Renaissance: (Chapter 52: See the Invisible)
All right, back to work. On the off chance you're new, it's fine to use this as a starting point though the full story starts here.
1: “Boy Meets Girl” or “Ass Meets Foot”
For some people, a train ride can be a bitch. The narrow corridors of a car can be downright claustrophobic and the incessant rattling can make any type of focus unachievable. Their tummies get the wonderful treat of unpredictable bumps in the road to unsettle them. When compounded by horrid seating arrangements, the beast man lying atop three crates pushed together becomes one of those people.
“Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean…” is his mantra that keeps his sanity grounded. He’s already made some attempts to make himself more comfortable in this poorly lit car of cargo; his purple coat is lying on the ground, thrown there without any regard for its condition. That’s left him in a pair of high boots, a slightly puffy pair of black pants and a white button up shirt. “Light, it’s hot,” he says. He could probably help that a little by undoing the cravat tied around his neck, but no, that’d just be blasphemy.
“Yo, mister noble fella!” It’s a deep voice that booms from one of the car entrances. The man lets out a brief groan and with a jerk, lifts himself up from the boxes he’s lying on. As he rubs the back of his shaven head, his green eyes shift into focus on the other beast man entering the car. “You don’t look so good buddy, you all right?” he asks.
The ‘noble fella’ strokes the bridge of his nose, clutching it tightly every time the train hits a bump. “I’m just a touch prone to motion sickness, nothing to show concern over,” he says. “Did you need something?”
“Nah, you can lie down,” the man says. He taps the nanotransformer on his wrist which brings up a holographic screen. “I’m just doing the inventory.” It’s mostly just green figures and lines unreadable from just about any distance, but the Tenora Works logo is clear enough to see at the top of the screen. He starts with the nearest box, peeling open the top side and hunching over to examine the contents.
The noble nods and gently sets himself back on his makeshift bed. Once settled, he says, “again, I appreciate the ride, however much my body seems to disapprove.”
“Hey, forget it; beasts gotta look out for each other, right?” It’s said with warmth, as seen in the smile and heard in deep bellied laughter. Despite that, the man lying on the boxes replies with a simple hum, devoid of any reciprocation. “Actually, we’re glad to have you on board. Lately, there’s this rogue hanging out on this route,” he says while shutting the box he was checking.
“Yes, I heard from the engineer that we may experience a robbery,” he says. In what could be considered contrary to what he just said, his interest in the conversation hasn’t piqued. Rather, he says it as if he was told there was a chance for rain along the way.
“You oughta sound more scared than that man. Last train was loaded up with something like fifty guard robots; got ripped through like they were nothing.” Despite the advisement, the travelsick man still makes no move to show any concern. He just continues to stare up at the ceiling with his eyes out of focus. Try as he may to shut out external stimuli, the Tenora employee just keeps on yapping. “Those rogues are flippin’ crazy. We’ve got freaking aliens torching our towns and they’re still stealing things like business as usual.”
“Some people see opportunity in crisis,” the man says. He’s made no motions to make eye contact with the employee, perfectly content to talk to the ceiling. “The existence of such rubbish cannot be helped.”
“Yeah…still, just pisses me off we got bums like that making us beasts look like criminals, you know?”
“Yes,” the noble replies, sitting up to do so. “I do know.” Before he can stare determinedly into the distance and steel his resolve, a bump on the track knocks him onto his back, reminding him that is stomach is still very much in disagreement with this ride. “Ugh…”
“Hey, hang in there!” The employee shuts the box that completes his inventory check and makes for the door he came from, but not before offering a bit of reassurance in saying “we hit the underwater track soon. Smooth sailing there, like butter!”
“Sounds lovely.” He’s certainly not talking about the alarm going off and wailing bloody murder. “Well, speak of the devil,” he says as grimaces, gathering strength to rise. “I suppose a touch of adrenaline is just the medicine the doctor ordered. Where is that coming from?”
“Car 3!” he says, pulling his hand off the radio on his ear lobe. “Crap, we didn’t have time to load any of the Bomaltas!”
While the grunt panics into his radio, the noble bends over to scoop his coat off the ground and throw it over a shoulder. He then makes to leave for, presumably, car 3 without a word of reassurance, opting instead to pop a cigarette into his mouth.
****
A few loading screens later, the alarm has ceased, leaving the much more neatly arranged car 3 to serve as a quiet battleground. The crates here are all lined up against the walls, leaving a narrow path down the middle for walking. At the other end of the car, the thief is rummaging through a box with her back turned. She’s singing Sonic Heroes; while she’s singing fine, the song’s upbeat lyrics don’t really suit her deep, throaty voice.
“You’re dressed rather conservatively for a rogue,” says the man. The woman looks up, brushing some of her black curls out of the way, to see who’s paying her such a nice compliment to her white sweat ensemble. Having her attention, the man smirks and continues, “when they told me about a rogue, I was expecting heels, hot pants, a low cut blouse, maybe an eye patch; you know, something slutty.”
“Oh, thanks!” she replies. Her outfit is certainly a stark contrast to what the man has described. Between her sweatpants and sweatjacket, the only creamy white skin that he can get a glimpse of is on her midriff, her face and just a smidge of her collarbone.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” he says. He ditches his coat on a box to his left as he steps further into the car. With both hands free, he can finally light the cigarette he’s been carrying in his mouth the way over. “I’m quite disappointed actually.”
“Hmph, you think you’re disappointed? Here I am robbing a train on a clear, moonlit night and instead of the tall and dashing gentleman, I get the shrimp nerd in plaid suspenders.” With a huff through her full, pink lips, she turns her attention back to the boxes she was looking through.
The man tucks his thumb beneath one of his suspenders and pulls, as if he can chide the thing into telling him why people think they look dorky. Of course, that yields no result, leaving him to sneer at having his fashion sense insulted. “Charming. Moving along; could I ask you to stop robbing this train?” he asks.
“You could,” she says, while pulling a cluster of metal from the box she’s working on. She turns it over on all sides to examine it, not paying a moment’s worth of eye contact to the man, whose eye is twitching more violently by the second. “I just wouldn’t expect too much.
“Tch, as expected. Well then…” He raises his left arm and taps a button on the nanotransformer wrapped around it. His line shield projects a field of countless green hexagons fitted to every curve and contour of his body, none of them larger than a dime, all of which disappear as quickly as they flashed into view. A second tap causes the form of a wand to melt into his hand from the sparkles that spill from the device. “It seems I’ll just have to make you. For you see, if you successfully steal anything, they have to stop and file a full report; and I don’t want to be on this light forsaken relic any longer than necessary.”
The woman’s pace is sluggish at first, lightly setting down the device she was examining and pushing herself up to her feet with a deliberate effort of the legs. And from there, it’s all out fury; she whips around with a dagger in hand and dashes full stride down the car for a surprise attack. It seems it fails though, as the man’s reaction is nothing of surprise; he calmly taps his nanotransformer a third time as she makes her way over and holds out the palm sized cylinder he gets from it. As the curved blade of the dagger is about to strike him, its red glow dies, leaving a hollow glass shell in its place, which impacts harmlessly against his line shield.
“One perk of being the son of Yohmei’s CEO…” he starts, “is that I get an override switch for all Yohmei made products. That mimimi-zashi is worthless against me,” he finishes, flashing a smile. “Though on behalf of his shareholders, I thank you for choosing-“ he doesn’t get to finish, as he’s now dodging a second dagger pulled out during his yapping. Missing that attack, the woman hops back and purses her lips at this development.
“Most people usually get caught straight out by that surprise attack,” she says, twirling the new dagger around on her finger. “So, son of Yohmei…that makes you Johann Launcher, right?”
“Mm, a zashic. Lovely. Well, you’ve heard of me, but I’m afraid I must insist that it’s Dr. Johann Launcher to the likes of you.” The crescent shaped photon fixture on his wand fizzles to a bright white which allows Johann to swing his wand forward and shoot a white ball of light for his trouble.
“No M.D?” She smacks the Grants with the backside of her fist, dispersing it like bad gas. “Eww.”
“I wouldn’t let that go to your head. Grants is a weak technic no matter who’s casting it,” he says with clenched teeth and a bowed head.
“Oh? Then why not use the good stuff?” the woman asks, tilting her head. “Hmm, I guess you really can’t on a moving train.” She turns her back, further infuriating the beast, and waves her hand in the air lazily. “Well, what I’m looking for doesn’t seem to be on this train. So, we don’t really need to fight, right?”
“What? Don’t be absurd-“
“Shh. It works out perfectly for you, don’t you think?” She turns around on her heel, producing an audible scrape that makes Johann’s very fine and sensitive ears tremble with the pitch. “Your plan A screwed up in not thinking I’d have an illegal copy of my usual weapon. How exactly is a fortetecher going to win without using any good technics?”
“…” is the uncomfortable sigh Johann offers to that question.
“Exactly. You don’t even seem like the type that’d use his nanoblast on a human. So, you rushed in without thinking your plan through, and you’re getting off pretty light. Next time though, I’ll expect you to treat me to a proper night like a gentleman.” She walks up with her zashic still in hand, causing Johann to jump. “Let’s shake on it!”
His natural laziness finally manages to edge out his pride; he sheathes his wand and extends his free right hand to shake. Once their hands clasp together, Johann’s face flushes with dread as his hand closes around the freeze trap. The woman’s face lights up with a grin. “Idiot,” she says. From the clasped hands, a clear blue and sticky ooze explodes from the cracks and quickly hardens into ice, locking them together. With a single jerk, she pulls him close, body to body, and threads her dagger wielding arm through his under arm and over his opposite shoulder, so the hook of her dagger is poised to tear his throat.
“Careless…well, do it. I don’t grovel.” It’s a defiant tone; he’s nearly spitting while saying it.
“Yeesh, you don’t have to be melodramatic. I’m a thief, not a murderer. I’m just making a point.” The point’s surely made by now, what, with Johann grinding his teeth, absolutely livid with his own newbery. Yet, she hasn’t moved the dagger an inch and he’s still getting a noseful of the scent of peaches. “Still, it does seem unfair I came all this way and have to leave empty handed. Bear with me, this might hurt a bit.” It’s probably possible to further understate a knee to the ‘nads, but it says more than enough to Johann whose eyes do a backflip before he slumps to his knees.
“Yoo hoo, still with me?” she asks as she bends down with him. He is, albeit scraping the ground, trying desperately to ride out the shock. She leans in close, so close that her lips graze his ear when she whispers, “my name is Gwendolyn Milady. Until next time, curse it all you like.”
****
A few minutes later, Johann is able to get up, albeit staggering on the first few steps. He takes stock of the situation, whipping his head around to find his opponent with no luck. Then, he has a look at himself, and finds with great dismay, “the trollop cleaned me out. She only left my wand and shield.” It takes a few more moments to sink in, but soon, he lets out a fierce scream of rage accompanied by a punch to the car’s wall. His fist trembles after the strike, but he’s too busy frothing to pay it any mind.
“Hey, great job, you ran her off!” a voice calls. The beast turns his head to see the employee from before running in from the door he used prior. Johann levels a dead stare at the man before turning his head back to see that indeed, none of the boxes have been pilfered.
“Yeah. Great. Just splendid.”
~~~~
The enjoyment of writing fanfiction, to me, is in making the world make sense. So, I’ve a habit for taking concepts that should be exclusive to gameplay and applying them to narrative. Starting this chapter, I will elaborate on some of my rationalizations for these adaptations in my new segment…
Connect the Dots!
Ahem. So, today’s lesson is in Hex Purity. Its game parallel, as you might guess, is HP. For the most part, none of the characters here are anymore durable than they should be; stick a sword in them and they’ll bleed and die. The reason this doesn’t happen then, is that a portion of their photons project themselves to form protective barriers. Unassisted by a line shield, this barrier is messy and rather inefficient.
However, since most everyone uses a line shield, that’s where the hex part comes in. The shield augments the barrier’s defensive ability, but that’s a different lesson. As a barrier becomes polluted with enemy photons, generally coming from attacks, its purity decreases, compromising its defensive ability. In its weakest state (in the yellow), the most polluted hexes will become visible, basically pointing at where the enemy should direct their next attacks.
While vital functions can be preserved between a line shield and the natural barrier, any damage suffered by the barrier is felt by its user as well. So, it’s still quite important to dodge, for in the end, no one can have more HP than they do willpower. Moreover, a severe hit can incapacitate a fighter through the shock of the pain felt; this is actually the principle behind Megid and Killer Shot. Incidentally, a groin shot comes with a Level 10 Incap effect. See? There’s a reason girls have more STA than boys.
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