TACO Run
Chapter 5
Cyrus stroked his chin with one hand, elbow tucked neatly into the other as he contemplated his situation. Hm. I seem to have arrived in the midst of a festival of some kind.
Not only were all of the shopfronts hereabouts decorated with brightly colored signage, but the individuals walking the streets were equally eye-catching. Hair in colors—or combinations of colors—that were fanciful in the extreme, clothing in flashy, exaggerated styles, people in what were clearly costumes of some kind.
Or perhaps not, because while the majority of individuals appeared generally human, a significant portion had features that were simply not, and could not be explained away by a costume.
Oh my. I do believe that young man has wings! They were folded at the moment, but Cyrus suspected that their dimensions were likely insufficient to carry the young man aloft without the aid of wind magic. Hm… from what H'aanit has told me about pinions, and from my own studies of the Birdian species, I would say those scarlet wings are likely made for soaring—not surprising, in a city such as this. The height of these walls would create updrafts not dissimilar to those of the Cliftlands.
The Cliff Birdians were by far the most maneuverable of the Birdian species, due to their limited space in which to take off or land. They were also one of the more aggressive types, often attacking travelers without provocation. This young man seems rather relaxed, though. And I doubt that an avian species such as the Birdians is capable of interbreeding with a mammalian one such as humanity, or that the results of any such pairing would be viable, let alone survive to healthy adulthood.
And the results of blood magic transformations were never less than horrific, regardless of their intentions. Were he the product of another corrupted scholar such as Yvon or Lucia, he would hardly be functional in society, as he clearly was.
I wonder… no one seems to be paying him any more attention than their fellows, so either individuals of his type are relatively well-known, or this society has a significantly broader range for what is considered 'normalcy'. Which I suppose would be all to the good.
His own appearance hadn't drawn any stares, after all. And from the odd form of writing visible on nearby signage, he was most certainly not anywhere in Orsterra anymore.
And the local fashions seem remarkably different from what I'm used to. He didn't see any heeled shoes or knee breeches on men, for one thing, and the gowns some young ladies were wearing were perilously short, though it seemed that trousers were considered appropriate for both sexes in these parts. Hm. Hairstyles seem a bit more varied as well, but at least my own doesn't seem remarkable. Short hair seemed to be the general rule for men hereabouts, but he saw enough with somewhat longer styles to feel assured in his own.
That winged young man's hairstyle is actually not too dissimilar from Olberic's, if a bit more windswept. A light sandy brown, it wasn't too far off from Alfyn's in color either, though less vivid. I do owe Alfyn an apology. Olberic and Therion as well, and I am fortunate that none of them are the type to hold grudges. Well, Olberic might, but it took kingdom-ending betrayal to get him to that point. A magical accident, no matter how horrendously inconvenient, would likely leave him worried and resigned rather than angry.
Very suddenly, there was a pair of brown eyes quite close to his own, and Cyrus took a startled step back. Alephan preserve me! He was very nearly as fast as Therion. "I beg your pardon!"
The winged young man asked him a question, expression mild and curious, but with a hint of something beneath the surface that Cyrus was relatively certain meant he'd been assessed and then dismissed as a potential threat.
"My apologies," Cyrus said sincerely, dipping his head in an acknowledging gesture. "I hadn't meant to be rude." Ophilia and Primrose had made substantial efforts in helping him learn when his curiosity went too far, but he didn't see how anyone could be expected not to stare under such circumstances.
The winged young man cocked his head to one side, sandy brows lifting, and asked a question of some kind.
At least he doesn't seem offended. My, I do believe he's no older than Tressa was, when first she began her travels. "I'm sorry, but it appears that Orsterran isn't a recognized language hereabouts," Cyrus said thoughtfully. Hm… that language doesn't sound like any I recognize. Certainly it wasn't Birdian chirps and screeching. Nor was it a language from the lands across the sea to the east of Orsterra, nor those to the south, nor any other language he could name. Oh dear. This could be complicated.
The young man asked him something else, expression wry and perhaps a bit exasperated. Pulling a shiny rectangular device from one of his jacket's pockets, he started poking at it with his thumb while talking.
"I really am afraid I've no idea what you're saying," Cyrus admitted reluctantly. Perhaps Scholar's Tongue? It is used by academics the world 'round.
Not that he believed he was in his own world any longer. 'From here, burn down the walls of space.' How could I have not realized it referred to the barrier between worlds? He was just glad that wherever he had ended up, it wasn't the far reaches of Hell. Though if the author of that series had access to the journals I found in Lucia's library… Well. That would make a great deal of sense.
It would also explain why it was forsaken magic. The perils, should such a spell breach the dimension barred by the Gate of Finis…
It didn't bear thinking about.
The winged young man finished poking at his device, and held it out close to Cyrus' face—not quite so close as to be an intrusion, but close enough that he was clearly meant to pay attention to it.
Hm. It can't hurt to try Scholar's Tongue… "I'm afraid I have no idea what that device is for," he said in that language, peering at it with interest, chin gripped between thumb and forefinger. Rectangular, slightly smaller than his hand and thinner in profile, and made out of a combination of very thin metal and some other smooth, shiny substance he didn't recognize. The front appeared to be covered with a very small, marvelously clear pane of glass, from behind which faint light shone, revealing a white background with black lettering. To his surprise, as he spoke, more letters appeared beneath the glass, along with a set of symbols Cyrus realized matched those of the surrounding storefronts. Is that a syllabary-based translation device? Marvelous!
The winged young man seemed impressed as well, because he turned the device back towards himself and nodded in satisfaction. He spoke into the device, and then turned it to face Cyrus again.
'It is good to know that this item can translate Latin,' Cyrus read. Latin, then, was what they called Scholar's Tongue here. 'Was there something you needed from me? You were following me for almost two blocks.'
"Was I?" Cyrus hadn't realized. "My apologies. I was simply fascinated by your appearance. Am I correct in assuming that those wings allow you the power of personal flight?" He also, Cyrus realized, had dark triangular markings at his tear ducts, furthering the resemblance to a bird of prey. If a remarkably relaxed one.
The young man looked at the words on his device, and shrugged his wings, talking casually into it.
'Basically, yes, among other things. I am sorry if I got too close too fast, earlier. I wanted to get a good look before you knew I was watching you back, just in case.'
"Think nothing of it," Cyrus waved off the apology. "I have been told several times that my scrutiny can be unnerving."
'Is that your individuality, then?'
"Scrutinizing others?" Cyrus cupped his chin thoughtfully. The young man's wording was a bit odd and stilted, but as it was being translated from one language into another—and by a device rather than a person at that—that was understandable. "I suppose that could be called a quirk of mine." Though 'habit' might be more accurate. Or perhaps 'predilection'. "I do apologize if any of my behavior has been untoward. I am newly arrived, and somewhat at a loss as to my location."
'Do not worry about it.' The winged young man waved that off with a casual smile. 'You said you are lost?'
"Well, yes," Cyrus admitted. "I have absolutely no idea where I am. There was a rather unfortunate accident, for which I'm afraid I am mostly at fault, and I and my companions were transported here unintentionally—albeit we did not all arrive in the same place." A worried frown. "I do hope they're alright. We've all a knack for landing on our feet, but I don't believe any of them speak Scholar's Tongue, which could make things more difficult wherever they are." As Alfyn had said, his knowledge of Scholar's Tongue was limited to medical terminology, and mostly in the written form.
The winged young man blinked, reading his reply, and then looked back up at him. Without removing his eyes from Cyrus' face, he spoke into the translation device rapidly, and then turned it to face him again.
Hm. 'That sounds like a long story. Do you want to get something to eat while you tell it?' "Why, good man, I would be delighted." However delicious H'aanit's cooking was, crusty jam-filled sweet-rolls only satisfied one's hunger for so long.
'This way, then. I have heard that the best—' a series of symbols that were apparently untranslatable '—in—' another string of symbols '—is only another block or so away.'
I see. So words that don't exist in Scholar's Tongue are not translated. However that device works, it likely does so in a very literal manner. "Well then," Cyrus gave a flourishing sweep of an arm, "lead the way!"
Keigo tucked his hands in his pockets as he strolled down the sidewalk, flamboyant foreign cosplayer in his wake. Or at least, that's what he assumed the man following him around Akihabara was. Pretty hardcore cosplayer, too. Whoever did his costume, it was good. Blouse-sleeved linen shirt beneath an embroidered vest, ribbons and jewelry, the kind of knee-length trousers and buckled shoes he'd only ever seen on pictures of medieval European nobility… even his socks were embroidered. The cloak that topped it all off was heavy black silk edged in gold, falling to ankle height. The area just above the hem of the cloak had been cut out in such a way that the scarlet lining peeked through in rippling patterns like flames, edges of the cuts sewn down with gold embroidery thread. More gold thread had been embroidered over the back of the cloak like twists of shimmering smoke rising upwards, and the same motif was repeated in a smaller way on the wide ends of the cloak's sleeves.
Do cloaks usually have sleeves? Keigo mused to himself as they approached the café he'd told the guy about, letting his mouth keep talking even if he wasn't saying a whole lot and the guy couldn't understand him without his phone translator anyway. Maybe it's more of a 'wizard robe' thing. Keigo had never really gotten into fantasy RPGs or visual novels, so it wasn't exactly his area of expertise. "Here we are," he said, pushing open the entrance to the café.
"Master, welcome home~!" Chorused out from around the room. One girl in a frilly apron hurried over and bowed in greeting, ushering them towards a table with expertly trained cheerful efficiency.
Maid cafés weren't really Keigo's thing either—they weren't popular in Fukuoka—but everyone needed to try one at least once, right? Besides, he'd gotten a good recommendation for this place's chicken steamed bun plate from a local friend.
As they sat, the foreign cosplayer turned the charm on their waitress, taking her hand with a smile and a bow that had her flushing slightly and stepping back with a flustered look, gripping her notepad and quickly saying that she'd be 'happy to take orders from, er, to take your order in just a moment, master!'
"Give us a minute, okay, miss?" Keigo smiled casually at her, pretending not to notice the slip. "He doesn't speak Japanese, so it might take a while."
"Oh, of course, no problem, master~!" The maid seemed a little relieved and a little disappointed at the same time. "Here are your menus; my name is Moru—just let me know if there's any way I can serve you~" With a bright, professional smile, she turned and bustled off.
Keigo pulled his phone back out and swiped the screen open again, laying it on the table between them so they could both see it.
'—charming young lady!' it picked up, from the end of the cosplayer's musing. 'Though I hope she is not feverish; it would not do to force a young lady to work when she is ill.'
Keigo blinked at that. He can't really be that clueless. He looked up at the foreigner, whose concerned expression seemed completely genuine. Holy shit, he is. "She's fine," he assured him easily. "You just surprised her, is all. What's your name, by the way?"
The foreigner looked at him, and then quickly down at his phone. 'A most amazing device. I truly wonder how it functions… ah. My name is Cyrus Albright. I am a teacher at the Atlasdam Royal Academy. Though I find it unlikely you have ever heard of it.'
"Can't say that I have," Keigo agreed. "Do you want me to call you Cyrus, or Professor Albright?" He was really young to be a teacher. Couldn't be older than twenty-six. Probably got a teaching degree right out of high school.
Cyrus shrugged off the question with a fluttery wave of one hand. 'Whichever you prefer. You are not a student of mine, so I can hardly expect you to treat me as a superior.' A bright, interested smile. 'And may I ask your name in return?'
"Call me Hawks." Okay, so he had a name. But he'd been a Hero-in-training since he was eight, and he'd known what his Hero name would be since he was eleven, and he was in the process of becoming the youngest Pro Hero ever; he didn't think anyone besides his mother had used his real name in the past two years.
'Hawks? I assume the appellation was not given to you at birth. I very much doubt a humanoid mother could give birth to a hexapodal infant without permanent damage coming to either party, so your wings must have come in later, as a deer grows antlers with maturity.'
"Uh, yeah…" Keigo blinked. "I was three when they started coming in." Not that he had actual bones or muscles supporting his wings beneath the feathers, but it was interesting to hear what would've happened if he had.
'Fascinating! You do appear mostly human, so it follows that your parentage would be of a similar persuasion, and the inner workings of the mammalian reproductive system are not conducive to, say, the laying of eggs, which would have simplified the process greatly. Growing entirely new limbs as one ages isn't a trait common to mammals either, but as we do in fact shed our infant teeth to replace them with new ones, I suppose it isn't as much of a stretch—"
Keigo propped his chin on one hand, watching with a faint smile as Cyrus rattled on, analyzing the biological processes that had to have gone into his Quirk's development. This might be the first time someone out-talked him.
'…and if what the lady Susanna says is true, that the nutrients found in seeds, fish, and the velvet of deer antlers are vital to proper development of bones in infants, it follows that the production of entirely new limbs during the growth phase would necessitate the introduction of a diet high in such nutrients. I believe Alfin's dear friend Zeph mentioned amaranth as an excellent source…'
"Here you go, masters~"
Keigo blinked and leaned back abruptly, as a maid—not Moru—set a tall, overly fancy parfait on the table just next to his phone.
"It's a service~!" she chirped, cheeks flushed when he gave her a confused look, and hurried off.
'My, whatever might this elaborate confection be?' Cyrus asked, prodding curiously at the water already beading down the elegant glass' side.
"It's a parfait," Keigo said absently, still trying to puzzle out what had just happened. The parfait was layers of vanilla soft-serve streaked with strawberry syrup, alternating with crumbled cookies and banana slices, topped with whipped cream, those curled-up wafer things he thought were called tuiles, strawberries, a slice of kiwi, and drizzled in generous amounts of caramel.
And it had two straws.
Keigo took another look at his table-mate. Twenty-something, long black hair pulled back in a low tail, save for a few unruly locks that fell forward to frame a heartbreakingly handsome face with the kind of slender, graceful bone structure common in shoujo manga love interests.
Keigo very deliberately did not bang his head against the table. Haven't even started my Pro Hero career, and I already managed to get 'shipped with a foreign cosplay pretty-boy. He sighed, resting his head on one hand for a second.
Words started appearing on the phone beneath his nose. 'Are you quite alright? You seem troubled.'
"I'm fine," Keigo said, raising his head to give Cyrus a wry smile. "Just thinking about the future." He nodded towards the maids hiding in the serving area's entrance. "You've got some admirers."
Cyrus blinked, looking curiously over towards the girls, who giggled and ducked back behind the curtain. 'Are scholars so rare in these parts?' he asked, head tilting just slightly to one side. 'Not that I'm objecting to the gift,' he added, turning back to admire the parfait again. 'It shows admirable skill with confectionary!' A slight, considering frown. 'How exactly does one go about eating such a thing?'
"From the top down," Keigo said dryly, leaning forward to pick up the long, slender spoon the maid had left with it. "Here, use this."
A/N: Cyrus' 'cosplay cloak' is the present Therion gave him—a Robe of the Flame that he stole off of a guy in Victor's Hollow. Hawks' real name is Takami Keigo, but at this point he avoids using it in favor of his Hero Name.