Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem Awakening, all rights to the owners.

We're getting on in the story, so Nathan is going to actually have to start doing things at some point. Not quite yet, but very soon. I should also mention, if I haven't before, that I intend for Nathan to be a non-combatant. I don't intend for him to be on the front lines like with most self-insert stories. I also don't intend for him to ever quite lose his social anxiety (because that's one of the most fun parts of his character to play with as a writer) though I will gradually reduce it to being less crippling. There's just a certain trigger I want to hit to make it seem natural, because right now he doesn't have too much of a reason to change. That trigger will be extremely obvious when it happens, but it probably won't be this chapter. You get to enjoy(?) Nathan as he is for just a little bit longer. Maybe a chapter or two more before some change starts happening.

I imagine you can guess what the trigger will involve based on the fact he'll start changing, but I'm also fairly sure you all anticipated it happening at some point anyways (though the original plan was for it to happen much later, but… well, you'll see. Remind me to explain what I meant if I forget when the trigger happens. If you care, anyways).

"But I had the center of the board." I mumble. "You stuck to the sides the entire time. The middle is supposed to be better."

"Well yeah, but you held the center at the expense of attack venues." Morgan points out. "Like, you may have had all your strong pieces in the middle, but I could get my rooks to your backline to bother your king. It doesn't help to hold the middle if you don't take advantage of it. Your bishops in the front were also hampering the ability of your rooks to actually threaten my center, so with my pawns walling your bishops, you were effectively paralyzed. Also, the fact that I didn't kill your pawns in the middle meant they were also in the way of your attacks too. I jammed up the middle exactly because you were so obviously going for it, sacked my 1 and 8 pawns, then ran my rooks down the side and smashed your king."

"Ah." I frown. "Stop being so smart."

"Hey, you're getting better. You did manage to take the center this time. Usually I snatch it, but you walled me out early on this time, despite the fact that you started second." She pauses, then adds. "Why do you always play black? You said yourself that it puts you at a disadvantage."

"I just like the color black." I admit sheepishly. "That's literally it. There's no other reason. I think as a consequence of always playing black I basically don't know how to do offence, because I'm always reacting rather than acting."

"That sounds about right." Morgan nods. She starts putting the pieces back into place for another game, so I help. "Maybe you should start playing white then."

"But black is cool…" I whine jokingly with a smirk.

"Fine, then you just go first."

"Okay, I can get behind that." I nod. "I get black~!"

She rolls her eyes, smiling herself. "It's just a color."

"The best color." I correct her. "I mean, technically it's not a color at all. True black is actually an absence of color entirely, like outer space. Black paint and all that is actually just another really dark color."

"Really? So what's white?"

"I can't remember exactly." I frown. "It's also not technically a color. They're both shades. Something light enough that it no longer resembles it's "base" color so to speak. I think it might also be every visible color at once, but don't quote me on that. I was much more interested in black then white."

"No really." She says sarcastically. "We've only played hundreds of games of chess and you've been white maybe ten times."

"You're just jealous I take the best color."

"Best? Pff. The best is purple." Morgan says, patting the designs on her coat. "Black is a close second, but purple is where it's at."

"Red is second. Purple is third." I file away Morgan's preferences for the future.

"Red? It's like I don't even know you anymore!" Morgan gasps.

"Who says you do? You still don't believe that this is an elaborate kidnapping attempt, which it totally is." I say flatly.

"Sure, sure."

"My point exactly."

"Your move by the way."

"Ah." I gaze at the chess board with all the pieces in their starting positions. "Shit."

"Already? You haven't even moved yet."

"I know." I mumble. "I'll just do the theoretically solid thing." I move my king's pawn forward two spaces. The standard e4 move.

"How much chess theory do you actually know?" Morgan questions, and flicks her queen's pawn up one space.

"Not much. Just some basic concepts and that one specific move." I admit sheepishly. "I've looked into it more than that, but I can never remember what I learned."

"Are you bad at remembering things?"

"If by that you mean I never practice them enough to remember, then yes." I say. "Too frustrating to do all that repetition."

"But that's how you get better."

I raise my eyebrow. "And? Minor improvement at something rarely feels satisfying when you have to spend several hours, or maybe dozens of hours, being frustrated at the process of learning. The improvement ends up feeling pyrrhic, bittersweet. At least for me there's no satisfaction and no sense of accomplishment. I have relief that I don't have to deal with the frustrating process of learning anymore, but that rarely makes it feel like I've actually done something worth my time."

"So you hate work." She says flatly.

"Basically." I nod. "I could be doing something fun, or something neutral, or literally nothing, and it would feel better than working, because work is unsatisfying, frustrating, and usually unrewarding. You do it because you have to, or if you actually enjoy the work then it's not an issue because it's not really work anymore, but that's rarely the case."

"You're working right now. You're actually trying to attack." Morgan says, pointing at the board. We have been playing as we talk. "You're putting in effort to learn."

"Well yeah. I don't mind this because you're here." I say as I lose another piece. "You make this fun. If you weren't here and I was playing against a computer or something, this would just be annoying and any advancement would feel worthless because of that annoyance."

"You must have really hated school back on Earth then."

"You have no idea." I say flatly. "That's an understatement. I did, and still do, despise school. Well, homework at least. I don't mind working in class, and lectures… they're hit or miss but not too awful. It's really just homework that I hated, still hate, with a passion."

"And homework is how you actually learn things because it's repetition of the concepts, right?"

"Yep." I mutter. I can feel anger coiling in my gut just thinking about it, and I push that feeling down. Morgan is not at all responsible for this. It's just that even mentioning homework tends to annoy me. I really do hate it. "It's petty, but I can't change my own feelings. It's not as simple as choosing not to hate something. You can't do that. Your mind doesn't work that way for something you have such a deep-seated emotion towards."

"You could choose to feel an emotion towards something you didn't feel strongly towards in the first place?" Morgan blinks.

"To an extent. If you repeatedly tell yourself something and act accordingly, your subconscious will start to believe it and your conscious mind in turn will start to believe it."

"That's crazy." Morgan says in awe.

"Yeah. The mind is super weird." I say. "What was I talking about…?"

"Homework? Deep-seated emotion?"

"Right." I say, then sigh. "I… look, I'm just whining about actually having to do work. I'm aware that's what I'm doing, and if I have to work I will, I always did my homework, but that doesn't mean I despise it any less."

"Were you always this vocal about it to your family?" Morgan asks, amused.

"Yep. They got annoyed about it pretty quickly, and it took me a while before I stopped. I was a bad kid, at least in terms of not bitching about things."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want them to think I became okay with it. I hated it, and I never wanted them to forget that because, at least when I was younger, I wanted a price. If they were going to make me do it, I wasn't going to let them forget I was miserable. I wasn't going to let them get away scott-free with making me do it. Like…" I gesture awkwardly as I try to think of an example. "Let's say you… work as a carpenter under a master."

"Okay."

"You hate hammering in nails. And I mean hate with a burning fucking passion."

"Got it."

"Your boss makes you do it every day."

"Okay."

"You don't get paid to do it."

"Right."

"So, you can stay quiet and suffer in silence, seething at the task while he goes about his day smiling and not caring that you're suffering, or you can exact your price and never let him forget that he's making you miserable so he's forced to confront that you're suffering. You don't let him get away with a clear conscious for intentionally making you unhappy." I pause to take a breath, because I'm actually breathing hard. I got too heated there, and over something so petty. "That used to be my mindset. It was hate. Vengeance. If they were going to slight me, I was going to slight them right back."

"And now? Or… at least before you left?" Morgan asks quietly. She's no longer smiling in amusement.

"Well, eventually I realized my parents and my school weren't just trying to spite me. Eventually meaning it took me until the middle of high school. Mid-teenage years. It's just the nature of work that working is terrible through no fault of the people who have to enforce it. Work sucks, not the people who direct it." I say. "So I don't hate work any less, but I know to direct my frustration at the task and not the people. Took me way longer than it should have to learn that lesson though. I'm still petty, but at least I'm not petty and spiteful. Not towards people at least. Now I mostly just avoid unnecessary work, and try to chop work up over time to make it more bearable."

"What? You stretch it out?" Morgan looks bewildered. "Why not do it all at once to get it out of the way?"

"Would you rather drink a vial of straight acid, or eat multiple lemons over a few hours while also being able to eat cookies in between those lemons?"

"I guess I can see that logic."

"I mean, you do what works for you. I just can't stand to have that much sustained misery at once. If getting it out of the way quickly feels better for you, do it."

We both fall into silence, gazing at our forgotten game. I realize my hands are shaking, and my face contorts into a snarl. Getting worked up over something so stupid, of course I would. I've always been petty, but this feels like a new low. I ranted about homework. Homework. I'm twenty-one and I ranted about homework like a thirteen year old.

I take a deep breath to steady myself. No need to make this worse. Calm down.

"Thanks for sharing with me." Morgan says quietly.

She's joking, right? I just ranted and she's saying thank you? "Morgan, you don't have to say that for my sake. That was childish of me."

"Well sure, but…" Morgan's hands grasp the air as she tries to convey her thoughts. "You ranted because you knew I'd listen, right?"

"Yeah." I wouldn't have done this in front of Noire or Kjelle. Well, unless they were deliberately antagonizing me about something related, in which case I might have ranted to make a point.

"And you feel better now that you got it all out, right?"

"I… yeah." I've never really gotten to throw out my thoughts about work to anyone. My parents would listen when I vent to a certain extent, but they tended to offer platitudes that I already knew and were generally patronizing. Rather than just letting me vent and get it out they felt the need to always try to make it a lesson, and a lesson I already know at that. I love my parents, don't get me wrong, but for some things they really just aren't good at listening.

"So I'm thanking you because basically you just showed that you trust me." Morgan says simply. "You were fully willing to be childish in front of me because you knew I wouldn't mock you for it."

That's a very optimistic way of looking at it.

"And in case you don't know, I kinda want you to trust me, you know, because we're sorta in a relationship here." Morgan says with a smile, starting to regain her usual cheer. "So thanks for sharing! I still think you're cute."

"I… ah…" What do I say to that? I just showed one of my worst sides and Morgan was just like "okay, cool, I still like you".

"And besides, you said yourself that you knew it was petty. It's not like you're espousing the virtues of laziness." Morgan chirps, then pauses, "You weren't, right?"

"No." I say. "I mean, I'd much prefer not to work if I can, I'm not going to go out of my way to do five hundred extra push ups to be a black belt five star ultra tier martial artist, but if the doctor says I got to do seventy a day then I'll do it without complaining. Do what you have to, because there's a reason why you have to do it and you're going to hurt yourself way more if you don't."`

"But you only do things you have to?" Morgan asks. She doesn't frown or tilt her head judgingly, she asks it like a neutral question.

"I…" I let out a sigh. "Usually, yes. It's a matter of the pros outweighing the cons, but unless it's absolutely necessary for me to do something or I actually enjoy that thing, that's a very rare occurrence."

"Because why would you put yourself through suffering for something that almost inevitably won't feel worth the effort?"

"Exactly." I admit. "It's extremely unproductive, but… I… I wish I enjoyed working. I really do. I would like nothing more than to feel satisfaction that minutes or hours or days of effort amounted to something, but usually it just ends up feeling like an empty accomplishment and the skill I improved or thing I created or job I completed is just a reminder of all that time I could have spent doing something I actually enjoyed was instead wasted on that." I go quiet for a few seconds, then say. "Sorry, this is still really petty. If I could make myself like work I would do it in a heartbeat."

"There has to be something you'll work for."

"I said I hate work, not that I won't work." I correct her. Heck, it's not even that I slack, I was considered an above-average employee at my job because I didn't get distracted and would do tasks other people didn't like to do. I may have hated the job, but the managers were genuinely nice and I wasn't about to make their life harder if I could avoid it because it's not their fault I don't like the job, and as mediocre a reason as that was to work it was more work ethic than could be attributed to half the other employees who sometimes didn't show up for shifts for stupid reasons.

Teenagers make terrible employees, especially when they have enough money that they don't technically need to work. It's sad that I of all people was considered a good employee just because I'd actually show up and actually do the fucking job. That's a rant for another time though. It's disappointing to know that there are people even more petty and self-centered than me.

So, again, I hate work, but I'm not about to half-ass that work when I do it. If you're going to do work, do it to a reasonable level or you'll just bring more trouble onto yourself.

"And it's more like certain conditions make me more willing to work." I muse. "Like right now, I don't mind working on my aggressive play because you're here to make it enjoyable. Work is much less awful when you have someone you like working with you."

"Ah, so you want someone to suffer with you." Morgan smirks.

"No, I want someone to talk with and to help me and that I can help in return. It's almost fun to do even menial tasks when there's someone else there alongside you." I say. "I… I could struggle over a philosophy paper on my own, talking at my computer screen as I struggle to figure out what the hell they're saying, or I could bounce off a friend who might have their own perspective so we can naturally pick apart the argument and have fun doing it. That's what I mean. Work and study don't have to be awful. As long as you have a little interest and a friend who will learn or work with you, it can be almost fun."

"Why didn't you do that in school if you hated it so much otherwise?"

"I didn't figure it out until just recently." I admit. "And I could never focus when I had friends around because I used to be extremely chatty. I also didn't really have any friends after high school which is when I started to sort of mature. We all parted ways and I never made new ones because I spent as little time at university as I could."

"Oh." Morgan says. "Uh… am I your only friend?"

I feel pathetic admitting this. "Yes."

"That's terrible! I'm setting the bar way too high!" Morgan says dramatically.

A tired smile creeps over my face. I'm not tired because I'm exasperated, I'm tired because I'm emotionally drained. I just gave a stupid rant and exposed the most pathetic part of myself. I think I have good reason to feel tired, but I indulge Morgan anyways. She deserves it. Anything for you Morgan. "You got that right. How will anyone ever compare to your genius?"

"Not just my genius. My personality, my incredible face, there's just no contest!" Morgan proclaims. "I'm sorry Nathan, the rest of your future friends will be playing second-fiddle to me."

"Well considering you're my girlfriend, I'd kinda hope so." I murmur. I didn't miss her wording. She has no doubt I will have more friends. That's reassuring. "Er, Morgan."

"Yeah?"

"Can I…" I hesitantly hold my hands out for a hug. I feel it's warranted. Wait, I should have just done it. Fuck. I made this awkward, didn't I?

"Woo!" Morgan leans forward enthusiastically, totally ignoring how she messes up our chess board as she squeezes me in a hug and I do the same in return.

"Thank you." I mumble, my voice muffled by her coat. "I've told you how great you are before, right?"

"Multiple times."

"Well you're great."

"Still true."

"The best." My voice cracks.

"Mm-hmm." She rubs my back. "And you're still cute."

"Ugh…" I wipe my eyes with one hand. "This has to stop being so one-sided at some point…"

"I'm sure I'll have an existential crisis over having no memory and coming from a different future than this world at some point." Morgan hums. "Catch me when that happens."

"I will." I say with as much force as my shaky, hoarse voice can manage. "But there has to be something I can do now…"

"I wouldn't mind a massage." She offers cheekily.

"Okay."

"I was joking."

"I'm not."

"You'll actually do that?"

"You just let me throw a temper tantrum with no judgement and you think I won't give a massage in return? Of course I will."

"Well when you put it that way…" Morgan chuckles. "Can I complain about something too while you're doing that?"

"Please do."

"Good, because getting chewed out by the captain was total bullshit." Morgan says, then pauses. "I mean, I know it wasn't actually, but-"

"You can vent." I reassure her. "It's fine. Besides, you admitted yesterday you knew you were in the wrong. We can separate logic from emotion here." That was kind of a vital part of my rant: hating something while understanding why it has to happen. I hate school, but I would never tell anyone not to go to school. Stay in school kids. It sucks ass, but it's necessary.

Morgan shrugs off her coat and lies down on her stomach on our bed while I put away the chess set. I'll spare you the exact details of her rant because it amounts to "they were being bastards and I was just sticking up for Noire and you!" and generally feeling indignant.

Just because someone deserved to get slapped and they knew they deserved to get slapped doesn't make that person any happier about getting slapped, if we want to use a metaphor. That's Morgan's situation. She knows she was in the wrong, but still feels annoyed and wants to let it out.

Thankfully Morgan's rant requires a lot less focus on my part, because I'm not sure I could handle another semi-philosophic debate at the moment. I nod and murmur at all the right points, but I mostly focus on trying to find the right amount of pressure to use with my hands. I've done this before, but that was with my old weak body where no matter how much force I used I was never really at risk of hurting the person I was touching. Not so anymore.

Also, Morgan has muscle. Logically I knew she would, because she regularly practices swordsmanship and still walks a fair amount despite me carrying her, but it's weird to actually feel that muscle on her back. When I look at her I usually just see her face and her coat, so I never actually see any of that muscle like I do with Kjelle or even Noire. Morgan's clothes are really bulky and loose so it hides her body well.

It isn't much, but it feels nice to actually do something for Morgan that isn't general compliments I'd be giving anyways. Small steps are better than no steps.

###

"The crew is still avoiding me." Morgan huffs. "Even though we're not on bad terms now."

"Well I wouldn't say that." I say. "Just because you're not actively against each other anymore doesn't mean they want you around."

"But I want to learn the game they're playing." She complains, gesturing to the small board in front of a few sailors. The board is full of circular indents and each player is in possessions of a number of small marked cylinders.

"Then ask."

"I have, but they won't tell me." Morgan complains.

"Because they don't like you?"

"Yeah."

"Ah, that would be a problem." I murmur.

"Why can't they just get over it?" Morgan huffs. "I have."

"You just spent half an hour complaining about how you don't trust any of them and were just protecting me and Noire." I remind her. "You're not over it either."

"Yes I am…"

"No, you're really not. Logically you might be, but emotionally you aren't, and emotion is often much more powerful than logic in informing our actions." I say.

Morgan grumbles under her breath, but she doesn't disagree.

"I suppose…" I say hesitantly. "I could ask them how to play, probably when you're not around, and then teach you afterwards."

"But you hate talking to strangers."

"Yeah. But if you want to know the game I'll do it." I mumble. I can already feel my anxiety starting to manifest as a tightness in my chest, but I ignore it for now.

"I mean…" Morgan says slowly, her brow furrowed. "If you feel like you can do it, I would like to know the game, but it's really not a big deal."

"Got it." So I'll do it. It's the very least I can do for Morgan. I wish it didn't give me intense anxiety to do it, but that's a price I can force myself to pay. Not at this very moment of course, because Morgan is still here and this plan literally revolves around her not being around. "When we get to Ylisse, or if we ever have enough time, maybe I can make more of the games from my world from us to play."

"What, you assume I just want to play games all the time?" Morgan huffs, feigning offence. "Because you're totally right. How many games do you know?"

"A few dozen at least. I can somewhat remember how a few dozen more work too."

"Good. Because I want to play all of them!"

Well if I'm going to be recreating dozens of games, I'm going to need to write stuff down before I forget. It's already been nearly half a year since I came to this world. I wouldn't be surprised if some memories are starting to slip.

I should get what I remember translated too. If I end up leaving this world by finding a way home, I want to leave certain things with Morgan for her to use. I want to leave my knowledge of Awakening, of course, but if she likes games I'd like to convey the rules and pieces for every game I can feasibly remember. That's a tall order, but I should be able to manage it… provided I can find enough paper and pen (or would it be quill and ink? Pens aren't too modern, there were some types of pens before, fountain pens I think, hopefully those exist) and find an economical way to translate it.

Or maybe I'll have the time to learn to write and read the logical language and translation will be unnecessary. I imagine that will only happen if I'm stuck here for a really long time though.

"We're going to need a lot of wood and a lot of time." I muse. "And some actual paint. I want to play with actually black pieces, not brown pieces with squares carved into them."

"Because that's clearly the most important thing."

"Of course it is! How can you play chess without black pieces!? That's like eating a pizza without cheese!"

"What's pizza?"

I stare at Morgan for a solid two seconds, then say. "Okay, I'm going to have to figure out how to make pizza. You have to try it."

"What's in it?"

"Tomato sauce, cheese, and a certain type of bread, and if you feel like it you can add a wide variety of toppings." I say. "The real issue is going to be the bread. It needs a certain texture and I have no idea how to achieve it."

"I'm sure some cook will know how to do what's needed." Morgan reassures.

"They better. A world without pizza is a dim one indeed."

"For food is the fuel of life!" Morgan proclaims. "Or… something. I don't know how to make a skit out of this."

"Can't win every time."

"Of course I can. I'm a genius!" She pouts. "It would just take too much effort at the moment."

"Mm-hmm, sure."

"It would!"

"Uh-huh." I pat her head condescendingly. I'm sure she could think up something, but it's fun to make a joke out of it. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

###

It's difficult when to choose to approach because I know I'm on the verge of a panic attack. I want to approach when I'm calmest so there's the least chance of me freaking out, but I have no idea what my "calmest" is going to be in a situation like this.

"And I'm just going to ask them to show me a game." I think miserably. "Even something as simple as this is almost beyond me."

It doesn't help that I can't talk myself into thinking this will go well. It's not like calling customer service where the job of the person on the other side is to help you, or where I can convince myself that whatever person I'm going to talk to doesn't have an inherent reason to dislike me, because these people do already have established reasons to dislike me. There's a very real chance they'll flat out refuse.

I told myself I'd ask about the game, and I'm in position to do it right now. Morgan is exercising up on deck, and there are people here playing the game that Morgan wants to know. I just have to get this out of the way. This will be terrible. There's no getting around that. I have to accept it.

"Just go." I think, forcing myself to take a step. "You've started moving and they've noticed, you can't back out now."

That's how I've always dealt with social situations that scare me. I convince myself I'm in a position where I can't escape without making the situation worse, so I'm effectively forced to go through the interaction once I start with no way to back out. That's probably not healthy, but it's the only way I've found to deal with these sorts of situations that actually works.

"I- uh- pardon me." I say. I already feel like cringing from how meek my tone is, but I know if I raise my voice it will waver and my nervousness will be even more obvious. Being quiet allows me to mask my emotions to a certain extent.

I also probably shouldn't have led with "pardon me" because that already implies that I'm intruding and that they shouldn't listen, and it's totally different than how they talk and I'm marking myself as extremely different than them, or maybe that's just me putting too much thought into things and the crew won't make that distinction. Maybe I shouldn't apply literary analysis to a single greeting, at least not right now.

"That- you-" I stutter. My heart is already hammering in my chest. Their eyes look judgemental and annoyed to me. Just spit it out already Nathan. "The game you're playing, I want to learn it. W-Would you mind teaching me?"

They all (there's four of them) stare at me with expressions that I think are contempt, annoyance, and derisive amusement. One of them speaks, grumbling "well it ain't like we got a choice in the matter, what with the captain tellin' us to play nice. Stop bein' a bitch about it and just demand we teach ya. Don't pretend you're all nervous an' shit, we know you ain't."

"I- well- that's not-" I stammer. "It's- you're supposed to play nice, not give in to everything we ask. If you don't want to t-teach me just say no."

I suppose I could have let them falsely believe that they were obliged to do as I asked, but I don't like lying. Even if it's really not to my advantage, I don't want to lie without a good reason.

"You're tellin' us to say no?"

"If you really don't want to, then say no." I affirm. "Don't go out of your way for my sake."

"Wasn't about to." The same man says. He studies me for a few seconds more, glances at everyone else at the table, then says. "Bah, grab a chair. One game couldn't hurt."

I do so quickly. One of the other men reluctantly bring out another set of cylinders when the person who was speaking nudges him.

"Norm'ly each person brings 'er own pegs to the game." The main man explains, probably seeing my confusion.

"Ah." I nod. "By the way… what's your name? I don't want to think of you as "the main guy" in my head."

That gets a snort of amusement out of him. "Name's Cyrus." He points to the left, then the right, then further right. "That's Julius, that's Linus, that's Marcus."

"Right." I say, trying to internalize those names. "I'm Nathan." Wait, they already know that. Shit.

"Yeah, we know." Thanks for rubbing it in, universe.

As it turns out, the game is literally just chinese checkers. The crew simply calls the game "Barrels", but it's also known as "Feroxi Barrels" or "Rum Route". The pegs represent barrels of rum apparently, and the triangles you're supposed to get to represent storehouses, and the open part in the middle is the sea. In this world, chinese checkers is a game about shipping rum.

The four men don't seem to mind me being there after a few minutes, likely because I'm not showing them up at their own game. They mostly talk among themselves as they play, but every once in a while a question is actually directed at me.

"So what are ya exactly?" Linus asks. "Are you the crazy girl's servant? Is that why ya asked ta play? She was askin' earlier."

Ah, so they did pick up on that. Also, apparently Morgan's threat where she mentioned I was her boyfriend didn't circulate in full, so they don't know what I am. "Not a servant. Just a companion. Though yes, I did ask to play for the purposes of telling her later."

"Are you hired help then? A merc?"

"No, a companion. A friend." I stress.

"Really?"

"Yes. Why is this so unbelievable?"

"You look rather different. I mean money wise." Linus points out. "Weird to see someone like us walkin' 'round with some mage scholar."

They think Morgan is a scholar? Okay, sure, whatever. "Well that's true enough. I'm broke and she's loaded. I'm not sure I'd say I'm "like you" though. My circumstances are… strange."

"What? You ain't poor?"

"Well I wasn't poor until half a year ago." I mumble. "I was… if I say "upper middle class" does that mean anything to you?"

"Nope."

"Well I had money. Enough that I could take breaks from work and went to school and all that." I say.

"Told ya so." Julius proclaims. "I told ya he talked too smart!"

"Shut up, he coulda just been copyin' the girl." Marcus grumbles.

"You owe me two copper!"

"I'll pay ya later. Just shut up."

I have a vague feeling my group has been the subject of a lot of speculation among the crew. That makes sense of course, but it's weird to know that I've been speculated about.

Cyrus speaks up. "While we're talkin' 'bout your little group, what's up with the one with the tits? She's been avoidin' us like we're diseased. She some rich lass who don't like us dirty commoners?"

"It's probably she doesn't want to be around people who will call her "the girl with the tits"." I say flatly. I feel a bit more confident now that I've been able to talk without immediate hatred directed towards me. I can use a bit of sass.

"That's a compliment!" Cyrus protests.

I mean… not really? Maybe in certain contexts but not this one. Am I really going to try and explain objectification to medieval sailors? My usual way of explaining things is "imagine this was done to you", but I doubt that's going to work so well because they would probably find some mildly lewd comment about their body to be a great thing. So that's not worth the effort to explain I think. "In your mind maybe, but not hers."

"Of course." He grumbles. "Women ain't ever simple."

Whatever you say buddy. I mean, I can't talk to women either, but it's for an entirely different reason I think. Except Morgan, because Morgan doesn't mind that I'm a stuttering moron. She probably wouldn't want me thinking like that. Something something you're better than you think. Straight lies, but they're heartfelt lies from Morgan so I'll listen anyways and stop thinking like that.

"Is that the real reason, or are you jus' givin' us attitude?" Linus speaks up.

Both, but do I say that? I don't want to put words in Noire's mouth. Let's go with... "Partially."

"Partially both?"

"Yeah."

"Bah." Linus grunts. "Is she always like that?"

You're very curious about Noire, aren't you? How much am I willing to share here? "Mostly. She's shy, and doesn't like me very much."

"You piss her off?"

"Maybe? I don't think I've done anything to truly earn her ire. I think it's mostly just a lack of trust and I can't blame her for that. I'm weird" I murmur.

Talk about my group mostly dies off after that, and it's fine with me. I wasn't exactly comfortable talking about Noire. They don't tell me to leave when they prepare for the second game, but I take the chance to bow out anyways.

Morgan is eager to try the game when I explain it to her, and insists on buying it when we make landfall if possible.

###

The night before we're due to arrive, we get our first glimpse of the island on the horizon. The sun is low on the horizon to our right, casting shades of red and pink and orange across the sky. The island is visible from a distance mostly because of a single large building that sticks up above the waves.

"That's a rich club lass." The captain explains when Morgan asks about it. "Games, theater, music, the works. They be our employer as well. We bring 'cross some o' the fancy food an' spices they like to have there. I've seen the inside. They got chandeliers mode o' gold an' silver rims on their tables. The Siren's Call ain't no place for folks like me, 'cept if I'm makin' a delivery."

"Does that have anything to do with the island being the island of silver?"

"Aye." The captain nods. "This island be a place for the rich. You won't find any shortage of mansions here, nor good food and entertainment… if ya can afford it. This place be Ylissian, but ya can find all sorts o' people 'ere. Plegian spice lords, leaders of Feroxi fur empires, and businessmen o' all sorts. Even the Exalt got little power 'ere. All these folks are too rich for even an exalt to tell 'em what to do."

That certainly explains the island's name. This island is a retreat for the rich. Silver indeed. I guess that explains why Nah was found in an abandoned mansion on her paralogue. This whole island is probably littered with mansions. That makes our search a lot more difficult, as if it wasn't already difficult.

"Yer gonna have to find some other way off the island if you want to be gettin' to the Ylissian mainland." The captain warns. "An' it may not be cheap unless you can get another ride with a supply ship like us."

"We'll manage." Morgan shrugs. "At worst I can use my cute face to get us a ride."

The captain snorts. "Careful there lass. Gonna get yerself in trouble like that. Someone might take too much o' a liken' to yer "cute face", an' people 'ere are used to gettin' whatever they want an' may not take so kindly to rejection."

"Well I do know magic and swords for a reason." Morgan grins. "They can try to mess with me. Money or no money I'll come out on top."

It's amazing how casual Morgan can be about potential sexual assault. Then again, maybe compared to the threat of death when dealing with bandits she doesn't see it as as much of a big deal.

I also have a realization. "I'm going to look so out of place."

"Indeed." The captain nods. "Maybe see 'bout gettin' better clothes if you be stayin' for more than a few days."

"Uh, right." It's not like I have the money for that, so I probably won't. Besides, we just need to find Nah and leave, we hopefully won't have to deal with any of the rich folk on the island at all. I can get clothes in Ylisstol… after I make some more money.

Or, more likely, Morgan will insist on paying for clothes regardless of my protests because she's way too nice. I wonder if I can find some money before we get to Ylisstol so I can actually afford to buy clothes on my own cash so I have a legitimate reason to refuse Morgan.

As much as we joke that her money is group funds and as much gold as she might have, I don't want her wasting her money on me without a good reason.

That night, when all four members of our group are in our room, we have a discussion.

"So, we need a plan for finding Nah." Morgan says simply. "The only point of reference we have is an abandoned manor, and we don't even know where that is. I'm open to ideas."

No one else immediately speaks up, so I start. "I have a question to preface my idea."

"What?"

"What was it like to come out of the portal? I swear this is relevant."

"I don't remember." Morgan says, looking to Kjelle and Noire.

"It was scary." Noire mumbles. "So many lights, and I was weightless, and-"

"Right." I interrupt. "Uh, don't mean to be rude, but was the portal visible when you came out of it? How big was it?"

"Oh!" Noire blinks. "Y-Yes. It was big and had crystals around the sides. It only stayed for a few seconds though."

"Still, we could possibly ask around to see if anyone saw the portal." I offer. "Though that might get us some weird looks."

"That probably won't work." Morgan says bluntly. "We might as well be asking for Nah specifically considering how low the chances are of us meeting someone who saw the portal."

My shoulders sink. "Oh."

"Uh, but it's a creative idea." Morgan offers reassuringly.

"How about we get our names out there?" Kjelle suggests. "Nah will know who me and Noire are. If she hears our names, she might come looking for us and that makes things much easier."

"W-Well there are a lot of rich people here, right?" Noire mumbles. "So someone is bound to be a powerful mage, or have one in their employ. Maybe we can get a favor, or just pay for them to use a scrying spell and find Nah."

"Now that is an idea." Morgan says, pointing to Noire. "Your idea isn't terrible either Kjelle, it would just take longer."

So only my idea sucked. Great.

"If we do end up needing to search on foot though, we might want to consider splitting up." Morgan says. "I doubt on an island full of rich people there are going to be many bandits, but we should go in groups of two if we do have to search."

"You just want to go with Nathan." Kjelle says accusingly.

"Guilty." Morgan chirps without any hint of shame. "What? Are you so desperate to be rid of us, even Noire, that you want to go alone? Or did you want to come with me? I get it, I'm pretty amazing, not to mention super attractive. Is it my face, or maybe you just like that I have money?"

Kjelle's eye visibly twitches. "On second thought, I'll revel in the chance to be away from you."

Morgan leans over and stage-whispers to me "I think she's too shy to admit she likes me."

"Clearly." I say in a flat, toneless voice. "She's head over heels."

"I am not!" Kjelle seethes.

"Madly in love."

"Shut up."

"Total tsundere."

"You're not even speaking Archanean now."

"Well yeah, it's English… and Japanese."

"It's fine if she doesn't want to admit it." Morgan says with a wide grin. "I'm willing to wait. They say the chase is the most fun part."

Kjelle sighs in defeat. "Fuck both of you."

"Ooh, three-way?"

Kjelle gives Morgan a withering glare, and Morgan smiles coyly and giggles behind her hand in an obvious imitation of a shy maiden.

Which, to be clear, she is not. She's about as far from that as possible.

"Anyways…" Kjelle says through gritted teeth. "Which plan are we going with?"

"I think Noire's is best." Morgan says, dropping her act. "We'll split to search if that fails, and also get the word out that we're looking for Nah. We can use all our plans."

Except mine, because mine was stupid.

"Except yours." Morgan acknowledges, even though I didn't say anything. Maybe it showed on my face. She leans into me with a smile. "But that's only because you're making it waaaay too complicated. That was a solid thing to point out."

If you say so Morgan. I'd figure there's a fifty-fifty chance she's saying that out of pity.

"It might be nice to split the group, don't you think?" Morgan whispers as she leans in close. Once again she has a wide grin on her face. "We haven't exactly been alone since we found Noire, have we?"

"Oh- uh-" I squeak. I have no idea how lewdly she meant that implication, but my heart clenches and my hands sweat despite that. "Y-Yeah."

Her grin doesn't fade. "You're very red."

"And who's fault is that?" I manage to say without stammering.

"Me I hope." Morgan chirps.

"Get a fucking room." Kjelle says.

"This is our room."

"Get another. For Naga's sake…" Kjelle moans while rubbing her forehead. "I really hope we split up now. Naga…"

Noire doesn't comment, but she's also blushing a bit. Morgan is the only person in the room who isn't flustered to some degree, and she looks supremely smug about it.

###

The docks still smell like fish, rich or not. The Siren's Call is even more massive up close, and by "up close" I mean we're probably an hour's walk from it and it still dominates the skyline. It's fucking huge. That building is the size of… I don't have a good comparison. It's not the tallest or widest building I've ever seen, but it's still massive. I can't imagine how much money must have gone into it, especially considering this is basically medieval times so the construction was likely more difficult than in ours.

Let's see… it's at least a dozen stories tall, with multi-colored stain-glass windows all around. Each floor isn't small either if the windows are any indication. The building is easily as large as a city block as well. It's not a skyscraper in height, nor does it take up as much area as the Vatican, but as a combination of both it's still monstrous in overall size.

I guess if you stick enough rich people in the same place they'll make something amazing. Or maybe it was funded by one person that was absolutely swimming in cash.

"It's so big." Noire mumbles, apparently having the same thought as me. "We're not even close and it's still so big."

"I wonder what it's like on the inside." Morgan muses. "I wanna see…"

"If you want to waste your money on it, go right ahead." Kjelle huffs.

"Hey, you need my money." Morgan reminds. "My money is group funds, remember?"

Kjelle grumbles under her breath, but Morgan is right after all. Kjelle has maybe ten silver to her name. That's not nothing, but it will only last her so long and might not get her off the island if all the boats are expensive.

Well, okay, we only paid a few silver for our trip. So if Kjelle could find a supply ship willing to transport her she might be able to get off the island. Still, it would be inconvenient.

"So what's our first goal? We need to find a skilled mage, right?" I ask.

"Well first we need lodgings." Morgan reminds me.

Oh, right, duh. Jumping the gun a bit there.

"So let's see if we can find some place that isn't hideously expensive." She says. "Then we should ask around, casually, about skilled known mages. We want to know our options first. We're in the land of the rich. It would be foolish to think there isn't corruption and manipulation and power plays everywhere. It would be best if we can find someone known for charity, or at least with a good reputation for his character rather than just his skills."

I hadn't even considered that. This is why Morgan is the tactician and not me, though I suppose this is more strategy than tactics at the moment.

Where do you draw the line between strategy and tactics anyways? Is it a sliding scale or is there a hard line? Maybe this is tactics because we're talking specifics? Ah whatever. I imagine there's some crossover in the skills needed for tactics and strategy, so as much as Morgan is a tactician that probably also makes her a decent strategist.

She's also just really smart, so there's that.

Also… "Morgan."

"Yeah?"

"Do we need a cover story?" I ask. "How much do we have to avoid attention?"

"I- huh. I hadn't considered that." Morgan muses. "I don't imagine we're going to have any inherent trouble so we don't need one for daily use, but if we're going to ask aid of a mage we might need to make something up then. Good point."

"Three time-travelling girls and some random guy from beyond the outrealms isn't going to sound very believable, and it might draw attention we'd rather not have if someone does put stock in it." Kjelle says quietly. "How many rich men would like to research time travel if they had the chance, or have knowledge of the future?"

"Point." Morgan mutters. "So what are we then?"

So far we've just refrained from explaining our circumstances or given some generic explanation, but if anyone shrewd took a good look at us they'd find cracks in our story. We don't want that now.

"I think the main problem is going to be you Nathan." Morgan says, turning to me. "I mean, even aside from your clothes, you look Valmeses while the rest of us are obviously either Ylissian or Plegian, but you don't speak in a Valmese accent, and you're not leading."

Of course I'd be the problem. Of course.

"And he's a wimp." Kjelle points out. "Even if he doesn't look like it."

Screw you too. I mean, you're totally right, but still screw you.

"How are we going to explain all that?" Morgan muses. "Hmm…"

"I could just not go with you when you talk to the mage." I offer. "So you don't have to explain it."

"But you're the one who knows about Nah's circumstances." Morgan says. "We might need you there."

"I really, really doubt that. I know Nah's very general circumstances. It's not like I'm going to be able to pick out landmarks or anything. Aside from the fact that she's on this island and will probably eventually end up in a Risen infested manor, that's all I know."

"Well yeah, that's more than the rest of us." Morgan insists.

"That doesn't make me any more useful in finding Nah from now on." I retort. "Morgan, if I'll make things more difficult, just leave me behind. I appreciate that you're trying to include me, but be practical. It won't even be for that long when it happens."

Morgan does not look happy about that. She crosses her arms indignantly. "We haven't even tried to think of a cover story yet. I'm not counting you out unless we have to. There's no good reason you shouldn't be coming with us."

"Except that he can't string together two sentences when talking to anyone that isn't you?" Kjelle mutters. Morgan clearly hears her, but chooses to ignore it.

"So." Morgan claps. "Who are we? We can probably keep our names. No need to get too fancy."

Too late for that, I'm already using a different name. I… I should probably mention that at some point, especially to Morgan.

"Our individual backstories don't have to be too fancy either." Morgan adds. "Just, how did a group like us get together and how did we lose Nah? Also, what's up with Nathan because he's the only guy?"

"Well, we could say we're a mercenary group." Kjelle suggests. "That would explain why we all dress so differently. We all come from different places, but come together with the goal of money. Even Nathan wouldn't be too out of place."

"A-And Nah is a mage." Noire adds. "Sh-She came here looking for a certain spell that… that…"

"Looking for information on outrealms." Morgan says. "Might as well use a grain of truth, right? Makes it easier to remember. Plus, if anyone did happen to see her portal, it would explain why she would be around it without implying she came out of it."

"So we're a mercenary group from all around, Nah came here looking for information about outrealms because she heard about a portal, and we came to get her because…?" Kjelle asks.

"She's a month late." I offer. "And she's always had a bad sense of direction, so we came to the logical conclusion that she got lost and came to fetch her. We may be in this line of work for money, but companions always come first."

"Sap." Kjelle snorts. "What sort of mercenary are you?"

"We don't have to say that. It can be implied." I mumble. "Why else would we be coming to get Nah?"

"Fine, but don't say that. Let me talk, or literally anyone else." Kjelle says. "You couldn't pass as a mercenary if you tried."

"I know." But thanks for rubbing it in anyways.

"So I think that works" Morgan chirps. "We can iron out the details later, so let's find a place to stay."

If you want the TLDR of the rant: knowing something logically doesn't mean you can magically change your feelings about it, no matter how much you wish that was true. Nathan really hates certain types of work, and values companionship very highly in part because it makes certain types of work he hates so much more bearable. Also Morgan is literally his only friend, both in Awakening's world and Earth.

He's also not totally accurate about himself in that rant. He's intentionally making himself sound worse, and you can find some outright contradictions between the rant and his actions already.

I'm starting to think I should add "and Morgan is great" to the end of all my author's notes, because that fact is always relevant somehow.