Dave looked at her offered hand, his mind racing with uncertainty. Could it be this easy? Could he simply ask for Cedez to stop playing her games and manipulating those around her?
He weighed his options, considering the sincerity in Cedez's voice, the crystal clear vulnerability in her big silver-blue eyes. Though she had proven herself to be a cunning and enigmatic figure, there was a part of Dave that wanted to believe in her capacity for change. That perhaps, underneath the veneer of deception and control, there was a genuine desire for connection and understanding.
With a deep breath, Dave extended his hand to meet hers.
"Don't," A sharp tone of Sherlock's violin interrupted Dave's motion before his fingers connected to the silver padded paw of the foxgirl.
"Why?" Dave thought to his charisma-proof companion.
"I'm 74.19% certain that this is a trick, a move in her game," Sherlock replied with deep tones, the violin strings quivering with a sense of urgency.
Cedez tilted her head, her silver eyes examining Dave's expression with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
"Is this another game move?" Dave asked, pulling his hand back, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Cedez nodded, and as she did so, the ex-programmer noticed that silver sparks were dancing along her fingertips. Perhaps it was just a trick of the lighting, an illusion of silver hair strands dancing in the breeze against black fur, or maybe it was something more sinister - a pattern that he could not quite see or understand, a magical contract lurking beneath the surface.
"Damn it, Cedez," Dave growled, his frustration mounting.
"Quitting the game is a legitimate move I am permitted to make," she said, her voice unapologetic.
"What game?!" Dave demanded exasperatedly, his patience wearing thin.
Cedez waved her hand at the park surrounding them, as if the answer was self-evident.
Dave rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a migraine taking root.
"Expand your reasoning," Dave thought to Sherlock. "Where did that percentage even come from?"
"A probability calculation based on all of the knowledge in my possession. If she can't turn off her charisma, how can she stop manipulating people? Even a normal conversation is a manipulation of someone's mental pattern. She would not be able to keep this promise without becoming something other than herself. Is this what you want, Dave? To undo what she is?" Sherlock replied. "For all you know, she could be some sort of fae and has magic tied to agreements and words. I would consult a lawyer before making further agreements with her."
"What goddamned lawyer?" Dave thought to Sherlock, his frustration growing. "I don't recall spotting any law firms in Shandria!"
As Dave's mind raced, he realized that he was now caught between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, he wanted Cedez to stop manipulating people, to cease her games and deceptions. On the other hand, he didn't want to force her to become something she wasn't, to strip her of an essential part of her identity.
Another thought crossed Dave's mind like a distant, barely discernible whisper of another fraction of a ghost he had absorbed from the killing fields. The emphasis Cedez placed on 'the game' hinted at some kind of political machinations. It could be possible if he forced Cedez to give up on the game, that such an action included all her current efforts to protect him from his lawbreaking and thus place Remicra's life in jeopardy.
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With a heavy sigh, Dave looked into Cedez's eyes, searching for some hint of understanding, some sign that she was willing to meet him halfway on this issue.
"Listen," he said, his voice weary but resolute. "I don't want you to change who you are, but I also don't want you to keep manipulating people. Can you find a balance? Can you learn to respect others' autonomy while still being true to yourself?"
Cedez's eyes flickered with a complex mix of emotions—surprise, gratitude, interest and something else that Dave couldn't quite place. She nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"I can try," she murmured, her voice soft like a spring brook coming down the glaciers. "I can't promise that it will be easy, or that I won't stumble along the way, but I can try."
"Right," Dave tried to backpedal to his professional manager roleplay, channeling his boss from Serv0tec. "Listen, C. Lets set forth some boundaries and goals for our future cooperation. Stop selling more armor sets until I have more employees, don't use mind magic on either of us. In your capacity as my sales manager and secretary, strive for transparency in the goals of both sides, act with the intention of benefiting both sides of our partnership. Got it?"
Cedez nodded. Her tail wasn't wagging and her legs were tightly crossed. She was trembling ever so slightly and biting her bottom lip.
"Good," Dave exhaled. He hated managers with a passion and yet here he was being a manager of an armor-manufacturing enterprise, scolding his employee. He didn't even notice that he shortened her name to one letter.
"More deductions, please," Dave mentally implored, seeking further insight from Sherlock. "Did I miss something else?"
"To elucidate further," Sherlock's violin strings hummed with intellectual excitement. "The phrase 'cross my heart and hope to die,' uttered by her earlier, hails from Earth. It likely originated as a religious oath based on the sign of the cross."
"The idiom isn't a translation?" Dave thought.
"No, she said it in English," Sherlock replied, the violin strings vibrating with a hint of intrigue. "The bracelet didn't drain any mana from you when she uttered the words."
"Disable translation," Dave whispered an order to the bracelet, eager to test the hypothesis.
"You understand English?" He looked down at Cedez, speaking English.
"I do," she nodded, a flicker of pride crossing her features.
"Cross my heart and hope to die is a phrase from Earth. Who taught it to you?" Dave pressed.
"Steve Chadwick taught me many things when he stepped through Shandria's gates seeking knowledge and power," she replied.
As Dave processed this revelation, he couldn't help but feel a pang of unease.
"The more I'm hearing about this Steve," Dave sighed, his voice heavy with disappointment. "The less I like him."
He examined Cedez once more, trying to reconcile the image before him with that of the supposed Sovereign of Shandria. She didn't look like any kind of ruler or even an enemy agent. Her hands were trembling like a leaf in the wind, and her eyes were full of regret, reminiscent of a puppy that had been thoroughly scolded.
"I don't understand you," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "If you're the Sovereign of Shandria, or even some kind of hero-lord-manager or an agent of the Shadow, why do you permit slavery?"
Cedez hesitated, her eyes glistening as she looked up. It was clear that Dave's question had struck a nerve, and she struggled to find the words to explain herself.
"It's... very complicated," she finally managed.
"What's bloody complicated about being a good person?" Dave growled.
“I’m not exactly a person,” Cedez confessed.
“What?” the ex-programmer staggered back. “You look like a person to me.”
“See that meadow?” the foxgirl asked, waving her hand at a small, green hill within the park clearing. “You should be able to see it from the balcony of the cottage. I’ll be there in the darkest hour… tonight.”