carl@fire

Isemeine hadn't told him everything. No, that would take far too long, and she had no wish to remain in such a place for longer than was strictly necessary. She held nothing back out of a desire to manipulate or to set him against anyone. That was not her way. Instead, she simply began with the worst of it, speaking honestly and directly. For the first time, she spoke of the troubling things which had happened to her, and someone genuinely listened.

The telling had gone far better than she'd hoped. Rather than callously ignore her suffering as the other outworlders—or her own family—surely would have, Carl had grown visibly furious on her behalf, even if he'd asked some strange questions along the way. The way in which his knuckles had whitened as he squeezed the table in anger made her imagine it shattering to bits in his hand, but he was not, it seemed, that sort of outworlder. Were any of her family present, however, she might have expected blows to be exchanged. It was an odd feeling, imagining that someone might actually fight for her sake.

Now Isemeine was nervous, but an idea had emerged as she'd bared some of her wounds to a near-stranger. It seemed almost insane to even consider now that she was considering it. At last, however, she arrived at a decision as she stared at her palms in that uncomfortable, depraved coffeehouse.

"Carl, if…" she hesitated. I'm still afraid, I suppose. A fear such as this can't be overcome in a single encounter, or even in a single day. But I am more than my fears. I will conquer them someday.

Thus resolved, she began again. "If I were to leave Charus City—no, Charus Kingdom—could I perhaps persuade you to accompany me?" She stared across the table at the outworlder who'd just rescued her from unknown—and yet, also very known—horrors, hoping to convey her need. Were I to leave on my own, surely the army would catch me within days. And that would be the best thing to happen to a princess were she to be found gallivanting alone and unguarded outside the walls of her city. General Gabriel was perhaps a bit too blunt with the things I could expect if I were to ever be captured.

Carl seemed unmoved by her request. "I don't know, Mina," he said in a skeptical voice. "Not sure you'll really like where I'm headed. You seem more like the crafting type, and I'm looking to check out some dungeons and maybe go adventuring a bit if I have time."

"I may prefer to learn and to craft, as you've termed it," Isemeine countered, "but I also know quite a lot about the nations and their territories."

"Yeah, but—"

"And I also have the fastest steamcar in the entire kingdom, I'd wager," she added, feeling especially clever as she raised her new line of attack on his reluctance. "Surely you have no wish to ride horses, or drive a slower steamcar, do you, Carl? Or perhaps you plan to continue walking?"

Carl grimaced, no doubt considering how much walking would be required if he even wished to leave the city.

"Please, Carl?" Isemeine begged, needing him to agree in order for her to finally be rid of some of the nightmares that had tormented her waking and sleeping hours for the better part of a year.

"Alright, then," he said after a moment.

Isemeine felt her breath halt. Her eyes widened, and she smiled more widely than she could remember doing in a very long time. Time seemed to slow for a moment.

It's truly happening. I'll be free of all these horrible people at last!

Time resumed, and she felt the urge to shout her joy and excitement to the world. Instead, however, she remembered her manners. "Thank you so much, Carl!" she said, managing to control some of her excitement. "I promise you won't regret this!" I was right. He is different from the other outworlders. And even if he has yet to reveal his true self somehow, surely anything would be better than enduring this wretched city for even a moment longer.

"I still feel like you're making a mistake," Carl said, looking somehow defeated. "You'd probably have a lot more fun alone."

No, being captured doesn't seem very fun. But you wouldn't know about that yet, would you. What you do know about is… The remainder of her excitement broke through the walls she'd tried to conceal it behind. "But then who would give me ideas for methods of further improving my steamcar?" she asked in a squealing tone that was certainly not becoming of royalty.

For once, however, and perhaps for the first of many more times, Isemeine no longer cared about how royalty should behave.

Carl laughed for a moment. "Anyone ever told you you've got a real one-track mind?"

Something about the rhetorical question tickled a memory. Track. Why does this seem significant to me at this moment?

Her mind flashed back to a very recent point.

"You could just take your car somewhere and be like, the queen of racing or something," said Carl.

The racing tracks in Onyxfell! Yes, I should like to see those at some point. Surely my steamcar must be capable of higher speeds than anything they've ever witnessed. And… And if not, then I'll simply make it so! "Perhaps we could visit the Stadal Empire at some point?" she asked, disguising her interest so as not to appear too demanding so soon after having her request accepted. "I've heard they have a racing track for steamcars in Onyxfell."

The massive outworlder shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe. I wanna—" He cut himself off, then looked around suspiciously before leaning forward.

Isemeine leaned in as well, eager to hear his plan.

"I wanna get away from those Inquisition people for a while," he whispered. "Too tiring."

The princess giggled. The irony of it. An outworlder concealing himself from the very people who are meant to serve his kind. "Yes, I can imagine," she said in a dry tone.

Carl sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. "You have anything you need to do before we get going?" he asked after a moment. "I'm not exactly in a rush, but I also don't have anything better to do."

Isemeine opened her mouth to say that no, she was quite happy to leave that very instant, but she held herself back.

It would be unfortunate to leave my notes behind… At the moment, however, I fear that being separated for any reason may put our plans to depart at risk. No, I'll have to endure. I've my steamcar, and that will be more than sufficient.

It does feel somehow improper to simply disappear in this manner. Yes, I should like to at least give them something to remember me by.

Something they can choke on. And I think I have just the thing, provided my conjecture is…

Isemeine grinned. "There is one thing," she said in a sly tone. "Carl, how would you like to help me achieve some incredibly petty revenge before I leave? I believe it would be simple enough for you to accomplish."

"Revenge, huh?" Carl said, his mouth curving into a smirk. "I think you deserve more than just a little after what you told me. Not really sure what I can do, but it sounds like it could be kinda fun. I'm in."

The princess rubbed her hands together as she leaned in, her grin widening. "Carl, am I correct in assuming that you are able to produce an unlimited quantity of coins?"

Carl grimaced. "I guess I was kinda obvious about it, huh?"

"I won't speak of it," she said, mimicking his lock-and-key motion on her lips.

Carl chuckled heartily. "Alright, so your revenge is spending a lot of money?"

"Not entirely," Isemeine replied, laughing softly to herself at the irony of her scheme. "But first, I believe we should depart from this place. I'm feeling quite famished."

"I suppose I could try more food," Carl said, sounding vaguely interested.

"Tremendous," said the princess. "There's one particular street vendor nearby who sells the most incredible-smelling food, but I've never mustered the courage to sample it." She turned to squeeze out of the booth.

Carl's massive spear was still embedded firmly in the floor at the edge of their table, the insane volume of magic radiating off of it creating a green curtain that drew a clear line between the table and the rest of the coffeehouse.

Isemeine poked its haft once she regained her feet. The metal felt cool to her touch, but it didn't budge in the slightest.

"Let me grab that," Carl said, easily retrieving the giant spear and laying it over his shoulder. He gestured with a hand towards the front of the shop, heedless of every eye in the coffeehouse being drawn to him. "Ladies first," he said.

The fourth princess of the kingdom gave him an amused look as she strode forward. The proprietor was waiting by the door, wringing his hands anxiously. She glared.

"I got this," Carl called from behind her in a reassuring manner.

"My Lady," said the proprietor as she drew nearer, "I want you to know that—"

Isemeine deliberately ignored him as she walked past, the sheer impoliteness of the act bringing a grin to her face despite his complicity in the recent scheme against her. I do believe the remainder of the day will be considerably more uplifting. She passed through the curtain.

"Tomas said to bill him for damages," Carl's voice boomed out behind her. There was a cracking sound, then a thud.

Isemeine glanced back and spotted Carl dusting himself off with one hand where the entire front of the coffeehouse had gained a massive rent torn in it from the tip of his extended spear as he'd passed through.

"Get him to build you a better ceiling, too," Carl called over his shoulder. The act of turning caused the spear to rotate with his shoulders—unintentionally, she was quite certain—and it easily ripped another hole in the front of the brick building next to the door, nearly decapitating one of the frog-eyed guards standing nearby. "Dammit, Roger," he muttered. The guards made no effort to pursue him, their eyes latching onto the giant spear.

The princess giggled merrily. Yes, he's most certainly cut from a different cloth than the other outworlders.