November 24

Chapter 2

Cathedral

Ward

... That's how you remove it? It took people hours trying everything, and you just... twist it?

She's sure the people who tried prying his armor off last night would feel cheated.

At the time his existence was found, words of him flowed mouth to mouth, drunkards to drunkards. Why wouldn't a man found inside a metal meteor be bound to be the talk of the town? In his case, the whole city? Words from taverns suspects he was some ancient evil unsealed from the void. Some thought he is a child of the stars who was disowned and thrown into the realm of Tevyat.

Rosaria is the least expected to foster reverence. She sees religion as a perpetual self-maintaining fad made by people who take it far. She believes in the existence of Archons, yes, but there's a line acknowledging that something exists, and the obligation to worship it. She sees her duties as it is, nothing greater than they could be.

Such thinking led her to expect he is no devil or some star child. She did doubt he was human, which made it interesting to see that the meteor man was anything else but human. An odd man with an interesting story and origin, definitely.

But with that queer eye of his... maybe he wasn't completely human. Regardless, as he stood with his helmet on his side, his gesture alone implies he wants no trouble. Though she senses his curious gaze implies his interest in her is greater as a woman than as a foreigner... and his staring is starting to get too curious. That disappointed her a little. The man that had everyone mystified is... less of a divinity and more of a degenerate.

Maybe he does want trouble.

She would know. You wouldn't need a fair amount of intuition to suspect a creep from a crowd. She does admit that her outfit is holy as she is pious. It's not like she wasn't aware of how she makes people look.

Hmph. Maybe he's just like any man. At least that made the mystical man less mystical and more human than inhuman.

"... What." She threatened. "Never seen a woman before?"

"So uhh..."

"I swear if you keep eyeing me like that, I'm going to impale you."

"... James." He patted his chest and pointed to his face. He felt like he was in a minefield with her cold gaze. "James."

"James..." She groaned the name. The last thing Mondstadt needs is another unknown and unpredictable factor you can't just ignore. The loose dragon was already enough. And that strange traveler too with his flabby fairy companion. She hadn't met them yet, but thankfully they went somewhere else. "Hmph."

"Yeah... James. Honestly, I don't know why you sound like you want to kill me. But hey at least you're honest about it."

He'll be a source of trouble, and that's a fate her gut feeling is telling. She dislikes people who make and can make trouble, but she gives him credit for having the courtesy to introduce himself despite the language barrier.

"So... you?" He gestured thoughtfully towards the woman.

"... Rosaria." She pointed herself, understanding the body language.

"Rosaria. Cute name. Can you tell me where this is?" He paused, making a thoughtful look as he mumbled to himself. "Okay... so... uhh how do I... There's gotta be something she could understand."

Rosaria was eyeing the stranger as he made a complicated expression. He was deep in his thought as if trying to come up with something. She took the opportunity to study his face. For someone who looks around as old as her, he looks like he's had better days. His eyes look... withered and experienced, yet have an ounce of naivety. Like a hopeful war veteran with a home to look forward to. By no means he was innocent, and by no means he was harmless.

She's met a lot of people and dealt with many. Her past and side hustle developed her intuition having an eye for people. She knew he won't cause trouble unless necessary. Regardless, if blood is what he wants, she'll make him bleed. With that said, he needs a mirror to realize his bloodied lips and chin.

He coughed and cleared his throat.

"Name... James." He patted himself as he emphasized a word.

Odd. Rosaria already knows who he is, and he should be aware of it. But she noted there was an inflection before he told his name. Was he giving his full name? Or was that a non-name word in his language?

"Name... Rosaria." He gestured to her with both hands.

Rosaria concluded Name James is not his full name, in as much as she thinks he wasn't assuming her full name to be that.

"Name?" He pointed down the floor.

Oh...

Wait...

... She might have an idea of what he's on to. Why wouldn't he be asking for the name of the place he woke up in?

"Mondstadt." She replied, amused, reflecting on his gesture. Though she's not the type to entertain, she supposed this was better than being in a silent, awkward standoff.

"Mond... is-that?"

"Mont-ush-tat..." She shrugged. Being no perfectionist, she did not bother.

"Okay... uhh... Monds-tat. Mont-ush-tat. Mondstadt." He whispered with consideration, humming to his thoughts. "Sounds germanic... Yeah, no clue, hot stuff. Can't recognize a name like that anywhere... so unless I'm in some frontier town, I'm pretty sure I'm on another planet."

It was lost to her, but that disappointed tone implies that the name of her country is unfamiliar. If his foreign language and exotic armor were not already a clear indication he's a foreigner in every rightful sense, she wouldn't know what else one needs to seek. If he's never even heard of Mondstadt, where in Tevyat's farthest isolated corner did he come from?

"Well fuck I guess? Ugh... So what now? Wait..." Between tackling the linguistics challenge and thinking of possible scenarios, there was one thing he forgot. "The shuttle."

Rosaria noticed his change in posture and mood, taking an alarmed tone.

"Oh shit what if the locals are playing around with my stuff." He mumbled with anxiety, "Can't ask her to let me go. Damn language barrier. How do I..."

Rosaria simply stared at his begging eyes. What does he want? What got him jumpy? He's like he's lost something valuable. Eyes down, she thought of something in consideration.

Wait...

The meteor. It couldn't be just some ordinary meteor. If the knights found him inside as they claim, what else is there inside? His worried behavior is becoming a nuisance. The knights should be here right now since the time Barbara left. She noticed his attention switched behind her, at the doorway. Is he thinking of escaping? Rosaria steeled her stance from the thought. If he does anything funny...

"... I think you have friends coming in. Ooh. I smell food."

Some seconds passed - seconds Rosaria coped - and she heard footsteps. She stepped outside the hallway to see the acting grandmaster herself and her librarian aide. Behind was the familiar sight of Barbara carrying a tray of food and utensils - the few knights behind her hauling a small table.

"Rosaria~! How is he? Is he- Oh! Thank Barbatos you're alright! Oh... can someone please get me a towel?"

James Huntsman

After some time

"Screw it, I'll check the shuttle later. Like. Damn. This is what a whole chicken tastes like?"

If he could understand their language, he'll have to ask for the recipe. Back in the colony, it's either you hunt or grow food. The problem with keeping livestock is that it's a problem keeping them alive. A drop pod attack of either mechanoids or pirates can burn your hard work into ashes - and recovering your loss is usually the painstaking part.

And oh boy, those were some lessons learned.

They do ranch muffalos for their wool and caravan utility. Aside from pets, any more than they could handle or any different animal is off to the butcher or sold. Meaning, their palate of meat and crops are abysmal in accordance with how able a colony is. Animal husbandry is just a big responsibility. A luxury. Even while his colony was powerful, they simply got used to whatever the hell is on the table, or whatever bulk goods traders bring.

So being served with a whole chicken roasted and sweetened to fine delicacy was as alien as he is to them.

"I'm no greedy gourmand... but uhh... can I have more? I swear to god that's one of the best things I've tasted."

Better than any lavish meals he had.

They just stared in wonder.

A whole chicken devoured to bare bones, and he only used a spoon and fork. That takes dexterity and appetite.

And they kept staring. Admittingly, being the center of attention might take some getting used to. A small crowd in the small room with him sitting in front felt... wrong. And he had to endure their stares and murmurs as he was eating, but surely they don't mean harm.

There was a clear contrast between their outfit, plate armor and dresses, and whatnot, to his plated space suit. A clear tech difference between their fashion to his, medieval to spacer. He knew that warrants questions.

"Anyways... uhh... Hi? Lovely people here."

He didn't mind if he couldn't be understood, as helps him feel connected like how one would coo their cat. But there was an odd one out. The brunette in purple with a pointy hat seems to be thinking, trying to put words together unlike her peers who are either murmuring to each other or inspecting his armor.

He wondered what they think of his suit.

"You... want more?"

"Oh thank god..." He switched his attention to that person. "Ohhh thank god, I thought I had to charade my whole life... whew." He slumped in relief.

She had an accent, but why should he care at this point? The crowd split wide and gave space to the only person who can speak to the stranger. That amused him - it was nice that now he was not the only one with an audience.

"Hello... is that right? Are you still hungry?"

"Oh, I'm full. I was just being rhetorical. But ha! Didn't think someone actually knew what I was saying." He said with a genuine smile, feeling a bit embarrassed as if caught nude. "I never had anything like that. I give thanks to your chef by the way."

"... Umm... No... We welcome you. You are honorable guest, man of... metal?"

Honorable guest. Man of metal. That didn't bother him, but it did come to him as strange. A strange title for a strange man like himself, he supposed. Now that got him curious. What do they really think of him? Maybe it's just his cynical side that's talking, but what if their hospitality isn't expendable, that they're wanting something in return?

"No need to be formal. I... uhh..."

It wasn't unclear how she was struggling linguistically, and it wasn't any better with the silence the crowd gave them plenty for exchange of words. For them, it was an interesting scene that the usually flirty and frivolous librarian got her tongue twisted.

"I... guess we should introduce ourselves?" Wanting to break the ice, he stood from his seat - which got some people tensed - and offered a handshake. "My name is James Hunstman. It's a nickname though. And yours?"

"... Lisa." She took the offer with a bright smile. She supposed some gestures are universal. "Lisa Minci."

"Lisa." He hummed, returning to his seat. "Uhh... so, Lisa, well what now?"

"... Would you mind if we ask?"

"Ask me questions? Sure."

Lisa turned back and switched attention to her people. He held back his eyes on her rear and thighs.

'Hmm yes, that ceiling looks interesting,' he thought. 'Like wow... bricks? So amazing. Ugh... what am I thinking? Admit it, you're just some lonely fuck... I wonder what they're talking about.'

In all seriousness, why are they all look attractive and alluring? First, that woman with the fishnets. Then the girl in a cute frilly dress. Then came the blondie with a ponytail. And now he was just talking to someone with a mature motherly ambiance. His heart skip a beat, having a hard time keeping his heart to himself. He wondered how old she was. For a moment, he felt insecure. Does he stink? Does he look bad? Does his hair look messy? They're important questions! He needs a mirror!

"His name is James Huntsman, but his last name is a title if nothing else. A nickname."

"Huntsman? What does that mean, Lisa?"

"A hunter I believe."

"Regardless of that fashion..." Jean gave a quick glance to James. He noticed and gave an awkward smile. "Would a hunter need such armor? I don't believe he hunts some animals for a living."

"Etymologically speaking, I say the same. It could be a metaphor for a warrior in his language."

"Well, why not ask him? It's a moniker given by his people." Jean switched tones from curious to cautious. "It could mean anything."

Lisa turned to James, her eyes being analytical that's hidden by a kind smile. She realized just now they possibly have a killer by their hands. If he's a hunter and not one that literally hunts animals, is he an assassin perhaps? A bounty hunter? Why didn't he disclose his real name in the first place? Is he a widely known figure from his homeland to earn such a title?

It could mean anything.

"James. You are hunter? Yes?"

"Yes."

"What do you hunt? My friends doubt it's not animals."

"Oh. I guess it's my armor, huh? I did hunt animals for my colony. Then I got good with weapons-" He didn't mention guns, because looking at the swords of the armed guards, they might not even know what it is. "- to the point I got good enough to kill mechanoids."

And that was the truth, but perhaps the story was oversimplified. He started with bows for wild game, then upgraded to a bolt-action rifle he bought from traders. After some time, he got good with a gun. Then the mechanoids came — just a few scythers in the beginning. Seeing one of his friends sacrifice a leg to keep them at bay as he shot them down, was enough incentive for everyone to invest in better armaments. He was the colony's defender and hunter because shooting was one of his many passions, in as much as he's passionate about not dying.

"... Meka-Noids?"

"Uhh... Let me rephrase." He supposed he should have gotten straight to the point. Poor girl must be struggling to keep up. "I. Hunt. Machines."

For the most part anyways. He does deal with your run-on-the-mill pirates, but no one else but him has the most experience and exposure with mechanoids.

The shooting skilltrainer they bought for him and his trigger-happy trait helped in his efforts to keep everyone safe. There's a centipede mixed with some lancers just over there? Just give him a jump pack, smoke grenades, and a chain shotgun with EMP shells. Oh, what? A small army of scythers is coming over to visit? Eh just lay some sandbags to make a chokepoint and high-explosive mines in their path. Oh god, a nearby mechanoid cluster has a proximity trigger and a mech low-shield and high-shield that both repulses bullet and mortar shells? Give him a smokepop belt, a breach axe, and a go-juice. He'll figure it out when he rushes in.

... Sometimes he wonders how is he still alive.

There's a reason why he was chosen as a test pilot. It's not because he had the highest intellect, but because he was likely to survive for days alone if he crashlanded somewhere far.

"... ruin machines?"

"I suppose?"

"Suppose...?" There was a funny look on Lisa's face, trying to find meaning and implications behind the word. "Machines from ancient times. Ones that roam ruins? Ruin machines?"

Mechanoids come from different times and places. If they label them as ruin machines, then it wouldn't be far off from the definition. You can find them anywhere in ancient dangers or from a ship chunk broken off centuries ago. He didn't need to be specific because after all, what else would they be talking about?

"We call them mechanoids... but yes? I hunt them."

"..."

End

So you know in the prologue, I said to think of this as a Modded-To-Oblivion Rimworld x G.I. crossover? Or something like that? Yeah, I'm thinking of keeping it minimal.

Edit: Did some little rewrite.