

... Gosh, he doesn’t even have a significant apple, as far as I can see.

I let him settle in and get comfortable so he starts calming down before I bother him again.

”Ayre, do you mind if I play the part of the stupid tourist for a moment and just come out and ask something?”

Ayre meets my gaze warily. “About me?” When I nod, he puffs out one cheek poutingly. “Am I really so weird?”

My eyes widen as I raise my hands to ward that off. “No, no! I wasn’t going in anything like that direction!” But as fast as the knee-jerk denial leaves me, my brain catches up and I reconsider. “Actually, maybe I am. That’s kind of where the stupid tourist part comes in.”

I pull my hand back out of the water to motion up and down the elf across from me. “I ... don’t actually know enough about elves to know if there’s anything weird or not.”

Ayre’s expression changes to one of disbelief. “Really?”

”Really,” I confirm. “Like magic, I’d never even seen a real elf until after I came here.”

”Wow, your homeland really is far away,” he summarizes. “No magic, no elves, no dungeons ... Next thing you’re going to tell me is there’s no Essence, either.”

There’s an increasingly awkward silence that expands through the bath until Ayre glares accusingly at me. “Remmi ...”

I give a clumsy shrug.

”Oh, come on, that’s too far! You’re literally talking about life, itself, now!”

”I don’t know anything about that,” I counter. “All I know is that when I got here, I had zero points! The System is supposed to record everything, but it had nothing on me. Even my Outsider race tag, it’s not just outside of magic and dungeons. It’s because my whole existence was outside of the System.”

”You’re a Hero, Remmi! You can’t have been outside the System. How would it have grabbed you in the first place?!”

I open my mouth to retort, but pause. “That’s ... actually a good point ...”

Ayre sighs with a shake of the head. “Hundred-twenty Intellect, and never considered the obvious.”

I’m the one pouting this time. “It’s two hundred now!”

”Sure, sure, keep making it worse.” My friend drops the teasing, though. In fact, Ayre goes completely silent, clearly building up the nerve to answer the awkward question.

”I don’t think there’s anything weird about me,” my bathmate finally answers. “I like how I look, and I’m not doing crazy things for it. This is just who I am.”

I give an understanding nod. “But from that answer, I’m guessing most elf guys don’t have your figure?”

That earns me a blinking stare for half a second, then Ayre’s face goes red again before he tucks a lock of loose hair behind an ear. “Oh, right, that’s more what you asked ...”

Ayre gives a deep sigh and pulls his knees in to clasp his arms around them and hug them to his chest. “... No. No, most don’t. Elves are all slighter than humans, obviously, but I’ve always been shorter and softer than average. I’ve never really wondered why, any more than you’ve probably ever wondered why your hair is yellow. For an elf, it’s not even that extreme.”

I self-consciously tuck my own hair at his comparison. “... Do you have a preference?”

”... For what?”

Oh, yeah, that wasn’t exactly a clear choice of words, was it? I try again. “I imagine most anyone who sees you is just going to assume you’re female. A pretty girl with an eye for fashion and a cute giggle. Does that bother you? Do you like being seen that way?”

Ayre takes a moment to process that, then shakes his head. “I mean, I like the idea that people think I’m cute, I guess, but boy or girl, I don’t really mind. I just answer to whatever they’re calling me.”

”You don’t identify strongly one way or the other?”

Now, Ayre really looks confused, ears wiggling as his head tilts to one side. “... Is that something your people do?”

... Right. I file that under alien concept, then. No big deal. Still, it sounds like the answer is, No, not really. Inasmuch as the concept of gender identity exists here, Ayre doesn’t really seem to have one. Ayre really is just Ayre.

That’s actually kind of wholesome in its own right, I decide. Not caring about labels at all.

... On the tail of that thought, another, sillier one occurs to me. One could say Ayre is a Boy In Name Only. Which would make him ...

... an Ayre-bino!

The elf’s gaze goes flat as I bury my head in the water to stifle my giggle-fit again. “Now what’s so funny?”

Pity there’s no way that one’s gonna translate.