User: Thomas Finn/Phantom Limb

Civ: Phantrana

The user is able to create ghostlike copies of their body parts, which can act autonomously or be used to add energy to the user’s matching body part, severely increasing its strength for a short while. The user can also pull their limbs towards them or pull themself towards their limbs. Creating one of these copies causes major pain to the tissues being cloned. As such, the greatest limitation on the user’s strength is their own pain tolerance. It also has an AI living inside, who, while unable to offer combat advantages, can be a very useful friend.

Thomas Finn didn’t own a suit. Despite this, he had agreed to a date at a fancy, even somewhat pretentious restaurant with his boyfriend, Dominic, only a few dates in. Thomas also wasn’t exactly “upper-class” or “middle-class” or even “classy”—not that those things are related. Thomas wasn’t very cultured in any way. He poured himself a bowl of cereal before dinner as he sat at his small aluminum table, mostly because he didn’t want to overeat and make a fool of himself while spending a ton of money. But he also just liked cereal more than space lobster or whatever it was they served. “God, this is why I wear a mask all the time that looks like a cool hand because then I don’t have to do my hair!” Thomas whined, attempting to comb it in a way that didn’t cover his face and make him look emo and miserable. Revealing that he was emo and miserable was supposed to be an eighth-date sort of thing, and Thomas didn’t want to rush things. Regardless, it fell into its natural five clumps, and Thomas had to be content with leaving his house in a combination of ripped jeans and boyband hair.

Most people in Neonight took the train. The shapes of caverns were often too odd and winding to accommodate safe roads, and there often wasn’t enough space to accommodate places for people to keep cars when they weren’t endangering everyone by using them. Because of this, the trains effectively became large elevators that were designed to fit dozens of people and could travel up, down, sideways, diagonally, etc. They were all cubes, which meant they could weave in between each other, fitting through the gaps between cars, allowing for constant travel in all directions through just one intersection. Thomas had decided to think about what he would say as he hurtled through the caverns towards his dinner. His date, Dominic, was a lawyer and a rather successful one at that. He had family, and they had spoken of meeting someday. Thomas wasn’t a bad conversationalist; in fact, it was quite the opposite. A lot of the time, the only thing keeping him at a particular job or in a particular friend group was his conversational nature. But Dominic always made him nervous for some reason—more than anybody else he’d been with.

Thomas eventually arrived at the restaurant, La Bonne Nouris, which was written in the dead language of French, which was how people knew it was good. He immediately stuck out like a sore thumb as he stepped out of his train car and towards the large, confusingly designed building. Its shape curved and flowed in impractical ways that didn’t maximize the available space. It was weird being in a place that was so wealthy it could afford to be stupid. Of course, Thomas didn’t know the first thing about architecture, and the other patrons probably could have guessed that based on how he was dressed. Tuxedos and fancy dresses were commonplace. There was mingling and dancing between booths and tables as equally well-dressed patrons sat eating complex dishes and engaging in enthralling conversation. “Bonjour monsieur, as-tu une reservation?” the waiter at the front of the restaurant asked with a chuckle as he examined Thomas’s clothing.

“All right. Cut it out. Nobody speaks French, I’m poor, not stupid.” Thomas snapped back.

“Oh, sorry sir. Do you have a reservation?” he said, returning to his natural accent.

“No, I’m here with my boyfriend. It should be under Dominic?”

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“Last name?”

“Okay, I said boyfriend not married. I don’t owe you anything, okay?” Thomas put his hands in his pockets and became flush to the face. He was always aggressive when he got insecure. “I think it’s Tourell, but he hasn’t told me officially yet.”

“Ah, here it is. Right this way, sir. We were told you were coming.”

Thomas followed the waiter to a small candlelit booth in a sequestered corner of the restaurant. At the booth was a man far smaller than Thomas, with short black hair combed backwards and brown skin, thick dark glasses, and a grin as he pored over the menu, not even seeing Thomas arrive.

“Hey, Dominic. Sorry, I’m a little underdressed.” Thomas chuckled nervously as he sat down across from him. Dominic looked up from the menu to meet Thomas’s gaze.

“Oh thank God, I was worried you were going to show up in a suit too.” Dominic laughed nervously, removing the jacket of his own tuxedo revealing a death metal T-shirt with extreme fantasy imagery on its surface.

“You were? I thought you wanted to come to a place with a lot of fancy clothes.”

“Oh, no. I’m in a suit all day, I came here to get drunk while feeling like somebody who’s ‘worldly’ and ‘cultured.’ That’s why most of these people come to fancy restaurants, anyway.” Dominic answered, making air quotes and an exaggerated accent around the words worldly and cultured. “Were you feeling nervous that you’d be underdressed? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that—”

“No, it’s fine, really. That ‘getting drunk while feeling smart’ idea really makes up for everything.”

The pair ordered a bottle of fancy wine, which Dominic took the honour of paying for, and drank it while putting on a fake French accent and saying fancy words while getting drunk. Words that were either English words that they knew meant fancy, words they thought were French but were really Spanish or Italian, or just random French words. This resulted in phrases like “This wine is very français” or sometimes just “Honhonhon” over and over again.

“What do you want to eat?” Dominic asked, looking at the laminated paper menu. “Also paper menus huh? Retro.”

“Do they have chicken fingers?” Thomas asked, half-jokingly.

“Um, they might actually. I know they have fries. I think I’ll get that and the steak. That sounds good. Do you want the same?”

“Actually, I ate before I left. But I’m good to just keep drinking or eating whatever you decide not to.”

Thomas looked around the Bonne Nouris. He kept a backpack on him at all times that had his costume in it in case he needed a quick change, but none of the patrons seemed suspicious to him. He didn’t want to investigate further, which could cause a scene, so he got back to drinking with Dominic.

“Are you nervous at all? You seem kind of nervous.” Dominic asked.

“Oh, no I’m all right. It’s just date anxiety. You know, big restaurant, fancy date.”

“You don’t have to worry about being ‘good enough’ or whatever, if that’s what’s bugging you. It’s all right, really.” Dominic reached a hand over to Thomas’s elbow and gave a quiet smile.

Thomas smiled back. “Hey tell me about lawyering. How’s that going?”

“It’s going well. I’m prosecuting a member of the Lonely Hearts Club, one of Neonight’s gangs. Man, this place is a crime-filled shithole, but hey, it’s more fun than tax law.”

“Those guys are serious, aren’t they? Have you ever been put in any danger? Should I be worried?”

Dominic chuckled a bit. “Man you’re cute when you’re worried. But don’t be, seriously. They won’t come after me if they’re smart. Which these guys certainly don’t seem to be, based on how easy it is to prosecute them.”

“Oh. That’s a relief, I guess.” Thomas said, looking around the restaurant again.

“Are you checking for crazy assassins?”

“That and your food. Sorry, I know I shouldn’t be this paranoid.”

Eventually, a waiter arrived, wheeling out a trolley with a plate of steak and fries on it for Dominic, and another bottle of wine to split. Dominic began to eat his steak, while Thomas would occasionally steal an unsalted fry with a mischievous grin on his face. “Are you seriously eating those things plain?” Dominic asked.

“Yeah, I’m not going to salt your fries, that’d be a breach of personal boundaries.”

“Fair point. You don’t mind though, do you?” Dominic asked, gesturing to the shaker.

“No, go ahead. I’m probably done anyways. I gotta go to the washroom quickly, but I’ll be back.” Thomas said, exiting the booth and walking down through the rows of people before passing a rather squirrely-looking waiter who was staring right at his booth. “Excuse me, uh, do you know where the bathroom is?” Thomas asked.

“Oh! Oh yes, it’s just down the hall that way, Mr. Finn,” he said, jumping back in surprise as he did so, as though he had been caught doing something illicit.

“Okay, thanks!” Thomas said, walking slowly backwards. How did that guy know my name? He thought, walking off to the washroom. Thomas didn’t really need to go to the washroom that badly; he was mostly just nervous. Despite Dominic’s reassurance, there was still something Thomas found intimidating about him—something he couldn’t keep up with. He had also had way too much wine—another reason for his visit.