AN:
What the- another update?! In the span of two months?! My god, they're getting more frequent. Before you know it I'll be barfing up weekly updates. Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! They just make it so much more fun to write this story! ;w;
For some reason, I always finish the chapters in one go. Like, the moment I sit down, I just open a document and bang out a general idea of what the chapter looks before calling it a day. Which is probably quite dumb of me, because it's currently 5 am and I can no longer differentiate between left and right. Welp. Hopefully this chapter still makes sense and isn't grossly loaded with spelling errors. If it is, then, well, uh...Pardon me! D:
Before we move on, let me clarify a few things:
Plot-wise, there's only a few things I'm certain of in this fic; the rest is simply stuff I make up as I go along. Basically, there's a lot of empty time between each planned plot-point I already have, so if there are any scenarios you wanna see Erika in, or any specific character you want her to meet, just throw them at me and I'll see what I can do!
Aaaand, it seems like most of you guys want me to write this chronologically, so we'll give that a go!
As for her Nen type, 7 people tried to guess it: 2 of you guessed specialist, 1 enhancer, 1 conjurer, 1 manipulator, 1 transmuter, and 1 emitter. Basically, you guessed inside every single category, which was slightly surprising! Well, either way, one of you guessed it right!
Also, there were a few questions in last chapter's reviews that I figured would be best to answer publicly:
"Is she going to meet the rest of the Zodiacs or something? xD"
I think the right question here is: Do you guys want her to? Like I said, there's a lot of plotless time in this fic to fill in, so it could be arranged!
"Is that a picture of Erika?"
I'm assuming you're thinking about the cover picture; and indeed it is! That's Erika, in all her pale-ass & freckled glory. (You can't really see the freckles in that tiny picture, but they're there!) I'd draw her myself, but my art style can only be described as post-kindergarten scribbles. Basically I can't draw to save my life, so uh, I won't. Man, I wish tho!
"I believe you should add facts about Erika in the AN."
I wouldn't mind doing that at all! I just don't know what kind of facts you guys would like to know– if there's anything specific you guys are wondering about in relation to Erika, just leave it in a review and I'll put it on the AN for the next chapter! I'll try to leave a few random facts about her at the end of this chapter, as well.
ALSO HOW IN THE NAME OF ANNE'S GREEN GABLES DO YOU WRITE PLOT
WHAT IS TIME
HOW DOES IT PASS
SCREAMS LOUDLY
Anyway. This chapter consists of approximately 50% shenanigans, 45% banter and 5% actual plot. Just like all the previous chapters. I'm sorry. Not really. Whoops.
Let's roll!
Chapter Three
Hot as a Tater Tot
By the time we reached the city, I had realized three things.
First of all: Nen was weird.
And I'm talking straight-up bizarre.
The fact that my body was currently covered in some kind of lukewarm steam was odd enough, but the aggravating part was that I couldn't even bring myself to manipulate it. Like, at all. Apparently my Nen was just leaking everywhere, having the time of its life, and I was completely unable to do anything about it. I tried, I really did– Ging even talked me through the absolute basics to gain some semblance of control over it; namely 'Ten', which basically just involved meditation. It was terrifically lame, and was supposedly the most essential part of Aura manipulation. All you had to do was close your eyes, bring the Nen to the surface, and then proceed to direct it where you wanted it to go as you forged it into a shroud around your body.
Too bad I completely sucked at it.
I could feel it just fine, hell, I could see it clear as day; the annoying purple-tinted fog rising from every single pore of my skin. The problem was that I couldn't manage it at all. I could increase the pressure and the amount of released Nen with short mental jolts (which made me look like a human tea kettle), and even decrease it ever-so slightly, but I couldn't really operate it in any way.
I attempted to make some sort of progress during the remaining trek towards the city, but it all just resulted in a big fat nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not even a fraction of improvement.
Yeah, it was pretty bad.
According to Ging, my Nen control was absolute shit (even for an amateur) and I was some kind of hopeless cause that could only be salvaged by the sands of time or something. But honestly- I didn't really care that much. Ten was boring as hell, and I kept trying to pester him into learning me Hatsu instead, so that I could do something genuinely cool for once. Being the outright spoilsport that he was, he merely ignored my pleas and launched into a lengthy explanation about how it was important to learn Ten first because it was a matter of control and regulation and restraint and I kinda just rolled my eyes and stopped listening after that.
Anyway, that wasn't even the weird part.
No, the weird part – which I didn't really notice until after we set foot in the city – was that everyone's Nen was totally different. One of a kind. It was slightly overwhelming every time we waded through crowds of ordinary people; because even though their Nen nodes remained closed, they still had an Aura. And even when said Auras were all far weaker than Ging's, it still felt like I was stuck in the middle of a really hardcore Indian food market; where strong aromas and pungent fragrances assaulted your nose from every single angle, burning your nostrils and making your eyes water.
Some Auras were pulsing, some Auras were oozing, some of them were heavy, and some of them just downright made my head hurt – Christ, some of them sounded different, and some of them even smelled different, like the musky scent of nature and soil, or even different kinds of freaking spices.
The guy to my left smelled like cinnamon, and the tiny kid in front of me reminded me of bright-orange tulips, and the old lady behind me resembled a damn pine hut and everything was just completely disconcerting and confusing.
Ging's Aura stood out like a sore thumb in the plethora of odors and pictures; probably because his nodes were wide-open. His Aura smelled like brine – like salt and sea, and it made me feel like I was standing with my feet in tepid sand, curling my toes into coarse grains as smooth ocean waves crawled back and forth against my ankles. It was actually sort of calming.
...Yeah, Nen was definitely weird.
The second thing I realized was that Ging was a fat ugly liar and I was going to kick him five ways through Sunday.
This city wasn't a city. No, this was a village. A tiny village. A pint-sized, miniscule, ridiculously microscopic village.
The buildings were pretty much neglected; small wooden houses with overgrown cacti gardens (who the hell cultivated cacti gardens?) coated in various degrees of sand, dirt and mud. Half of the constructions looked either abandoned or rotten, literally everything looked dilapidated, and there was some putrid stench wafting through the air that made me want to puke.
In other words, it looked like a ghost town.
There were people, quite a few of them too, but they all huddled together, covered in desert garbs and constantly throwing us strange or suspicious looks over their shoulder that made my skin crawl, and I swear to God if some kind of ghost or traumatized spirit decided to haunt me after this trip, I was kicking Ging straight in his English teabags and fleeing for the hills before he could retaliate.
My third realization startled me the most.
It came in the form of a lonely sign, dug into the dirt right outside the village gates. Normally, I wouldn't even spare the sign a second glance (because the name of this village didn't really concern me), but my eyes glanced over it by coincidence, scantly registered what it said, and I just stopped.
Backtracked.
Stared.
The sign was engraved with foreign symbols – I could've sworn I'd seen them in the show before – and it looked like some odd mixture of bastardized Korean and those geometric shapes they teach you to draw in preschool. No, seriously, there were triangles and circles involved, and it looked phenomenally wrong.
Oh my god, I couldn't read.
Then Ging turned around and told me to hurry up, so I scurried after him – trying to hide the fact that I was now functionally illiterate at age fourteen.
Time had performed irreversible deeds upon the once-proud and half-timbered house with two small floors.
Brick and cement had been eroded away, the brown paint was weathered and peeling off in spots, and the slats in the shutters on the upstairs windows were mostly broken out. The old house seemed to have collapsed inwardly on itself, like a loaf of bread taken out of the oven way too soon – roof sagging and cedar shingles sticking up in places like wonky teeth. It was semi-detached; joined to what looked like a barn by one shared wall (though that barn must have been little more than a glorified shed even in it's heyday), while the windows had no glass in them – and they sure as hell weren't rectangular. A slight breeze made the door tap against the wall at a jaunty angle as the hinges squeaked ominously, and when Ging stepped onto the front porch, it let out a loud moan and almost collapsed under his weight.
It was a catastrophe; a rotting heap of wood and stone topped with a lopsided chimney.
I gawked. Ging coughed. One of the shutters instantly fell off.
Needless to say, it looked spectacularly unsafe.
"Let me guess." I buried my face in my hands, muffling a loud groan. "This is the best Inn in the entire village, isn't it?"
"The one and only," Ging confirmed.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
Peeking between my fingers, I let out a deep sigh. "Right. Let's just get this over with."
Ging's lip tugged upwards in what could only be described as a half-assed smirk and he shook his head in faint amusement.
"Try to behave." The Hunter gave me a solid clap on the shoulder and entered the Inn.
...Excuse me?
I frowned at his back, reluctantly shuffling inside as I muttered a grumpy "What's that supposed to mean?" under my breath.
Inside – well, it didn't look much better. The lobby contained a bar, some tables, and probably like... five chairs, tops. The floorboards were creaky, the chandeliers lay stagnant and dusty, and at least half of the staircase leading upstairs was littered with debris and sand. A variety of brown hues camouflaged the walls, gleaming some odd shade of gold thanks to the yellow lights hanging from the rafters. But there was a warm glow to the interior, and it gave it a … surprisingly homey feel.
Y'know, if you ignored how the ceiling looked just about ready to cave in on itself.
And all the sticky cob webs hanging around the place.
And the amount of dust collected on the windows.
And the smell of the stale air.
…God, I hoped they had plumbing.
One singular person inhabited the lobby; a mammoth of a man standing behind the bar counter – in his sixties with stark white hair and a huge-ass beard (kinda looked like a sheep had exploded in his face). Actually, he might've been Santa Claus. I wasn't entirely sure. But I was sure of numerous other things; like the fact he was armed with a cleft chin (seriously, there was a crater in his face), colossal biceps, and a frilly pink apron. Simply put, he looked like a man who would break your spine with his pinkie toe if you dared question his virility, and he probably hadn't cracked a smile in years. Or decades. Centuries, even. Maybe he sustained life by absorbing the souls of innocent customers.
I wasn't going to ask though. I liked living.
"Uhm." I stared at the bartender, newly dubbed 'The Hulk', and inched behind Ging carefully. "Do you feel threatened? I feel threatened."
As if on cue (oh shit, could he smell fear?), the Hulk glanced up from the beer mug he was wiping to look at us while I tried my best to not yelp in needless panic- because this was an Inn, which meant beds and showers and he was probably a nice man and this was amazing and wonderful and-
"We're full."
– and I vaguely considered walking up to the nearest wall and bash my head against it until I lost consciousness.
"Nooo," I moaned in sheer despair, "Noooooooo."
Ging, on the other hand, decided to approach the counter and strike up a civil conversation while I visibly deflated in the background.
"You sure about that? Not even a single bed left?" He arched a brow, slapping some coins on the counter as I eventually forced myself to scoot over and join the two men.
"That's quite a hefty sum you've got there," the freaking giant drawled, leveling Ging with a frigid glare. "What's your occupation, son?"
Pfffffft, 'son'. I rolled my eyes, leaning on the counter. Ging's like – forty-something. Or halfway to a hundred.
Ging's expression didn't change at all. "Merely a part-time Archeologist looking for some shelter."
Woah, woah, woah...what? I blinked. Last time I checked, Ging was a Archeological Hunter, not a part-time Archeologist. Why did he say–
My train of thought screeched to a halt once the bartender turned in my general direction, and I immediately perked up at the attention.
"Part-time Archeologist, huh." He raised one bushy eyebrow at me. "And what about your daughter?"
I promptly choked on my own spit. "I'm not his-"
"She's a full-time idiot," Ging interjected quickly, "And as you can see, she has a very serious mental impairment. Don't worry about her."
"I will destroy you."
"...A'ight, s'long as you ain't a Hunter." The bartender shrugged his behemothic shoulder, though the skeptical chill didn't quite leave his eyes. "I ain't servin' none of them galling bastards."
...Uh. Wow. That's rather rude.
Actually, that's awfully rude.
"Why not?" I squinted at him, leaning forward until I was practically on top of the counter. In my peripherals it looked like Ging wanted to stab himself in the kidney. "You got an issue with Hunters, punk?"
"He wasn't talking to you," Ging said, putting a hand on my forehead and firmly shoving me back down. Ow, the floor.
The bartender either didn't notice or didn't care. "Ain't got no leftover rooms for ya. Though we've got the barn, if ya don't mind some musty odor. It's filled with hay n' the animals are long gone. If you're interested, there's a public shower in the back of 'ere, too." He yanked his thumb in the aforementioned direction. "Heaven knows you two need it."
Oh, okay, that's it. Yes, I smelled like clammy death, but I'd been running around in a scorching desert for almost two days now and I was not tolerating insults from Father Christmas' overgrown twin.
Scrambling to my feet, I scowled at him, one eye twitching. "Listen here, you walking relic, I have absolutely zero patience for rude old people – I don't care if you're a senior, I'll fucking fight you, right here, right now. Let's see what moves they taught your wrinkled ass in the war of 1812, you son of a– "
Ging stepped on my foot. I whimpered.
The bartender leered, a slight tremor shaking half the bar as he grumbled, "Ya need to teach your brat some manners."
"And you need to freshen this place up once in a while," I muttered sullenly, crossing my arms across my chest and ignoring my aching foot.
The Hulk honed in on me like a heat-seeking missile. "Oh, is this Inn not satisfactory?" His lips twitched into a snarl. "Not comfy enough, you insolent lil' rascal?"
"Oh, I'll get comfy when my foot's up your ass, you– mmph!"
Before I could even finish my sentence (which would have ended in another rather vulgar round of name-calling), Ging took a long stride sideways, casually captured me in a headlock, and smacked his hand over my mouth, all in one fluid movement. The bastard.
The Hunter dodged my flailing limbs with ease, focusing on the bartender all along. "You mentioned a barn?"
You're kidding me. I am not sleeping in a barn.
I made some unattractive gurgling noises behind Ging's hand in objection. They both ignored it.
"S'not exactly brand-new, but it's functional an' a lovely alternative guest room." The bartender nodded, throwing the dishrag over his shoulder. "Built it with my own two hands an' everythin'."
Curses. Ging was going to rent the freaking barn. Obviously, my verbal comments weren't coming through, so I settled for glaring and tried to spontaneously ignite the Hulk with the force of my irritation. Not working. Dammit.
"As long as there's a roof above our heads, I don't particularly mind." Ging shrugged with one shoulder, and I jabbed my tongue into his palm, wallowing in my freedom when he finally snatched his hand back to dry it off on his clothes. Victory.
The Hulk looked at the two of us like we were complete basket-cases, before fishing a key out of his pocket. "...Right. One night at the barn, then?"
"Sounds good." Ging nodded.
"Sounds like shit," I said with a straight face.
Ging reached over and brutally pinched my earlobe between two fingers.
"Ow! Owowow, okay, I'll be nice! I give! Mercy, mercy!"
Looking more amused than disturbed by my behavior, the Hulk arched an eyebrow. "...Lively one."
"Very." Ging released my ear (which I instantly cradled in my hands) and nodded towards the key. "We'll take it."
While scooping up the coins from the counter, the bartender actually smiled. Or grimaced. I couldn't tell the difference. "Excellent. I trust you've seen where the barn is already. Treat it nicely, an' I'll even throw in an extra night for ya."
"Thank you. We appreciate it." Ging grabbed the key and proceeded to give me a very pointed look. "Don't we?"
When I didn't say anything, Ging slowly motioned towards the bartender with his eyes still locked on mine, and I arched one puzzled eyebrow in response.
…
Wait.
Did...did Ging want me to thank him?
...This man?
Oh hell no, there was no way I'd ever thank this impolite basta –
Ging's hand twitched towards my earlobe again, so I quickly thought the better of it and tried my best to smile sweetly, probably resembling a contracting anus. "Uh. Yeah. Thanks. Much obliged."
But instead of replying with a lovely 'you're welcome, my fine lads' like a normal human being, the Hulk snorted and made a rudely impatient shooing motion at us before disappearing out the backdoor.
I stared after him, slack-jawed.
"...I'm going to annihilate him."
"That's nice." Ging snatched the collar of my sweater in one hand and pulled me along, practically frogmarching me out the door before I made things worse.
After Ging had unlocked the massive padlock on the barn's entrance door, opened said door, and ignored my loud complaints in the background ("Okay, but who the hell locks their barn? What is he, scared that someone wants to steal his hay? Really? I mean, come on."), we finally entered and were met with yet another unimpressive sight.
The barn was, not surprisingly, in the same shape as the Inn. It was rather small, with shafts of sunlight piercing the rough hewn wood and one single upstairs window (which honestly just looked like a hole in the wall). The earthy smell of compost drifted through the thick air, and a tiny rotting ladder led up to the second floor.
Also, hay. Lots of hay. It covered every single wooden floorboard, and I could only hope it wasn't host to a nest of spiders or other creepy crawlies.
"Oh," I said, giving the barn another once-over. "Joy."
"Stop complaining. It's either this, or sleeping outside." Ging muttered, though he didn't look particularly happy about our new place either.
I made a face at his option. "Eugh. Do not want. I've got enough sand in my hair roots to last me a lifetime."
"...Is everyone from your hometown as impolite as you?" He asked, warily putting a foot on the ladder to test its durability.
"I'm not that impolite. But – I guess? We're not too big on honorifics and stuff like that..." I frowned at his back and watched him slowly climb upstairs, mulling the question over. "Well, in some regions it's customary to greet our friends with affectionate nicknames like 'motherfucker', but I doubt that counts."
"Generally, people tend to thank others and be somewhat amiable while renting a room," he continued, and I gingerly climbed up after him, praying that the half-crumbled ladder wouldn't collapse and send me to an early death.
"I don't know if you noticed, but he wasn't exactly the nicest guy around," I grumbled, heaving myself over the edge and dusting off my pants. "I mean, did you catch that Hunter comment? Seriously, who the hell refuses to serve someone based on their job? And he called me rude."
"Look, Freckles, not all Hunters are good samaritans." I couldn't see his face with his back turned, but he sounded oddly drained- which I decided to ignore. "Hell, most of the time we're nothing but trouble."
Involuntarily, my mind drifted off to a certain psychotic red-haired clown and I winced. "Well, yeah... I guess I can see where you're coming from. But still."
Silence reigned again, and I absentmindedly rubbed my shoe against a loose floorboard, marveling at how plain sand could make your footwear so filthy. In fact, everything about me was filthy. Yeah, I definitely had to take the bartender up on that shower offer. Who knew when I'd see a shower again? I sure as hell couldn't read any signs and find a public bathhouse by myself anymore. Speaking of which –
I turned to face Ging. "Uh, so... what's the literacy rate here anyway?"
"The– " Arching an eyebrow, he gave me an exasperated look. "...What?"
I fidgeted, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. "You know, people who can... read and stuff?"
"Does it look like I know?" Wow, his eyebrow disappeared into his hairline. Fascinating. "...Why do you ask?"
Defensively, I put my hands up. "Hey, I'm just a curious soul."
"...Right." Shifting his attention away from me and my random questions, he waltzed past and deposited his backpack in a corner. I followed, plopping down on particularly large bale of hay and proceeded to make myself comfortable. Which basically meant trying out twenty different positions before settling for a weird cross-legged yoga stance.
And then we just sat there – across from eachother and in deafening silence – for several minutes.
...
Awkward.
"Soooo," I gestured around the room, "Uhhh, the weather."
Ging stared.
"It's very...nice...isn't it," I continued feebly.
His eyes flicked toward the window. The bright, blazing desert-sky of death frowned back at him.
"Gorgeous," he said flatly.
Ging the Conversation Killer. That was him.
"Unbelievable," I groaned, dragging a palm across my face, "See, I'm trying to create a dialogue here. Could you like, I don't know, put in some effort?"
There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. "You want a dialogue? Alright, how about this," he drawled, "I distinctly remember relaxing in a desolated desert and being rudely interrupted by a flying teenager."
Oh great, here we go.
"Yes, I know," I commented dryly, "I was there."
When I didn't elaborate, Ging shut his eyes briefly. "Listen, kid, I might not be the greatest mentor in the world, but I do know that a functional apprenticeship is built on trust. I need to trust you. You need to trust me. Are we clear?"
"Crystal." I nodded my head in agreement, leaning my chin into my palm and trying my best to ignore the tight coil of anxiety wrapping itself around my insides. Then, for good measure, I gave him a thumbs-up – which he didn't return. Butt.
"Good." He leaned back against the wall. "Now, tell me who you are."
Interrogation round two, huh?
I sighed, slumping forward. Why did he have to be so damn persistent? "I'm Erika."
"Erika...?" He motioned for me to continue.
I grimaced, "Just… Erika."
To my profound relief he seemed to accept the answer.
"Age?"
"Fourteen."
"Birthplace?"
I balked, pointing an accusing finger at him. "That's... that's cheating! You haven't even told me anything about yourself!"
"Alright," Ging lazily pointed to himself, "Ging, thirty-two, Whale Island." Then he gestured towards me. "Now, your turn. Go."
Frowning again, I shifted in place and tried my best to fabricate an acceptable excuse. Because really, what could I say? I'd already established that telling him about Earth would be an abominable idea – and he probably wouldn't believe it anyway. Babbling on about how this whole situation seemed like a crazy dream or hallucination wasn't really a good idea either, and would most likely land me in some mental facility. Then again, if I lied here and he figured it out later, he'd probably turn me inside-out or feed me to a Chimera Ant or something equally grisly.
So, since I'm a very intelligent individual-
"Ever heard of Meteor City?"
…I obviously decided to completely lie my ass off.
Pinching the bridge of his nose at my answer, Ging sighed. "No wonder you're a loon."
"Yeah, well there's a reason why I didn't wanna talk about it," I snapped, internally relieved that he seemed to buy it.
When he opened his eyes again, a thoughtful look passed over his face. "That explains your lack of file."
Wait, what?
"File?" I grimaced. "You looked me up? Dude, that is so not cool." And when did he even do that? I swear, this guy could replace Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible without any effort.
"Lack of file," he repeated. "There was none."
I scowled at him. "Still not cool. That's invading my privacy, man. I thought our apprenticeship was founded on mutual trust."
"There was no – Nevermind that. Fine, you're from Meteor City. Glad that's settled." He leaned forward. "Now – how, or why, did you manage to descend from the sky in the middle of a desert?"
Alright, so here's the thing; I can lie. Actually, I'm a pretty good liar. When you're an infamous troublemaker as a kid, you tend to get into a lot of, well... trouble. And how do you get out of said trouble? That's right; you lie. It's a bad habit, sure, but at least my constant dishonesty put my lying abilities on a pretty high level compared to your average teenager.
But lying under pressure– now that was another thing entirely.
I swallowed. "I, uh. A bird. Dropped me."
… I don't make good decisions under extreme pressure, okay. I just really don't.
Ging deadpanned. "A bird dropped you."
"Yeah."
"I'm not buying that."
God damn it.
"Okay, fine, so maybe it wasn't a bird- it might've been a blimp." Crap, were there even blimps in this place? "Look, I don't know, my – my memory is kinda fuzzy. "
"Of course it is."
"Yeah. Kinda like– like amnesia, but, uh, selective amnesia?" I squinted at nothing, trying to remember the appropriate word. "Amnesia that just covers a short period of time. I mean, it might've been a long period. I don't know. Because I can't remember. I...Yeah."
Looking incredibly unconvinced, Ging lazily scratched his chin. "That's a rather convenient blank spot in your memory, isn't it? "
"Well, yeah, I suppose it – No!" My face snapped into a scowl. "Just – I was sleeping in the junkyard, okay? It was a normal day, I was snoozing off, and next thing I know – I was faceplanting in some weird-ass desert! Maybe I was drugged, put on a blimp and someone saw you in the middle of nowhere and decided to drop me down on you as a prank – I don't know!"
"Oh yes. Because that is highly reasonable." Ging gave me a flat stare.
I met his with my own. "Look, why would I even lie about that? Does it look like I wanna be here? No. Have I tried to violently murder you in your sleep? No. Do you have a good explanation for my fall from sky? Please, indulge me. Portals? Spaceships? What, do you think I'm an alien?"
I steadily ignored the fact that I was, actually, kind of an alien.
Ging snorted, "It's starting to look like a possibility."
"Well, going by that logic, maybe you're a nasty devil incarnate with tiny claws," I snapped.
"I'm obviously not a nasty devil incarnate with tiny claws."
"That's exactly something a nasty devil incarnate with tiny claws would say."
The Hunter finally resigned himself to pinching the bridge of his nose, realizing the futility of this entire conversation. "Alright, I get it. Meteor City. Memory loss. Fine. And that's it?"
"That's it." I grinned, relief washing away the dread in the bottom of my stomach. "I mean, hey, I could launch into a few more stories from my childhood in that shithole of a city if you want, but– "
His raised hand stopped me in my tracks. "No. No, thank you. I'm good."
"Alright." I shrugged. "Your loss."
For a few seconds, the uncomfortable silence crept back in, and I started fidgeting again. But before I could pipe up with some useless trivia fact to break the tension, Ging, shockingly enough, opened his mouth first.
"Growing up in Meteor City, huh," He mumbled, looking out the window and seemingly in his own thoughts. "...Is that why you can't read?"
"W– what?" I gave a horrified squeak, heat blossoming in my cheeks. "I– I can read!"
"Really." He turned to me again. "And what's the name of this village again?"
I faltered – stammering as my mouth opened and closed like a choking fish. That sign outside the village – he'd definitely seen me staring at it earlier, that – that smug bastard. Curse him and his bloody fake turban.
"Thought so." He scratched his cheek, no longer looking at me. "...We need more provisions. There's a market down the street – we should go there and stock up. You could invest in a book while you're at it."
"...Wow." I grinned at him. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you actually cared."
Ging snorted. "Don't push your luck, kid."
Wiping the smile of my face was impossible, so I simply raised both my hands in a mock-apology.
"And what's this?" He asked, obviously latching onto a change in topics. "No questions for me in return? That's a first."
"Let's see...You're Ging Freecss, you're an Archeological Hunter, and you're allergic to the full spectrum of human emotions." I finger-counted all three statements and gave him a wide smile. "Nah, I've got it covered."
Ging looked, dare I say it, slightly amused. "...Sometimes I forget you don't have an ounce of maturity within your bones."
I was about to retort when a thought struck me, and I straightened. "Wait – actually, I do have a question. And – don't laugh at me, but – where are we?"
"Mahevo. The desert outside this village is the Mahevo Desert," he replied, and after seeing my clueless face, elaborated, "It's in Sahelta."
Cocking my head to the side, I pursed my lips. "... Sahelta?"
"Do you not have maps in Meteor City?" Ging's eyebrows went up again. "...We're on the Yorbian continent."
Yorbian conti– wait, wasn't that where Yorknew City was? And – and we were in late September right now, which meant the annual auction had probably just taken place. Holy shit, that made me feel... really weird, somehow. Wait, if Ging was thirty-two at this moment, did that mean we were in the year before or the year after Gon became a Hunter? Had Kurapika already killed Uvogin – or was that a year in the future? Damn it, both were possible. How was I supposed to figure that out?
A hand flapped in front of my face, and I snapped out of my speculations to look at Ging. "Huh?"
"As I was saying," he started, eyebrows slightly narrowed, and I gave him an apologetic look, "We should buy some food and supplies down at the market before dusk."
...We?
Yeah, evidently he wasn't above using me for free labor.
Suddenly feeling amazingly comfortable where I was sitting, I made a show out of splaying across the hay. "Well, I'd like to help, but not as much as I'd like not to."
"Freckles."
"Fiiiiiine," Whining, I rolled my eyes and moved to a stand. "Just let me take a shower first. I reek, and I'm not going into public before I've removed at least four layers of dirty skin and smell like perfumed tulips."
A sigh and something that sounded suspiciously a lot like 'teenagers' was muttered, but I was already out the barn door and well on my way over to the Inn.
The shower was unusually clean-looking, albeit small and old, but I still thoroughly inspected the entire area in case of uninvited bugs or, even worse, arachnids (I would rather find an alligator in my shower than a freaking spider). Then I snatched a clean towel from a pile in the deserted lobby, and proceeded to do weird stuff in front of the mirror for half an hour before actually showering. Thankfully, aside from the nasty sunburn (my skin was itching and my arms were flaking), I still looked the same as before. In a way, that was slightly calming. But on the other hand, it was also kinda... scary. Because it proved that I was still me, and I was stuck... well, here.
The water was sweltering – most likely due to pipes heated by the sun – but I let it trickle down my skin and quite literally bathed in the feeling of washing away dried grime, rubbing the sand out of my scalp and the sweat off my skin – and then my mind began to wander.
I was here.
I was here.
Maybe here was a dream, or a hallucination, or maybe it was, in some fucked-up way, actually reality. I didn't know, and it didn't really matter, because either way, there were certain things I had to figure out.
Where in timeline was I? How did I get here? Why? And what the hell was I going to do?
Should I try to take the Hunter Exam? Should I try to find the main characters? Should I –
...Should I change anything?
Maybe. Maybe not. But whatever I ended up doing, I had to clarify what had happened – what had yet to happen – and ultimately, I still had to prepare for, well... everything.
And as a sketchy plan slowly began to form in my head, I stepped out of the shower, dried off, put on my old clothes, and took one last look in the mirror before leaving the room.
Out in the streets and once again under the scorching sun, Ging handed me a few weird-looking bills and some coins. The coins were made of copper and those odd symbols from earlier were engraved around them on both sides, thought the numbers looked the same as the ones back home. I validated their value by gnawing at them for a second (I don't know why I thought that was a good idea, but they did it in movies all the time, so I figured I should swing it), and then spent the next three minutes sputtering saliva on the sidewalk while trying to wipe the god-awful aftertaste off my tongue. Ging gave me a once-over, confirmed that I still had the IQ of a walnut, and went on his merry way down the street.
And then I was alone.
...Oh boy, it was shopping time.
Now, I will preface this by saying I had a shopping problem. I fully admit it. My one saving grace was that I'm really cheap, so I knew how to shop clearance and thrift stores and find sales like no motherfucker knows. So before even an hour had passed, I'd already hogged a pair of combat boots (I was not walking another mile in my brand new cross trainers), a toothbrush (oh dental hygiene how I missed thee), a few sports bras (thank the glorious heavens), some socks and unmentionables, four tank tops (who knew when I'd be able to wash clothes again?), a water canteen (dehydration sucked ass), some sunscreen (fuck sunburns), a sleeping bag (adios sandy bed head), two pair of shorts (because sparring in pants in this heat was hell), and a pair of lightly padded military gloves for knuckle protection (fingerless, because at least one aspect of my life had to be cool). And I still had half my money left.
It was beautiful.
But beyond that, I figured I should probably buy some additional food– since that was what Ging originally sent me out to do – and maybe even try to find a map, a knife, or a lighter, just in case. Also, a backpack. Because balancing all the shit I bought on top of itself without tripping was becoming steadily more difficult and I could barely see where I was walking.
Hence why, after stocking up on apples and breadrolls like I was preparing for nuclear Armageddon, I headed over to what resembled a decrepit Traveler's Depot, grabbed the best backpack I could find, and smacked it on the counter.
"How much?" I asked the young lady, who blinked several times and whipped her head around as if I'd appeared out of nowhere. Which I kinda had, when I thought about it.
"W– well, that's one of the best we have at the moment," she stammered slightly, but put on a polite smile quick enough. "It's rather expensive, but– "
I scowled at her, and she reflexively scooted backwards. "Rather expensive is out my price range. Can you break a hundred? I've got a hundred right here."
The lady recovered quickly, though her smile seemed oddly strained. "...No, hun (I grimaced), I'm not gonna break a hundred. That backpack is worth two thousand Jenny and – "
Two thousand? Hell, I would never pay thousands of dollars for a backpack unless it could actually disassemble itself and form around my body as a suit of highly advanced weaponry that allowed me to fight aliens and demigods and jaded Russians. No thank you.
"Fine," I snapped, effectively cutting her off. "What can I get for fifty?"
Twitching ever-so-slightly, the smiling woman snatched something from underneath and practically slammed it on top of the counter. The... thing looked like a vintage Swiss army backpack from the seventies. And hot damn was it ugly.
"... You're joking," I deadpanned.
When the woman shook her head in response (though she might've just twitched a bit more violently than earlier, it was hard to tell), I mentally cursed my expensive taste and low budget before reluctantly fishing a fifty-Jenny bill out of my pocket and handing it over. My god, the backpack was olive green. Ew.
Then, as I dropped to my knees and started filling the hideous backpack with all my purchased items, an idea abruptly crossed my mind. "Say, does anyone sell paper around here? And pencils?"
"...Paper?" The woman blinked twice, looking down at me from above and contemplating the unusual question. "Well, there's a small art gallery down the street. It's the biggest building on the left side of the village, so you can't miss it. I'm pretty sure they sell a few art supplies and writing utensils there, paper included. And it's a lovely place – especially if you want to see some art."
"Art?" I snorted loudly, hefting the brimming backpack over one shoulder and ignoring her renewed twitching. "I've already looked in the mirror once today, so I'm good. Thanks though. You might wanna go to the doctor and get yourself checked, by the way. All that twitching can't be healthy."
There was a suspicious shattering sound and something akin to a livid screech as I exited the tiny building, but I blatantly ignored it and continued in the directions I'd been given.
By the time the sun was setting, the sky was painted a vivid array of pinks and oranges, and the occasional gust of sandy wind had gotten noticeably colder. The art gallery would have to be my last stop if I wanted to get back before dark – and I did, because I would most definitely get lost without the daylight as my aid. Heck, if it got dark I'd probably have to hunt down Ging to find the way back, and that alone would be troublesome enough. How would I even go about that? Walk up to a stranger and go 'Hey, have you seen an foreign man around here? His name is Ging. Middle aged. Big hair. Bigger ego.'? Yeah, no, that wouldn't work. The art gallery would beyond any doubt be my last stop, besides it was already pretty close and –
– my breath hitched.
There, between the sea of Auras, in the middle of flowers and spices and colors and sounds, was something – something immense and monstrous that made my skin crawl.
It felt like ice cubes sliding down the back of my shirt – like goosebumps were popping up my arms – like every single hair on my body was standing on end – like something was slithering up my neck – and like my heart was going to fucking explode –
What the hell – who the hell –
Whipping around in frantic circles, I swept the area, trying to find the goddamn source – and then, in an instant, I froze.
Right in front of me, the moment before he slipped into the crowd, I caught a single glimpse of a retreating man, dark-haired and wearing a black coat with a single patch of gold.
A coat with an inverted cross.
For half a second, my heart stopped beating.
That...
It couldn't be.
… could it?
No. No, it's just my imagination. I swallowed, throat sorely dry and eyes painfully wide. Definitely… just my imagination.
After another minute of staring, I spun on my heel and speedwalked away, thanking every single God in existence that the art gallery was in the opposite direction.
I scowled. I grinned. I frowned. I grimaced. I squinted and stared and poked it and glared –
– but nothing happened.
"I think it's broken," I declared.
Ging opened one eye, once again stirred from his nap by yours truly. "It's a glass of water."
"But nothing's happening," I whined, leaning back on my arms and studying said object through half-lidded eyes.
The Hunter turned around, facing the wall instead. "Then try again."
"I've tried at least twenty times already." I poked the stupid glass, watching the leaf float around, and once-again tried to somehow inject my Nen into the water. "It's not working."
"Then perhaps you just suck." Ging said with an air of finality.
"What– you– I do not– that's–!" I scowled at his back. "You suck."
He turned back around and leveled me with an unamused look. "Your Ten is absolutely horrible. You can't perform Zetsu to save your life. But you can, somehow, use Ren. I don't know why the order of your principles are messed up," Because I'm a bloody alien, that's why. "– but they are. And even a complete newbie who can perform Ren can pull off the water divination. So keep trying."
"...Seriously, though. Nothing's happening." I stared up at the wooden ceiling, feeling somewhat defeated.
Finally, Ging sighed. "Drink it."
"...What?" My face snapped back towards him. "Are you nuts? Do you have any idea how dirty this water could be?"
"Just drink it."
I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Fine. I'll drink your polluted desert-water, but if I get E-coli because if this, I'm suing you so hard."
With that in mind, I slowly brought the glass to my lips, giving it another suspicious glare, then glared a Ging, then back at the water, before taking a mouthful–
– and immediately spitting it out.
"Eeeeew! Ewewewew!" I rubbed furiously at my tongue. "What the hell was that?! Sea water?! Please, tell me that wasn't toilet water– "
"Transmuter."
"That's the shittie – " I paused, staring at his unturned back. "...What?"
Ging still didn't turn around. "You're a transmuter."
"Oh... Oh." Grinning, I clapped my hands together. "Ooooh!"
Then I faltered.
"...Aaaaw, I wanted to be a Specialist!"
Ging promptly flung a handful of hay in my face.
"...I can.. have them?" I blinked down at the coins in my palm; the remains from this afternoon's shopping trip. Sure, they didn't amount to much, but...
"You can have them," Ging repeated, and I was this close to thanking him, before he lifted one single finger. "On one condition."
Then, from behind his back, he spawned a cylindrical plastic container– which he had scrawled some big ugly symbols across. The first thought that struck me was Wow his writing is horrible, and the second thought was my frequently used ...What?
Feeling incredibly confused, I merely stared at it. "...You're aware that I can't read, right?"
"Swear jar."
…
"You're fucking kidding me."
The Hunter arched an eyebrow, jiggling the jar in front of my face. "Put a Jenny in it."
"I swear to god I'm going to shove that jar so far up your rectum you'll taste nothing but plastic for weeks."
"Charming. In with them."
I ground my teeth, grudgingly handing one of the coins over, leaving four in my palm. "This is abusing your privileges as a teacher."
"If you learn some manners, you might eventually be able to save up a valuable amount." He hid the god-forsaken jar inside his coat. I swear to God, that thing was like a cave. "Who knows? You might be able to afford some brain implant in the future."
"Oh, ha-ha, very funny," I replied dryly and, because I'm a very mature person, I decided to stick my tongue out at him.
"Withdraw that tongue if you want to keep it, brat."
I immediately retracted my tongue, smiling sheepishly.
"Now." He dusted some hay off his pants. "Keep meditating."
Scowling, I leaned my face into my palm. "But it's not working. I suck at it, I'm not improving, and it's boring."
Ging looked at me, unperturbed. "It takes time, but a fifteen minute mile is still a mile."
…What?
"Can you stop spitting out straight wisdom every five seconds?" I squinted at him. "You're reminding me of that smart guy from Karate Kid and it's mad weird."
"Well, one of us has to." He shrugged one shoulder, moving to stand up.
I crossed my arms. "Hey, I can be wisdomous."
"...Wise."
"That too."
"...Idiot." Ging gave the back of my head a light smack as he walked past and accompanied the gesture with a roll of his eyes. "I'm going out."
"To get that atrocious hairdo surgically removed, I hope," I grumbled, nursing the back of my head.
He ignored me, as per usual, and started climbing down the ladder. "Keep practicing your Ten." Then, as an afterthought, "And don't get us kicked out."
"Yessir." I gave a well-executed mock salute to his retreating back, and carried on.
Roughly half an hour later – I really had no sense of time – I was already balls-deep in boredom, and wanted nothing more than to eliminate the word 'meditation' from every single dictionary in the entire world.
Actually, scratch that. Both worlds.
I wasn't getting anywhere. No matter what I did, I couldn't contain my Nen – it just kept oozing out of my body and refused to freaking listen. It drove me insane. Ten was supposed to be the easy part, and I couldn't even begin to grasp the basic concept of it.
Some part of me kept expecting to suddenly understand everything, like a pokemon that reached a certain level and learned a new move, y'know? Like, 'you reached day 2! You learned how to do Ten!' with some epic battlemusic playing in the background. Apparently, things weren't that easy. Oh no, apparently, I had to meditate.
And I was starting to hate meditating.
At first, I hated it because I had to do breathing exercises that made me sound like I was in labor or something, but then, eventually, I started to hate it because it gave me time to think.
Time to think about my situation, time to think about my family, time to think about the future – and I didn't want that. Because I was the type of person who bottled up feelings and let them age for ten years like a fine French wine. Because two days earlier, my life goal had been to watch a forty minute episode of a TV-show under twenty minutes, and now I had to panic and adjust to my 'new orphan life' and worry about the impending future – and I didn't want to think about any of it.
In the end, I stopped meditating and hauled out some sheets of paper and a brand new pencil from my hideous backpack. After half a minute of biting at the end of my pencil, I started jotting down everything I could remember – every single detail from the Anime and Manga – all the names, all the locations, and all the events. In English, of course; because even if I knew how to write Hunterian, I wouldn't want anyone to find out about my foreknowledge. The simple fact that I was here would probably mess up the plot on its own, but I wasn't taking any chances.
The moon was out and Ging still wasn't back.
All my notes were stowed away inside my bag, and I was once again back to meditating. Or, well, I was trying to, at least. My mind had the audacity to suggest having some harmless fun whenever I got tired of sitting on my arse, but I genuinely tried my best to stay focused – slapping my own cheeks and recalling Ging's warnings as well as I could. Like meditation is key to achieve control, and you have to master Ten before attempting Hatsu or else – and – and...
...Oh, screw it.
I was bored, I was alone, and I had way too much energy for this. Hell, two days ago I couldn't even light a campfire – and now, I was supposedly a Transmuter. In theory, I could light a campfire with my mind alone. How insanely cool was that?
Besides, Ging wasn't here. He wouldn't find out.
And that was why I spent the next half hour on my knees in an empty barn, flailing my arms in wild circles and trying to spontaneously ignite a straw of hay with my brain.
"Burn, god damn it!" I slammed my palm against the haystack, flaring my Nen with one of those odd mental jolts, but to no avail.
My next try wasn't any different. And the one after that was the same.
But then, way after I lost count of my attempts, something sizzled beneath my palms, and a pathetic streak of gray smoke rose from between my fingers.
I squealed.
Holy shit, it was working!
One more try resulted in more streaks of smoke, and finally, a spark shone and one of the straws crumbled and slowly began to blacken.
It was tiny, barely visible, but as seconds ticked by, the small flame slowly began to spread, from one dry straw to another.
Hah, it was spreading!
...
It was spreading.
...I quickly realized that setting fire to a barn filled with dry hay was the complete opposite of smart.
"Oh." I stared, slack-jawed at the two-foot tall flames licking the dry, wooden wall on the right side of the barn, suddenly regretting all my life choices at once. "Oooh, nononono– "
Stepping on the fire didn't help. Blowing at it made it bigger. Eventually, I was staring at a crackling bonfire consuming the entire right wall.
...If Ging found out about this, there would be one less Erika on the Yorbian continent.
"Well." I blinked at the flames. "Dicks."
Without a second thought, I spun around, grabbed my bag, and I may or may not have whispered 'yolo' before launching myself out the barn window.
Which might've been a stealthy escape method, if I'd been wearing shorts.
Halfway down en route to the ground, a belt loop on my pants decided to get hooked on a huge-ass freaking splinter causing me to simultaneously flap above the ground and slam against the outside wall, wheezing and dangling by my pants for a split second before the belt loop changed its mind and ripped in half as I promptly smacked into the goddamn ground.
Ah, sprawled out face-down across the sand. Exactly how I planned.
After mentally coming to the conclusion that I was, in fact, the polar opposite of a ninja, I hoisted myself up and was about to move, when I found something that stopped me cold turkey.
My presence had been detected.
...By the Hulk, in case you were wondering.
And judging by the look on his face, he didn't particularly like being interrupted by falling teenagers while dusting sand off the Inn's porch.
"Son of a motherless goat," I squeaked.
At first, his face was stony and I glanced up in all seriousness, momentarily engaging him in an ultimate stare down and hoping to everything holy that he wouldn't notice his burning barn.
But everything holy seemed to hate me, because after a few moments, the sound of crackling fire reached his ears, and the Hulk raised his head to stare straight at the barn window illuminated by fire.
Then he stared back down at me in disbelief.
Then back up.
Then back down.
One of his eyes was twitching. Maybe it was a village-thing.
By the time he figured out what had transpired on the second floor of his home-built barn, I had already calculated that he weighed about 400 pounds and that I had the speed advantage in an emergency, so when he released an enraged squawk, I took that as my cue to get the fuck out of there.
I pelted through the streets, hurtling over booths and people and even a drooling camel, all while letting loose a blistering string of roaring curses. Every single time I tempted fate and looked behind me, the armed bartender was still hot on my heels, moving like a bloody truck and screaming incoherent baloney, pure outrage written across his flushed face.
Hell, if I hadn't been scared shitless at that moment, I would've scrawled OVERREACTING on his forehead with a marker. But for once, I didn't. Maybe I was just overly cautious but I did not have a death wish, and pissing off a raging guy that's like 6'5" and pure muscle who could easily drown me in a pool was not on my bucket list.
Christ, I knew he liked his barn, but he made it look like I stabbed the freaking pope or something.
Which was why I was darting through the streets, with all the grace of a blind chicken, looking for the only man who could get me out of this mess.
"Where the hell is he?!" I screeched, lunging into the alleyway on my left, "That sadistic–"
I lunged into the alleyway on my right.
"– irresponsible– "
Left.
"–middle-aged– "
Right.
" –son of a fucking– "
Left.
"GIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!"
There was a crash and a loud stream of unlady-like curses from somewhere ahead, and he hoped, with his entire being, that it wasn't who he feared it was.
But alas, the world still hated him, and Ging Freecss was a dreadfully unlucky man.
As if on cue, an ear-splitting shriek assaulted him, and right up ahead - screaming like a deranged banshee - was his apprentice; approaching at an alarming speed and leaving a trail of dust flying up in her wake.
Ging wisely side-stepped just in time to avoid a collision as the brown blur came speeding towards him, and watched in slight amusement as her feet dug sharply into the ground, leaving a skid on the road behind her as she came to a gradual halt a few meters past.
Then she started blabbering, jogging in place she simultaneously tried to get away and explain the situation. "Ging! Oh thank God – oh wait, shit – dude, there's no time, we gotta go, early bird gets the worm and all that jazz!"
Ging cocked his head in confusion and studied his apprentice as though she may have acquired further brain damage while he wasn't looking. He also briefly hoped the trail of smoke he saw rising from the village was a trick of the moonlight, because below that trail and right behind the flailing teenager there was a huge...
…
Ging stared.
Blinked.
Counted to ten.
Then, for good measure, he counted to twenty.
"...Freckles." He deadpanned.
She immediately froze mid-jog. "...Uhm. Yeah?"
"Care to tell me why there's a mob of furious farmers rapidly approaching us?"
He could literally feel her break into a cold sweat.
"Oh. That. Right. So, uh, funny story, actually– " She laughed nervously, nose twitching. "Remember that barn we stayed at? A couple of hour ago? Yeah, that one. It miiiiiight be on fire. And it miiiiiight have been my fault."
"...What."
"Well, to be more accurate, it was on fire. Past tense. It went out eventually, I think. Now it's just... lightly smoking, like a chimney. It's actually kinda pleasant. Smells lovely. Nothing to worry about. Uh. Yeah. We should probably go. Or run. Like, now."
"What."
"It was an accident!"
"What did you– "
"Let's ankle!"
And thus began our calm and pleasant departure (and by that I mean our chaotic and breakneck escape) from the town of Mahevo.
It involved sharpened pitchforks, burning torches, screaming farmers, another on-the-go etiquette lecture from Ging, and was an overall highly unpleasant experience.
AN:
Is Ging's life about to get any easier looking after this dumbass juvenile? Find out next time, on another exciting chapter of "Probably Not, Ging"!
Gosh – This was supposed to be a short chapter, but then I remembered Erika is a compressed ball of teenage-fury, and then things just kinda escalated. My god, someone put a leash on this child. Hopefully all this useless banter wasn't too boring for you guys to read – ah ahah /sweats
Now some of you might be wondering; why is it so easy for Erika to sense Nen?
And I'll try my best to explain it to you: Basically, it's because she's born on Earth, which is a Nenless planet. Now, imagine the smell of your grandma's house. You know which one I'm talking about. That smell that hits your nostrils the moment you walk in. Here's the thing; you notice it, because you're not used to it. Your grandma, on the other hand, doesn't even know it's there – because that's the smell she lives with every single day. She's used to it, just like people in HxH are used to Nen. Erika, on the other hand, is like you when you go for a visit; you can basically pick that smell out anywhere. BUT – of course there's a downside to all of this; your grandma can tell when the smell gets too strong, or too weak – she can tell when the smell changes, because it's easy to sense the difference in something you've lived with you entire life. But you, you can't really tell if the smell is stronger or weaker everytime you come for a visit; you simply know that it's there. And that's why Erika is extremely sensitive to Nen, while her control is beyond shitty. I hope that made sense, ahhhh –
And some of you might be wondering; why is Erika a Transmuter?
Long story short; her entire existence in the fictional HxH world will be built on layers of lies upon lies upon lies, and seeing as liars usually get thrown into the Transmuter category, that's what I settled for. But I decided to go with a fire-related Hatsu to compliment our hotheaded idiot. ...Oh my god this sounded so much better and more justified in my head– but uh, yeah. Bam. Transmuter. Pleasedontlynchme.
Oh right, random facts about Erika. Huh. I can't think of anything interesting at the moment, so I'll stick to some general trivia: She has (well, had, I suppose) three older brothers. She plays soccer, in addition to kickboxing. She absolutely hates spiders, though I think I mentioned that in this chapter somewhere – or – uh – Christ I'm about to fall asleep and faceplant into my keyboard so I can't really remember, but yeah! That's some facts for you! And like I said; if you're wondering about something specific, feel free to ask and I'll gladly add it in the next AN! :D
And in case any of you are curious; Mahevo/The Mahevo Desert is loosely based on The Mojave Desert and the town Mojave, both located in North America, or in this case, HxH's Yorbian continent. So technically, Erika wasn't too far off when she asked about Death Valley in the first chapter. Huh. The more you know!
Thank you for reading! And thank you yet again for all your wonderful reviews! I never thought this story would get attention, so really; thank you for keeping me going, yo! c:
Aaaand yeah, that's about it. Toodles!