NOVEL NEXT B 3 C 5: Unexpected Affection
B 3 C 5: Unexpected Affection
One bit of bad news is that I destroyed any possible proof I might have had that might absolve me of the murders I just committed. Or at least could prove that they may have been necessary, or assuage my own self recrimination in some way. The only thing I have to show for it is the room’s proximity to the crevasse through which the pyramid fell.
I want to just lay down and vomit. My stomach is performing an olympic tumbling routine. I can scarcely believe that every single time I’ve visited this place, I’ve slain people. I, I just don’t, I don’t know what to do. I do know that I want to never return here so long as I live. Ugh, do I leave the room open to the crevasse or do I use inventory magic to seal it up with stone? If I don’t seal it up, what if there are more of those, uh, bitey flying tailed-seed things? Fine, floating toothy sperm, whatever, ugh.
None of the critterkin will understand, since none of us have reproductive equipment, sort of, more or less. But the humans won’t ever let me live it down if they learn I was nearly eaten by a flying giant sperm. Enough already! Move on brain, new topic! Out of sight, out of mind.
Right, I should be paying attention, just marking where I’m going along the right hand wall is normally okay, but I don’t want to be lost in this tunnel structure for days on end before finding my family. I’m not in danger of starving or dehydrating, not with the amount of inventory space I have packed full of fish and fresh water. That’s not the reason I want to hurry though. I want to hurry to let my inner circle know that I’m okay. But also, something is eating at the back of my mind, and I can’t quite place what it is. Something happened up top. There was some clue to a greater mystery, and I missed it. I don’t even know what the mystery is, let alone what the clue signified.
Ah, great, rushing footsteps, beaverfolk are going to see me looking covered in ash, appearing in the middle of their dam tunnels, and they’ll know I’ve killed people again. I put my hands up in a sign of peace as dozens of armed beavers round a corner, likely sent to investigate the damage caused by the earthquake. Wow, has it really only been a few seconds since that happened? Sometimes it feels like even without accelerated thinkspace, that I often manage to compress a ridiculous amount of activity into short time frames. Other times it feels like I shut my brain off, and hours, days, weeks, or months pass with very little action.
I’m getting distracted, where was I again? Oh, right, surrounded by armed beavers and beaverfolk. I’m not even surprised anymore, that my brain just tunes out harmless threats like these. I feel way too prideful. I could be injured, but there are certain levels of threats that just don’t mean anything to me anymore. I’m sure they’re asking me questions, but, as always, my glitchy spawn means I share something with the humans. I can’t communicate with critterkin that aren’t in my party. Sighing, I shake my head, as I just assume they’re asking me if I caused the earthquake. I mean, what else do you ask the mysterious stranger that keeps showing up to your dam in times of crisis, when they show up again right after an earthquake? First time, the dam flooded, even though I didn’t do it. The second time, I blew a room to smithereens like the one behind me. The first time wasn’t really my fault, the sane faction didn’t give me enough time, so I had to spend hours under water with the help of Sylphie saving everyone.
Sighing, I remember Sylphie, and sadness grips my heart. My torso is wrung out like a wet towel. I double over and wail at the loss. This divine entity, this spirit of wind gave her life to save these beavers at my behest. Beavers that I keep coming back to and killing every time I find them trying to return their deity from the dead. Now that I’m thinking of their deity, the sadness is replaced with panic. It took on the face of Teuila, and it cut me so emotionally deeply that I could not face the being most beloved to me in all the world. I couldn’t even look upon Teuila without suffering a panic attack even stronger than this. When my gaze would spy her form, I’d shriek and scrabble away, or sob in terror, unable to move.
Eventually my brain couldn’t reconcile how much I was hurting Teuila with my fear of her. Seeing her cry as she desired so desperately to comfort me just broke me down. I retreated into my own mind, and even the piece of me that retreated deep within myself went dormant. I had to be fed and taken care of as my body ambled along. Somehow, during that time of catatonic-like state, something in me piloted my body and still had at least one adventure, if not more. Eventually I regained my senses, months later, but still, every time I saw Teuila, I was overcome with fear, and panic. It took extraordinary events, and years of comfort in accelerated thinkspace, but I was finally able to disconnect Teuila herself from the source of my trauma, this trauma I’m experiencing right now. The trauma of the thing that Lil dubbed the Mind Blower.
My breath is ragged gasps as my eyes feel open so wide that I fear they’ll pop out of my sockets. My face is contorted, twisted into an expression of terror and anguish, and weeping overtakes me from my wide-open tear ducts. My right arm spasms and convulses, and I barely have the wherewithal to claim all of my equipment, including my tattoo to my inventory. I claim it all so that I don’t lash out and hurt anyone else. My stomach tries to invent a quadruple Produnova as it repeatedly flips in place. I can spy only knees, feet, and speartips in my tunneled vision, even as my gaze sharply flits left and right in my encroaching hysteria.
I think the beavers know me well enough, by my various trips here, to know not to mess with me when I’m in such a state, yet I feel a spear prod from one direction, and a calming paw laid upon me from another. My mind struggles against the desire to lash out. Worse, it wants to use the one attempting to comfort me as a bludgeoning weapon against the one prodding me. Please brain, just, just stop, just shut down for a bit, please, don’t hurt anyone else. I can’t take it.
With that, everything fades to black, at least for a time. When I come to, I’m being hauled by my armpits through the halls of the beaver’s tunnels on my bare arse. As I stir, they toss me in what I assume is going to be some sort of prison for me, and I begin to laugh hysterically. Those beavers who’d tossed me into the room flee in terror. Probably the best choice, with my track record here. Still, if this was meant to be a prison, it’s very, hm, plush. It’s almost lavish. There’s a soft leaf-leather bed, a cabinet filled with sweet sap-coated sticks that I assume are treats for beavers. That might even be syrup. Maybe they weren’t trying to imprison me? There isn’t even a door on the room.
Trying to appear less imposing, while also appearing less insane, I equip myself in leaf-leather clothing. I take a few of the sweet twigs to suck on as I traverse the halls. There are different levels of consumption for different types of materials and different creature types. Most things I’ve interacted with seem to instantly teleport somewhere as I try to consume them, then my belly feels slightly more full. But recently we’ve discovered produce that can be purchased as if by magic from a shop that’s run by any critterkin, and the fruits and vegetables actually require chewing and eating. They’re still a bit odd, they’re food all the way through, no seeds, no cores, even the skins are all perfectly clean and edible. Well, at least ones sold by Luni or other top tier merchants.
These honeyed twigs, or syrup sticks, whatever they are, seem to fall into the latter category. I’m not certain I want to actually chew on and eat the wood, but the syrup itself is divine. Pure maple. I sort of forgot maple trees might exist, what with the homogeny of the tree life on the surface. I don’t know the name of the types of ancient trees that pepper the landscape above, but I do know they’re basically all the same in any given biome. Down here in the beaver warrens, or colony though, logs of birch and maple tree trunks actually spawn along the walls of all their tunnels and rooms. It seems like tunnels excavated by beavers slowly gain spawning points for new wood. Similar to how when my family was expanding Shellcracker Pond, we gained more fish school spawning points.
Thankfully, Lao and Agwai managed to get their inventory capacities to thirteen hundred thirty seven before we lost Shellcracker pond, it’s one of the first capacity limits. I don’t know offhand what breaks through that capacity limit though. Also thankfully Lao is very practical in what she chooses to carry; some freshwater, many medical supplies, and massive quantities of fish. Agwai is slightly less practical, they carry toys and things that make sounds when banged together, drawings made by the Mana twins on bark, sentimental things. They still of course carry large quantities of fish, and currency, at my request. I think if it weren’t for my request, Agwai would fill their inventory with every last thing that ever carried any sentiment for them about any member of our family.
I really, truly, could never have imagined Agwai being who they are, when we had first met, with the interactions we had up until we started journeying through the swamps. Ag is a wonderful, loving, zany, goofy individual. They seemed so stern, cold, distant, and angry back then. My heart aches every time I recall the moment I realized it was due to the loss of their home and so many family members in such a short time. Also due to the burden of leadership being split amongst Lao and Ag, when there used to be several elders. Not to mention Ag suffered more responsibility as Lao would normally handle more leadership choices if she weren’t in the process of grieving so hard as she was back then.
Still, I’m getting sidetracked. My family is somewhere on the surface, likely worried sick about me, and here I am wandering around, lost again in the beaver’s dam structure. Plus, I get to suck on sweet sticky sap sticks as I enjoy meandering about, lost in thought. That’s really unfair to them, I should hurry up. I guess I could blast around the tunnels with JT movement, rocketing from one hallway to every intersection. That wouldn’t use up too much mana, since I could pause at each intersection. My maximum mana still hasn’t unlocked of course, but I know the lock was damaged during my fury. The same thing happened last time when I went into a blind rage while my mana capacity was locked away from my access. It’s funny, if I let myself go into a blind rage again, I’d probably recover from this energy debt penalty more quickly. Why does it feel like the world wants me to give into my wrath and just slaughter everything? Wait, there was a hint, a clue. Something about a shared history with someone, somewhere. Wrath, hatred, indignation, fury, theft, something malformed, corruption, an alabaster temple. I can’t quite place it.
I have to be careful not to guess too many things that might lead to me changing how I approach the future. Especially without My-Anchor nearby. She knows what to ward me off of when my trains of thought veer in certain directions.
SIghing, I find myself thinking of Luni. She was this innocent otter-sphere that I thought would simply be the love of Lil’s life, full stop, nothing else. That alone made her important to me. That alone was cause enough for me to desire her safety and happiness. Lil jokingly accused me of falling into twitterpation with her when she evolved into a curvy, more humanoid, otter form, replete with gorgeous dress, adorable hair, enchanting sense of style, even more charming, and cute accessories. But it was true. I was smitten with Luni and felt ashamed for it. There’s no jealousy in our inner circle, but in my memories, everything screams that the norm is to only share that sort of affection and love with one other. I honestly think that’s a stupid way to live, but the guilt that that norm carried with it affected me. Then Luni continued to endear herself to me, time and time again as she proved more and more valuable in the coming hardships. She also hinted repeatedly that I was special to her, and somehow will always have been and always will be her hero.
Teuila has never admonished me for my feelings, and Lil only jokingly plays off as jealous on occasion. I think Lil and Teuila have a special bond wherein they’re as much smitten with one another as Luni and I are with each other. Well, I think Luni reciprocates my feelings. She certainly teases me enough about our closeness. The darndest thing though is she teases me in ways that indicate she has some knowledge of the same sort of wrong-world that exists only in my memories. Human-style flirting and the like. Any time I try to puzzle out how that can be, she deflects, but also lets slip emotions that confirm how much I mean to her. One time, during Lil’s absence, I thought she was begging me for affection to temporarily replace Lil as some sort of backup, just to ward off the horrid loneliness that I thought she would feel. She was of course wracked with loneliness without Lil, but that wasn’t what she meant though, she was admitting her feelings and she had to cut herself off mid sentence before admitting it. Something about revealing them I’m not supposed to know about, not yet anyway. It changes how I act in some future timeline to know something about some of the depth of Luni’s feelings for me.
“Huff.” I sigh, I have to bury all of these thoughts, and maybe even redact them. That sucks. I deeply enjoy thinking of my little quad, especially during monotonous solo adventures like this. Adventures full of long boring hallways of samey samey wood and lamey. Okay, that was childish. I’m sure the beavers are very proud of their tunnels of food supplies.
Oh no! They have to stay here. As far as I know, they may never be able to generate their food source in any other tunnels unless they’re connected to this river. Spice’s secret tunnels didn’t have respawning logs as far as I could tell. But, but, the volcano could go crazy again some day, and once again spill past Fire Biome. If it does, and I’m not here, backed up by hundreds of mages, what happens when the lava starts hitting their tunnels?
Dangit! Even if I try to avoid this place for the rest of my life, somehow or another, my relation to it is going to kill tons of these folks! Argh, I hate this! When I’m here, I end up killing people, or they end up dying nearby. If I’m not here, people are going to die. I know we didn’t rescue every single last beaver during the dam’s flooding incident. Some definitely died before we made it to every single hallway. I suppose the other faction wished I had just let them all drown, come to think of it. If I had done that though, there wouldn’t be hundreds and hundreds of beavers, there might barely be a hundred, or even only a few dozen. The sane faction was such a small fraction of the populace at that point.
Well, Priss, as much as we hate each other, gave me good advice. I deliver the news, and my intentions, and I let the beavers decide their own fate. Maybe even give them our marching course in case they want time to deliberate. That way they could eventually catch up if they so choose. They’d certainly always be welcome. The only ones I hold any animosity towards always end up dying anyway. Ugh, how cruel and callous is that? “Oh hey you’re all okay because I already killed the ones I don’t like.” That’s horrid.
I guess that thought is also self recrimination and minimization of the situation though. I didn’t kill them from simple dislike. I killed them when they proved to be threats to my family. They proved to be threats to my family by proving to be threats to the entire world at large.
Hm, I wonder why they’ve expanded so much. The tunnel systems always seemed needlessly large and complex down here, and these don’t look familiar in the slightest yet. Up ahead though, that intersection looks slightly familiar. I JT my way to the next intersection, and a bomb drops into the pit of my stomach.
I know where I am now, I’m in the north wing. This room once contained a cervid skull carving. I have no idea what they were doing with an antelope or deer skull, whatever kind of cervid it was. Even as just a carving, it’s an oddly gruesome thing for beavers to create and hold onto. This is the room I destroyed when I was last here, and it’s still a mess. They’ve swept out the ash, but the walls contain craters where I slammed my right fist into them at jet speeds. No logs have grown back on any of the surfaces, and I can see the plug they’ve used to prevent the re-flooding of the dam is slightly exposed from my rampage. I didn’t notice at the time, I’d barely stopped myself from blowing open the hole to re-flood the dam myself.
I lean against the entry of the room and horf the contents of my stomach into its interior. The waves of nausea overcome me as strongly as the waves of emotion that I’m riding. Each feeling stronger than the last, competing for dominance. Fear, regret, sadness, panic, hatred, anger, fury, guilt, remorse, contrition. A bunch of those might be the same emotion, just trying to bubble up under different names to reach the fore.
I let my knees buckle and allow myself to drop to the floor so that I can bawl my eyes out. I flood the scene with tears of regret, for who knows how long. Suddenly though, there’s a tapping on my shoulder as someone lays a comfortable leathery leaf cloak, or possibly a blanket, over my shoulders, and sits next to me. I expect that when I turn to meet their gaze, it will be one of my inner circle. My expectations are due to how tender and comforting the action was. But when I turn I find myself staring into the eyes of a young beaverfolk man who holds his arms wide. He remains seated nearby, allowing me my space. He’s a cute, pudgy, friendly fellow. He tries to say something to me, but my inability to communicate with critterkin means I only see a dialog box facing the wrong way laced with inscrutable script. I can hear the bruxing of his teeth, and I lean towards the box to try to parse what it says, but about the only thing that I can make out is the word sorry.
I continue to cry, now tears of frustration. This kind individual is trying so hard to comfort me, and I can’t even communicate my appreciation, or understand what comforts he’s offering. He motions his arms wider without approaching, allowing me the option to accept his hug. I want him to know how much I appreciate the gesture, so I shuffle closer and lean into his embrace. I bury my face in the velvety, slightly oily, fur of his chest. He pats my back and strokes my head and shoulders. I truly don’t deserve this level of kindness from folks whose kin I’ve killed repeatedly. This thought causes me to loose further tears of regret into the young man’s chest. Eventually I begin to hiccup. I hadn’t been breathing much between sobs, so now the oxygen situation is catching up with me as I draw ragged breaths.
I need to get back to my family, and let any of them deal with the beaverfolk situation. Why do I often end up in the position where I, the one that can’t communicate, end up being the first on the scene that could use a mediator? Sighing, I tug gently at this fellow’s arms as I try to stand. He shuffles to allow me to stand as well as aid me upwards. I wrap him up in a warm hug, hopefully showing my gratitude. I roll up the cloak or blanket type object he’d tossed about my shoulders, and hand it back to him. He looks a bit perplexed for a moment, as if he’s considering whether or not to accept his own blanket back. Eventually he acquiesces, and collects the object of warmth that he’d shared.
I make as if to leave, motioning that I need to head topside, and he nods, stepping to the side. I figure this is probably the last I’ll see of him, but he trots along several paces to my rear and to the right. I don’t know if this is one of those embarrassing “oops we’ve said goodbye but are going the same direction” moments, or if he thought I asked him to accompany me topside. I’m only slightly apprehensive of him. If he wanted to take advantage of me or hurt me, he could have tried while I was vulnerable in my grief and regret.
He’s really too sweet either way, as he makes no efforts to complain or change direction. I wonder if he can read and write, I mean, we all talk in text boxes, sort of. I pause, and he pauses behind me. I produce charcoal pencils, and scrap paper from my inventory, that I had bought when Spice was operating the shop for a time. I try writing out the simple question of whether or not he can read what I’ve written.
He smiles and nods emphatically. A breakthrough! I can finally communicate with people, instead of just humans. I draw a ragged breath and sigh in relief, chuckling and crying a few tears of joy. I then write out that I can’t speak or hear anyone. It’s an oversimplification of the matter, but at least I can let him know I wasn’t ignoring him.
He looks sorrowful, almost apologetic as if he’d done something wrong. I wave my hands worriedly, trying to let him know that he has nothing to be sorry for. I offer him one of the pencils and some paper on which to write. His face brightens up and he gladly accepts them. Finally I can at least introduce myself.
“I’m Reggie Shellracker.” I write.
His written response is, “I know, you’re famous around here.” This causes me to blush, and my face to adopt a sad expression as I try to fight back tears.
I write out, “I’m so sorry, I never meant to be involved in so many horrible events.” He quickly shakes his head and waves his hands, mimicking my earlier gesture.
He replies on paper, “No no, no need to be sorry, it’s a good fame. We know. I, well, I know what some of the leaders have put you and your family through. I’m the one that’s sorry on our behalf. I heard some of our miners talking that they found you in a wing that shouldn’t have existed, we didn’t know it existed until the earthquake. Like, the news is still spreading through the dam just now. I figured you must have had an adventure and saved us all again, even if on accident. So I wanted to see you for myself, if I could still find you while you were here. I just wanted to thank you somehow. When I did find you, you looked so sad.”
An asymmetrical smile accompanied by a look of deep sadness adorns my face. This fellow is too sweet for words. On paper I ask, “What’s your name?”
His response in writing is, “We don’t really have those, but I like the name Magnus. Does that sound good? You could call me that, if you like.”
I let my smile widen a bit, still lopsided with gloom, but approaching a true smile as I respond, “Pleased to meet you Magnus. Do you happen to know Sugar and Spice? The two that joined us when we first passed the dam on our way North as a family?”
Magnus simply nods with a broad smile. His acknowledgment fills me with calmness and joy. The last of my apprehension melts away. Anyone that Sugar and Spice might have thought was good, is probably a safe person to confide in. I extend my own arms wide this time, offering Magnus a hug, which he accepts quickly. He puts more strength into the hug than previously, squishing me against him joyfully. I find myself laughing, as well as rubbing and patting his back as our arms are wrapped around each other. We continue walking, each with an arm about the other.
I take a moment to scrawl, “Magnus, do you know about the lava a few nights ago? The volcano destroyed Shellcracker pond, and miles upon miles of land to the north. We barely pushed back the lava flow this time just a short journey from here. If it happens again, we won’t be able to stop it.”
Magnus looks worriedly at what I’ve written, shaking his head. I was afraid of that. News hadn’t reached them, since they’re rarely above ground or water. I pause our hug and our walk to scratch my head and lean against a wall. Even if I could write out everything that needs to be shared, it wouldn’t have the impact of a speech that one of my party members could give. I have to let the others handle the negotiations, if there are to be any.
We’ve reached the great hall, and there’s a fair bit of hustle and bustle. Magnus helps guide me through so that I don’t have to make myself imposing as I’ve done so many times before. As we’re reaching the south section, when we’ll need to start swimming, I’m worried I’ll have to say goodbye to Magnus without a way to communicate. I point at the paper and make swimming motions, then rub my eyes as if wiping tears away. I stow my own paper and pencil in my inventory, then Magnus hands me his as well. He realizes what my inventory magic signifies since he’d seen me draw them out of thin air previously.
I give Magnus one last hug, then I back up, wave, and turn to take the lonely swim topside. Magnus however catches me by one wrist, and despite the fur covering his cheeks, appears to be blushing. He tugs me close for another hug, I’m always happy to relent for a warm embrace, but then he surprises me. Magnus plants a kiss firmly on my lips.
I probably look pretty stunned, it’s not unenjoyable, but I don’t kiss back since I’m lost deep in thought. I’ve spent years, decades with my coterie, my quad, my inner circle. I’ve spent nearly a century with those that I hold most dear in the world. Though we smooch one another all over, and even frequently near one another’s lips, we’ve never actually shared that kind of kiss.
Well, I haven’t shared that kind of kiss with anyone unless you count the times when Teuila or Laomati had to breathe for me when I was dying. If you count that kind of mouth to mouth contact, then I’ve also technically been kissed by like forty five MCF beavers that had shared breath with me when I was dying underwater during the dam flood at the end of my trying to save them.
I think part of why my inner circle hasn’t performed that exact action is because, for so long, I thought I was a human child that just had too many memories of a nonexistent world. I was also certain that I was missing memories of what would have been a childhood in our world. I was nervous. There were implications. Once I realized I wasn’t even human, and that among critterkin, we don’t really have children, or even a child stage of life, I suppose I could have abandoned those nervous preconceptions. I only learned I wasn’t human fairly recently though. Technically we don’t even have biological sexes, and our genders are basically just pronouns for convenience. Though, there are some traits and characteristics that some of us critterkin tend to share, the ones that identify as one or the other anyway. For neutral parties like myself and Lil, it’s hard to explain. Agwai has some of those characteristics leaning one way, but they’ve never identified themselves that way, or any way for that matter. I enjoy appearing cherubic and small, but I can change my shape into virtually anything with enough time and concerted effort.
Narf, thinking on it, even though I know I’m not human, I might also not be critterkin. I don’t know which umbrella elves fall under, if either. I haven’t met any of them yet. Do any of them have shape changing powers? Can they speak with critterkin? Do they behave like humans biologically? Is there a chance I’m just an elf? Oh no, I’ve just been standing here, distracted in thought, while poor Magnus had kissed me and then recoiled.
Magnus looks mortified that I haven’t returned the kiss as he backs away. His face contains terror that he’s done something wrong. Before he runs away I need to find a way to absolve him, to let him know I didn’t mind. Now as he turns to leave, I grip him by the wrist, and pull him in for a hug. It’s not a kiss, but it’s affection all the same. I try to assuage his worry about the kiss, though I don’t feel like pulling the pencils and paper back out just to write if I’m simply going to put them away again an instant later. I stroke his back and hold him for a moment. He calms down fairly quickly.
I mime out questions for Magnus, indicating I want to know if he was going to follow me topside, and if so, if we can keep writing once we get there. He nods emphatically, so I smile and begin a much less lonely swim through the southern halls of the dam that lead out to the river proper.