Once again, I want to thank all of you for the follows and favorites, they really do a number to boost my morale.
Just a quick note for your ease of reading: Fódlan has both bathrooms and restrooms. At any point I say bathroom, that means the room where one bathes and cleans themselves. And at any time I say restroom, then that means the room where one relieves themselves. If I talk about the bathrooms from Earth, then that's the room that fulfills both purposes.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"Speech"
"Thoughts"
"Demonic beast speech"
"Demonic beast telepathy"
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
I've woken up to find myself on a bed for the first time since I was back home. It's warm, and soft, and I want nothing more than to wrap myself up in the blankets and savor the feeling a little longer. Not to mention, my body feels absolutely refreshed and free of all of my pains, which makes it even more tempting to do that.
Wait a sec!
I prod the area of my chest where I felt pain after the wolf tackled me, and it doesn't hurt anymore! I decide to do something a little foolish and lightly hit it. Nothing.
I let out a holler of relieved joy. I made it back to civilization! And then the tears start spilling out of my eyes. I actually did it. I survived. Of all of the people I shared that dark cell with, I'm the only one who left alive. And I even survived the forest where my old captor left me.
I'm certain that they had no intention of actually letting me go. Odds are, they had already gotten what they needed out of me, but just sent me in there to entertain themself with how long I'd make it. Well screw them, because I'm still breathing!
I don't know whether to feel joyful, melancholy, or angry, but I just keep crying.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Eventually, the tears subside and I look around my newest environment. It's a hospital room of sorts, filled with beds, and shelves-upon which are different flasks of liquids. Strangely, there aren't any of the other things I'm used to: computers, x-ray scanners, the ear and eye lights, the obnoxiously bright LEDs, or the overbearing scent of hospital-grade sanitizer. Those things are all missing.
Looking to my side, I find that my clothes have been washed and placed on a chair next to my bed, under which are the rest of my belongings.
I sit up, and pull the blanket I was under to the side. I thank my luck that I'm still wearing underwear, though I'd prefer not to think about how I'm in a new pair. I quickly change into my own clothes, and make my way to the door.
I only walk a couple of strides before I find the door opening and someone walking in. We briefly make eye contact before their eyes widen and they go right back out the door in a hurry-but not before saying something in that same language I've grown used to, and pointing to the bed. If that wasn't a "Sit down and stay there," then I don't know what else it could have been.
It isn't very long before the door opens once more, and I'm looking at the man who I met at the beach-kind of. Everything that he says is for naught as I fail to understand any of it, and eventually, I can't allow myself to let him speak in vain. I need to make him aware of the language barrier.
There's no better way to do that than to put him in my shoes.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know what you're saying at all."
"Well, well. You may have broken the man. Just look at how his mouth is agape."
He was stunned for a moment, but it's worn off now as his face adopted a hard gaze. While before, he spoke with an amicable tone, it's been replaced with something cold and steely. In fact, his hand seems to be reaching for his waist. He's pulling out a sword on me!
I raise my hands up to show I don't have any ill intentions.
The man looks at me for a few moments, before suddenly pointing at me and asking, "Almyra?"
I shake my head, not even knowing what he's talking about.
"Dagda?"
Another shake.
"Brigid?"
A third shake.
"Morfis?"
Make that four shakes.
"Sreng?"
I'm starting to get tired of this.
"Albinea?"
"No, yet again." I say irritated.
The man leaves, and I have nothing to do, once more. I lie back down on the bed since it just feels that good to be on one again.
I hear the sound of rushed steps approaching. It would seem my host didn't want to keep me alone.
Without any words, he unfolds a scroll of paper to show me a map. I see. He wants me to tell him where I'm from.
I sit up to look at it, but all I can say is that I'm confused. None of it looks like anything that I'm familiar with. So I do what makes the most sense to me: I point to an area off the map. There has to be more to the world than this, right?
The pieces of a puzzle start to subconsciously come together.
I hear a gasp from my host, but don't comment on it. There wouldn't be much of a point to it anyway.
He leaves and comes back with a blank paper. He hands that to me and-and a feather? It's dripping with what I can only guess is ink.
The man then makes the gesture of drawing and I understand.
Dread is beginning to form within me. I really hope I'm not right.
I move to sit on the floor, join several of the papers together, move my scarf so that it isn't in the way, and make my best attempt at drawing the world map. Mind you, I'm a terrible artist, but at least I can get the message across.
I draw a small star in the area where San Francisco would fall. I flip my map for the man to see and place my finger on the star. "San Francisco."
"Huh?"
Ah boy.
"United States of America."
A shrug of all things was the response I received.
I took another look at the map he showed me, and the dread is replaced with realization.
His conscious mind has finally caught up to me.
There's a reason why my captor looked so strange. There's a reason why we could seemingly get into that forest in the blink of an eye. There's a reason why Maurice exists. There's a reason why I have yet to see any sign of modern technology. And most of all: There's a reason why my host and I don't recognize each other's maps.
My Earth-I'm likely not even on it anymore. And to top it all off: I probably can't get back home. I'm stranded here.
A tear just fell on top of the paper, but I can't care enough.
I pull another piece of paper towards me, and begin to sketch the things I know best. I depict flowers, bugs, landscapes, and even a crude version of the Bay Bridge.
I pull out my wallet, completely missing the gaze that I'm receiving, and fumble through it until I'm holding a photo. With trembling hands, I look at one of the few pieces of paper that now give me a look at the family I've lost.
My chest is heaving with every sob that now comes out of my mouth. My vision is blurring as the tears cover my eyes, before a small trickle goes down my cheeks. The salty taste of whatever that is from my nose reaches my tongue.
I bring my legs up to my chest and move my scarf back to its original position before I wrap my arms around them. Darkness takes my vision as I bury my face in my knees, hoping to hide it from the man before me.
What am I supposed to do now? What am I supposed to do with myself, now that my home is so out of reach? It's not a simple matter anymore of asking for charity for a ride back to San Francisco, but rather of being in a separate world.
Assuming that I could even find a way back home, would I find myself in the same time I got warped away? Or would I find myself to be a man out of time?
For now though, I feel too tired to think about the answers to these questions. I'm just going to close my eyes for a bit.
The revelation and implications were too much for him to handle.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
After I woke up, I was given some soup to eat, but I'm not feeling too hungry to tell the truth. I just put the bowl on the chair beside my bed and went to the window.
It's a bright and sunny day, perfect for going out and being at the beach. But I just can't find the energy to want to go.
It's almost funny how I simply want to stay in this room now, when before, I would have done anything to get out of the dark cell.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
I forced myself to eat the bowl of soup sometime ago, and now I'm not feeling too well. My stomach keeps growling and there's a churning feeling from my-well snap. That would do it. I need the restroom.
I rush out of the room, and make my way through every room inside the building. I can't find it at all! I see my host.
I run towards him as fast as I can, which again, isn't that fast, and ask where the restroom is. Of course, I momentarily forgot about the language barrier. I realize it the second he gives me an odd look, and my mind starts trying to figure out a way to communicate it. One comes to mind, but I'm gonna feel ridiculous.
I bend my knees, get into a position similar to sitting down, clench my hands, and make an exaggerated face of exertion.
It would seem my need has been received properly, because my host's eyes widened before he swiftly started moving. I do my best to keep up.
He leads me to a closed door, and before he can even open it, I do it myself.
"What the hell am I looking at?!"
I thought the man was wealthy. Every room I've seen has lush decorations, and fine furniture. Every room has fit in well with what one would expect from those with money. But this! This is just a glorified porta-potty!
It's a simple room, with only a window and a toilet that looks more like a wooden box with a hole at the top.
Just great. Oh well. Beggars can't be chooses, I suppose.
I close the door and finish the experience as quickly as I can.
I'm quite happy to say though, that toilet paper is still a thing here. Thank God that some things didn't change.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
I stare at the blade I was just given with a mix of apprehension and reverence.
After I had walked out of the bathroom, my host had had enough of my appearance and odor, because he gave me the razor that I'm now holding, and directed me to the bathroom.
Why am I worried about shaving? Lack of experience. Back home, I had the luxury of an electric razor-most of the time-so using a manual one was a rarity. But this isn't even that. I'm holding a straight razor, which I thought at first was a pocket knife. I won't complain though-not when it's about to make me several years younger.
I look at my own reflection for the first time in months and cringe at the state of my visage. I'm ugly. My facial hair is more grown out than I would ever allow it to, and now it reminds me a bit of Hagrid, but shorter. What parts of my face aren't covered in hair, instead sport dirt, and dried blood.
I bring the razor to my right sideburn, and hope for the best. I was never too good with manual razors back home, and that was with the help of a fixed blade. Now, I'm the one in charge of the blade's angle-not a comforting thought.
Slowly, but surely, hair begins to fall to the floor. I let out the occasional curse as I nick myself, but otherwise get the job done in silence. That's a lie, my breathing was heavy the entire time.
After what feels like hours, I put the razor down and admire my work.
"Well, well, well. Where have you been all this time, handsome?!" I suavely ask my reflection.
My face stings a little from the post shaving burn, but I'll get used to it.
I rub my chin, and revel in its smoothness. "Very nice, my friend. You're one step closer to looking like yourself again."
I flash my classic grin-the kind that pulls the corners of my lips, raises my cheeks, and gives me squinty fox-eyes. Why the hell are my canines this long?!
I bring myself closer to the mirror, and fully open my mouth to inspect my teeth. Both my top and bottom canines have extended. Mind you, they're not at all vampiric in length, but they've grown enough to be notably longer than before. Thankfully, though they are longer, they're still round at the end, so I won't have to worry about biting myself much worse than I already did.
Anyway, now that I've shaved, I'm going to actually get started on bathing.
Looking around the bathroom, there are buckets, rags, and a basin of water within my immediate vicinity. Beyond that, is a door leading into another room. I guess I'll check that first. Peering into the next room, to my great joy, I find several bathtubs.
I rush back to where I was, and, after unclothing myself, look for soap. Unfortunately there isn't any soap, shampoo, or conditioner, but I'll just be happy regardless, knowing that I can clean myself at all. It also helps that every rag is clean and soft.
I dip my hands into the basin to wet the rag, and a shiver courses through my body. The water wasn't heated at all, which means I'll just have to bear it. No biggie, James, you've done this before. All you have to do is remember how you used to do this back at your grandparents' place.
Needless to say, I would have rushed through this were I not so filthy. Sadly for me, that's not the case, so I slowly suffer as I ensure that every nook and cranny of my body is cleaned.
I grab a second rag and start cleaning my face. I get to my ears and pause a bit, before directly touching them with my hands. Hm, alrighty.
In addition to my elongated canines, I also have pointed elf-ears now.
My best bet regarding the cause of these alterations points towards the injections that were forced upon me. Whether this was the intended outcome or not though, I have no idea-it sure seems like a waste if it was.
On another note, it's time for my first bath in almost a year!
Having just walked into the inner bathroom, as I'll now call it, my nose picks up the fragrance of lavender. Not bad at all! I dip one of my toes into the water and give a shocked yelp of mild discomfort as it came into contact with the surprisingly warm water.
Having become accustomed to the heat, I slowly submerge myself and ease into the tub. I'll just relax and enjoy this feeling while it lasts.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
You know, I'm rather happy that the tubs aren't in the same place as the toilets. I didn't think about it before, but I'm not even sure what happens to the waste when we're done. Does it just sit at the bottom of whatever pit awaits it, indefinitely, or is there some poor soul who has to clean it all up eventually?
With that in mind, it makes so much sense for the tubs to be in a separate room from the toilets in this world. Now that I really consider things though, when did the idea of the toilet and the tub being in the same room even start back on Earth? Better yet, why? After all, if one person is bathing, then that screws anyone that needs the toilet over.
I get that there could be multiple bathrooms in a single house, but that was only for the people who could afford the rent attached to that luxury. My family never got that when I was growing up, and I still didn't have it after I moved out either.
And that wraps up my shower thoughts for the time being, or is bath thoughts the right term at this time?
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
I'm with my host in what appears to be his office. I see a desk with a small pile of papers, and a small bookshelf against the wall.
On the opposite wall, there's a banner depicting a yellow shield with interior details, and a painting of a young boy and girl-perhaps his children.
I wonder what he brought me in here for, when the sun is already approaching its final hours in the sky.
He turns to me, and says, pointing to himself, "Dantes Von Edmund." He says two or three words-which I think mean "My name is," or something along those lines-before repeating his name with a bow.
He looks at me and makes a gesture that I interpret to mean "Your turn."
I replay the sounds he made in my head a few times before introducing myself in his language. "My name is James Andreas Heinig." I bring myself down to return the bow that was given to me.
When I raise my head back up, Dantes is looking at me with a wide smile that I can't help but return. He says some more things in his language with a jubilant tone, but is interrupted all of a sudden by a knock on the door. Dantes says a few words, and the door opens up as the person on the other side walks in.
Now maybe I'm just overreacting because of a lack of exposure to women, but the sight of the one that entered leaves me staring for a moment too long.
She begins to speak with Dantes, and I feel that I'm in the way-as they break their conversation to shoot glances at me occasionally. I begin to move towards the door and put my hand on it when Dantes calls my name out.
Turning to him, he shakes his head, then turns back to the girl that came in and says something to her.
She turns her head to me, but doesn't make eye contact. She grabs the edges of the edges of her dress and gives me an awkward curtsy-if the strained look on her face says anything. Raising her head and continuing to avoid looking at me, she says some things that I don't recognize before reaching the introduction.
"...my name is Marianne Von Edmund."
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
And cut!
While I'm happy that I could deliver on my word of releasing this chapter today, I'm bummed by how late it is and by how the chapter itself turned out.
There wasn't really any other way I could think of structuring this one. I wanted the message to be driven into my protagonist that he wasn't home anymore. The chapter felt slow, and kind of filler-ish, but it was meant to act as a transition towards what's to come, so that's how I'll justify it.
I'm going to keep going with my current update schedule and try to have the next one out by Sunday again, but earlier. Much earlier.
Special thanks again to those of you who have taken the time to follow and favorite my story. I guarantee that I get the same rush from that notification as all of you hopefully do when you see that I update.
Next week we're going to hit a time-skip as we begin to approach the timeline of the story proper.
Until then, take care of yourselves, look out for those you care for, and enjoy the gift of waking everyday.
-T.I.S.