carl@fire

Isemeine had panicked for several minutes, her body shaking as she leaned against the sink and gasped for breath. Her mind conjured imagined scenarios that caused her heart to pound in fear. She'd pulled off the wrapping from her neck, feeling that she was being suffocated by it. Her earlier decision to not have the red mark healed by one of the castle mages in order to bring it to her mother's attention now seemed foolish as she stared at it in the mirror.

At last, some semblance of reason had returned, and she managed to force down the sheer terror that the knowledge of having spent time alone with another outworlder brought. She considered, rationally, the events as they'd occurred, imagining them as having happened to someone else and forcing herself only to consider the exact facts that she knew.

He's from another world.

He arrived at the city this afternoon.

He spoke with Percevale at the gate. Percevale was pleased and left his post early.

He spoke with Rosa upon entering. Rosa and Gwalter were pleased and left their stand early.

After, it became apparent that he was traveling towards the nobles' district.

He gave coins to Honest Beatrix for a vase which was already broken.

He produced the coins by magic.

When confronted by the city guard, he seemed ominous and threatening, but he had already discarded his weapon. He departed without harming anyone.

He walked the entire length of the city, barefoot, to reach Ingrid's shop.

He spoke with me about being tired of various matters, then about mechanics.

He placed an order for boots with Ingrid.

He paid thirty thousand coins, in full, and conjured them by magic.

He seems to be familiar with vehicles such as steamcars as a means of transit.

He clearly has never ridden in a steamcar previously.

He expected my steamcar to be safer.

He craved coffee after placing his boot order.

He became almost machine-like at points when his coffee craving grew too strong.

When supplied with coffee, he returned to normal.

He very clearly was not interested in receiving services from the coffeehouse's long-ears.

He's quite knowledgeable about mechanics, and even thermodynamics and aerodynamics are concepts he's familiar with.

The princess chewed her lip. But he is an outworlder. Except he can't be one of those sent by the Goddesses, because they always arrive in pillars of light. He has seemingly no knowledge of how our world or society functions from his reactions—also not something that would occur were he to have been sent by the Goddesses, as the Heroes have all spoke of spending varying amounts of time with the Goddess of Light prior to arriving, during which they receive their new names.

Her hands tightened on the sides of the sink.

Outworlder.

The very word now caused her to tremble, though she had long tried to hide the full effect that her betrothal had caused in her. No, the handprint around her neck from when the Hero had nearly strangled her to death the night before while he had painfully fornicated with her again was not the only mark he'd left.

Her breathing had grown uncomfortable again, and she spent a moment thinking of all the ideas she'd had ever since Carl—the outworlder—had first spoken with her.

Certainly… He hasn't shown any inclination towards violence. Nor has he behaved in a manner that should frighten me. He's even sometimes amusing. And he didn't make me uncomfortable by grabbing one of the long-ear's leashes, either. And he knows so much about mechanics…

Isemeine frowned, feeling that she'd finally achieved some semblance of stability again. Perhaps… Could it be that he's like a blank sheet of paper? He knows naught of our world, and whoever informs him can shape his perspective?

The idea terrified her.

At the same time, however…

What would one who has no preconceived notions of our world think of it? Would we, humanity, be in the right? Are our actions justified?

If they were not, would he stand against us?

The newest idea was oddly appealing.

I've been feeling as though the castle—the city—is sliding deeper into depravity—towards its nickname—with every day. Perhaps it's only my view, but if someone with no stake in the matter were to confirm it, then I could at least shed my guilt in resolving myself to leave and never return.

She nodded to herself. Outworlder he may be, but since when have I judged a man solely based on where they hail from? Perhaps this San Francisco is a cesspit as well, but if Carl is of sound mind then it has no bearing.

And he possesses a considerable amount of knowledge regarding mechanics, too. Though that also has no bearing, obviously.

She began slowly retying the neckerchief. Yes, I shall hear his opinion on it. All of it. I will present him with the facts as I know them and then discover his thoughts. He seems to be in no hurry to leave, so I can spend a day or two on this.

Her neck once again covered, she glanced at the toilet.

Isemeine sat down in her side of the booth once more, feeling much calmer than she had when she'd gotten up.

Not a moment later, a long-ear placed a fresh cup of coffee in front of her and removed the old one.

Thankfully, it was without presenting a leash for the princess to decline.

"I'm not sure I'll get used to that," she said, watching the female long-ear strut away with her hips swaying outrageously. She made it two tables before her leash was grabbed, nearly jerking her off her feet with the suddenness and force, then turned with a delighted smile and crawled underneath the leash-holder's table. No, I surely will not.

Carl turned his head back to face her, a grimace on his face. "What's with the pink collars, anyway? I've seen them outside, too."

And of course he would ask, because he knows nothing of this. Feeling reassured in her path, Isemeine scooped up her new coffee and held it. "It marks them as purified—safe, according to the Churches," she said, attempting to convey the facts in a neutral manner.

She took a sip of her coffee, then winced and grimaced simultaneously at the flavor. Ooh, I do regret that. A splash of cream and a very reasonable amount of sugar mixed in improved the flavor to something she was capable of drinking, and she took another sip to confirm it. "The Inquisition is the enforcing arm of the Churches, of course," she said. Then she leaned in over the table with a serious expression. "They seek out and destroy any influence from the devils, and we do not do or say anything which might draw their attention."

She hoped that he understood her hint.

"Are they everywhere?" he asked in a similarly quiet voice.

The princess shook her head. "Not so much outside the city, though they do venture to some of the smaller villages in the Kingdom on occasion."

"I understand," said Carl after a moment. He gulped down the rest of his coffee and placed his cup on the table, which prompted another female long-ear to hurry over with a replacement.

Carl raised his hand in his gesture of refusal. "I think I've had enough coffee," he said.

The long-ear hesitated for a moment, then retrieved his cup and flounced back to the front counter, managing to make it the entire way unmolested. Then a man came up behind her as she leaned against the counter and—

"What time is it, anyway?" Carl asked without warning.

Isemeine's eyes snapped back from where she'd been watching the man…

She pushed those thoughts away and pulled out her old, unadorned wristwatch from under her left sleeve, smiling slightly as she always did when she caught sight of all the tiny, exposed gears inside that she was intimately familiar with. "It's almost twenty o'clock," she reported.

The wristwatch had been a gift—though it had been intended to be mocking—from her oldest sister, Emma, after the fourth princess had been removed from the line of succession. "An ugly, useless watch for my useless little sister. Happy birthday, Isemeine." The words had stung, but in the end the gift had given the eleven year-old girl her first experience with mechanics: fixing a broken watch.

I wonder how she's faring, anyway. The Stadal Empire is awfully hot this time of year, or so I've read.

"Mina, how long is a day here?" Carl asked, his brows drawn down into a frown.

Isemeine sat back in her seat. "They're lengthening now. Should be around twenty seven hours today."

"You said they're getting longer?" Carl seemed even more confused.

The princess nodded. His world must function in a different manner. "The longest day is thirty two hours at the summer solstice when there's no nighttime. We calculate it by the big sun, so sometimes it's still light out even if it's not day. Otherwise days would last far too long in the summer."

"Wait, wait." Carl was rubbing his hand up and down his beard now as though attempting to start a fire from the friction. "Are you talking about the length of daytime or the number of hours in a day period?"

"The former. A day period of time is thirty two hours, always." Isemeine watched as Carl's face ranged from confused, to comprehending, to seemingly sad. Yes, it must be quite different to provoke such a reaction.

A thought occurred to her on an entirely different topic. I still have some curiosities of my own. And he does seem like a reasonable man, unlike Normannus, who was quite uncouth from the start. The memory of the dark-haired Hero on their first meeting came back to her briefly.

Isemeine sat in the Royal Tea Room, sipping her tea and wearing her most splendid dress as she sat with two of her three elder sisters, Sosanna and Jeanette, while they awaited the arrival of the Hero. Pleasantries and barbs had been exchanged as the sisters tended to do, and they were merely waiting in silence now.

The door was thrown open, and the newest Hero walked in. He scanned the room, and his gaze lingered on the youngest of the three girls. Normannus stared at her face, starting to nod, then his eyes dropped to her chest, where they remained as his grin widened. "So, you're Izzy, huh? Biggest tits, must be you. King told me you're mine, now. C'mon, let's fuck."

She shuddered, doing her best to not recall the rest of that memory and mostly succeeding in blocking out everything but her own terrified screams of pain after her sisters had deserted her.

Carl sat still, staring down at the table with a slightly-dismayed expression.

No, they're certainly nothing alike. I hope he dies a thousand times over, Hero or not.

"Carl," she began, forcing her voice to conform to the tone she wanted, "I heard that you were carrying a certain unusual weapon when you arrived. I'd like to see it, if that's not too much trouble."

"Sure," Carl said, making no moves to fly into a rage or pin her to the table, pulling—

Isemeine took a series of quick, shuddering breaths as she squeezed her eyes shut. No, they are not the same. That is not how I behave. I consider things rationally. I use logic, reason to make decisions. Not fear. She opened her eyes again.

Carl was now staring down at himself past the edge of the table.

The princess frowned, feeling a growing sense of confusion.

"Actually," Carl said as he stood up.

Tomas Arderne appeared at the entrance of the coffeehouse and began walking towards them, his eyes fixed on hers.

"I'm gonna hit the water closet myself," Carl continued. "I'll show you when I get back."

"Of course," Isemeine said absently as she attempted to figure out how she could possibly navigate the inevitable meeting of wealthy noble and still-clueless outworlder. "I'm sure I'll be here when you return."

"Be right back," Carl said as he hurried towards the rear of the shop.

Tomas arrived moments after the huge outworlder had departed. He stood to the side, and his brown-haired long-ear, Delsanra filed into the side of the booth.

She was naked, of course, save for the pink collar around her neck.

"How unusual to see you in here, My Lady," Tomas said, sliding in next to Delsanra. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I spotted your steamcar outside by chance—quite unmistakable given its unique style—and decided to give my regards since it's been some time since we've spoken."

Isemeine's mind raced. "It has, hasn't it," she said while she thought.

"Indeed," said Tomas. "Ah," he turned to the naked, smiling Delsanra for a moment. "My apologies for her lack of clothes. I wasn't expecting to see you, obviously."

"No, it's—"

"Delsanra, why don't you return to what you were doing while we were driving," Tomas finished, not looking over again or batting an eye when his long-ear giggled and slid under the table.

Isemeine blinked. Is this truly happening?

"Ooh, that's better," Tomas said, shifting noticeably in his seat after a moment. "So as I was mentioning, I hope I did not arrive at an inopportune time." He leaned his head to the side and noticed the rear of the coffeehouse.

"Only a discussion about the principles of aerodynamics," Isemeine said with a lowering of her brows, knowing what he was implying.

"Good, good, good," said, his eyes widening slightly with the last word and his tone implying that he did not believe her. "You know, if you have such needs, I would be happy to assist, of course. For the sake of old times." His eyes happened to rest on the eighteen year-old's well-covered chest for a little too long before returning to her eyes. "I've found myself unable to keep you off my mind of late, if I may be so bold."

Well, it certainly doesn't seem as though he's changed any. If anything, all my work has reversed itself. The last time he visited with me, I believe he managed to go a full ten minutes without staring at my breasts or propositioning me. She sighed. "I'll mention to the Hero that you've offered your services," she said, attempting to convey her displeasure as strongly as possible.

"It's amusing that you've mentioned him," Tomas said, shifting in his seat again. One of his hands dropped below the table, and there was a very loud, wet, sucking sound for a few moments. "I had just heard a rumor that he's nowhere to be found. Is that true?"