"All right, the matchup chart has been finalized," the blindfolded wolf remarked to her audience. "Rexan and Lymn got the short end: they're only on-screen for one date apiece."
"A Lymn date?" gruffly remarked Audience Member #1, a well-armed man with a goatee and a headband. "This is gonna be good."
"In Round 4, yes," the wolf confirmed. "And I think I'm ready to start.
"Solstice is coming our way—for some of us, it's already here. Thanks to a tradition that originated in the Relecan countryside, but which spread clear across the continent (and may soon breach the borders of Amalao), many consider it customary to spend the evening of the solstice in casual leisure with pleasant company.
In other words, it's date night in Indines.
In the past few years, we've seen the emergence of special gatherings designed to aid this type of solstice celebration: events which rapidly introduce eligible individuals to each other one after another, then help promising matches stay in touch. Let's look at one of those."
Round 1, Room 1
A fierce-looking woman with red eyes shifted in her chair, trying to scratch the back of her leg with the heel on her other shoe.
Wish they'd let me keep my knives, she sighed to herself. How do these things itch so much? They're not even real tights. They're just an image of tights. Yet they itch so badly!
There was a knock on the door, and she straightened hurriedly.
That must be my partner for round one. Okay, stay calm. It's just a casual conversation. I'm overdressed, aren't I? Should I have used my field guise? No, that top is terrible in this weather. I shouldn't have worn earrings, though. I look far too dressy in this.
"Come in," she said aloud.
It's okay, Alumis, you've got this, she reminded herself. Just a casual conversation so I can celebrate this tradition and fit in with the surface-dwellers. It'll be easy. Just look nice and try to be charming.
The door opened, and in stepped a tall, imposing gentleman in an understated dress uniform of exquisite quality. His long, wavy hair shimmered like stars at midnight, and his sharp eyes met hers over his spectacles.
"Thank you," he replied smoothly. "My name is Cairngort. May I share your table?"
Alumis tried to remember to keep her mouth closed.
I didn't know they made human men this gorgeous! I'm underdressed, I'm so underdressed. Casual conversation, casual conversation... What am I supposed to talk about? I don't remember how to be casual!
"Please do," she replied primly in a voice that barely shook.
"Thank you again," the gentleman replied, seating himself opposite her. (The room had only a single table and two chairs, so it wasn't as if there was much choice about it.)
Etiquette, Alumis! she thought urgently. What do humans talk about? Weather? How perfect his hair is?
"May I ask your name?" Cairngort asked.
Alumis blushed. Etiquette! Aloud, she answered, "Alumis. And yours?"
"Cairngort," the man repeated with a smile. "Hasn't changed."
He said his name already! Alumis scolded herself.
"That's a beautiful dress," he added.
"Yes, I know," she said.
Idiot! You're supposed to thank people when they give you compliments! she railed inwardly. Thank him immediately!
"What do you do for a living?" the gentleman was asking.
"Thank you," she blurted, her thoughts trailing behind the conversation.
Rexan blinked, and Alumis' blush deepened.
No, no, no! Now he thinks you're a complete buffoon!
"Professor," she corrected. "I teach childs. I mean children. I teach children. And... not children, sometimes."
"You teach children and not children," Cairngort repeated with a twinkle in his eye. "I see."
His posture was perfect, he kept eye contact without staring, his tone was warm and even, and his every expression seemed precisely crafted to lend the perfect emphasis to every remark he made.
I am so outclassed, Alumis thought despairingly. He's so perfect, and he has this air... like there's a perfect thing to do in every situation, and he does them all, and I can't find a single one of them! Do something right, Alumis!
"Nice weather we're having," she tried.
Cairngort raised an eyebrow. "Did you know that it's storming outside?"
"Uh... sure. Yeah, I knew that. Of course I knew that. I, uh... like storms, is all," she offered weakly. Aargh! How do I human I don't even
"...Now for a brief interlude!"
"Okay, good," sighed Audience Member #2, a white-haired man in a faded blue coat with wispy tails. "I can laugh out loud now."
He abruptly burst into a fit of insane laughter, then halted only moments later, wiping tears from his eyes and settling back into his chair.
"All done," he assured the other audience members. "Carry on."
"Laugh any time you like," the wolf replied. "No bother to me."
"Just for the record," growled Audience Member #1, "is this what they look like when they fight, too?"
"I don't know," answered the blindfolded storyteller. "I haven't seen them fight. Now, where was I... Ah, here we are. This next one will be quick."
"Sorry, could you explain why this is happening?" asked Audience Member #3, a shadowy figure in concealing robes and a dark hood.
"Because they're all insane," replied Audience Member #4, a masked man veiled and mantled in the essence of shadow.
"The solstice," said the wolf.
"Ah!" proclaimed the robed figure. "Which means it is the right time! At last, we may gather to sing the rites of..."
It trailed off, noticing that the rest of the audience appeared nonplussed.
"Yes?" prompted the masked man.
"Never mind," sighed Audience Member #3, shuffling its feet and mumbling something about never being able to get a decent ensemble together.
Round 1, Room 2
In the next room down, both parties were rather less nervous than the woman in Room 1.
"So you really fight monsters?"
"Of course! What else would a magical knight do?"
"Meddle," muttered the shadowy man with the mystical mask. "They tend to do that."
"And you ride throughout the cosmos and you have a spaceship and you can transform to defeat powerful villains?"
"Well, yes!" The magical knight in question had short, blonde hair with two exceptionally long pigtails, and she wore a dazzling outfit of purple, red, and gold.
"That's amazing!" praised her date, a willowy woman with pink hair and thick spectacles. "Can I have your autograph?"
"Sure!" Magical Knight Iri said with a grin. She spun her wand around her wrist, and it transformed into a pen and landed in her hand. "Who should I make it out to?"
"I don't think most of my friends like to read magical girl stories," Marmelee reflected. "I suppose just sign it to me."
The knight hesitated, and Marmelee thoughtfully provided the spelling of her name. Iri formed each letter very crudely, as if the language was something completely unfamiliar. "T... O... M... A... R... M... E... L... E."
"One more E," the willowy woman corrected.
"...E," Iri finished. "Like that?"
"That's great!" Marmelee assured her.
Iri then signed her name with a swift flourish—which was remarkable. She swept her hand across the page only once, but the mark she left behind was an elaborate maze of spirals and intersecting lines that sprawled sideways across the page as if it might escape. "There you go!"
"Um, thank you," the apparent dryad said, somewhat confused. She retrieved her book and squinted at the mark. "How do I pronounce it, again?"
"Irialandradayamorella."
"Irialanadrayamo...?" Marmelee frowned.
"Irialandradayamorella."
"Irialandramayadorella?"
"Irialandradayamorella," the magical knight repeated without the slightest sign of impatience.
"Iri—"
"And that's why I usually leave it at that," Iri cut in.
"Deliciousss character interactionsss," hissed Audience Member #5, a tall woman with pink hair and spectacles, into a body pillow.
"Does anyone know how to pronounce the magical knight's name?" inquired Audience Member #3 from the darkness within its hood.
"As another audience member once remarked, Indines is a Rorschach test of pronunciation," the storyteller replied. "Whatever works is fine. But I pronounce it 'Irialandradayamorella.'"
"I say it 'Irialandradayamorella,'" growled the well-armed fellow with the goatee.
"Interesting," the wolf noted. "So you treat that L as silent?"
"Slur through it," he corrected. "The syllable after it is weakly voiced. Like 'Irialandra,' not 'Irialandra.'"
"Okay," continued the robed figure after a few moments of silence. "This is going to be a weird question, but let me try again. How do you pronounce Irialandradayamorella?"
Round 1, Room 3
One side of the table in the next room down was occupied by a fellow whose top was a scrap that couldn't be called a shirt by even the most stringent of nudists. Belts and straps encircled his arms, and rosary beads adorned his wrists and neck. He had a mane of unruly white hair, and he looked thoroughly bored.
"I can't believe they matched me up with a bitch," sighed the shirtless man.
Across the table, a wolf wearing a pale yellow ribbon scowled at him.
"How did I not see that coming?" demanded the pink-haired woman.
"I guess I should've been more careful when filling out the application," Gaspar grumbled. "It asked what I was looking for. Next time, I'm just going to put 'unbelievers.' Or, wait. 'Good listeners.'"
The wolf shook her head.
"What, you don't think so? I'm sure you're not any happier with this than I am."
The wolf shook her head again.
"So what do you suggest I put next time, then?"
The wolf shrugged.
"There, see?" Gaspar conjured a blade to pick his teeth, then stopped and eyed the wolf. "Hang on. How does a wolf shrug?"
The wolf shrugged again.
Audience Member #6, a massless being beyond time and space, poked an ethereal tentacle through the side of the chest of refreshments. "Oh! Is it story time?"
"Yup," replied the blindfolded wolf cheerfully.
The eldritch being cheered, rattling the chest violently as it did.
"We're in Round 1 at the moment," the wolf explained. "We're going to jump down to Room 6."
"Aw," said Audience Member #3, sneaking a look at a chart the storyteller was covering with a paw. "Coming back to Lymn later?"
"Sorry," she answered, shifting to cover the chart more effectively. "Lymn isn't scheduled to appear on-screen until Round 4."
"What?" asked the hooded figure, sounding surprised. "But... didn't you already...?"
"Wrong wolf," explained Audience Member 4. "Lymn has a blindfold, not a ribbon."
"Oh," said the hooded figure, disappointed. "Oh, well. Please do carry on."
Round 1, Room 6
Into Room 6 entered a dark-skinned gentleman in a light orange suit with spectacles, a mustache, and a red bow tie.
"Hold up," growled Audience Member #1, scratching his goatee. "Isn't this supposed to be Luc?"
Audience Member #6 took the cue to start emanating theme music from beyond space and time.
"Er, it is," the storyteller replied, puzzled.
"Luc is very definitely white," the well-armed fellow pointed out.
"What? He is?"
"Yeah. Come on, he's from Jeffreys. He got a tan at some point, but that's all. You couldn't tell?"
"How, exactly, would I tell?" asked the blindfolded storyeller pointedly.
"Oh. Right. Uh... Narrator omniscience?"
"Also," interrupted Audience Member #3 from within its hood, "did you mean that the suit had spectacles, a mustache, and a red bow tie...?"
The wolf cleared her throat and began again.
Into Room 6 entered a mustachioed and spectacled gentleman in a light orange suit with a red bow tie.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, then looked up and saw the room's occupant. "...Oh. I must have the wrong room."
The figure behind the table shrugged. "Maybe." Light glinted from dark glasses as it moved its head.
Luc Von Gott squinted. "Wait a moment..." He removed his spectacles to polish them, then replaced them and stepped forward, eyes wide. "Servi?"
The red-haired gentleman behind the table took his staff in one hand and rose to his feet, smiling faintly. "It's good to see you again, Luc."
"This can't be," Luc whispered. "You died. More than three hundred years ago, I watched you die."
The red-haired man stepped around the table and extended his hand in greeting. "A true legend never dies. Servi lives on."
Luc started to step forward, but stopped at the strange choice of words. He reached out to take the man's hand, but for some reason, he couldn't quite grip it properly for a handshake. He looked at their hands, puzzled by their failure to correctly match up alongside one another.
"What's wrong?" asked the redhead.
"It's the wrong hand," Luc replied quietly. He stepped back and reached to his shoulder, activating a device of some sort. "Servi was right-handed. You extended your left, and you held your staff in your left hand, as well. Servi would've used his right. Who... who are you? How do you look so much like him?"
Sagas Seities flinched as if struck. "I... I am Servi," he said firmly.
Audience Member #5 squeaked softly as her jaw dropped.
"I am Servi's legend," Sagas continued. "I watched him his entire life, and now I am living the other side of it. I'm glad I could meet you, Luc. You meant so much to him. I wish for us—"
Luc held up a hand sharply and shook his head. "No. Whoever or whatever you are, I will not accept you by that name. The man you mimic is dead, and he died nobly. I..." His face softened. "I cannot fault your admiration. Relecour has never seen another like him. I should know. But I will not call you by his name, even if you have his face. I'm going to wait outside for the room change."
He turned to leave. Sagas reached out to stop him, forcing himself to reach out with his right hand.
Luc looked back, stopping the redhead in his tracks. "Oh, and... happy solstice, stranger."
The device on his shoulder clicked, and Luc disappeared into thin air.
"I'll let everyone take a few moments to refresh themselves," the wolf said. "The rounds are short, but we're about to go back to Room 1, and I don't want to get there before they're almost finished."
Audience Member #6 handed out drinks with its numerous tentacles. Audience Member #5 declined, since her mouth had yet to close.
"Back to Room 1, then," the storyteller said after an appropriate interval.
Round 1, Room 1
"Have a lovely evening, and do enjoy your solstice," remarked the gentleman with perfect hair and cunning, smiling eyes. He bowed and showed himself out.
"To you as well," Alumis replied cordially, curtseying until he was gone.
Why did he have to be so wretchedly perfect? Alumis moaned to herself, collapsing back into her chair. That was unbelievably stressful! And the worst part was how nice he was about it! But just dressing like that makes me feel like I have to hold up someone else's standard for behavior. Which, sure, is normal, since I'm trying to act human, but etiquette is one more worry than I can pay attention to at one time!
Alumis sighed aloud as someone knocked on the door.
"Hey there!" called her next date. "May I come in?"
Relax, she reminded herself. It's no big deal. You don't have to impress anybody. It's just a casual conversation.
"Sure," she replied aloud.
A young fellow with grey hair entered, straightening his formal suit and doffing his top hat. "Good evening, my lady, and I hope you are having a pleasant solstice!"
Alumis swore under her breath.
"We can just leave them to themselves for Round 2, I think," the wolf decided. "There are some folks I'd like to catch up with in the meantime. Things are about to go south..."