SAVE POINT 52
Loading Church Level & An Interesting Development...100%
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Dormouse
"All the times I've been nice to you and this is what I get for it?" I lament at Rosabella, looking down at the very dangerous pill perched on my fingertip.
Everyone except me seems to be fine with the plan—no nervous swallowing, no sweating palms like mine.
Goddammit! Why did I have to eat the fucking free donuts laced with trackers?! I know The Game is technologically advanced, but this is an aspect of that growth I'm currently hating. That and this stupid pill. I glance at it again.
Oh, what powers the medical community has over us mere mortals...
"It says here that one should do the trick," Mimi says, turning over the pill box where she's been squinting at the tiny, black text on the back. The freckles on her nose stand out even more in this lighting—or am I just trying to focus on anything other than the task at hand?
One pill.
"Good," I whisper, "'Cause I'm not taking two."
"Dormouse, you know why we have to do this—" Rosabella starts. Her eyes hold a warning and gravity I don't want to mirror back at her.
I squint, pretending not to understand, but it's part of the joke, "Because I ate too many donuts?"
"And, now, you have to pay the price for it," Sparo dictates, looking more than a little aggravated by how long this entire situation has already taken, "Swallow the damn pill already, will you? If that asshole Goran gets anymore of a head start on us, he'll have lapped us ten times."
And that's why I'm here.
In this lose-lose situation.
In an empty church with a bathroom the size of a closet and pill that's gonna put me in there for at least an hour...probably longer.
All to extradite a tracker.
All of them staring at me in this cramped sacristy—a glorified priest's changing room.
Damn it. Maybe life was better when I wasn't a Game Warden.
...Whoever invented laxatives was a dick.
The church back room smells like dust and silence—like nothing's moved in the last ten hours...or ten days. Like each breath in here is too much of a disruption. The walls are mostly carved, wood wainscot with religious symbols dotting every few feet and bookshelves holding enormous tomes with golden-painted-edge pages that I'd totally be into sniffing through if I didn't think some sort of alarm was going to go off when I touched them. A thick, red carpet stretches underfoot, and a mahogany table breaks up the space, piled high with pamphlets. It's weird being in a church at night, but even weirder being back here. Because I'm pretty sure even the most lenient of priests would kick our asses out without a second thought.
"At least it's quiet in here," Mimi murmurs.
"—So everyone can hear me scream, oh great?!" I protest, "No thank you."
The girl's freckled face falls, and I watch her tuck the ends of her brown bob behind her hears. I know she meant well, I just...I just wish I'd eaten less at the diner. This isn't going to be pretty.
"Pop the damn pill, or I'll leave you here and find Prickgada myself," Sparo threatens testily. Maybe it's the idea that he has to spend the night sleeping in the church...or the fact that he has to face his ex-girlfriend sorceress, who's quite a handful, in the morning after stealing her creator magic, but the dragon-non-dragon is in a sour mood.
I gulp.
And I decide they're right—getting rid of the tracker potentially lounging in my intestines at this very moment is most important.
And I pop the dry pill onto my tongue.
"Wather?" I mouth, the word coming out all garbled around the pill.
Rosabella hands me some sort of glass decanter. "All they have is wine," she tells me.
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And I chug it, wincing.
And this mission is tasting sourer by the minute.
Loading...20 Minutes Later...98%
I can't handle; that much is completely obvious to me. That and I feel like I'm going to hurl or faint and—goddamn, why did I agree to do this?
I prefer not to get into the gritty details of what's actually happening at this point in time, but it feels like my stomach has consciously agreed to split in two and flush the other half out of my body.
Oh my God.
I've been whimpering; I can't hold it back, really. I can only bite back the screams of pain which I can only fathom will break through eventually. God, one tiny pill and this is what it's done to me?! Reduced me to a sniveling, whimpering kid clutching at his stomach with his pants around his ankles and far too much air wafting onto his bare legs?!
The church bathroom, though private, definitely isn't larger than a closet. The toilet is so close to the sink that my knees almost brush the cold porcelain there. And whoever picked out this wallpaper twenty decades ago should have rethought their decision. A shelf holding a crucifix and a bible is jammed on the side wall, near my elbow, and a dusty toilet paper holder...like they don't want you to forget you're in a church when you're making a movement.
This might be a church, but this is the first time I've prayed in a long time. Dear Jesus God! Let me survive this and literally I will do anything! Make this diarrhea stop, and I will kiss some holy relic or be a master of goodness for the rest of my life! Goddamn!!
"Dormouse? Hey, it's just me, Mimi."
The girl's soft voice wafts under the door. She sounds...concerned...kind.
I unclench my fists at my sides, trying to muster up enough composure in the pain to talk. "Hey Mimi," I finally sputter.
I hear her shuffle her feet on the other side of the door like she isn't sure if she should stay or go. "You okay?" she asks finally.
"Definitely not," I hiss; I have to unclench my teeth to answer. I stare at the tile floor under my feet, tracing the patterns again with my eyes.
But it doesn't seem like the girl is going away. I watch her shadow pause in the middle of the door and, then, sink—getting smaller like she's sitting there on the other side with her back propped up against the wood?
"When I was a kid and didn't feel well," Mimi starts, "my mom would sing to me, and it helped. You want me to try?"
"You sing?" The question pops out of my lips without my acknowledgement. Honestly, somehow, already this conversation is helping. Maybe it's her soothing, bird-like voice or the fact that someone actually cares enough to try to help me.
"Yeah, I sing a little," the girl admits. It sounds like she's blushing and, for some reason, that makes me smile, imagining her freckled cheeks turning rosy.
I finger the rough edge of my pants zipper. "Oh, I bet you're real good," I say, honestly meaning it. The girl just seems like she'd have a good voice.
"Well, it makes it easier that you're on the other side of the door," she chuckles softly, "It'd probably make me less embarrassed."
I hear her shift and try to imagine her embarrassed. At the coffee shop, the girl had been sitting by herself. She looked comfortable with herself—with being alone. Not scared or bashful. Then again, some people would say I look confident about things like computer programming, but I get stuck in my head and shy all the time...
"I get embarrassed about lot of things," I confess. The easy way the admission leaves my tongue is a quandary in and of itself.
"You do?" Her voice—quiet and shy—is muffled a little by the door.
"Sure," I offer quickly, picking at my thumb now, "I—well, girls for one. It's actually a small miracle I can talk to you. I usually seize up like a deer in headlights and can't get anything at all intelligent out—"
"You seem too smart for that," she cuts me off, surprising me, "I mean, you hacked into The Game code."
"And you seem like you'd be a good singer," I counter, smiling a little despite the pain in my stomach, "Just talking helps, thanks."
Silence blankets us like a worn quilt—somehow comfortable.
Then, a wobbling soprano voice starts, soft and quivering in the tune of an old fable.
Mimi.
> "The deer on the low bank graze.
>
> As the sun sets its flickering rays.
>
> Goodnight, sweet child, sleep free tonight.
>
> When you wake again, let it be in the light."
...And she's just as good as I suspected. The lulling tune entrances me for a moment of beautiful, raw stillness.
...Except my stomach isn't still. My insides contort and clench with agonizing pulses. "It's getting really bad now," I admit.
And, something happens, then.
Something...
Strange.
And...beautiful.
An offer.
"If you open the door a little, I can hold your hand. I won't look—" the girl says.
But, I'm a little suspicious.
"And you won't let the others look?" The thought of being caught holding a girl's hand with my pants around my ankles literally is enough to make me feel sicker.
"I swear on it. I'll guard this door with my life," Mimi vows.
And I believe her.
"Okay," I concede. I adjust myself on the seat nervously, my eyes darting to the door, "When?"
"Now," she tells me.
And the door handle turns, and the door creaks open allowing a white hand to slip through like a silent dove.
And I reach my hand out and grasp hers—soft and cold, squeezing.
And, somehow, it feels like God answered my prayers even better than I'd thought. ...Because I'm smiling thinking of a girl, and it's not Maude.