Somewhere Someplace

Cyanic ignited eyes stared down to that which was so gently laying atop her hand’s palm. Shiny and refined, being of mainly silver though embroiled with bronze, or…some other…similar looking metal—she still did not know. Although evidently in need of some cleaning, its engraved patterns were nonetheless still clear. She had to remind herself that she had even brought this with her; that it was…in one of her pouches this entire time.

Such a strange thing, indeed, this ring was. She still could not truly comprehend its appeal or…the need to frolic oneself forth in obtaining such a pointless trinket. It was just a wearable shape of metal. Nevertheless, however, she kept gazing… Maybe it was just a bit interesting; maybe she could see…just a little bit…as to why her former associate found this…thing…to be rather…appealing.

Antica sighed… It had been so relatively long experientially, even if so objectively short in the temporal scope of her actual operational lifespan, that she had forgotten—practically—what specific finger upon which this ring was supposed to be donned. Of course, such was hyperbolic, for procedural memory and declarative memory were largely separate processes in the brain.

Thus, nevertheless, without any conscious thought, she ultimately donned the ring upon her left index finger, where it had been before. Its presence was immediately felt; bizarre, cold, and…weird, though she quickly tuned it out.

And with that done, she was…practically done.

Once again, after much time, she was back within this…denizen attire; that generic female-designated ‘commoner’ ‘gown’ or ‘dress’ of orange and amber with white in the stitched second layer of sleeves and collar; that garment she had been so provided by Novea after she had rescued her following her…passing out during the bombardment…

Truly, to even recall that specific episodic memory filled her being with such…odd feelings—none of which were exactly pleasant.

Nevertheless, there she stood in much more alien form than that which she was familiar with; that which she knew most, eternally. She felt so strange, truth be told… There was a comfort, indeed, in that…Remnant feeling that her proper equipment and integrated ‘disguise’ uniform system…so provided.

Such was not to say, of course, that was she completely devoid of her Remnant…stuff. Considering that she had substituted local undergarments and other such auxiliary denizen…clothing-whatevers…with segments of her Remnant bodyglove, she was still wearing such—or, at least, for her legs and lower waist.

There was a gap in her attire’s collar area that exposed skin that would have otherwise been…utterly blackened by her chest and shoulder bodyglove segment—a too peculiar sight, indeed; thus, she opted to forgo such to better adhere to the locals’ expected ‘normalcy’—albeit not having any such breast-obscuring undergarments was certainly a taboo, though she doubted anyone would notice the absence thereof.

Likewise, she had forgone her fingerless arm-gloves as well for similar reasons, having not typically observed denizen females wearing such articles of underclothing, or at least not ‘casually’—and, indeed, the denizens did have such social-cultural abstractions defining the normative ‘appropriateness’ of certain types of clothing relative to specific or even niche contexts; needless complexity, most truly…

Though, regardless, it was…perhaps…interesting to be able to fully feel in comprehensive detail with her hands again, not just her fingers solely.

And, of course, remaining on her right-ear—now more somewhat visibly apparent albeit her hair had seemingly grown enough to partially obscure it…ish—was her communicator-scanner—a non-negotiable object needing to be on her person regardless. And since she had only…one pair of footwear, she still wore her Remnant boots… which felt so very strange and unbelonging in absence of the rest of her uniform system.

Besides these things, however, all other Remnant equipment—her four magazine pouches, her four satchels, the extra pouches, modular small-arm, rapier conduit, and all other such things—were properly situated, tightly compiled, and efficiently organized into a ‘pile’ located directly parallel to that so-called ‘bed’—the specific fashion of which, she had to…admit, was made possible primarily from utilizing that…garment folding technique she had observed Novea do weeks prior, albeit her Remnant ‘disguise’ uniform had been a bit trickier to replicate such with.

Her ignited eyes shifted, evaluating that compiled pile of Remnant stuffs and things… Her Remnant smart-cloak had been stretched out and placed over everything in order to keep such sufficiently obscure—and not only sufficiently obscure such was, but also…secure.

For indeed…

Gently stationed upon that pile as if an imperator commanding atop her hill…was her little automaton, Fly, whom she was going to leave behind. However, Fly would not be alone, for it was with…buddies—two, to be precise.

A strange dark-cyan, somewhat angular and geometric yet still smooth and refined, mechanical yet with ever-faint and barely visible whisp-dusty glimmer, these exotic automatons were in the general shape of a ‘butterfly’ and were slightly larger than Fly; these were the other of her ‘toys’ she had brought with her…

…it might have had taken longer than she cared to admit to successfully locate these two butterfly automatons, for she may or may not have had forgotten…where exactly she had placed them… But such facts were utterly irrelevant to present reality.

Her cyanic gaze then, automatically, shifted to her secondary terminal device… Only to stare at an empty forearm…

Right, procedural memory was separate from episodic, and it evidently had yet to ‘update’ itself on this new reality… She felt quite…odd, indeed, being without her terminal device now…

Nevertheless, with a sigh, Antica’s sight promptly shifted to that clock which so ticked and tocked.

Hmm… The hand, she inspected… Although all of that had been rather the…process—for the visual ‘simplicity’ of her Remnant techno-gizmo attire belied the complicatedness in properly donning and undonning—, nonetheless not so much time had actually passed.

Hmm… Indeed, she still had quite the time…

She decided to…double check her figure—the laws of probability always stipulated a chance that she might have…missed something, albeit there was not much needing to be checked. Having not any mirror or any other such reflectors to properly check her figure, she simply began to eye.

Her dress was still a bit wrinkly and felt looser than she remembered it being, she realized… Expected, considering she was without her prior primitive belt; nevertheless, she was…perhaps not quite used to this…looser feeling, frankly.

Likewise…

Indeed, she began to caress, pinching the clothing’s material between two fingers as she rubbed in between, evaluating…

It was still slightly ashen… Such had already been rather obvious during the process of donning this garment attire, but feeling the ash between her two fingers reminded her so. Hmm… Considering she had been able to put this on without…complications, she figured that this should not cause too severe problems… Nevertheless, she did not fancy being a walking contaminant; she would need to…rectify this eventually.

She swiped at her attire to deashify it a little bit more, before gripping her attire’s ‘skirt’ from the right and lifting it up until her right-thigh area was exposed. Her primitive revolving-pistol—primed and loaded—and its holster, she saw; right where such should be…

« Hm… » She dropped the skirt, before repeating this process from the left side, exposing her left-thigh area. That larger primitive satchel of hers…which was, indeed, packed with…some things, was also where it should.

« Hm… » Again, she dropped the skirt.

Obviously, she did not need to actually inspect to confirm the presences of such things she could already feel the presence thereof; rather…she was more testing the accessibility.

Indeed, owing to the type of attire she was wearing, she would have to lift up her skirt to access either of these two things; this, of course, hindered her ability to immediately and quickly draw her firearm or take from her primitive satchel in situations necessitating rapid responses—though, at the perk of…concealment.

Regardless, her eyes then shifted… Hmm… Her Company armband, she evaluated. Considering she had to meet with the Company, she had found it appropriate to keep this on… However, it seemed a bit…loose and improper; thus, she quickly fixed it, making sure the affixing clip was thoroughly proper.

With this done, she sighed yet again as she withdrew her sight…

Ugh, she still felt so… The effects of her sleep had yet to wear off; there was still some…waking guck in her eyes, she felt. Thus, she promptly rubbed her eyes… Only to…realize so quickly…

« Âch, phí! Quam érrumatù! » Indeed, the mistake that was… Her fingers and hands were still slightly ashen, enough to frustrate her eyes. Slightly cyan-sparkly liquids began to drip down from the irritation.

Ignited eyes watery and burning with sting, she quickly went to her pile of…stuff, hastily flinging off the smart-cloak, her three automatons delicately flying onto her shoulders; pressing doohickies and rummaging through, she retrieved her Remnant liquid-container flask, only to realize that the one retrieved was empty, having not yet been refilled; thus, only after retrieving the other one, she finally…washed her hands and drenched out her irritated eyes…

Ugh, now she was wet; she hated this specific…sensation… Her eyes…felt marginally better, at least.

Taking a sip to empty the flask, she… Screw it, she was going to keep it. Thus, temporarily putting it aside, she reorganized all of her…stuff back to their prior states before extending her smart-cloak over everything again, her automatons buzzing back to their prior stations.

She stood herself back up, her still somewhat annoyed eyes scanning… Indeed, for this…face-touching had reminded her…

Identifying, she promptly made way to her primitive backpack; opening it, she retrieved the mask gently within and respectfully placed it aside, before not-so-respectfully shoving her Remnant flask into it… She then stared into the abyss of her open backpack, realizing…

Indeed… She might as well…

Ugh, she shoved her hands back in, rummaging through until she took out one of her remaining nine…ever-so beloved…Remnant ‘Standard Nutrient and Sustenance Bars’… She just stared at this bar… Contemplating it…

Even though she had no framework for tasteful pleasantries or unpleasantries, she nevertheless remained hesitant. She sighed yet again, before finally tearing off the exotic synthetic wrapping, which dissolved away into cyanic radiant dust… She promptly ate it—faster than as fast as feasibly possible, trying not to choke as she chewed and munched.

Although this was largely unnecessary considering the time since her last SNSB, not periodically eating nonetheless ran the risk of her digestive organs eventually atrophying from lack of usage—she being nowhere noplace to easily replace them.

Nevertheless, this all done, she finally shifted attention to that butterfly masquerade… She took it into hand, gazing it down…feeling it, seeing it… Blank and empty, much like her, yet nevertheless alien to her…

She had endured two weeks being effectively maskless. Masks were their faces; thus, she had been faceless… And even though this was not her true face, it was…the one she had been wearing for most of her time…stranded here. She had been told that she ought to one day paint it, make this face her own… And as she stared at this identity-less masquerade, she could…maybe see it… That single violet stripe that she…perhaps…wanted to embroil.

The lens, she wiped them clean with her sleeve… Before, finally, she flipped the mask around and at long last…donned it once again.

Immediately, feelings so strange yet not necessarily disagreeable filled her being within, as if her face—her soul—felt more completed. However, being without her Remnant equipment and stuff, she nonetheless remained only partial.

Nevertheless, mask donned, Antica stood up and peered around… She had to get used to the…slightly more darkened vision due to her half-mask’s tinted lenses, although owing to the augmented adaptability of both her eyes and her brain’s occipital processing, adjustment came quickly enough.

She then eyed the clock again, evaluating… Hmm… The big hand had only…drifted a bit…

Antica sighed yet again… She still had…quite the time…

Well, she might as well triple check herself—not only to be…triple certain, but also to just…simply waste time.

-||-

Sounds began to rumble as that covert…door of stone finally slid open, a familiar cloaked figure swiftly stepping through, the fist of whom so smacked the…relevant pressing slab, the secretive entry closing shut.

Novea let out an arriving exhale; “Alrightly, I am back…” she announced, mask-obscured eyes initially down though peered back up, immediately noticing…she who stood in place.

“I greet you” Antica greeted, standing attentively; prepared and readied, she was now alien to what she had been prior—almost completely unrecognizable.

Novea just kind of…remained static in place, standing there…staring… “…wow” she finally blurted. Inhale and exhale, she took off her own mask, lowering the facemask underneath and her hood, revealing her own face and head.

Though, Antica’s brain struggled more with differentiating this familiar face than it had the familiar mask priorly donned.

Novea, smiling softly though not by intention, approached… “…hi, Nilia… Long time no see…” she greeted; “You look…nice…” She blushed...

“Oh.” Yet Antica just…flatly acknowledged; “I take it, then, that my ‘form’ is suitable?”

The moment immediately fled… Novea exhaled quite the breath, eyes casting to the ground… “Oh, you have no idea, Nilia, how good it is to see you again… I have spent the last almost two weeks with this girl who calls herself ‘Antica’, and she is…such an ice-queen! No, the Ice Queen… So cold, and mean, and…frustrating sometimes, and…”—she sighed—“so hard to understand… And, honestly, I was kind of a bitch too…”

« … » Antica stared, rather confused, trying to… Oh. “…I see…” She realized; aheming, she tried to relax her stature and…facial muscles; “You are a pleasant face to see, also, uhm…Nine…” She tried to smile, failing… “I hope that…you…are…safe? Ehm… Yes…” All of her social-cultural behavioral training and normative conduct conditioning had so eroded in such short time, indeed… The rust was so evident.

“…and I thought I was awkward…” Novea so remarked, cordially.

“Ha. Ha. You are very the…funny?” It was pointless to even try, yet only by trying could she scrape off this rust.

“Alrightly, anyway…” Novea, however, approached closer… “Nilia, just straighten yourself and stand proper so I can actually inspect…”

“Alrightly…” Antica promptly did as instructed.

“Hm…” Novea thus peered in, eyes judging… “Hair’s a bit messy, but…doable… Your dress is…a bit dirty, and…I am not sure if…neo-kirtle is fashionable in Strawberry, more of a…top-north thing, but…it’s workable… Although”—her sight lanced to Antica’s boots—“you could do with a change in shoes, since those…really do not fit the outfit”—her eyes then lanced back to Antica’s head—“Oh, and you still have that…” she exhaled…

“…still have?” Antica tilted her head lightly, before…feeling her skull…

Oh, right, she realized… That improvised ‘bandaging’ Novea had placed after that goblin…incident. This entire time since then, she had just left it there, and not even that she had forgotten its presence as much as… “I did not know where to…dispose of it, so I kept it…” Antica…thus said. Indeed, Remnant protocols aside, it was simply good practice to not haphazardly discard potential biohazards into habitated environments.

However, Novea—ever the primitive—swiftly leaned forth, and… “Just hold still, lemme…” She began to gently remove that…rather socially embrassing thing to have openly affixed to one’s head when out and about… Yet… “Huh.. Not even a scar…” Novea became distracted, staring at the now exposed former wound; “You heal fast—I mean, obviously, Miss Sparkle-Queen” She ahemed… Yet… “Wait…” Abruptly, she leaned in even closer than Antica would perhaps prefer.

Sniff. She began to curiously sniff, having realized…

“…what might you be doing, spy?” Antica frankly interrogated, attempting to tolerate this…unauthorized denizen encroachment of her person.

However, nose suddenly burning from the…well…traces of unpleasant ash, Novea lanced back, sneezing. “Need to get your clothing cleansed...” she mumbled aloud as her eyes casually returned to Antica…

Staring… Comprehending… Novea immediately turned red with rather the blush, realizing.

“Oh, s-s-s-sorry!” Her mind immediately flustered; “It’s just… I mean, we’ve been on the road for two-weeks, and I’ve certainly been left a sweaty freak, but you… The…uhm…the air that surrounds you…is ‘stainless’, I guess to say… Even though…” She paused, turning even more red… “I am being creepy… Sorry…”

« … » Antica just stared… “It is the ‘magic’. I will say just that.” she replied, not nearly as awkward by this discussion as much as Novea was.

Novea…promptly ahemed; “Anyway, so…” She began to eye around…

As she did so, Antica peered at that recently retrieved adhesive-strapped absorbent now so dangling in Novea’s hand. Hm… Weird-looking thing, truly. Fluffy, soft… It was quite stained with aged cyanic-tainted blood, having absorbed remarkably a lot… Interesting; this had to be designed for—

“Ah! There!” Novea’s voice interrupted Antica’s…pointless analyzing; “See that…bin pit over there?”—she pointed—“That’s where we usually… Uhm… Well, that’s just where…these things…belong… Just so you…know…” She became…more awkward again.

“I see…” Antica’s eyes stared in the pointed direction, identifying that…stone…so-called ‘bin’ thing—it was a container, at least; one that blended in, almost…

Novea, aheming, promptly made way to that specific container and disposed of the absorbent, before returning to Antica…

“You should clean your hands.” Antica immediately suggested.

“I need to clean my everything…” Novea so sighed… “I feel like a slithering snail, slimy and disgusting…”

Antica was just going to pretend she knew what a ‘snail’ was… “I may take it, then, that you have done the ‘briefing’ with those two adventurers?” she thus spoke… “Blue and Red…” she, wanting to, recalled their names.

“Huh?” Novea’s attention snapped back; “Oh, rightly… Yeah, obviously… Leaving the city was a little tricky, but…my raven led the way, and…I found them camped not too far, and…” Slowing, she…abruptly began to blush… “I kind of…flew on in there and saw them…” She felt hotter… “…in more…detail than I…thought I would… Aha…ha…ha…” Her voice seemed more…heated.

“…uhuh…” Antica was not even going to bother pretending she understood.

Novea so ahemed rather the ahem; “Anywayy, so…” she swiftly moved on… “Yeah, I briefed them on their…need-to-know, and Red…acted like Red… They are going remain camped outside the city for now, until I come back with ‘better clarity’…”

“I see…” Antica acknowledged.

“And since leaving and entering are prohibited during the night, the gates being locked shut, I had to…roam outside the city until sunrise… since hopping out was a lot easier than…actually getting back in… Wanted to give you…space, so…it worked out… Spent time with my birdy…” Novea recounted, before again aheming; “Anyway, so, you’re ready to leave, rightly?”

“It is so…” Antica affirmed.

Novea nodded, before eyeing the hatch; “Hmh… This is going to be awkward since…” She paused, contemplating in mind… “Actually… No, I should change forms too… Heh…” she thus decided; “Yeah… Ha… One less active Raven; they won’t know my other form, but I’ll know them… Ha… Tail-suckers…” She abruptly froze, blushing quite… “Ahem… Anywayy, I am going to…change my sticky self, and…then we will leave?” Her voice was all over.

« … » Antica, however, had observed enough… She knew too well what Novea being in…this sort of cognitive state meant. “No. How about this, Nine…” she thus began to suggest, voice frank.

Name having been heard, Novea’s attention promptly focused… “Huh…” She blushed a little.

“I will go on my own and find the Company’s ‘headquarters’ or whatever place… It should not be hard for me to locate” Antica thus spoke; “You, however, will remain here and sleep.”

Novea just kind of…nodded; “…that’s… I mean, that’s…an idea, but… I have to… That will not do; I have to accompany you and make sure…”

“No. You have to sleep.” Antica bluntly interjected; “It is obvious that you have been without it for too long.”

Hearing these words, Novea’s eyes drifted, breaths beginning to unwind as if the true scope of her exhaustion began to reveal itself… “Yeah… You’re…right… I’ve been awake all night…” she…exhaled; “But, two things… Not sure if I’ll be able to sleep at all, and…” She paused, hesitating… “And uhm…” She tried to look at Antica… “Are you sure…you want to leave me…here…alone with all of your… you know… things? I thought you…”

“Hm. Actually, that brings me… I am not leaving you alone.” yet Antica merely said.

“Wha?” Novea tilted her head, becoming confused.

Antica simply pointed to her cloak-covered pile of things… “You must simply look to see…”

Novea immediately looked, and…she immediately saw… “What the?” Her head tilted; “…bugs? What are…” her mind attempted to process…that which had gone unnoticed, having been far too preoccupied.

“Those three are my…‘friends’, let us simply say.” Antica revealed.

“Duhuh…” Novea’s sleep-deprived mind was still trying to process… “…familiars? Are these what you were talking about when we…” she began to recall… “Not spirits… Conjuration? Golems…? Or…?”

“I understand, spy, that you and your Bureau are curious.” Antica, voice quite stern, so began to state; “So, I will establish this directly: you may spy and ‘snoop’, but only within my awareness and ‘allowance’. You may collect and gather and tell your Bureau the things that you find, but only when I myself expose the things to be found.” thus she, clearly and explicitly, established boundaries.

“…huh?” Novea’s eyes drifted back to Antica, slightly…surprised to have heard her utter such implied permissions… “…that’s… I mean... You know I can’t… You still shouldn’t…”

“I should caution clearer: you should not attempt anything with my things without my allowance because my things can be dangerous to you.” Antica specified, voice forewarning.

“Yeah…” Novea peered at the finger which had been so zapped hours before… “I realized that…”

“Following with this, my three ‘friends’ will tell me, even while I am away, if anyone attempts to touch. And if you touch, you will be stung.” Almost as if on cue, one of the butterfly automaton’s antennas so zappingly sparked; “Those two…bigger ones, specifically, can also explode.” Indeed, they could.

“Duhuh…” Novea just mumbled, her sight having returned to those three…automatons.

“Also, since only you and I are permitted here,” Antica continued, “they will protect this place and protect you while you are present—just do not touch.”

Novea, hearing, so returned her sight to Antica… “Protect…me?” she mellowly repeated… “Even when…I am sleeping? Even when…”

“Yes, obviously—but, again, do not touch.” Antica stressed. “Is this gotten?”

“Yeah…” Novea’s breaths mellowly blurted… “I won’t touch… I promise…”

“Goodly heard. I will…take the leave, then. You sleep.” Without any more words, Antica went forth and climbed the ladder, before…attempting to figure out how to open that primitive hatch… Successfully doing so, she swiftly departed out into the world beyond…on her own.

Novea, making sure that the hatch was closed and locked, was…now alone, or…not quite.

She looked at those three mechanical peculiarities staring her down…so slightly glimmering with an ever-faint yet ever-familiar…cyanic glitter… She could not bother contemplating further; all she cared to understand was that these things were…connected to Antica, and…

Indeed, such a notion alone made her feel so…eased and warm… “…maybe I will be able to sleep…after all…” her voice just…breathed out.