Deacon was getting the finishing touches done on his new tattoos while his comrades discussed some kind of technical details. He’d spent much of the tattoo process lost in thought and had drowned everything else out. Bones and Sonnet arrived at the tattoo shop about as quickly as Deacon and Marla, thanks to the small lizards and insects Sonnet spying for her. The army of critters had also sent word to Halwark, as he’d arrived within the hour. Deacon knew they’d talk over their plans, but frankly, he couldn’t be bothered with it. It’d been a long time since he’d slept in a familiar bed, he’d spent days walking, and today was spent in a crowded and new city. This combination of factors was mentally exhausting, and he didn’t have any attention to spare until he found a cozy nook somewhere to decompress, and either read a book or watch one of his new phantograph plays.
As Hector had finished up the last piece of masterful artwork he’d scribed onto the gray canvas that was Deacon’s skin, a new person entered the shop, prompting every head to turn. The seven-foot-tall man was a lamzet, the first of his species Deacon had met in person. In addition to his height, he was riddled with distinctive features that made humans consider his race even more exotic than scriptyrs. His skin was one uniform shade of salmon, with a smooth, almost rubbery visual texture. Rust-colored hair dropped shoulder length from his head and joined his mustache-free chinstrap beard. His nose was blocky, as the bridge was a finger-width flat pallet that let off at a distinct angle, reminiscent of the corners along a banana peel. In place of ear lobes, each ear had four long segments of cartilage similar to an elf’s auricles, but slightly rounded and pointing downwards and back, giving an appearance like an axolotl. As if he needed more help standing out in a crowd, he was dressed in an almost princely garb, with a festively colorful sherwani, embroidered with an elegant pattern. His pants were undoubtedly of the highest quality, but they played second fiddle to his green leather pointed shoes with solid gold tips.
The lamzet man briefly gave a tired look at the small crowd within the tattoo studio, then brushed it off, went straight to Hector, and gave him a kiss that showed familiarity; less like the tenth kiss of new lovers and more like the thousandth kiss that planned to become the millionth one day. Deacon’s thoughts were dominated by the notion that the couple had completed one full beard with the kiss.
Halwark stood as straight as a toy soldier and offered a polite handshake, as he greeted, “It is an honor to meet you, Scribe Gerrick. I am Halwark Lifsen of Silver Isle, an adventurer with interests in the city I’m informed may align with yours. Your good husband Hector has shared much praise on your name.”
Deacon was completely lost. Not only had he failed to pick up the information that Hector’s husband was now involved in their plan, but he was only just now learning that Halwark had a last name. He would really need to start paying more attention.
Gerrick accepted the handshake but was strangely quick about it. Deacon had difficulty reading Gerrick’s face, as none of his books of expressions and body language featured lamzets, rather they were annoyingly human-centric. Gerrick excused himself into another room, and Hector followed.
Deacon looked to Marla, who he thought would be the least likely to judge him for being lost, and asked her, “Wait, so what’s happening? I zoned out.”
Marla cursed under her breath, and loudly whispered, “I was gonna ask you!” After a moment, she turned to Halwark exaggerating the body language of a child getting ready to beg for candy, pointing her index fingers together. “Haaalwark? Could you maybe explain what’s going on? You’re so smart and you’re the best at explaining things.”
Halwark gave a very tired expression. Deacon wondered if he should suggest he drink coffee. Halwark took a deep breath and with deliberate calmness, explained, “You know how I was searching for an academic of local law to assist our pursuit of Jacob Preenely?” Marla and Deacon both nodded eagerly. “Well, the two of you stumbled, ass-backward I may add, not only into a skilled magic tattooist but one whose husband is a law scribe with a personal vendetta against Lord Preenely. What I cannot explain is how you happened upon this ludicrously serendipitous meeting. My working theory is that one of the gods of mischief is spoon-feeding us impossibly good luck as some sort of joke.”
“It’s not luck,” Deacon dismissed. “It’s not even coincidental, really.”
“Oh? Do tell, are you actually a master tracker feigning ignorance?”
“I don’t know what that means,” Deacon joked, amusing only himself. “No, all I mean is it was inevitable. Let’s say you’re hunting a vampire, and you track him to a village that he treats like his personal pantry. Is it a coincidence when the first village you meet is plotting against the vampire?”
“I see,” Halwark conceded. “You know, you’re quite the asset, Deacon. You have an interesting way of looking at things, as though you glare directly into our blindspots.”
“Your blindspots,” Sonnet corrected.
Halwark was taken aback. “Is that true? Am I clueless?”
“Only to the fact that Deacon’s doing this all for your benefit.” Nods from Marla and Bones corroborated.
Halwark was growing disturbed by the sense of cognitive dissonance. He was intelligent and educated not only in academics but also in the constantly shifting political games that came with adventuring at the level he hoped to reach one day. All at once, though, he was beginning to feel stupid. “I already see the error in attacking those goblins. I don’t need to be taught a lesson. Deacon, what is the meaning of this?”
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Deacon hated being put on the spot. There was an imaginary weight in his throat that made speaking more strenuous. “It’s not… I’m not exactly teaching you a lesson. It’s not anything bad, either.” Deacon did his best to center himself and find the words he needed. He didn’t expect to forgive Sonnet for this any time soon. “You said yourself that you have blind spots. I’ve got a shit load of them myself. By following any of a certain kind of thread, I wanna show you something that will give you another lens to see the world with. It’ll clear up a blind spot for you, and it’s important to me that you see what I’m trying to show you.”
“I am not exactly pleased with the obfuscation of your intent. I can, however, move past this. I will accept your cryptic quest for a new perspective if you will only allow me a better understanding of why this is so important?”
Deacon considered, then opted to continue speaking in riddles. “It’s important because you’re my friend, and because you’ve chosen a heroic path for yourself. You’re a good-hearted person.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
“Do you think it would matter if Jacob Preenely had a good heart?”
“Of course it would,” Halwark scoffed.
“No. It wouldn’t make a dog’s lick of difference. This important for you as it is to me. Without seeing what I’m trying to show you, it won’t matter that you’re good-hearted either. You’ll run a high risk of being a tragically kind and honorable villain. Worse yet, you could end up seeing the truth far too late and wind up as just another jaded and meaningless cog in the machine, too disillusioned to grow and too burned-out to break the chains that bind you.”
Halwark’s features hardened as he thought hard about Deacon’s words. After a pause, he said, “Such an extraordinary claim is difficult to accept. I will extend you my trust, just as you have extended me your friendship.” Halwark recognized Deacon’s almost imperceptible equivalent to a smile in response. With that settled, he had but one question. “Why am I the one singled out? Why does everybody else know something that I do not?”
Bones answered easily, “We’re freaks. We’re the little people— no offense, Marla.” That earned them a kick to the exposed femur. “We don’t need a lesson on what the world looks like from the bottom.”
“Alright,” Halwark decided. “Education is never complete. Proceed to show me the way of the freaks.”
A new voice called out from out of view. “I might be able to help with that.” All turned to see Gerrick, who had seemingly lightened to the party’s presence.
Gerrick was initially irritated by his husband making arrangements on his behalf, which Deacon respected. Once he had the rundown from Hector and eavesdropped on the group’s conversation, he was on board. He’d already spent years gathering information on Preenely and was thrilled at the prospect of finally putting it to use. He would divulge further details in time but noted that Preenely was tier eleven, so the party would need to complete contracts until they were strong enough to be a threat to the malicious landlord. In the meantime, the couple generously insisted on accommodating the party in the basement apartment beneath the tattoo studio. Deacon took the offer as straightforward and accepted it right away. This was opposed to the strange game everyone else played where they pretended to reject it and their hosts were forced to push further.
The basement was nice, especially by Deacon’s standards. He was accustomed to sleeping slightly below the ground, and in this case, it was even broken up into separate sleeping chambers. He picked one and promptly excused himself to it to spend the remainder of his day curled up and watching some of his new phantograph plays and serials. He appreciated the space to center himself.
Deacon was too absorbed by his entertainment by nightfall that a knock came at his door, and then it was opened. Eventually, he was stirred from his trance by an “ahem,” which directed his gaze to the door. It was Sonnet, giving a strange glare, clad in a bathrobe and a hair towel.
Deacon averted his gaze awkwardly. “Oh, um… hi,” he greeted.
“Hi,” she parroted, unable to avoid at least a light teasing. “I want to talk to you about something.”
Deacon dismissed his Mr. Mirror. “You have my attention.”
“Do I? You’re not looking.”
“Sorry,” he apologized, correcting his gaze. “Didn’t wanna be rude, with the bathrobe.”
She looked down, furrowed her brow, and looked back to Deacon. “This is exactly as covered as I always am. Plus, I’ve seen you naked.”
“Point taken,” he conceded. “Come right in. What’d you want to talk about?”
Sonnet closed the door behind and sat beside Deacon. “Are you interested in me?”
Deacon was taken off guard. “Meaning-?”
“Don’t be coy, you know exactly what I mean.”
“Well… yes, I’m interested, but it’s kind of complicated.”
“It is and it isn’t. Let me guess: you’re worried because we’re a party. We have a commitment that precedes all others, so committing romantically is impossible. Planning for anything less than spending centuries with your party with absolute trust and zero baggage is planning for failure. You’re worried that if you muddy the waters with sex and romance then either one of us will develop feelings while the other doesn’t, or worse, that the other does. That, of course, jeopardizes the party, because breakups and drama are inevitable. You’d rather have a trusted teammate and friend forever than a ‘whatever we’d be’ for a limited time. The first priority should be killing the gods. Am I right?”
Deacon nodded. “That’s disturbingly accurate. I’m guessing you have a rebuttal?”
“I do. My rebuttal is you’re an idiot.”
“Hurtful, but probable.”
“Things will be complicated no matter what. Do you think risking the whole party just to do a fucking vibe check on Halwark isn’t complicated?”
“I wouldn’t say vibe check,” he argued meekly.
“Oh yeah? What are you testing?”
“To see if he’s cool,” Deacon admitted, realizing it was precisely a vibe check.
“Exactly. If and when shit turns sour, from us hooking up or the personality clashes we’re all bound to have, we will deal with it. All good parties do. We’ll live long lives or die trying. That means we’ll either have plenty of time to get over our shit or it won’t be our problem anymore.” She paused for Deacon to nod in understanding. “You’re cute, and just a bit terrified of me, which is a must. It also doesn’t hurt that I’ve seen you naked and can’t stop thinking about what I saw. So only one question should matter in deciding what we do in the short term, future consequences be damned. Do you want me?”
There was no question. “Absolutely I do.”
“Good,” she said, gripping the belt of her robe. “Because I want to show you something.”
And thus, something new began. Their own secret story to share outside of the pages of this book, just for them.