Whoever the mastermind was behind Maid#34 or Heather, clearly found inspiration in movies. Specifically, the ancient 90s high school mean girl archetype. Tall, thin, and with alterations to her uniform that screamed fashion over function, the Android strutted towards them with a confidant gait Jester knew few in real life could manage.
One finger preoccupied itself with twirling her already curled locks as she narrowed her eyes at Happy Hour. Happy Hour said nothing in response, keeping her face as neutral as possible.
The silence stretched on, and Jester was comfortable letting it continue. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there before Heather smiled at them. One, that anyone would consider fake even if she wasn’t a robot.
“O.M.G. You’re back. I thought Debrah sold you or tossed you out? But, like, it’s so nice to see you again. Brave, some would say,” Heather said, her voice a hair’s breadth from being disrespectful.
“Oh. Things are going to be different this time, Heather. Jester isn’t like the others,” Happy Hour said, her glare matching the waitresses.
“Your new boy toy something special, huh? That’s cute. Got a real.” Heather smiled at Jester. “Partnership.”
Jester placed a hand on Happy Hour’s shoulder, stopping her before she rose from her chair. The movement caught Heather’s attention, who raised a painted eyebrow.
“O.M.G. New outfit? He is treating you well. He even got your hair done.”
Jester did his best to smile at the Android, but inside, a bead of annoyance floated in his guts. He’d been to high school. A while back. But he’d been. The movies magnified the problematic tropes, but some people embodied them closer than others. Every word this Android uttered made him remember the worst of them.
“I’m glad you like it. You’ll be wearing it when we win,” he said.
“Will I now? O.M.G. I’m sure it’ll look great. Stars are totally my thing. I might try yours first, hey Happy Hour? Wouldn’t be the first time something of yours went to me, right? But where are my manners?” Heather let out a giggle, girlish and on the cusp of flirty. Enough so, drunker guys might tip better. “What can I get you, Dam13n? And your friends.”
The last word contained enough emphasis that Jester thought he might drown in it.
“Shots! Steamers to start, then maybe a round of Arcane Jolts!” Dam13n slapped the table, grinning. “Oh man, I knew this was going to be a cat fight.”
Heather let out another flirty giggle as she materialized a set of steaming vials.
“I’ll tell Miss Debrah you’re here, shall I? She’ll want to see you before the big event. Good luck, Happy Hour, try not to embarrass yourself in front of your new owner. Maybe he won’t try to sell you for a pittance this time?”
Heather laughed as she vanished into the crowd, almost hip-checking several other Androids. Jester tried his drink when he caught Happy Hour’s stare. His nose wrinkled as the steam hit his face. Whoever named these did a good job.
When the blonde vanished from view, he decided it was safe enough to speak up.
“She’s a real piece of work.”
“Heather? Yeah, she’s one of Debrah’s originals. Designed specifically for here. She gets great tips.” Dam13n nodded.
That didn’t surprise Jester in the slightest.
“Got any advice on how she fights?”
Dam13n finished his drink before answering, his face screwed up in thought.
“Hand to hand, I think? I don’t remember her using a weapon, but that doesn’t mean she can’t. Saw her slap a guy who got handsy once. That was hilarious.”
His laughter was infectious, and Jester joined in. Happy Hour shook her head while she patted Whiskers.
“Violent and self-absorbed. I bet he didn’t even touch her. She probably just wanted an excuse,” Happy Hour huffed.
Whiskers meowed, rubbing its head against Happy Hour’s arm. The little robopet purring while she continued patting it. Happy Hour continued to mutter under her breath, shooting dark looks at the spot where Heather had vanished.
Jester shook his head, knowing he wouldn’t get help from that direction.
“So we shouldn’t worry about her pulling out a laser pistol or something?” He asked Dam13n, before finishing the rest of his drink.
“Nah, man, nothing like that. It’s all martial here. People love watching hot Androids wrestle. It gets real dirty, you know? Hair pulling, name-calling, punches below the belt. No real rules here.”
“None? So they’re not going to confiscate our new gun?”
“People might boo you? But nah, man. You take in what you think will make the best show. Or help you win. Whichever is more important to you.”
Heather reappeared, interrupting their conversation with another woman at her heels.
Another blonde, and obviously an avatar, not human. They must have spent a fortune on avatar packs. The fantasy woodland packs were a onetime giveaway with convention tickets.
The faun smiled at him and nodded. He returned the gesture, trying not to stare, and failing miserably.
Unlike Heather’s curls, Debrah’s blonde hair was long and straight, flowing around the two curling horns. Her thin, light blue gown was sleeveless with a deep neckline. A slit up the side showed off the brown fur of her goat’s legs as she moved closer to the table, extending a tanned hand.
Jester took it, forcing his eyes away from the finely braided blue belt that kept the ensemble together. His gaze, on their way to her face, caught the choker inlaid with moonstones. Each picked to be the perfect shade to complement the outfit.
“You’re the one who found our Happy Hour?” Debrah said, voice melodic. Perfect. Jester wondered how many voice packs she’d purchased to get there.
“Uh, yeah. Yes. I’m Jester. Hi,” He said disjointedly after Happy Hour kicked him under the table when Heather laughed at his delay.
Debrah giggled as well, pleasant and kind, unlike Heather’s vaguely mocking version.
“Well, it’s a delight to meet you, Jester. May I sit?”
Before he said anything, an elaborate throne appeared in a puff of smoke. The faun sat, crossing one leg over the other, with a drink in hand. Heather moved to stand behind her, and this time, Happy Hour was too quick for him to stop. She stood, keeping eye contact with the other Android as she did so.
Soon enough, she’d moved behind Jester, placing a hand on his shoulder. Dam13n remained silent as he pushed his chair backward to distance himself.
“May I be blunt?” Debrah asked.
“Of course,” Jester replied, nails biting into his palm. This wasn’t the first attractive woman he’d seen in-game. Most people played up their looks. He wasn’t sure why he was so flustered, and he hoped the pinch would help.
“You don’t want to do this,” Debrah said flatly. “All the others regretted it. I see you’ve taken good care of Happy Hour here, and yes, while Madame Merriam contacted me about the outfits. Lovely, not my preference, but lovely. She also told me about your potential punishment. I talked to her, and she agreed. If I say no, then the deal’s off.”
Jester nodded, following the logic. One question needed to be asked, however.
“What would happen to Happy Hour if I turned this down? I’ve spent time and money on this.”
Heather snorted, and Debrah raised a hand, forestalling any potential comments.
“You would, of course, be compensated for any expenses. Worry not. She would be looked after.”
“So, end up in the dump again?” Jester asked as Happy Hour squeezed his shoulder.
“We didn’t put her there,” Debrah said.
She didn’t give him the chance to respond as the proprietor of the Dollhouse snapped her fingers. In front of her sat a chalice, a mix of gold and ruby, with a series of blue flames that turned purple as they rose into the air. She raised it to her lips; the fire bending away from her face.
He couldn’t help being impressed, but he pressed on regardless.
“Sure, but you know that’s what will happen. Why can’t you simply order Heather to lose? Then the headache will be over.”
Debrah sighed. “Because it doesn’t work. You don’t think we’ve tried that? Jester, we’ve been doing this for well over a year now. The last player who tried this didn’t even beat Ol’ Mac. They don’t even have legs.”
“I beat them,” Jester said. “Bet I can beat Heather too.”
Pressure from behind emboldened him, making him say more.
“And I mean bet.”
“Because you haven’t made enough of those?” Debrah laughed, and the drink in front of her burned hotter. “Besides, do you think you have anything to offer me?”
Jester opened, then closed his mouth. She was right. However, before he admitted as much, Happy Hour started speaking. Her voice was stern, a stage actor trying to drill into the audience that this scene was important.
“You’re right. We’ve done this for a long time. So, while Jester has nothing to offer. I do. Deletion.”
Jester twisted in his seat, staring up at the narrowed eyes and the stern line of Happy Hour’s mouth.
“We get our three attempts, and if we fail on the last time, you can delete me. I believe my maker gave you that functionality before they left?”
“He did.” Debrah blinked and shook her head. “That doesn’t mean I’ll use it.”
That caused Jester to twist back around, an eyebrow raised at the Faun.
“But you’ll let her rot in a dump? Seems crueler your way.”
“At least she’s alive.”
“Buried in garbage. In some kind of standby mode,” Jester said, thinking fast. “I thought you all loved Dolls? Or is she an exception?”
Hands up in surrender, Debrah shrugged.
“Fine. Fine. I see you’re both serious about it. A pity. But fine. Heather, you’ll be a dear and get the upstairs ring ready?”
“Yes, Miss Debrah,” Heather said demurely.
“Excellent. I’ll send someone down when it is ready. You don’t mind if I do ticket sales, do you? Of course, you don’t. See you in an hour.”
Without another word, she left. Jester watched the flaming goblet vanish as soon as she was out of sight.
“Well, that was overly dramatic,” Happy Hour said as she settled back into the chair next to him.
Jester stared at her, mouth agape at the sheer audacity of the statement, considering the bet she’d made. Before he said another word on the topic, Dam13n slapped his hand on the table.
“So, who’s up for some pre-fight fun?”
***
Dam13n’s version of pre-fight fun comprised three things: food, drink, and dance.
Jester found all his attempts to talk strategy rebuffed. No sooner would he raise a point, then drinks would appear to distract the table. The same silent server made each delivery, before appearing and vanishing within seconds of each call. She was a short, chubby Android with rosy cheeks that matched the pink stripes along her limbs.
In her hands, she carried a pristine porcelain tray that housed the oddest assortment of drinks that Jester had ever witnessed.
Test tubes, crystalline skull goblets, and flowers that blossomed into intricate cylinders filled with mead were some of his favorites. Each drink fizzed, popped, or held some kind of strange aftertaste. No sooner did he get used to one, than another assaulted his senses.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
As the drinks assaulted his mouth with flavors, the music assaulted his ears with music. The Unseen DJ seemed to change tracks and genres with no rhyme or reason. Techno would fade, replaced by a stately waltz, which would screech to a halt as a rock song blared.
Androids and their owners flowed on and off the dance floor with each change of song. A tidal wave of digital metal and flesh that never seemed to end. One catchy pop number caught Happy Hour’s attention. Before he even imagined protesting, she’d grabbed his hands.
He looked at Dam13n and Whiskers, who stared back as she pulled him into the mess. Her flowing, graceful movements didn’t fit with the beat of the song at all. Though it was apparent to him, and any intelligent watchers, that she didn’t care. Neither did he, in truth. Far too caught up with how she moved him around the floor.
Perhaps sensing the growing interest in Happy Hour, the music shifted. It was a more traditionally classical piece. One that he was sure he’d heard in a Christmas movie half a dozen times. Though, he couldn’t for the life of him remember its name.
The slow tempo of the piece, plus the space the crowd made for them, allowed Happy Hour to show her skills. No matter how difficult he found it to keep up.
Together they spun, moved, leaped, and twirled. Jester let out a genuine laugh, unsure of the last time he’d ever enjoyed himself this much.
Around him, the crowd cheered and clapped, and as the song faded, Happy Hour seemed to decide she wanted an ending. She took two steps away from him and leaped. Without thinking, he caught her by the waist and hoisted her before they spun.
Her red eyes locked onto his as they moved, and he smiled. She beamed back, and he didn’t put her down until the last note faded from the air. Applause filled the room, drowning out the country number that started up next.
Happy Hour tilted her head at him in a sign he took as permission to keep going. He waved her on, and she moved into the crowd as he returned to his seat. If this wasn’t VR, he knew he’d be panting.
Dam13n nodded at him as he dropped into his seat, grabbing the nearest drink. A bourbon served in a flask he’d last seen in a picture set in WW2. Now able to relax without being overwhelmed, he watched Happy Hour and appreciated the sheer variety in the crowd.
Sure, a lot of them were rip-offs. But that didn’t diminish the excellent craftsmen on the multiple not-anime characters wandering the scene. Copyright infringement aside, it was clear how much work the owners put into them. Especially, seeing as most of the weapons and armor needed weren’t available in the game.
A fact most believe was to prevent these exact designs. Jester had to give it to the mechanics. They found some unbelievable workarounds. He didn’t understand how the straw hat stayed on without straps.
Beyond the rip-offs, an eclectic bunch moved, eye-catching in their weirdness. One caught his eye with the sheer marvel of its design. Humanoid, a line of neon green light running vertically, split it in half. The left half was a Caucasian male in a black business suit, brunette hair cut short, and styled professionally. On the right side was an Asian woman in a bright red cocktail dress, her floor-length black hair a stark contrast to her counterpoints.
By straining to listen in, he heard two voices harmonizing anytime the robot spoke. A blend of accents and pitch. He bet the designer spent ages getting perfect.
Nearby, he saw a large Android, wires crisscrossing over a metallic frame to give the appearance of muscles. Bright blue eyes bulged disturbingly, moving crazily before focusing on anything that got close.
Jester shivered. The entire thing disturbed him. As though a half-finished experiment escaped before its time. Screen blur took effect as he drank more, not enough to impair his full vision, but enough to make it hard to focus on the edges. He knew during the beta that getting blackout drunk was possible. Any time an avatar reached that state, a random number generator activated, and they might awaken somewhere random.
Some players loved it, but most didn’t appreciate ending up in an alleyway somewhere being extorted by those who parked a large robot on top of them.
As Jester people watched, he realized some of the crowd were watching him. The braver among them came over for a chat. Most were polite, wanting to wish him luck or talk about the game. Others wanted to shake Happy Hour’s hand once she rejoined them, sick of dancing.
Some were less hospitable. Those wove kind-sounding words while poking fun at either Jester, Happy Hour, or more commonly, both. They asked about the decommissioning, and if Jester was used to losing fights. Maybe he’d even consider throwing the fight. Perhaps for some help to purchase a robot that wasn’t a mistake?
Jester forced himself not to punch the ratlike man who made the offer. It would be a shame to get reported and banned before the fight started. So, he contented himself by listening to Happy Hour, asking if he’d learned that type of language from his mother.
He didn’t mention that if the offer had happened earlier; he knew he’d have taken it. But now? After being chased across rooftops and killing a friendship. No. Not a chance. They were finishing this. For good or ill.
That thought made him grin, and he leaned back in his chair as he watched Happy Hour sass more folks. His mind drifted, imagination kicking in to show him scenes of standing on the stage for the Final Cup. Not as a winner, of course. He knew that wouldn’t happen. Whoever won the Cup would be rich and connected beyond his abilities.
Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t put on a show.
He imagined himself standing there, raising Happy Hour’s arm above her head, celebrating their victory over Rippertooth. If Lexington learned of Kylee’s deal, there wasn’t a chance the blonde nuisance wouldn’t join in to spite him.
The Dolls’ laughter broke him out of his musings, and she turned to wave at him. He waved back, feeling more relaxed than he’d done in years. Before he worried that they’d slipped him something, a chime sounded out. A quick glance at his interface told him that their hour was over.
It was time for the show.
An unfamiliar figure approached their table, but before he could tell them they were leaving, he noticed the man’s eyes. Purple and glassy. An Android then. With his thinning grey hair and visible wrinkles, whoever made him went above and beyond.
The man bowed, his black formal suit not creasing in the slightest.
“Sirs, Madam, Lady Debrah is ready for the event. If you would be so kind as to follow me upstairs?” He asked, his voice evoking the most stereotypical of British butlers.
“Of course,” Jester said.
Damn13n was the first to his feet, bounding up in excitement. Jester followed suit, taking Happy Hour’s pro-offered one. Whiskers leaped onto Jester’s shoulder. With a soft purr, he nodded as though signaling his approval to continue.
Jester patted the cat as he followed the butler. He gave a glance over at Happy Hour, who was wearing her poised maid face. A blank expression with the barest hint of a polite smile.
“You ok?”
“I’m fine, Jester. Thank you,” she replied.
He didn’t respond as they neared the guards on the stairs, but he noted her clipped tone.
With any luck, she’d be back to her cheerful self before the fight began.
***
The twin guards, identical Caucasian men in suits not dissimilar from the Butlers, barred their way. One obvious difference was the pistols that were less than subtly hidden under their jackets. Jester admired the touch because it wasn’t like they could use them on anyone who got pushy.
Then again, if everyone here owned a robot, it wouldn’t surprise him if someone tried something.
With a single nod from the butler, the two guards moved to the side. Neither reacted as the small group passed them, instead keeping watch on the room. Almost immediately, someone tried to sneak in with them. The guards stopped with a single word before pushing them aside. Not that Jester paid much attention. He was too busy dealing with the sudden ringing in his ears.
The game’s way of informing him he was swapping zones. A quick glance at the new surroundings showed him why the zone needed guards.
If the previous zone was a nightclub, this was a VIP lounge.
Plush couches littered the room, occupied by the same mix of avatar designs as the previous crowd. However, unlike the previous group, these avatars were all dressed to the nines as they chatted and nibbled at the canapés being passed around.
He recognized some outfits the moment he set eyes on them. People who clearly couldn’t have cared less displayed pieces from the Lord’s and Ladies’ collection. Said collection was a limited edition run made by RagerSystems themselves. One of the few they promised to never re-release.
Prominently featuring hoop skirts and tail coats, the most basic hat of the collection sold for almost as many credits as the LaserBazer. Jester only realized he’d stopped to stare when he felt Happy Hour pull him further in.
They dodged around the androgynous pewter skin Androids that roamed the room. They each carried a similar tray to the ones downstairs, offering drinks in more traditional glasses and bottles. None went near the room’s center, which was dominated by a large boxing ring.
Designed to be a clear focal point, lights swept over the pristine canvas. As his eyes fell on it, Happy Hour’s hand squeezed his. On that stage, their story might draw to a close.
He searched for a distraction, shifting his gaze from the ring to what he saw through the red and blue ropes. On a small stage, a group of Elven musicians played. Their long fingers plucking at a variety of stringed instruments made of lilac-colored wood.
The song was rousing in tempo, but played at a speed that fit the venue. Designed to fade into the background, though still instilling a feeling of hope. Jester found it fitting, even as his mood lifted. Before he knew it, he felt his finger tapping against his leg to the beat.
Neither Debrah nor Heather greeted were around to greet them, and so the butler deposited them on an empty couch. Within seconds of him leaving, a serving Android plied them with refreshments.
While the Dam13n picked at the food, Jester tried to pretend he didn’t hear the whispers or see the stares. Honestly, being here made him nervous. The entire place held an air of snobbery that made him feel unwelcome.
Which he knew he was.
They wouldn’t have allowed him to ascend the stairs without Happy Hour. This place catered to elite patrons, not a Scrapper who managed a lucky find.
To his immense relief, if Dam13n noticed, he didn’t care. As soon as the young man finished his drink, he turned to Jester with a grin.
“Oh man, oh man!” Dam13n said, grabbing another glass from a passing waiter. “This is the life! You going to take me to places like this often?”
“If you’re paying, sure,” Jester said, his tone filled with what he hoped was snark.
Happy Hour laughed, pressing a drink into Jester’s hand.
“A toast!” She cried, leaping to her feet and startling a nearby group.
Clearly reveling in the attention, she gave a theatrical bow without spilling a single drop from the tall glass.
“You need to declare something to toast about,” Jester remarked.
“I was getting there,” Happy Hour said indignantly. “To victory!”
“Subtle,” Jester laughed, as both he and Dam13n raised their glasses. To his surprise, multiple others followed suit.
Once the round of clinking glasses and cheers were complete, and Happy Hour retook her seat, another man stood.
“To a good fight!”
“Cheers!”
This time, more people clinked glasses.
A woman rose.
“To a sure bet!”
Laughter rippled around the room. None of the trio joined in on that one. As the woman retook her seat, the lights in the room flickered before fading. Jester strained his ears, trying to hear what was happening, until, with a loud thunk, a spotlight illuminated the center of the ring.
Debrah stood there, arms outstretched, as she beamed at the surrounding watchers. She’d changed dresses, this time into a strapless sequined number, the black material making her blonde hair stand out even more.
With a flick of her wrist, she gestured to a spot now filled with smoke. Another wrist flick caused the smoke to vanish, revealing Heather wearing the same brown outfit as before. The Android beamed at the crown, performing a curtsy before blowing kisses in a small circle.
Jester felt the heat radiating from beside him and saw Happy Hour shaking. He rested a hand on her shoulder, doing his best to give a reassuring smile when she turned his way. She nodded before fixating back on her future opponent. The one who defeated her so many times.
Jester followed suit, in his case searching for any potential weaknesses. It would be different this time. It would.
“Welcome, patrons of my Dollhouse,” Debrah said, her voice filling the space with ease.
Applause sprang up, and the faun dipped into a shallow curtsy until it faded.
“Today we bring you this spectacle for the last time. Three rounds of robotic carnage, waitress vs waitress, in a fight to the death!”
“Wait, what?” Jester said, turning to Dam13n. “Three rounds? The prompt said I got three attempts.”
Dam13n looked as confused as Jester knew he felt.
“I dunno, man. I’ve never been to any of these.”
“Well, shit,” Jester swore as he looked at Happy Hour. At least, whatever this was, was clearly news to her as well. Her teeth were showing as she bit her bottom lip, and her fingers dug deep into the plush material of the couch.
“And thus, let us welcome our contestant to the stage. It’s the twirling table setter, the prancing performer. You know her and probably bet against her. Happy Hour! And her temporary owner, Jester!” Debrah’s voice boomed.
Another spotlight appeared, illuminating their seat and making Jester wince. Temptation filled him to stay in his seat out of spite until she explained the three rounds thing. Would each round count as an attempt? Or would all three act as a single attempt, an extended regular fight?
He hoped for the latter, but he doubted it. That would be far too advantageous. She wouldn’t give him such an easy way to judge his competition.
Beside him, Happy Hour bounded to her feet in one swift motion. Her antics entertained the crowd, giving him time to breathe and take stock of what they were working with.
Her new shoes gave her a power boost for sure, and there was Old Reliable. They would have to do. Happy Hour cut his musing short as she gripped his elbow and pulled him from his seat. Her arm linked with his. She smiled and waved to the crowd as she dragged him along. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dam13n wave at him.
So much for helping them ringside.
As he drew closer, he noticed Heather waving and preening, the exact opposite of Debrah, whose entire attention focused on him. Jester did his best to return the intensity of the stare, but he couldn’t be sure if he’d succeeded.
The two slid under the ropes, joining the blonde duo under the spotlights. Jester knew if this was real life, he’d be sweating through his suit at the sheer intensity.
“Want to say anything before the match begins?” Debrah asked. Whatever power that magnified her voice was now disabled. He nodded in gratitude, having no desire to go through the headaches Kylee’s voice modifications gave him again.
“To you? Yeah. Do these three rounds count as each attempt?”
Debrah nodded. “Yes. It keeps these quick. Otherwise, we have to do this repeatedly, and people would grow more bored them most already are. Don’t worry, we have a healing station on sight for each contestant when the rounds are over.”
“And what, I have to win all three?” Jester asked, incredulity seeping into his voice.
There was no way she was serious. Sure, Happy Hour was more powerful now. But not that much more powerful. Images of that pink tutu flashed through his mind.
“No, you simply need to win one,” Debrah assured. “But Jester? Do try to make it interesting.”
He opened his mouth to say more, but she cut him off.
“Avatars of the Dollhouse,” Debrah called out, the voice modulator returning in full force. “Welcome to the start of the first round.”
The words still hung in the air when he found himself outside the ring. Happy Hour stood in the corner, leaning against the pole.
“Any advice, coach?” She asked.
He nodded, handing the gun belt he’d wrapped around his waist to her. He waited for her to equip it before he asked his next question.
“Nope. You ready for this?”
Happy Hour nodded, tipping an invisible hat.
“Don’t be afraid to use it. We need to win a single round, that’s all.”
“Got it, pardner,” Happy Hour said in a thick Texan accent. Her stance changed as well, somehow bow-legged and with a hint of swagger, even though she was standing still.
Jester didn’t let his groan leave his lips. A bell sounded out, and Happy Hour strutted forward.
The match was on.