carl@fire

Isemeine retrieved her coin purse from her pocket as she shoved her goggles in. She dug out a pair of fifty-coin marks—the advertised price of admittance for the pair of them—and passed them to the coffeehouse's gawking proprietor before returning the purse to her pocket.

Carl stood behind her, seeming to have been reduced to a shambling, unnerved wreck by the magical overdraw of his coin-creating spell. And… Perhaps also from how fast I drove, I must admit. My excitement at finding someone else knowledgeable in mechanics overcame me.

"Enjoy, ah, your stay, My Lady," the man said, gesturing for them to enter through the black curtain that blocked view of the coffeehouse's interior.

"Coffeeeee," Carl droned behind her.

Whatever energy he mustered to convey his interest for my steamcar seems to have waned. "My thanks," she said as she walked past the shop's pair of guards and pushed her way through the black curtain.

She froze immediately when she entered the coffeehouse proper, all thoughts of mechanics and steamcars flying from her mind. Oh, no. It's one of those places.

A short, wooden counter ran along the wall to the left. Behind it were a pair of men wearing matching outfits—black trousers, white shirts with collars, black vests, and bow-ties—working industriously to brew coffee and tea. Wooden, high-backed booths lined both walls of the wide, hallway-like establishment.

A buxom, leashed long-ear with a pink collar around her neck walked forward wearing only a cheerful smile and very high heels. "Welcome!" she said a high-pitched, girlish voice. "I'll bring you to your table!" She grabbed the princess's hand and began to tug her along.

Isemeine followed, her thoughts speeding by with each step. I've heard of these—Tomas mentioned them often enough as a place where he met with friends—but somehow seeing one in person is…

A well-dressed older woman sitting in a booth to the right let out a whine as they passed, her eyes squeezed shut and her lips pressing together. Her hand clenched at a pink leash atop the table, and she pulled on it twice in rapid succession, as though signaling—

The eighteen year-old princess flinched slightly as her mind reached a conclusion. It isn't only the royal family, is it. This entire city has become a cesspit of depravity; City of Lust, indeed. Devil or not, purified or not, there's no way so many would willingly—

"You'll be right here!" chirped the inhumanly well-endowed long-ear as she came to a stop in front of an empty booth and released her grip. "I'll bring your coffees now, or…" She held up the end of her pink leash and presented it to the princess, her smile turning a little too cheerful. "I can get them in a little while," she said, licking her lips.

"Coffeeeee," Carl said again, shambling along behind her.

"Just coffee, if you please," Isemeine said, averting her gaze and sliding into the side of the booth that faced the front of the shop. When she realized her machine-like companion had halted and was making no move to sit, his vacant eyes fixed to the rear of the shop, the princess patted the table. "Carl, sit with me. We'll have coffee soon, I believe."

The long-ear who'd led them to the table was already clicking her way back towards the counter near the door.

Carl flopped into the booth, seeming at once like a steamcar that had run out of fuel. His head lolled to the side, and he made no motions, nor did he attempt to speak.

Isemeine frowned. That spell must have drained him far more than he initially let on. I wonder how it functioned? Perhaps—

The long-ear returned, bearing two saucers with cups of coffee that had steam rising from them, her pace incredibly fast yet seeming in no danger of spilling even a single drop from the near-overflowing cups due to her race's natural grace and agility. She placed a cup in front of each of them, beginning with Carl. Then she presented the end of her leash to him.

Isemeine's jaw tightened. I suppose he is a man. Even if he's a devil sympathizer, it's hardly out of place to accept—

Carl took up the cup, dwarfed as it was in his large hand, and drank from it with a single-mindedness that left no room for misunderstanding that he might be even the slightest bit interested in anything but the drink in hand.

Isemeine breathed a sigh of relief when the long-ear departed after seeing that her offer had implicitly been rejected. I certainly had no wish to converse with someone as they were being fellated. She knew the term, of course, no thanks to the training her husband-to-be had engaged her in, as he'd termed it. She shuddered at the memory and, after adding a comfortable amount of cream and sugar and stirring with a spoon taken from the basket atop the table, raised her own cup to her lips for a sip. Ooh, this is quite delicious. A bit too hot still to enjoy in anything more than brief—

Carl's cup thunked down onto the table a moment later, clearly empty based on the sound, and he stared at it in confusion.

Isemeine's brows raised. Perhaps I wasn't mistaken about his need for coffee as a source of fuel for his magic after all.

A different long-ear appeared in a rush moments later with a new, equally-hot cup of coffee. She also presented the end of her leash to Carl after setting the cup on the table.

Carl glanced to the side at the long-ear, then raised his right hand slightly off the table, holding his palm towards the coffeehouse long-ear with his fingers pointing upwards. He shook his head slightly as he returned his focus to the new cup of coffee. "No, thanks," he said in a definitive refusal.

The princess felt a small bit of her remaining wariness towards the large man fade away with his second refusal. I don't imagine any man I've met, save for Mister Godfry, refusing twice in a row, let alone failing to "appreciate the beauty" as Tomas referred to it. She watched the long-ear leave, trying to find some appreciation. No, I don't believe I can appreciate it.

Carl sipped from his second cup of coffee, seeming already to have regained some energy as his gaze sharpened. "Nice place," he said, the irony evident in his voice. "Really brings full service to a whole new meaning."

A man's uncomfortably loud moan of pleasure sounded over from the booth behind the princess, and she shied back into her seat.

Isemeine's eyes moved back to her companion's. "I didn't know it would be like this in here," she said in a faltering tone. She looked down at her coffee. "My apologies."

Of course he would be disgusted by such a place if he's a devil sympathizer. I can't believe I even considered that he'd have any other reaction.

"In retrospect," Carl said, his tone one of amusement, "the O's in 'coffeehouse' being pink with little leashes attached probably should've been a hint."

I suppose I missed that detail in my haste to bring him somewhere we could speak about mechanics.

"This coffee is really strong," he added. "Good, too."

"Yes, that's true," she agreed. I still prefer tea, but this certainly has its charm. The same as I've always thought each time I've tried coffee, I suppose.

Carl harrumphed.

He must still be upset over how fast I drove. Quite reasonable, as I can't imagine anyone being used to traveling so quickly. Isemeine quickly set her saucer and cup on the table and leaned forward. "I'm truly sorry for frightening you on the drive over, Carl," she said, attempting to placate him. "I thought perhaps—"

"Nah, it's cool," said Carl, once again misusing the word.

Or perhaps the word has a different meaning where he's from. The thought sparked the beginnings of a terrible idea in her mind, but she ignored it for the time being. "By cool, do you perhaps mean okay or good?" she enquired.

"Yeah, don't sweat it," Carl said, using another unfamiliar phrase with a clearer intent. "Once I realized you had it under control it was like a really unsafe roller coaster. You really need to add some seatbelts if you're gonna be driving that fast. And maybe a horn or something, too. Had a close call there at that one intersection with that other car." He fingered a small slice of bread out of the basket and took a bite, appearing to be impressed by it.

Isemeine blushed as she recalled the incident. She'd sped into a busy section of the district where the nobles' market streets converged, and another, slower steamcar had charged out of an angled side street and onto the main avenue, nearly colliding with them as they sped past. The driver had raised his fist in anger at first, then blanched when he'd realized who he was preparing to shout at.

"I didn't expect someone to be coming from that direction," she said bashfully, a small smile forming on her lips as she remembered Carl raising his hands over his head and shouting in excitement when she'd depressed the go pedal a bit farther to speed past the near-mishap.

"You gotta remember to look both ways at busy intersections like that," Carl said. "City could use some traffic signals on that part, too. Lot of congestion there."

"Traffic signals." Isemeine stroked her chin as she considered the concept. Introducing an organized methodology to regulate the flow of traffic and avoid the collisions that sometimes occur in various… "Yes, that's brilliant," she said as she continued to think through the implementation of such a novel idea. "We could perhaps employ someone to stand in the intersection and direct the vehicles to improve the efficiency. A mage, perhaps, using designated light patterns—"

"Or colors?" Carl suggested.

"Or colors," she echoed. Of course! Why spend the time developing a complex system of signals when colors could work just as easily? Then there would be no need for a mage, even! A painted sign could do! She stared at the man who used unusual speech patterns and phrases, gaining an all-new respect for his intellect while suppressing the small seed of an idea which had continued to germinate. "Yes, of course. I can't believe I didn't consider that."

"Sometimes the simple ideas are the last ones you think of," Carl said, stating a truism that reminded her of Mister Godfry.

The princess's thoughts began to race through the earlier ideas he'd mentioned. "And this seat belt idea—equally brilliant," she said as she considered it. It was difficult to navigate at such speed around corners due to the forces of momentum involved. "A belt that could be strapped around a person driving or riding in a steamcar in order to stabilize them during sharp turns." This man is a genius! Location be damned, I'd be fortunate to speak with him anywhere.

"Or just to prevent them from flying out of the car in the event of a crash, of course," Carl added, as though the idea was obvious.

Which, perhaps to him it is, but… Isemeine felt as though her mind would surely explode from the new avenues of thought that were opening before her. "Yes," she said as she worked through the idea, "because if one were to drive into an obstacle at high speed, the resulting collision would obviously cause the objects—and people—in the steamcar to retain their momentum…" she trailed off, feeling the desperate need to record the ideas that were filling her head. And not simply a seat belt for safety, either! A type of cushion could be added surrounding the chassis of the steamcar to absorb a portion of the impact, or… "Ooh, how I wish I had my notebook with me!" She picked up her saucer and cup and sipped in annoyance. It's at times like this when I should have some sort of pocket-sized book for taking notes when I have no means to carry full-sized sheets of paper.

She spotted the shop's proprietor approaching them from the front of the shop as her thoughts wound down a bit.

"Sir, My Lady," he said, standing beside the table and wringing his hands in apparent worry as he looked between them, "Are you certain we can't provide you with any, ah, additional entertainment?"

Isemeine grimaced. Of course he would be troubled. The fourth princess has just come to his coffeehouse—obviously a very specific type of establishment, catering to only the most sophisticated customers—and declined to make use of his… She felt her grimace deepen, then turn to anxiety as she spotted Carl examining his surroundings with apparent curiosity.

The large man's gaze alighted on a table across the room as a naked, objectively beautiful long-ear dropped to her knees and crawled under a table, pushing aside the flaps of the tablecloth as she entered the enclosed space. Her pink leash was held by a man sitting on one side of the booth. The man on the opposite side of the booth had his head tipped back and eyes closed, his own hand clenched in a white-knuckled grip around a pink leash of his own.

Isemeine felt her stomach churn as she looked back to Carl.

To her great relief, Carl's refusal was exactly the same as his previous one. He raised his right hand slightly off the table in a halting gesture, shook his head slightly, and said "No, thanks" in a firm tone.

Isemeine sagged back in her seat.

Then the proprietor turned his attention to her. "My Lady, we're so—"

Carl's gesture and mannerism had worked so perfectly that she decided to attempt it. "No, thanks," she said, using her left hand since she was on the opposite side of the booth.

"Yes, of course," the man said, now seeming slightly offended.

"I'll pay you extra to leave us alone," Carl declared heroically.

Isemeine's eyes went wide at the sheer audacity—the brilliance—of the idea. Offering a bribe to a shop owner, as though we're being accosted by some common thug?

"No, no, that won't be necessary," the proprietor said quickly, his face whitening as he realized the unseemliness of his actions. "Please, um, enjoy yourselves however you wish."

And then he was gone.

Isemeine began to giggle at the man's reaction and the sheer effectiveness of the gambit. "Pay him extra to leave us alone?" she said softly, acknowledging that she understood his ploy. "Carl, has anyone ever told you that you're brilliant?"

Carl grinned with obvious smugness. "Of course they have. That's how I have an idea on how to further improve your car."

The mechanics-oriented princess felt her earlier excitement rekindle. "Oh?" she said as she leaned forward in her seat again.

"What you need to do next," he said, still grinning, "is fully enclose your car. Make it more aerodynamic so that—"

Isemeine's eyes bulged. "You know of aerodynamics, too?" she demanded.

"Well, yeah, it was part of a general engineering science-y program I started off with—part of physics, really." Carl gulped down the remainder of his coffee immediately after he'd finished speaking.

Suddenly, the idea that Isemeine had briefly considered and discarded as being improbable was seeming a little more likely. His manner of speech as well…

Another long-ear, this time male, approached bearing another cup of coffee. As the previous ones had, he offered the end of his pink leash to Carl, who refused with exactly the same hand gesture, this time seeming somewhat exasperated. The long-ear removed the empty cup and departed back towards the counter.

Carl leaned towards her, planting his right elbow on the table and resting his face in his palm as he made a humorous face. "Really?" he asked.

Isemeine's previous stream of thoughts was disrupted again, and she covered her mouth and laughed at his clear annoyance. "They're so insistent! I suppose they must be surprised to see me here," she mused.

"Not the usual kind of place you hang out?" he asked, once again using a phrase she'd only heard from one other person, now that she considered the matter. He drank from his newest cup of coffee.

The thoughts brought her title and duties crashing back down on her, and she sighed. "No, I seldom leave the castle. Always one person or another who feels the need to waste my time." But that's merely the nobles I'm forced to entertain with my mother or sisters at tea time as part of Being A Member Of The Court. Her thoughts turned to another, much worse way in which her time had been wasted and abused. "Or worse," she muttered, struggling to push away a collection of memories that she had no wish to dwell on, including the terrifying one that had left her with the very mark she was continuing to conceal with the neckerchief at her throat.

"Ah, yeah, that's tough," Carl said, raising himself back to a more sensible posture in his seat. "I get a lot of that, too. Always gotta just sit there and pretend you're paying attention—"

"It's awful," Isemeine cut in as she now recalled the tedium of The Court discussing various trivial intrigues or speculated-upon scandals.

Carl stroked his beard. "Why don't you leave the castle, then? You could just take your car somewhere and be like, the queen of racing or something."

Isemeine frowned, her mind struggling to shift onto the new avenue. "Queen of Racing," she repeated as she considered it. Does he mean competing in contests of speed? I recall reading that the seadevils prided themselves on such things in the past. And there was that suitor I received from the Empire who boasted of his own steamcar's speed, mentioning that there was some sort of track that he raced on… "I could, couldn't I?" she mused. Shedding the weight of being a princess, simply spending every day in contemplation or creation of ways to further improve my steamcar or other ideas…

"Was that as fast as your car could go?"

The question brought back the feel of the wind on her face as she'd sped down the long, wide avenues of the city at a pace she'd never dared previously. She grinned. "No, I depressed the pedal approximately halfway. I've never traveled so fast before to be fully honest," she admitted. "It was incredible!" The rush of being forced to quickly steer and swerve to avoid people, steamcars, and other obstacles as she'd driven caused her heart to pound just from the memory.

Carl's grin mirrored her own. "Yeah, it was pretty cool." He paused for a moment, seeming to consider something. "Wow, if that's only half speed you must be able to get around the city pretty fast. Took me forever to walk over here from that gate."

"Yes, no sense in footing the cost of a taxi, I'm sure," Isemeine said in clever reference to his still-bared feet. "I heard you terrorized a pair of the city's guard on your way, too. Caught them quite flat-footed, if you will."

Carl chuckled in a comforting low rumble at her clever wordplay. "It was kinda fun at first when they were following me around, but then they turned it into this big scene, and this guy was trying to push me around a little, so I had to get in character. Er, oops." He cut himself off, seeming a little uncomfortable.

The idea that she'd been pushing away came back yet again, and Isemeine shoved it down once more, not wanting to face the obvious truth. "I don't think there was any genuine issue," she said. "No one was injured or seriously offended."

"Eh, whatever," he remarked in an offhand manner that reminded her of—

"Carl, where are you from, if you don't mind my asking?" she asked, trying to appear casual by sipping from her coffee which she now held with both hands in order to prevent them from trembling.

"I'm about an hour outside of San Francisco," Carl said.

The fourth princess, who now spent her waking hours in alternating disgust and fear of her outworlder husband-to-be, felt her stomach clench. "I see," she said, her thoughts racing. She took another small sip of coffee, then carefully deposited the cup on the table before her hands began to shake too badly to hold it. "Carl," she said, choosing her words and tone carefully, "if you'll excuse me a moment, I'm going to visit the water closet."

"Um, sure," said the man sitting across from her, thankfully making no move to restrain her and instead sipping his coffee without a trace of worry evident.

Isemeine turned and walked, despite how she wished to rush, towards the shop's rear with as much haste as she could reasonably muster. Once she was safely inside one of the small rooms with the door locked, in the soft illumination of the small light stone, she allowed her mask to drop and stared with wide eyes into the mirror, feeling once again the choking, suffocating pressure of a hand around her throat.

He's an outworlder.