Kylee, to Jester’s disappointment, was not present in the lobby.
A wall of closed doors was all that greeted him as he took his next step inside. It surprised him no one was there. Not even a basic NPC to explain the function of the building. However, the posters on display were explanation enough.
He looked around the sizable room, feeling like he’d stepped into a boring office building in the real world. Uncomfortable plastic chairs sat in a row against the wall, across from a group of boring beige pillars. Inbuilt into them were touchscreens that softly glowed.
Strewn along the walls were tasteful pictures of Dolls. Men, women, and various others in seductive poses. Prices and names scrolled underneath the images, each in a simple font.
It was nothing like he imagined. People spoke of these places like they were re-enactments of old western brothels you saw in movies. He half expected Dolls dressed in revealing clothes strutting around, handing out drinks and making suggestive comments about renting a room upstairs. It was almost disappointing.
A sign above one pedestal caught his eye, a white card with small black text that read: Group Bookings.
With no one around to ask, Jester strode across the room, tapping on the glass screen. With a small vibration, it woke up, presenting him with several options.
[https://i.imgur.com/K8iw1Ke.png]
He selected the search option, and when prompted typed in KyleeMeester for the booking organizer. A light blue circle spun for a minute before it informed him no such booking existed. Next, he tried his own name, again no luck. Happy Hour’s name achieved the same result.
Then he sighed and tried one last name: Dollfucker.
Again, the blue circle spun, causing Jester to chew his lip. If this failed, he wasn’t sure what to try next. The idea of summoning help made him nervous, even though he knew it would be a NPC who greeted him.
A small cheerful ding calmed his nerves. As the sound of a printer whirred to life, a square of paper poked his leg. Jester caught it before it hit the ground, reading the meager message: Room 34.
None of the doors bore any markings, so he moved to the nearest and tried the handle. It opened smoothly, leading him to a dimly lit hallway with a single door at the end. Electric lights buzzed overhead, and there was a faint smell of ocean breeze air freshener.
The carpet muffled the group’s footsteps, and even Whiskers stayed quiet as the trio moved to the next door. Again, it opened without issue, and inside he found Kylee sitting at a large table. His first impression was of a conference room, the walls painted a bland white and a large flat screen TV set flush against one wall.
With Kylee being the room’s sole occupants, it made the space appear even bigger. Jester estimated that the conference table could comfortably hold twenty.
“Glad ya made it. I do so hope y’all didn’t run into any trouble?” Kylee didn’t smile, and she gestured at a group of seats across the table from her.
“You know full well we did,” Jester said.
He sat with Happy Hour on his right, their arms full of cat. Kylee opened her mouth to respond, but Happy Hour cut in.
“We appreciate you inviting us to such an interesting location. Will there be refreshments you need me to serve?”
“No, this meeting will be quick,” Kylee said, her fake accent dying again. “You read my demands, I take it?”
Jester nodded, Happy Hour and Whiskers nodding right along with him.
“Good. I’m going to offer you a deal. Take it or leave it.”
“Go on,” Jester sighed. “We didn’t get chased across rooftops not to hear you out.”
“We? Please don’t tell me you referred to this thing like that. That’s a step too far.”
Jester opened then closed his mouth. His mind ran back through the last couple of days, and the realization struck him hard. It was the first time he referred to them as a group.
“We helped each other escape an angry mob. That forms some ties.”
Kylee’s anger at the answer was evident, but Jester couldn’t bring himself to care. It was true, after all.
“You were about to deliver some demands?” Jester asked, resting an elbow on the table.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Happy Hour mimic the action, its other hand occupied with patting Whiskers.
“Yes. Yes, fine. The sooner this is over, the better,” Kylee spat. “The first is the same as last time. No selling Happy Hour until I tell you. Which will be when you stand on the stage of the Final Cup. Your little pleasure pet at your side.”
“It can’t fight—” Jester started, only to have Kylee cut him off.
“—It will with my upgrades. Not that you’ll tell anyone they came from me. That’s demand number two. If anyone asks, they came from JamesG.”
“You’re going to have me besmirch your rival?” Jester leaned back in his chair, considering. The guy acted a bit of a prick. His remarks about Jester’s darker skin were not something he would forget.
Kylee smiled at his reaction.
“Do you care?”
“Nope.”
“Great,” Kylee nodded, and her posture relaxed. “Cause, you’re not going to love this next one. Which fills me with a joy I can not describe.”
“I’m glad you’re happy,” Happy Hour said, and Jester wasn’t sure if the Doll actually missed the insult, or was politely pretending too.
“Sure. Jester, tell your Doll to shut up.”
“Happy Hour, leave the talking to me?” Jester asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.
A part of him seethed at the audacity, and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like Happy Hour could find that offensive, being a program. Though he saw why so many stores dumped the Doll.
“Of course, Jester. I am sorry to interrupt the table,” Happy Hour bowed the best they could without disturbing the now sleeping Whiskers.
Amusement fell from Kylee’s face as she delivered the final demand.
“You will be my errands bitch. Out in the open, no hiding your new best friend. If I have to take time out of my business making accessories for your action figure, then you’ll be helping me make up the time.”
“Reasonable,” Jester said.
In all honesty, he expected worse demands than this. Massive upfront payments, streams of him declaring how much he sucked, begging. Work wasn’t too bad.
“Glad you agree,” Kylee stood. “The opening to the Frankenstein cup will be in two weeks. I’ll have your quest complete before then. I have some ideas about what weapons to create. You. Doll. You can use weapons, correct?”
Happy Hour looked at Jester, who nodded for them to go ahead.
“Yes, I can. Though my creator designed my fighting style around kicks.”
“Shoes then. Fine. And Jester? I know it’s a Doll, but try to get it cleaned up before you go on stage, or take it on jobs for me for that matter.”
His brow furrowed in confusion, though he didn’t leave his seat. No need to make Kylee feel like he would follow her.
“Wouldn’t taking Happy Hour on jobs for you make the second condition moot?”
“That would depend on the job,” Kylee turned and reached for the doorknob. “You have an hour. Then I have a delivery for you to make. See it done.”
“Kylee!” He called out, stopping her before she pulled the door open completely. “Will this seriously get us back to how things were?”
“I don’t know Jester. Maybe,” her words sounded tired, vexed, ashamed.
He watched her go, with one thought bouncing in his head. How was he meant to make Happy Hour presentable with nine credits? Especially if he couldn’t use the cloak or shades getup. Not that he felt too disappointed about not using the shades.
Ugly things.
Happy Hour turned to him, the bolts and other debris in her hair shining under the electric lights.
“Where shall we go first, Jester? I need a repair for my uniform. It has become unfathomably disheveled.”
“Nine credits won’t get us far. Did the Dollhouse have someone they took you to if a customer got messy?”
“Oh yes, Madame Merriam’s. The number one Android clothier in Geartown.”
Jester pursed his lips, thinking.
Nine credits wouldn’t get anything from a store that sounded that fancy. Though it might be worth looking in. A cheap brush to get rid of tangles would do wonders on its own.
“Do you know the way?”
“Of course I do. Tiffany often complained about how my movements would tear seams. Julie said it came down to the one size fits all uniform policy,” Happy Hour rose, a still sleeping Whiskers tucked against its chest.
“I see,” Jester rose alongside the Doll, before moving to hold open the door. “Well, let’s see what they have.”
“I hope Madame Merriam remembers me.” Happy Hour moved past, back straight and steps measured. A confident runway model, strutting for an audience of one. “She was ever so delightful.”
He couldn’t help but hope she was right.
***
Happy Hour returned to her poised maid persona as they exited the building. Whiskers remained asleep, even as they moved through the streets. Jester moved in front even as Happy Hour instructed him where to go.
He tried his hardest not to shrink from the stares he received from the gawping crowd. BikerBrawler13’s groupies waved as he passed, some holding their hands up as though holding invisible cameras. So, there was a chance even this was being streamed. Fantastic. Now he’d have to worry about any of his actions appearing in a forum post.
That, however, was a worry for when he logged off.
Unlike his previous attempt to move through Geartown, no one stopped him. Whispers and rude comments were the worst he received. Happy Hour remained quiet except for the directions, with Whiskers returning to its previous routine of humping between them.
Even when he stopped in front of Madame Merriam’s store, no one tried to grab him. One or two elbowed him on the way past. Jerks. The squat building in front of him showed all the trappings of the Arcanapunk update. Stars spun slowly around the bricks as magical flames outlined the doorway.
Before he could place a hand on the metal door, a face of a metallic gargoyle formed and started blinking at him.
“Are you here to shop?” The gargoyle asked, its voice coming out in a rasp.
“We are,” Jester replied, marveling at the way the rivets on its cheeks bent and shifted.
Green flames turned blue, and soundlessly the door sunk into the ground. Jester stepped over the threshold, heart racing as he caught sight of the interior.
Platforms, floating above the ground, rotated around the interior of the store, displaying a variety of outfits. One, a pristine pink ballerina outfit, caught his eye, and as though aware of the attention, it stopped its rotation and flew closer. As it did, he noticed the exquisite details in the outfit. Sequins covered the bodice, shifting ever so slightly in hue. Timed such that it looked like a ripple passed from the neckline to the ruffled tutu at the base.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
His inspection, following the colorful flow, allowed him to catch the hidden details of the tutu. Miniature arcane runes lined the fabric, their sole purpose being to mimic the effect of the sequins above. He marvelled at the evident care of the hand that placed them there.
“You have a good eye.”
Jester turned to see a tall woman with a squeaky voice standing beside him. Dressed in wizard robes covered in stars, her long turquoise hair moved in constant ripples. She raised a thin painted eyebrow at him, her blue lipstick making her smile appear otherworldly.
“Thank you,” Jester said, taking a small step to the side.
“Good day, Madame Merriam,” Happy Hour placed Whiskers onto a nearby marble counter before bowing low at the waist.
“Happy Hour? My deary! You are a wreck. Positively ruined. You. Boy! What shenanigans have you put this poor robot through? I hope you have a deep, deep satchel if you expect me to help you fix this mess.”
“Uhhh,” Jester started before stopping, unsure what to say.
Happy Hour, thankfully, covered for him.
“Oh, it wasn’t Jester, not really. I, well, I ended up in the junkyard again.”
The pout on display was nothing short of dramatic, to the point Jester wondered if the Doll would start crying. Not that they could, he thought. No tears came, anyway, even as Happy Hour’s shoulders started shaking.
“Oh dearest. Pet. Love. No, none of that. Hush now,” Madame Merriam moved to Happy Hour’s side at such speed Jester could have sworn they teleported.
Not that teleporting avatars was possible. Movement upgrades were a robot only thing. A fact users continued to complain about on the forums. Some beta testers received a chance to test it, but after one streamer got stuck in a wall, the company discarded the idea.
“You. Boy!” Madame Merriam snapped her long fingers in his direction. “Behind the counter is a brush. Fetch it for me. Five credits, and I’ll teach you how to use it.”
Jester nodded, having to force himself not to salute.
“Done and done.”
Brush in hand, Jester returned from behind the counter to witness Happy Hour sitting on the edge of a levitating disk. Madame Merriam stroked the Doll’s hand, but stayed quiet. Upon his arrival, she directed him to hop onto the disk and get ready to work.
Under careful instruction, Jester fixed the bird’s nest Happy Hour currently sported.
“Careful, go slow. That’s it. So tell me, what got you interested in Dolls? No, don’t stop mid-stroke, you’ll ruin the material. That’s it. Now answer my question,” Madame Merriam’s squeaking kept him from zoning out as he worked.
“I found them,” Jester started, knowing he needed to be careful about what he said. He guessed that this woman wouldn’t take kindly to the idea that his primary motivation was selling Happy Hour and buying another robot. Even if he’d have to wait till year’s end.
“Couldn’t afford to buy ownership, so I agreed to do the quest. We got blocked by Tiffany, and now we’re working with another person I know to try and proceed.”
At the mention of Tiffany’s name, the proprietor’s face scrunched up.
“Ol’ Mac?”
“Ol’ Mac.”
“Well, I understand her reasoning for the implementation,” Madame Merriam said, as she swept up the metallic bits and bobs that fell to the ground. “It is a little much. No one ever tried to harass me.”
Jester bit his lip, faking trying to get out a particularly stubborn knot. Though his thoughts ran wild. Of course, no one harassed her. Not a single aspect about the building revealed what it did, or what type of customers it served. Though considering his new notoriety, that might change.
He winced with guilt and tried to shift the topic.
“Do you know where I can get some cheap outfits? I know The Junkyard will have some, but that seems. Disrespectful?” Jester said, doing his best to keep his tone polite.
At the mention of The Junkyard, Madame Merriam’s gaze turned hard.
“You do not mean that in any serious way,” she sniffed. “Dressing Happy Hour in clothes you found in the garbage. The very thought. Boys.”
“Well. I’m under orders to not use the clothes I brought for her. A friend,” Jester paused, before mentally snapping his fingers. “A friend believed she needs to be prominently displayed, rather than hidden under a cloak. With the four credits I have left, I’m not sure what my options are.”
“Four credits left? And you found her in The Junkyard? Oh, a Scrapper.”
The disdain on the last word was nearly palpable. Jester shrugged it off, used to it by now.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Well, you’ll get no charity from me!” Madame Merriam declared, her tone becoming almost imperial. “No, you shall work for your supper. As all of us do. Now. Boy! You plan on completing this quest, yes?”
“I’m picking up some gear for that exact purpose soon,” Jester replied before he remembered the second request. “JamesG is going to be building me some weapons.”
“JamesG? Him? An odd choice, but I suppose he would be one to show charity to a Scrapper if he thought it would boost his notoriety.”
Madame Merriam hummed before nodding.
“Yes. Boy! This will do. I have been telling Debrah and her little clique they need to change up the uniform. Brown is so, last update. She won’t budge, of course. Wants to stick to the Tavern Maid theme. Which is fine enough, I suppose. I shall lend you an outfit, on one condition.”
“I’m more than happy to help,” Jester said, as he finished straightening out the last tangles.
Happy Hour’s hair now flowed down her back, long and straight. He wondered if he could style it somehow. Hair that long would get grabbed by claws or tangled in servos. Maybe a nice bun?
“Of course. I shall make a wager on you with Debrah. You shall win, and she shall change her designs. You will not lose. If you do. Well. You will model this sequined masterpiece for me, on camera, for a little advertising. I have been trying to break into the player avatar market for a while. You will be a fantastic first test subject.”
Madame Merriam smiled before shooing him off the platform. Jester mulled over her demands as he watched her braid Happy Hour’s hair. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she twisted everything into knots and curls that somehow formed an elegant pile.
“I don’t see why that would be a problem?” Jester said, hesitantly. It shouldn’t be hard if Kylee helped. They almost beat Ol’ Mac as is. They simply needed more firepower.
“Fantastic. Wait outside. I’ll send her out to you in short order.”
With those words, Jester found himself ushered out of the building. As the gargoyle rose to meet him, he leaned against the wall, running his hand through the green flames. They were cool to the touch, with a pleasant ticklish sensation.
He let out a sigh, staring at the cloudless blue sky. A lot rode on this fight, and he knew little about it. Apart from the fact that Happy Hour lost far more than it won.
There wasn’t a single thing forcing him to do any of this. If they lost, he could abandon his claim, log off and walk away. There were other VR games out there.
Even as he thought of it, the idea repulsed him. Not purely at the idea of breaking an agreement, but knowing he couldn’t return. At knowing that, he ditched Happy Hour without really trying. With three free attempts at this, it would be cowardice to quit.
So what if Madame Merriam embarrassed him on stream? There was no way his chase wouldn’t be public knowledge. He clenched his fist as he snarled up at the sky, uncaring about those around him. No, he wouldn’t quit.
He refused to give those who tormented him for this, find the putrid satisfaction.
An image of Lexington’s smirk as he took the laser away from him surfaced in his mind. Smug git. No doubt the British bully would try to track him IRL purely to have the last word. Plus, he kinda wanted to get a shot at Rippertooth. The visual of Happy Hour kicking that tin canine in the face amused him, and he let out a chuckle.
“What’s so funny, Jester? Do I look that bad?”
His attention shifted to the sound of Happy Hour’s voice. What he saw took his breath away. What the Doll wore was art, simply art.
Madame Merriam didn’t change the overall design, the outfit still reminiscent of an old-fashioned tavern maid. However, instead of being a stark brown, it now bore a white and black color scheme. Jester watched in awe as tiny star patterns ran along the length of the black skirt, changing shapes and positions as he watched.
The black bodice bore more stars, and as Happy Hour twirled, he could see on the back, they formed a logo. Two green capital M’s on a glowing grey star.
“You look great,” Jester said.
Whiskers meowed in agreement, and Jester stroked the robopet under the chin. “I don’t see why they need me to win to change the uniforms.”
“Debrah is stubborn,” Happy Hour noted.
“Must be,” Jester said, as he sent a message to Kylee to ask where they should meet, figuring the warehouse would be off limits.
He got one back, telling him to head to a small café nearby.
“Shall we go display your new outfit, then?”
“Yes, I would love to,” Happy Hour said, her footsteps matching his as they moved to their next destination.
***
An NPC waiter dressed in casual street clothes met them at the front of the small diner. Jester tried not to sigh as he read the name of the establishment. Kylee was not being subtle.
“Welcome to Meat Cutes! I’m Susie, your server today. Table for two?” Her voice was chipper, and she seemed ignorant of the glares the two were receiving.
“We should be receiving another guest or two,” Jester replied, watching a pair of avatars from the corner of his eye.
The two, clearly on a date, were getting to their feet, their meal half-eaten. They stormed out the front door as Susie nodded. He winced. Even knowing he was going to see this, that reaction still stung.
“Of course, we have a booth free if that would suit your needs?”
“Sounds great.”
Jester followed her into the café, watching a few more customers leave. He hoped the owner wasn’t here. There was no way he could pay for this many unfinished meals. While rapidly emptying, it was clear the owner designed this place as a local date spot.
Most of the wooden tables, shaped like hearts, could hold only two, with a few booths shoved into the back corner. Racks of meat hung on the walls, with multiple wooden signs displaying various pig puns.
Jester had to hand it to the proprietor. The theming was on point.
Susie took them to the very last booth in a corner, over which a giant drumstick hung from a chain. It claimed to be from a griffon. She set a pitcher of water on the table before leaving them alone.
Happy Hour sat beside Jester, quiet as they waited for whomever it was that Kylee wanted them to meet. Time ticked past, and Jester ordered a simple bread roll as they waited. Happy Hour past the time getting Whiskers occupied.
Jester was on the cusp of sending another message when a figure slipped into the seats opposite. The avatar wore a tragedy theater mask, a nondescript suit similar to his own, and a set of black gloves. No skin showed, and it was impossible to determine gender through the clothes.
This was going to be interesting, Jester thought, as he sat back in his seat.
“Kylee sends her regards,” the man said. They’d synthesized his voice to hell and back, sounding even more robotic than most of the robots did.
“Kylee has agents now?” Jester couldn’t help but ask.
The figure chuckled, which came out as a strange buzzing. If it wasn’t for the way their shoulders shook, Jester wouldn’t have even known.
“She is a woman who generates favors, yes. You should understand that yourself, from what I hear?”
“Sure. Do you have a name?”
Another chuckle.
“Masky will do. I’m not going to show up on the chat function with that name, by the way. I have alternate methods.”
“A pleasure to meet you Masky,” Happy Hour said, with a small bow.
“Same to you Happy Hour. I’ve heard you’ve created quite a stir. Plus, I have a package for you.”
“Oh, a gift? You’re much too kind.” Happy Hour bowed again, and took the pro-offered package.
“I wouldn’t be too excited. Kylee was laughing a lot before she handed these to me. Not nice laughter either,” Masky shrugged. “I have one for you too, Jester.”
With a flourish, they produced another small box. “I believe you know who this needs to go to?”
“JamesG,” Jester recited, “This isn’t my first delivery for her.”
“You don’t have an inventory yet, correct?” Masky asked, only continuing after Jester nodded. “Then do be careful with it. You’re getting a bit of notoriety, and I’d hate for someone to try something.”
“You got it boss,” Jester said.
Masky laughed and stood.
“With my delivery done, I believe we’re finished. Thank you for your time. I’m sure if Kylee needs us to meet again, we shall.”
With a bow, Masky left the store, vanishing around a corner in short order.
“They were an interesting figure,” Happy Hour commented.
“That they were,” Jester said, noticing the way Happy Hour’s eyes darted towards the package in its hands. “Shall we open that here?”
“Can we? Please? I have never received a wrapped present before.” Happy Hour’s fingers trembled over the package, and Jester smiled.
He couldn’t help but admit he felt a little excited. It reminded him of a spy movie, and he even currently wore a suit. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
“Go for it.”
Sounds of tearing paper filled the café as Happy Hour tugged apart the twine. What appeared was a pair of metallic ballet flats. Bright pink and shiny, they looked childish rather than something designed for combat.
With hesitation, Jester reached over and laid a finger on them, waiting for the window to pop-up.
[https://i.imgur.com/nJkFEF2.png]
He drew his hand away as Happy Hour reached into the new shoes and pressed something with an audible click. A small blade extended from the toe of the shoe, the metal glinting in the light.
In a simple test to see if the blade was sharp, Jester ran a napkin lightly over it.
The paper cut with nary a sound.
While he couldn’t find much to enjoy in Kylee’s naming scheme, he couldn’t say she didn’t make a fine weapon. When Happy Hour retracted the blade, Jester marvelled at the simplicity of it.
With a single medium weapon, Happy Hour would deal significantly more damage. Plus, a stabbing weapon would allow them to pierce important parts, provided the armor was low enough.
They almost toppled Ol’ Mac last time. This might be enough to push them over the edge. If not? Well, they’d deal with that bridge if they came to it.
Now, if only there was some way to deal with Happy Hour’s grandstanding issue.
“What do you think?” He asked, to fill the silence.
“They are,” Happy Hour paused, its tone very diplomatic. “Very pink?”
“Yeah. Perhaps Madame Merriam can recolor them?” Jester offered, trying to put some kind of positive spin on it.
“Perhaps,” Happy Hour sounded unsure of the idea. “May I try them on?”
“Go for it,” Jester said, signalling to Susie that they were ready to pay.
Happy Hour stood, slipping off the well shined black flats she was wearing, and replacing them with the new shoes. They fit perfectly, though that was to be expected. Weapons, armor and accessories all changed to be compatible with whatever equipped them. Provided the robot possessed the right appendages.
They clashed with the outfit, but thankfully the skirt was long enough to cover them while Happy Hour stood still. Jester supposed he should be thankful they were flats, and not high heels. Though he didn’t think for a minute Kylee didn’t consider it.
“How do they feel?” He asked.
“They will do. Do you know where we need to go?”
“Marked on my map,” Jester confirmed, standing as well. “Any discomfort?”
“None, plus we will not need to fight immediately. I should get used to them before we got back to fight that pole.”
“Did you two have a nice meal?” Susie asked, as she took Jesters two credits. He winced at the price, but didn’t say anything.
“It was lovely, thank you,” Happy Hour said. “We thank you so much for hosting us.”
Susie waved as they left.
Jester waved back before turning to his destination. There was a delivery to complete, after all.