In the…

All things considered; the bathroom Jordan found himself in was quite nice.

The floors were a pearlescent tiled marble that stretched across the ground, and continued up the lower parts of the walls. The large outer facing windows continued in the bathroom, but the drapes that covered them here were far more ornate. Delicate flower patterns were embroidered into the cloth like vines sprouting on the walls. They gave off a fresh scent, not unlike a forest meadow themselves.

At a glance, he suspected their purpose was to spruce up the place, maybe even serve as air fresheners, rather than as simple black out curtains like before. The early morning light, intense as it was, betrayed no hint of what lay beyond, forming perfect opaque barriers. Jordan was grateful for that, considering what was about to transpire.

The aching in his guts was extreme. It was all he could do not to whine as he sat on a confusingly modern looking toilet, while the maid squatted next to him holding his dress out of the way. There was too much of the fabric to deal with, and while the porcelain throne he found himself on lacked a water tank—confusing Jordan as to how it would flush—the maid still concerned herself with keeping the garment as far away from the seat as possible.

Perhaps it was a testament to Jordan’s crushed spirit, but he’d put up virtually no resistance when she lifted his dress up and pulled down the unmentionables. They rested around the Brat’s ankles while the wretched area they’d covered sat exposed above the small bowl of water. Poised to unleash the unimaginable.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t envision the act of pissing. It was simply that it was best done standing—obviously. Why would you sit down to urinate unless you had to take a dump as well? It was stupid. And because the only pressure Jordan felt was from the Brat’s bladder, parts of his mind continued to dumbly rail against him. Oblivious to the reality he found himself in, blaming him for events out of his control.

Shit or get off the pot—use the urinal if you’re going to piss you sissy! A dress-addled part of his mind seemed to cry out. Or was it a memory of a high school?

The rest of him was not as convicted. He had begun trembling as he sat staring between the maid, the beams of light, and the twin chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. How or why such ornate pieces warranted a placement in a bathroom of all places staggered other parts of his brain, distracting him. He wanted to be distracted, the only problem was… it wasn’t working very well.

Nothing could divert his attention fully from the feeling of pressure reaching its bursting point down under. A bit of the Brat’s contracting form slipped, and Jordan could feel something leak with a bit of a trickle before he desperately clamped back down, muscles burning with the unfamiliar strain. The maid looked hopefully at him, before sighing and turning away. She had stared at him for the first few minutes before he snapped at her to stop looking at him.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Young Miss? I could call for your Mother if you like.”

“NO! No… I’m fine. I’m fine! Really. Really! I’m… I’m just…” and then the tears started. Well—restarted. He wasn’t sure if they’d ever really stopped.

How this body, this stupid little Brat’s body, could produce so much liquid so quickly staggered Jordan. Could human beings really cry like this, every hour on the hour? But unlike the liquid below, he couldn’t clamp down and stop tears from falling. He gripped the stupid dress he was in until the Brat’s knuckles went white and the ring on the right hand glowed with a straining light. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t care.

“Just… just focus on breathing M’Lady. Everything will be alright, love.” The maid beamed kindly at Jordan as she adopted yet another odd change to her dialect, and her scent took on a lovely lavender.

He wanted to reach out and smack her, but he was sure if the Brat’s hands unclenched then the rest of the body would follow, and then… then what? Why was he fighting so hard, anyway? He was stuck in this world, stuck in this Body, and resisting that wasn’t going to accomplish anything.

But he had to resist! He had to! This wasn’t his body, and he couldn’t be present when a child of all things was doing these kinds of things.

But I have no choice, damnit! What am I supposed to do?

Dissociate yourself more! Block it out, close your mind and ignore it! Block. It. Out!

HOW!?

I don’t know! Try the Mind-Palace!

Jordan breathed. Disappeared into his special place.

And fell out immediately because of the pain.

Well? What now damnit!? What do I do!? What do I do…

His mind had no answer. The truth was, he couldn’t block it out anymore, Time-Out or not. Perhaps he’d hit a mental limit, perhaps the human mind could only exist in shock for so long. More likely, he concluded, it’s because all the other times I was dissociating before didn’t hurt like it does now. What had hurt before? My headache, then the alien thing, and now this. That stupid She-Devil for all she was a fucked up monster didn’t hurt me, just tossed me around. But this…? I can’t… I can’t keep it out, it hurts.

It was probably only a 5, maybe a 6 on his pain scale, but it was enough to prompt the crying, the noises, the squirming. And it brought everything into focus. He couldn’t block it out, it felt so completely… Real.

And that was the problem. In this moment, it felt more real than anything in his own life had, like everything that was Jordan was no more than a fantasy he’d imagined. A maniacal part of his mind laughed at the idea that the most real experience of his life was going to be pissing himself.

But it wasn’t the only time he’d felt this… real before here. He’d felt it twice before. Thinking he was going to die and accepting death. Feeling like a monster for hurting the Brat’s mother. And now… pissing himself. Maybe there was more, but that was what came to his mind right now. Death, Being a Monster, and Urination. Sounds stupid enough to be like me alright…

The Brat gasped in her struggling tears and—

No. Enough already, he thought.

He gasped against his struggling tears. He was… done.

He’d been adamant that he and the Brat were separate people, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to continue to deny the truth: this was currently his body, even if it had been hers before he was stuck in it. He had to own it, feed it, take care of it, get dressed in it, and later today…?

He’d have to stand in judgement for it, or die in it.

Drop drip, drip drop. It began in a trickle, but the moment the liquid began to break free, the pressure holding it in expelled it like a geyser, breaking past his resistance. Jordan shuddered in revulsion at the surreal sensations in alien parts. The way it clung to him, pushed past him, or how parts of him that he couldn’t even visualize yet felt like… he took in struggling breaths, his voice starting to go hoarse already from the strain he’d put on it today.

“There you go, Young Miss. Nothing to it, right? We’ll have you—“

“SHUT UP! Stop talking. NOW!” Jordan hiccupped in rage and choked on more tears.

He was desperately focusing on breathing, trying to drown out the cool feeling of liquids below splashing back at him. It was only a little bit, but it was energized from mixing with the much hotter discharge released from his depths. The vileness kept coming out, no end in sight.

He didn’t want to deal with this, not with any of this, but he didn’t have that choice. No one had asked him for consent, and here he was—a passenger along for the worst ride of his life. A part of him still futilely attempted to clamp his abdomen down, twisting the familiar muscles that worked in unfamiliar ways, but it accomplished nothing.

Jordan shook his head, laughing through more tears while shaking. If you gave him a bottle of whiskey, right now, he’d have downed the whole thing despite his dislike of hard alcohol. A part of his mind was standing on stage, like a TED talk of all things, preaching the virtues of manliness and how he shouldn’t be allowing this to happen. The rest of his mind joined him on stage and found that the preaching amalgam of male virtue stood barely a foot tall. His mind snorted, and kicked it over. It fell to pieces like a cardboard caricature.

It was funny—a feeling of relief swept through him. It bordered on pleasure, and at first Jordan thought his mind was cruelly attempting to reward him for his torment. But he quickly realized it was simply the aftereffects of fading pain and release—an overfull bladder reduced back to its normal size. It felt near as good as urinating the morning after a black out drunk night.

Well, assuming you hadn’t pissed yourself overnight, he sagely reminisced. He began to calm down as he came to an additional conclusion. A terrible one.

For better or worse, while he existed in this world, this Brat’s body was now his body. There was no denying that anymore, because now he had experienced the worst it had to offer. It had claimed him and there was no going back now.

Trickle dribble drip drop. It really was a lengthy ordeal. Still, it petered to a stop, and with his trial finished, Jordan realized the maid was praising him with cooing noises. Not in the manner one would with a small animal, but like that of a small child needing reassurance. It twisted at him, but before he could rage at her, she began to move about while juggling his dress in her hands. Was she going to clean him too?

That idea rolled through his head, and unexpectedly, Jordan found himself lacking much resistance to it. While the thought of someone wiping him was abhorrent, he’d been oversaturated with events he considered ‘unacceptable’, so it held little weight now. Especially compared to the idea of wiping himself, down in the unacceptably disgusting parts of his new body.

So, by all means, wipe away. He mentally ushered at her.

He just hoped the maid wasn’t going to get handsy, though as he looked in her eyes, Jordan got a sense of caring from this one. This was the gold gemmed one, which had been nice to him rather than the pink one or, well, whichever other ones there were. The ones who had tried to do… things. Green? He probably needed to pay more attention, but at very least, he felt he could trust this one as opposed to the others. This one had been nice, and he’d treated her poorly. A part of him wanted to make up for it.

He opened his mouth as he considered a few statements, but noticed that after finishing her juggling act, she’d leaned to the back of Jordan. There was no tank on this toilet, so he was still confused how it was supposed to flush, but then a small flash of light appeared behind him and the sound of rushing water echoed from beneath him. It took with it his sins.

At least it’s behind me now. With it done and over, he figured now was as good a time as any. Jordan steeled himself, determined to apologize for his behavior—if just so people wouldn’t keep treating him completely like a child. The maid turned towards him smiling, oddly bright with a tinge of mischievousness. What was she…?

“You mother fucker! Fuck you, no get aw—help! HELP!!! AHHHHW FUUUCK, nOOooeEEE! ALLFUCKYOUFU hughfuffuck!! Ahahaha AHAHhahhhhwww NOooOOo OOOoo OOOOO!”

Blasting spritzle fiss toss. Jordan’s eyes opened wide enough to encompass the universe as every ounce of energy went into his lungs to supernova-scream. The toilet attacked him, violated him, tickled him, and ruined him in malicious ways as the water from The Bidet began to spray up at him!

Cleansing?? My ass it is!

The water shooting across his unspeakables was room temperature but compared to the burning temperature of his new body—it felt damn near freezing. Furthermore, it incited physical sensations that caused Jordan’s mind to begin short circuiting. Again. That seemed to keep happening, maybe he could take his brain to the shop? He had a complaint about his new body while he was there.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Because he was now, apparently, incredibly ticklish.

The maid laughed playfully as she held him in place, all the work she’d put into wrapping his dress away from the bowl suddenly making more sense as he squirmed. She even laughed as he clawed at her, though he stopped doing so when a nail snagged and accidently pulled her hair, causing her to moan in response.

Jordan attempted to parlay a cessation to the unfortunate circumstances he found himself in.

“AhAHHahahah OOoandmmmffffsdaa AHHHHHHHHerrrr FUUUUUUUCCCKKKK YYYYOOOOUUUUAHAAHHHHHH EEEEEeeeEE!”

It did not seem to have much effect, however, as the maid continued to giggle in cruel retort.

As he glared at the Harlot, he decided from that moment on, to never again trust a demon.

Or bidets.

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“I apologized already, Young Miss. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, just a little tickle was all. You’ve been so touchy lately, I thought you’d find it funny.” The succubus pouted at Jordan.

The only response he gave her was a dark glare.

“Well,” she huffed, “We need to hurry as it is. That took longer than expected and it would be better if you ate somethin’ rather than had anuther potion.” After a moment of thought, the maid added a lingering, “Love!” But Jordan just rolled his eyes.

Was she just trying to find an accent I liked or something? Each one came with new smells, further confusing him.

As the duo walked back into the Brat’s bedroom a noise from behind the vault door drew their attention. It sounded like… a child? Crying and banging on the door, with a soft voice trying to assuage her on their end.

“It’s alright Catella, she’s fine. I promise, okay?”

“No! I heard the screaming earlier, and it’s taking too long—w-what if something’s happened again? Open the door and let me in! Let me in!!”

The doorknob shuttered warningly, like a beast was attacking it on the other side as the walls shook briefly from an unreasonably large amount of force slamming into it. Jordan… hesitated to approach and looked to the maid on his side.

She sighed and shook her head before shouting, “I’m telling you it’s alright!” After a brief pause that revealed her words had accomplished nothing, she turned back to Jordan. “Ugh, she’s not listening, come on then love—let’s get going.”

Jordan was less than enthused about opening the door to what he assumed was a Tasmanian Devil hopped up on bath salts, but he figured one way or another he was leaving the room—and the mansion—today. So he met the maid’s eyes and nodded solemnly as they made to leave… and stopped almost as quickly.

A fleeting feeling had caught his breath, and Jordan hesitated at the door. The maid seemed to interpret it as a cue for her to open it, but that hadn’t been why he’d stopped.

An unexpected sensation of nerves had jolted into him, like what he was doing crossed a line he didn’t know was there. Just being near the door seemed so… foreign to him, not entirely wrong but decidedly weird. Like how whenever you crossed your fingers you did it either left on top, or right on top. It was always the same from birth, and yet… if you did it the other way? Nothing about it was wrong, per se, but it just felt off. Being near this door? Looking to leave? Nothing about it was wrong, per se, but it still felt… off.

The door swung open, and Jordan saw before him a child, likely the aforementioned ‘Catella.’ She had a striking resemblance to the Brat herself, and just like the Brat and her mother, carried the same black, silver tinted hair and red eyes with black pupils. She wore a similarly decorative, multi-layered dress that didn’t help with the doppelganger image. She was just a smaller version of the gals it seemed.

She is a bit more muscular or childishly plumped though, maybe five years old? Six? Jordan couldn’t tell for sure, but the sight of the snot and tears pouring down the thing’s face didn’t help matters. He opened his mouth to say something but was unpleasantly interrupted. It must run in the family, he thought.

“Big sister? BIG SISTER!” Tears and snot erupted like pillows from the thing’s face.

What transpired next was nasty, brutish, and short—much like the life he’d lived in this world so far. It left a lasting impression, if just from the absurdity of it all.

The child, the… Catella as he would grow to know her as, screamed loudly with a thunderous cry. Jordan had only a split second, taking a breath hiding within his mind by dumb instinct. From there, he watched terrified as both sets of maids’ eyes went wide in fear as they glanced at each other, and then at Jordan and Catella. The tiny brat’s maid reached for her, as Jordan’s tried to interpose herself between them.

At first this confused Jordan, before he saw a flash of energy appear around the smaller child. There was a necklace of gold he’d overlooked because of the multitude of frills she wore—much like he did now—and it was shining brilliantly from a small gem. It seemed to be struggling until… The wooden floor Catella was standing on cracked as Jordan’s mental eyes opened nearly to bidet levels. Kids can’t do that. They can’t! Wait… is she? Shes…!

The child bent down, only a fraction, but leapt off the ground with enough force to create a sonic boom past them both. The maid on her side desperately grabbed on to the Yeeting child but only succeeded at being dragged into the air with her. Jordan’s maid barely got her arms around him protectively as the child moved at real time while the rest of them were stuck at snail speed. With bone jarring force she smashed into Jordan, maid, and all, propelling them deeper into the room, the light from her necklace enveloping Jordan… protectively?

“Aaaaaaauuuuuuurrrrrrreeeeeeelllllllliiiiiiiiaaaaannaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” The agonizing slowness of her shout was stretched out as the child’s tears trailed into the air behind them. She crushed her arms around Jordan, hugging him possessively. He was sure his new ribs should have been cracking, though for now they merely popped distressingly.

All four individuals flew into the room, past where the impromptu living room that was set in the halfway point, smashed through a chair that splintered far too dramatically, and finally touched down near the far side of the room—more than twenty feet from the door.

To Jordan, it looked like the group was slowly spinning in the air, one maid tumbling off because of the chair, the other slowly starting to vault over the two Brats as their trajectory brought them downward but she continued onward. Did her wings make her more buoyant or something? He thought.

And why… why did the mini brat just turn into a yeeting missile?

Time sped up in an instant as Jordan blacked out as they hit the floor.

He was out only a moment before tiny arms shook him desperately.

“Big sis? Oh No! Aureliana! BIG SISSSSSS!”

He burbled in response before her frantic shaking could finish him off. His new ribs were definitely cracked now.

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The… healing potion tasted something like cherry. It had been far better than the bland, incredibly unappealing ‘sustenance potion’ he’d been given alongside it.

He was glad for the flavoring too, even if it did seem artificial. It worked to mask less pleasant undertones, caused by a slightly… slimy texture, with occasional small chunks. Jordan almost gagged despite the enhanced taste, but took comfort that the healing potion was at least red.

Healing potions should be red, his gamer instincts demanded it after all, even if this were just some generic fantasy world instead of a game. It took only a moment for the pain in his ribs to start receding, and in the background, he heard the Brat’s mother scolding the smaller child for her earlier Yeeting. Meanwhile, the four-armed Lebowski “grandfather” was encouraging him to keep drinking the potions he’d prescribed to Jordan. Jordan kept unconsciously trying to stop drinking from vile vial after all.

“I’m s-sorry! But she was supposed to be out for breakfast, and I was worried!”

“The Harlot told you everything was fine! She was having difficulty using the bathroom, Catella. What do you think a week’s worth of Sustenance potions is going to do to her bladder?”

“B-but—”

“No buts! And what have I told you about the use of physical Skills in the house? You destroyed parts of the floor, and several pieces of furniture! You hurt your sister, Catella, and we have to leave—now! I…”

Mercia clearly wanted to vent more frustration at the child before her, but the look on Catella’s face was quite… pitiable. It even threatened to move Jordan’s bitter heart.

“I’m sorry Catella,” Mercia said, “but this was why you were forbidden from seeing her during recovery. We need to get going, since she had to have another potion instead of breakfast, we may as well not wait any longer. You can go see Chef Duan for your food—we’re leaving.”

“What? No, let me come with you! Please—I’ll even skip breakfast too! Please! Mother!”

The look Mercia gave her child made it clear she wasn’t interested in bringing Catella, but before she could forbid her, the four-armed man interrupted.

“Mercia, I know Cat got overexcited, but she hasn’t gotten to see her sister since the accident. You know what’s at stake today, so… punish her later. Let her spend time with Aury.”

Catella practically levitated with glee as she beamed sunlight sparkles at the old man. The bejeweled woman, now in a new set of clothes but just as equally covered in gaudy accoutrements, looked at the… rather stupidly dressed man and hesitated. Sunglasses-mcgee was still in his white lab coat, and only his t-shirt had changed (though the new one was still just as stained and used). She weighed options in her mind, each dancing briefly across her face, before she sighed.

“Fine. We’ll discuss your behavior later, but you can come. If you don’t remain silent during the proceedings, however, I will silence you myself. Understood?”

Jordan cocked his eyebrows at what sounded like a threat on the small child’s life, but Catella didn’t seem to take it the same way he had. Instead she brought her little arms up at her sides, hands held in fists as she stood as tall as she could before saying, “Yes!”

He… wasn’t sure if the child was transforming into the demon tailor, or about to go Super Saiyan. He hoped to god neither was possible in this world. She was certainly vibrating hard enough in place that it seemed like a possibility in either case.

The four of them made their way out of the mansion. It had been… as equally weird going down the stairs for Jordan as it had been going out his bedroom door, and as they approached the grand, near two story tall overly ornate doors that marked the entrance to the mansion he was…

“Oh, hey there Aury, drink this. It will help with that panic attack. Best to get it sorted before it gets going.”

Rah… something or other handed Jordan another potion. Jordan looked at him curiously, how had he known? Jordan hadn’t even known! Or, well, he was on his way to figuring it out at least. Already Jordan’s heart felt like it was turning into a jet engine, roaring up a storm in his chest while the world began to spin. He quickly drank the offered drink, and nearly spat it back out. It tasted heavily medicinal, and lacked the artificial flavors to help it go down. Still, surprising himself he swallowed it obediently.

“Hmm, sorry, I didn’t have a chance to prep that one for ya. How’d it taste?” He joked with a waggle of his dangerously wiry eyebrows.

“Like ass.”

Said eyebrows shot up and Rahm howled with laughter. Catella covered her mouth in shock as Mercia froze in place, head turning like an animatronic about to go rogue, and looked at him.

“What did you just say, Aureliana?”

Jordan… grimaced. He knew that had been a dumb thing to say, but… come on, really? It was just a little curse, he’d only said—

“Like ass.” Jordan’s eyes opened in shock, though Mercia’s didn’t respond any further.

He hadn’t meant to say it again, only he knew he had to respond. But he felt like… like she had made him do it! How had she done that? Was it anything like… the smiling? Magic? He hastily attempted to smile. It wasn’t perfect, so he tried again but only managed a strangled grimace. It was enough to cause Catella to start choking as she fought off her own laughing fit.

“If you cannot use polite language, Aureliana… don’t say anything at all.” Jordan decided to be quiet for a while.

With an elegant spin, Mercia turned away and the rest of the group followed, Rahm still having trouble breathing as his laughter warped into coughing.

At first the light of day was blinding, so Jordan looked downward to give his eyes a moment to adjust. The entry to the building was made of a solid, lightly colored stone. It was slightly elevated from the ground around it, and once his eyes felt better, Jordan looked up to see a beautifully constructed stone pathway, wide enough for several cars to drive down, and sitting in front of the mansion was, in fact, just that.

A… car?

On a second look, Jordan realized it wasn’t a car, but more of a horseless carriage. The seating area behind the driver was a picture-perfect—ornate and decorated— carriage. There were many patterned dark colors of red and black, matching the would-be gothic motifs of the surrounding ‘family’ members alongside some grandiose noble seal and heraldry that meant nothing to Jordan.

And yet, the whole thing was set lower to the ground than it should be, with much smaller wheels than Jordan expected, giving it that car-like appearance. Sitting at the front, elevated almost dramatically compared to the rest of the vehicle, was a golden haired monkey the size of a man. His seating area looked like a small cockpit, with several levers, dials, gauges, and a giant gold trimmed steering wheel.

The Brat’s mother spoke up to the monkey-man, “Sorry to keep you waiting Torzan, we’ve had… incidents this morning.”

“OOOooo, not a worry… Lady Duchess. Please. Enter!” Torzan gave a rather unpleasant looking full-mouthed smile—determined to show every crooked tooth it seemed—as he grandly swept an invitation to enter. Jordan was just about to climb in after the mini-brat, when he noticed Mercia looking up with a disgusted expression on her face.

Following her gaze, Jordan looked at the front of the mansion. The perfectly patterned distribution of windows against the otherwise dark wooden exterior made him think of European ‘castles’ of the renaissance age. At first, he didn’t see what was upsetting Mercia until, with a start, he saw that several of the windows had curtains drawn back as several copies of the maid stood in them.

There were dozens of the black and white covered demon peering back out at them. Each one was currently trying to ‘look’ busy as they were staring, with no uncertainty, at Torzan.

Jordan spared a glance back, the golden furred monkey-man was wearing nothing more than black pants, with a hole for his tail, a bowtie, and a slightly too small top hat. It reminded Jordan of a Chippendale’s costume, especially as the ‘mans’ chest and face were the only place his silken hair didn’t cover, emphasizing his muscles.

Looking back at the mansion, Jordan saw various maids pretending to clean the windows, water plants (one missing the plant entirely, watering the table), and even one had her face pressed against the glass, with a giant fog cloud forming from her heated breath. Hell, as he looked around, he saw one doing something odd with her costume, almost like she was—

“HARLOT! Get away from the windows and back to work this INSTANT!” Mercia shouted loud enough to rattle the windows, causing Jordan to cower despite himself.

The maid put the girls away as the girls went away, giggling. Jordan shook his head and entered the carriage, already done with this trip. They had to be artificial. Had to be! Nothing is that… perky. Nothing!

“I’m so sorry Torzan, you, er, know how she gets.”

“Not a problem, Lady Duchess. I’m quite used to the attention! Uho, uhoho!”

Jordan cringed as he realized the laughter and accent the monkey had was a perfect rendition of a rich snob. In his opinion, it was usually done in mockery—yet this monkey seemed to be shameless about it. It was enough to make Jordan glad when Mercia entered and shut the door to the carriage, sealing them away from the aura of pure narcissism radiating from Torzan.

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