An icy breeze with a barrage of snow poured down outside the Loweean Basilicom; Just the same as any other day. This one, however, was an unusual instance, simply by virtue of a single area on the balcony being completely snow-free, beneath a fairly large gazebo that had been erected and weighed down with rocks. Sat beneath it were three chairs; One occupied by Oracle Nishizawa, another beside her containing James, and the one just off to the other side being filled by London.
Given the height difference, even between London and James, he looked pretty absurd, sat next to them. However, beneath this gazebo, the three of them looked absurd regardless: Were it not for the portable heaters mounted to the chassis of the tent, and the fabric wall keeping the biting cold winds off them, the trio would be chilled by the almost subzero temperatures outside
Regardless, Mina seemed content. As a Loweean, cold weather had never been an issue for her. She crossed her legs, giving her usual, serene little smile, and sipped on a hot cup of coffee that was sat next to her, before looking over at London.
"I do apologize for the scenery," she began, "But this was by James' request." London raised a brow inquisitively, and glanced past her at his (other) best friend.
"Huh. What, you Siberian, now, James?" he asked. The shorter man on Mina's left just shrugged a bit, his stance mostly leaned on the arm of the chair and his legs almost mirroring Mina's position. James' gaze seemed to mostly be on the snowstorm outside the tent, but eventually he looked back at London.
"Well, no, I'd just...well, I'd rather the girls not catch wind of this chat," James replied finally, adjusting his long hair slightly. "It's...uh...well, uh…personal." Mina pursed her lips a bit, then looked down, nodding. London squinted, shifting in his own chair, then leaned forward, eyeing the two over.
James, wearing 'casual' clothes formed from his tactical trousers, white vest, and his black jacket undone, looked almost ill-prepared to speak about something, constantly glancing around and finding things to focus on, hands twiddling considerably. Mina, meanwhile, looked just as regal and collected as ever...but there was most certainly concern written all over her face.
Over the last few months, London had noticed the two were...well, very co-operative. Whenever Mina needed something doing, James did it. Whenever Rom & Ram needed to be looked after whilst Mina was busy, James handled it. Whenever James went out into the streets to handle stuff, Mina covered all the paperwork.
Frankly, they were an exceptional pair, with Mina handling the administrative side of things, and James working the rough parts.
And so, it was this consideration that made it easy for London to clock onto what was happening, even despite his own near-illiteracy when it came to romance. He smiled.
"...now, lemme guess," he began, prompting both of them to look at him. "I don't mean to point fingers or make assumptions, buuut…~"
James turned red just as fast as Mina, with the short man sighing a bit and covering his mouth. "Y-Yeah. We're...um, it's bein' considered." The Oracle nodded a bit, cupping her coffee with both hands.
"W-We both have an evening off coming up," Mina stuttered. "A-And, um…we were going to ask for your input." London's raised brow didn't shift.
"My input."
"M-Mm."
"James, you did tell her that I've been single all my life?"
"Yeah, well," he tutted, "You're the one who got all those date offers after the Tower thing." London raised both hands as if to say 'And?'.
"Right, so I went on those dates, did I?" he asked sarcastically. James sighed, rolling his eyes, prompting London to pause, put his hands together, and then lean forward. "Alright, look: If you're both worryin' about what I think, you've got it all wrong. You think I'm gonna be 'weirded out' or summat, that you two are comfortable with each other?"
"A-Actually, it was more over whether you thought we were a good match," Mina interjected, raising a delicate finger. London simply reclined, shrugging again.
"Do you like each other?"
The response was a simultaneous murmur of agreement from the two, both nodding and sharing looks at each other. London just extended an open hand to them.
"Then there you go. Who gives a fuck what I think? James, did Luke care when we didn't like him datin' that Lauren lass?"
James squinted a bit. "Which one was she?"
"Massive tits and no brains."
"Doesn't narrow it down. But yeah, he didn't care."
"Exactly. And even though she turned out to be a gold digger, he went ahead with it, because he felt like she was the one. Now, I don't think Oracle Nishizawa's gonna be a gold digger, and you sure as shit ain't a gold digger, either." London smirked, raising both hands. "So, that means, if you're both happy with each other…?"
Mina looked at her coffee, blushing a bit, but finally smiled, and nodded, looking up. "Then...it'd certainly be worth a try." London gave a thumbs up as James stroked his chin, chuckling.
"Jesus, man," he laughed, "And here you were, sayin' you dunno about romance." London snickered in response.
"I know movies and telly. Do you even understand how much of my life I've weaved through by copyin' what I saw in films?"
Mina's beaming smile turned to him. "Wherever you learned it, you've surprised me. I...hate to be blunt, but I was rather against this meeting; You haven't exactly left the impression of being an...educated individual, in our past encounters. I'm glad I was wrong, Mr. London."
London answered her confident smile and insult with a decreasing smile of his own, morphing steadily into an almost insulted squint. "...um...thanks?" James simply folded his arms, and let out a snort, smiling as he looked out into the darkened blizzard that twinkled with the lights of the night-time city.
"Y'know, Jack, you've been nothin' but bliddin' surprises since we showed up here," he said calmly, glancing to his friend. "Know what? I'm surprised you're still alive." London laughed audibly, raising a finger.
"Oh, aye, says you," he replied, smirking back. "Didn't you throw down with a bunch of dragons, when you showed up?" James scrunched his face up, and just waved a dismissive hand.
"Nah. Don't recall."
"What was that nickname?"
"No nickname, me."
"Dragon summat, wasn't it?" London leaned over, past Mina, shoving at James' arm playfully. "Go on, say it, say your nickname, mate." James licked his lips for a moment, clearly withholding a laugh as he rocked side to side with Jack's pushing.
Mina, however, remained confused at the back and forth, hands still gently cupped around her warm drink.
'Men, I suppose.'
LATER THAT EVENING…
Frankly, all things considered, London was only truly uneasy around one CPU: Lady Blanc.
She was nice enough, when she wasn't in White Ultra Jesus mode. If anything, there was certainly something endearing about the young girl shuffling around with a calm demeanour and (usually) pleasant manners. Compared to - say - Neptune, Lady Blanc was a breath of fresh air.
What did concern London, however, was how nigh-unreadable she could be at times, and the fact she always seemed to be resting on a hair trigger was a Hell of a way to keep him on his toes.
And so, that evening, when Lady Blanc requested his presence in her study in the late hours of the night, London couldn't help but have pangs of nervousness.
Was she mad at him for something?
He wouldn't know until he got there.
At that time of night - when James and Mina had both gone to bed, sleeping in separate rooms - the Basilicom had a certain eerie emptiness to it; The only people walking the halls that late were the maids, and the occasional guard.
Oh, and London.
No matter how much he tried, how much he wiped his shoes off, or how much he stayed indoors and didn't go ANYWHERE with dirt, there would always inexplicably be light mud tracks following his boots. Unnoticeable in Leanbox's Basilicom, on the deep maroon and green carpets; An absolute pisstake when it came to the Loweean Basilicom's pristine marble floors.
The maids fucking hated London's grotty-ass shoes, and he knew it, because his bed was always done up really tight and the window was always left open if he was staying in the rooms there, leaving the place utterly frosty.
That said, however, the hallways were usually pretty warm, and that night was certainly no exception; So much so, in fact, that London had opted to take his jacket off, strolling towards Blanc's study with his hands in his pockets and the armoured carapace slung over his right wrist, at his hip. Despite the frilly-dressed women working in the hallways with feather dusters and polish not being keen on the trail he was leaving…
...well, they could certainly excuse it, for the fact they got a free pass to watch the gun show stroll past.
London's mild unease grew as he approached Lady Blanc's study. Primarily, it came from the aforementioned temper; Secondarily, he was also confused by the fact she...well, never really spoke to him, that much. Initially, she'd wanted him to tell her about literature from Earth.
Unfortunate, obviously, given that he wasn't the most well-read person. 40,000 Leagues Under the Sea, sure. But, well, even London was open to admitting that he hadn't exactly gone through the literary greats in his spare time; Only important scripture, like the opening from The Dark Knight Rises, or the entirety of Gunsmith Cats based on the fact he thought Rally Vincent was cute. It was hard for him to just lay out the basics of Earth's greatest works, especially given that his training hadn't really given him time to study fiction.
And, as he'd mentioned to Cave, even if he had studied it, the plentiful knocks to the head and repeated intense injuries would've made damn sure he forgot whether the black guy in To Kill A Mockingbird was actually guilty, or a metaphor for...something, or other.
Whatever. The point was that Blanc, after realizing this, had simply stopped asking for London to come and offer literary advice. She also never explained why she needed it. Was she writing her autobiography?
Once again: He had no idea.
As he reached the far smaller doors - made of a muted brown wood - he raised a hand to knock. However, he didn't even need to.
"You can come in."
London's knuckles halted an inch from the panelling, and he raised a brow, instead manipulating the door handle.
'Well. At least she has good hearing.'
The door creaked open very softly - a well-used and well-maintained passage, indeed - and stepped onto the deep red carpet, advancing himself into the room. An aura of warmth was thick in the air, as the fireplace's heat rolled through every corner of the study, and sure enough - practically curled up on a chair without her hat on - was Lady Blanc.
Despite the fact that he knew that Blanc was older than him by easily a factor of a thousand, it only ever made conversations with her (and the other CPUs) that little bit more jarring. The fact that the young-looking girl cutely sat reading a book was literally older than 90% of humanity's recorded history never ceased to amaze London.
If he remembered Cave's lessons right, Blanc was probably learning to read at the same time humanity on Earth had only just managed to figure out how to domesticate horses. Even then, that was at the time where Gamindustrians had just determined how to invent repeating firearms. Feasibly speaking, Earth was about 6,000 years behind Gamindustri, development-wise.
Regardless, London paused briefly to remove his boots, putting them next to the door as he entered, then closed the door behind him. Blanc's face shifted slightly, looking up from the novel she was engrossed in, and huffed through her nose quietly.
"You're learning," she said calmly, looking back at the words before her as London slowly seated himself nearby, taking care not to break the couch with his significant weight. "The maids lodged a complaint last time. Dirt on the carpet."
The man shrugged, settling onto the chair and crossing his legs over, before finally seeing fit to rest his arms across the back-length of the couch. "Well, I mean, I can't help it," London replied, "Even if I bleach my bloody boots, they still leave dirt."
"Dirt's their big complaint. Blood, however, is fine. It doesn't show up on this carpet."
The sound of a tender page being flipped broke up what was a mildly concerning silence. London couldn't help but swallow in mild nervousness.
"...that, uh…"
Blanc's blue eyes flicked back up to observe him, that same cold expression on her doll-like face.
"...sounds, um, ominous."
"Don't be alarmed, it's not a threat." The CPU spoke with a calm confidence in every soft-spoken word. "Besides, if I'd ever planned to hurt you, I would have done it as soon as you pointed that shotgun at me." London thought for a moment, wondering what exactly she was talking about, before he finally chuckled, closing his eyes and tapping his foot idly.
"Oh, aye, I remember that, now," he replied, face lightly etched with mirth, "I'm pretty sure you were the first of you four that I actually spoke to, Lady Blanc." She nodded silently, still reading her book. London squinted slightly to try and read the cover.
'What's she even looking at? That title's...French. Uh, Loweean. 'J'espère Que Personne Ne Traduit Ça'...?'
"I actually had the second line of dialogue in this entire story," Blanc noted, eyes roaming the pages before her. "Beyond that, even with your time spent here, we've only really had one or two extended conversations. I'm often a little busy in the evenings and during the day."
"Aren't we all?" London asked. "Did James and Mina tell you they were gonna-?"
"I figured it out myself. If you read enough romance novels, you figure out the signs."
"Right?" London gestured to her, smirking and leaning forwards to clasp his hands together as Blanc chuckled. "I was the same, except it was movies and TV that helped me pick up on it." The Goddess - finally - decided to clasp her book around her thumb as a makeshift bookmark, crossing her legs to look at London as she sat up straight on the armchair. Frankly, she was dwarfed by it; Not surprising, given that she had the proportions of a Japanese young girl, meaning she was hardly even the height of London's chest when they were standing.
Adorable, really. He'd just be loath to admit it to anyone.
"I'll say that as disconcerting as Mr. Hillman's views on juice can be, he's a very nice man. I can certainly understand what Mina saw in him." London nodded slightly, then...slowly furrowed a brow, raising a hand.
"Ah...yeah, uh, what was that? Juice?"
"...yes, juice. He doesn't like it."
"Them."
"You mean 'it'."
"No, he really does mean them. I'll...uh, look, Lady Blanc, I'll explain...some day, uh…"
Blanc pouted a bit.
"Is this an Earth thing you two are keeping a secret from me?"
"No. No, I can assure you, it's not an Earth secret. I mean, it...it is, because I don't think James would be tellin' everyone on Earth about his dislike for...uh, juice, but…"
London's chest tightened. God, fuck, thanks, James, how was he supposed to explain something this controversial to Lady Blanc…?!
He was saved, however; Blanc lightly scratched the inside of her ear with a finger, sniffing and yawning slightly, before nodding. "Look, London, you don't need to stress yourself over it," she sighed. "I didn't call you here to ask about Mr. Hillman's views."
"Thank Christ."
"I actually called you here to do me a favour," Blanc continued. "I understand that you went to visit the other CPUs' moms; Lady Sigrun, and Lady Sonya." He hesitated, but nodded. Blanc closed her eyes, sighing a little, before continuing. "I...figure you can read between the lines, here."
London, again, gave a nod, now bearing a slightly more serious expression on his face. "Yeah, I get you. And your mum's…"
At that point, it clicked. His eyes widened a bit.
"...your mum's God, isn't she?"
Blanc's serene face stared at him, and she gave an almost solemn-seeming nod, adding to the nod-fest that was this interaction. For a good moment, the only sound in the comfortably dark room came from the crackling of the fireplace off to the side, and the winds softly rattling the window frames outside.
"Yes. My mother is Lady Sixtia." Blanc folded her arms, closing her eyes. "She...created everything. Lowee, Gamindustri...life. All of it. And, obviously, she made me." After a further hesitation, during which London had still not gotten over the fact he had clocked that Blanc's mum was someone that would have ripped apart culture on Earth by simply existing, the little CPU cleared her throat.
"I-I need you to deliver a letter to her. An invitation."
London raised a brow, jaw only slightly agape. "Invitin' her to the, uh, peace thing?"
"Indeed."
"Isn't she...y'know, like, omnipresent? Or, um...what's the one? Omni...omnisummat. Where she can see everythin' and know everythin'."
Blanc opened her eyes. "You mean omniscient?"
"...perhaps."
"All-knowing."
"Then yeah."
"Then no, my mother is not omniscient. There's a lot she doesn't know, or care to know, or learn," Blanc stated confidently. However, after a moment, the confidence gave way to an...undeniably obvious sadness. Her face sank a little bit. "It's...been quite some time since I even spoke to my mother. She's practically unreachable, for me; High above the world."
London pursed his lips a bit. In response, Blanc did notice, and nervously laughed. "N-Not that you'd care much. I'm sure you can still contact your-"
"Lady Blanc." He raised a hand, cutting her off; The CPU stopped pretty much immediately, noticing his expression - etched with serious details - before swallowing and nodding in reply.
"...I...I see. Sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
"...so...can you do it? It'd be a bit of a hike."
"Wouldn't be the first I've made, lately. Can I bring Cave?"
His response was a shaking head. "I'm afraid not. You'll probably understand why, when you get up there." At that, London leaned back in the chair, tilting his head and folding his arms.
"And 'up there', would mean...what? Heaven?"
"Mount Nin-Ten Dōji. It's the tallest mountain in Gamindustri. She lives at the top, in Nin-Ten Dōji Palace," Blanc explained. At this point, her delicate little legs swept down over the front of the chair, and she pulled herself forwards a bit to sit properly. "It's basically the original Basilicom; The only place my mother has ever called 'home'."
"She didn't live here?"
"Not at all. She's never even visited."
"Oh. Uh, wow. That's…"
"Cold? Distant? That would be my mother, unfortunately. She takes interest in visitors, but if you're not in Nin-Ten Dōji, then you'll have only seen her in prayer books and sculptures." At that, London shifted in the seat a bit, looking around the room. Finally, he found what he was looking for.
"Is that your mum?" he asked, pointing up at a sculpted figure of a woman that adorned the top of a bookshelf. Blanc turned to look as well.
The statue could only have been about a foot or two tall, depicting a woman in a kimono, clutching a naginata that stood on the floor, taller than she was. Even from where he was, London could see that by all accounts, the face was absolutely beautiful, with an INCREDIBLE effort put into all the details on the statue's details.
Blanc gave a nod, smiling a little. "Mm. That's my mother."
"She commissioned that statue?"
"Not at all. If...OK, if I wanted to explain it, did people back in your world make statues and religious totems?"
The answer was a VERY confident nod. "Oh, by fuck, did that happen back home," London said firmly. "Every religion did it in some form or another."
"Oh? Then you'd understand what this is."
"Someone made that statue of her? Did she pose for it?"
"Not that I remember. Mom never really was much for 'trivial' stuff." London stood up as Blanc explained, moving over to the shelf to look at the statue closer. "If it wasn't a matter of urgency, she just didn't show up."
"But the detail on this is nuts. They put fuckin' skin pores on this thing."
Blanc simply shrugged. "In the last few weeks, haven't you figured out that fan artists are some of the most alarmingly capable people when it comes to drawing stuff they care about?"
The big man looked back down at her, thinking about what she meant...then went the slightest bit red, as it clicked.
"Ah."
"I've seen the Vertter hashtags," she giggled, "Bit of a mix of artists, out there, who you left a good impression on."
"Yeah."
"They got all the details on you. Stuff I hope I never have to see in person."
"Nooooo risk of that. Rather not go to jail, thanks."
Blanc's formerly mocking expression froze, slowly morphing a bit after a moment of the last sentence hitting home. "What was that?"
"...nothin'."
"Good. It would be a shame for you to have to crawl up a mountain with busted legs."
In that moment, London felt his first instance of truly spine-chilling threat in a LONG while, and it came from a 4'7 little girl.
THE NEXT DAY…
If the cold weather in Lowee was bad below, it was worse on the way up the mountain.
Mount Nin-Ten Dōji stood at a total of nearly 7,000 meters tall. Even with most of the journey up by probably the fastest cable car London had ever even imagined, he still had to make the remaining 2,000 meters on foot. Still somewhat clenching over remembering how irresponsibly fast the cable car went - to the point it felt like a falling elevator going upwards - London still spent about five hours following an incredibly well-trodden path towards Nin-Ten Dōji Palace, bundled up in the extreme cold-weather gear he'd bought at the Guild that morning.
Every step he took was always rather quickly filled in with a fresh powdering of thick snow. The air was thin, meaning that some of the pilgrims he walked past were decked out in oxygen masks, focusing so hard on controlling their breathing that they didn't even notice him. The few monsters he did catch sight of lurked on the edge of the path, held back by a large electric fence that instantly disintegrated a few Dogoos that strayed too close. The incline only steepened as the path went further.
To London, this was absolutely fine. Frankly, the fact that he didn't have bullets lodged in his back thanks to Captain Wang, stripped of his coat, and being told to make it to the top or miss food for a week, was making it an absolute blessing of a trip. It was almost nice to be able to go mountaineering. Strange, given his past experiences with it, but almost nice, regardless.
About five hours into the walk, he caught his first glimpse of the Palace. Nestled atop a false peak that lay across a wide ravine - only accessible by a long landbridge that connected it to the rest of the mountain - was a building that bore the appearances of an old Eastern temple. Large white walls with the unmistakable styling of a tiled roof, and poking out of the very top, as if on a hill of its own, was a huge pagoda-like tower. However distant it was, it caught his eye, even as it loomed high above.
London put the top edge of his hand to his brow, shielding his eyes a little, and made his judgement, gazing up at the compound. That had to be the place. Hell of a set-up, really; Looked like something from a romanticized photoshoot of Tibet.
He grinned, balled his fists in his parka's pockets, and marched with a new fervor, keeping good pace as the blizzard gradually began to let up. Beyond that point, however, he had two options (as detailed by a rather old-looking sign): Continue on the path for another two hours, or climb straight up, which - from that spot - would put him right at the start of the landbridge that could take him all the way to Nin-Ten Dōji Palace.
The man stood, judging the sign for a moment, next to another young woman who looked like she was trying to figure out her map. He looked left, at the long path that lay ahead and seemed to head upwards at only the slightest incline. He looked right, at the near-vertical rock-face, and the numerous non-cleaned bloodstains that marked the bottom, where many had taken a fall. He then looked up, and sniffed.
"...I can pull that."
The woman nearby seemed to blink, looking up from her map. "U-Uh? Excuse me?"
London looked surprised for a moment, then looked at her. "Oh, uh, just talkin' to myself."
She slowly nodded, lifting her goggles to look at him, before wagging a finger a bit, a smile creeping onto her face. "You're Jack London. Right?"
London glanced at her. Her skin seemed an odd colour. Red eyes, too. The hair peeking from inside her hood was bright green.
'Maybe even punk rockers need to go talk to God every once in a while.'
"Yep, that'd be me," he replied curtly, giving a thumbs-up. The woman gasped very slightly, nodding in approval, and clutched her map as she stood to approach, extending a hand.
"I...I'm, uh, honoured, really," she began, shaking his gargantuan shovel that he called a hand, "You're as tall as they said you are, and here you are, on a religious pilgrimage. Uh, alone." He chuckled, and shook his head a bit.
"Actually, uh, not a pilgrimage. Delivery, for the big lady."
She gasped a little bit, eyes widening. "L-Lady Sixtia?! You're going to visit the Lady Sixtia?"
London simply pulled the invitation out, waving it a bit, and smirked. "Oh, aye. Been doin' the rounds lately, regardin' the CPUs' mums," he declared confidently, tucking the letter back into his coat as the woman stared in awe, eyes fixated on that once-in-a-lifetime ticket to visit the Goddess of Goddesses. "One step closer to peace, every time."
The lady in the thick mountain climbing gear gave an excited nod. "A-Are...are you going to walk on the path to get there?" London shook his head, and thumbed to the sheer wall, and her demeanour changed to confusion. "You're...climbing?"
"Yep."
"Why? It's...really dangerous, and you don't have climbing gear." Her response was simply a dismissive wave of his hand, before he put them both to his hips.
"Ah, climbin' gear, sh...mimin'...gear. If I hit the ground hard, you can have my sunglasses. Good talkin' to you, miss: Stay safe."
Without a further word, he turned to the rock face, assessed it for a moment, and began picking out grapple points, before extending his limbs out to start hauling himself up. He could move with an almost alarming vertical speed; Were he using a rope, no doubt it would be even faster.
With rocks lightly tumbling down the cliff-face, London disappeared straight upwards, through cloud cover, the only sign he was up there being the occasional grunt and "Oop, shit, let's not do that".
The woman just stared up.
"...what a guy."
Confused, and yet still mildly impressed, she picked up the large wood-and-metal pole she used for whacking and walking, and set up on the path, pressing play on a bootleg copy of 5pb.'s latest hit that blasted through her cheap headphones.
ONE CLIMB LATER…
As London finally heaved himself up to the top of the rocks, stopping briefly to catch his breath, he span his head a few times side-to-side, clicking his neck. Then, he judged his surroundings.
Up here was, by many accounts, a familiar view. He hadn't been above the clouds since he first showed up in Gamindustri, and before him lay a clear view in...all directions, really. As far as his eyes could see, there was a vast expanse of gorgeous, soft orange clouds, given their gentle hue by the now-setting sun. Away in one direction, nearly a mile and a bit away, were the looming crimson gates of Nin-Ten Dōji Palace, and the few people making religious pilgrimages, laden with backpacks full of offerings, and thick clothing.
The biting windchill and extremely fast gusts hadn't made their way up here: A light breeze was all that could be counted as adverse weather, but even then, it was so pleasant that London couldn't help but smile, pausing to look over the horizon for a minute or two as the clouds rolled by, just meters beneath his feet over the edge of the cliff.
Looking out over Planeptune was one thing. Over Leanbox, one thing. Lastation, very hard because of the smog on bad days. Lowee, blizzards were a nightmare. But looking out across the world, from the very top of it?
Hell, there was nothing that could beat that.
For a moment, before he turned to start walking down the landbridge, London's mind swam a little.
There he was.
Above it all, after everything, against all odds, all enemies, and himself?
There he was.
Before him, just beneath a layer of fluffy clouds that stretched to the horizon, was Gamindustri: The place he'd spent the last few months getting pretty damn invested in. So invested, in fact, that he'd somehow managed to make it his goal to end the Share War that had wrought the land for millenia. All he needed to do was just point out that they'd get far more done with less violence, and there he was, delivering an invitation to the peace celebrations to Gamindustri's own brand of God.
"And to think I wanted to come here to die," he murmured, squinting at the sunset, and finally turning to approach the palace. "Because I don't think I could ever be more alive."
A smirk went across his features: Not one of humour, or of arrogance, but of an emotion he'd really not shown for a long time, simply out of his view on his own self-worth.
London's smirk was full of pride as he began the march towards the front gates of Nin-Ten Dōji Palace, sheer confidence marking every step with the rhythmic thump of assault boots.
There he was.
YET ANOTHER SCENE TRANSITION LATER…
London had seen enough kung-fu movies to know that the man standing before him at the gate was probably more than capable of utterly smoking him in a fight.
A bald fellow, wearing shirtless monk garb with a sash and a pair of sandals, looked at him with his hands behind his back, as if a soldier at ease. A gate guard, no doubt; The looming, red wooden doors towered easily about thirty feet tall, marked with intricate engravings that were lined in some kind of gold. Frankly, the monk standing in front of them looked comically small by comparison.
The entrance to the compound was up a stone staircase; Off to the side of the staircase was an almost perfect, scaled-up replica of the statue London had seen in Lady Blanc's study...or was that one the replica? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that Lady Sixtia, now that he could see her facial details, was probably quite pretty. The statue was pretty big, almost as tall as him, her arms extended with ethereal fire in one hand and a swirling micro-blizzard in the other.
In front of it, a cluster of people - no more than perhaps 10 of them - were kneeled down in prayer to her. Judging by their clothes, it wasn't just Loweeans: Everyone came to this mountain from all over, to pay their respects to the woman that literally made their world and kept the receipts to say she did. London stroked his lightly-growing beard a bit, observing their peaceful tradition with a hand on his hip.
'Kind of like Mecca, I suppose? People made pilgrimages to that place, I think. Place of cultural significance; Maybe you're not an adult until you've climbed this mountain, or summat. I'll have to ask about it.'
However, he cut his own considerations short, looking back up to the gate, and then at the man standing in front of it, finally beginning to ascend the steps. The monk couldn't possibly have been any older than his late 20s, but his body was similar to Cave's: The muscle he had was very clearly completely practical, forged through a limited diet and almost constant martial arts.
Or, um, something.
London cleared his throat as he stepped up, and the man offered a polite nod.
"Greetings, traveller," he said calmly. His accent came across as a Japanese person speaking English; Come to think of it, he looked pretty Asian, and Cave did mention that Ancient Loweean was Japanese…
The hulking man in front of him brought his hood down, and lowered the scarf that had covered his mouth for the walk, shaking his head a bit to free his hair. "Hiya," came the typical Northern English greeting from London's mouth, "I'm, uh, here on behalf of the Basilicom. I have to give summat to Lady Sixtia."
The monk simply chuckled, shaking his head and folding his arms. "You are the fourth person today to tell me that," he replied, voice not even betraying any kind of irritation. "The other three went home disappointed." The man extended a finger towards the statue of Sixtia. "Offerings are placed in front of the statue."
"Oh, uh, no, this one's not an offerin'," London corrected, as he raised a hand, "It's a letter from her daughter." He unzipped his parka a bit, fishing around, but finally retrieved the invitation, holding it out to the monk.
It was a simple envelope, the size of a postcard, with edges unadorned and no text on it. The only detail the oddly pristine package had was a red wax seal, imprinted with a slightly off-centre cross in a circle. As it came into the monk's view, and he squinted at it, his expression changed, taking it carefully.
"Hm." As he briefly looked it over, checking both sides, London tilted his head a bit, observing as the monk withdrew a small stone from his belt, looking at the wax seal through a hole in the rock, as if it were some kind of monocular or magnifying glass. His open eye widened a bit, as he continued gazing at the crimson splodge. "Well. It appears genuine. Where did you say you came upon this letter, traveller?"
London cleared his throat a bit. "Oh, uh, Lady Blanc asked me to deliver it. She gave it to me last night, sent me up here this mornin'."
The monk nodded slowly, studying the letter for another moment, before finally handing it back to London. "I see. Well, given that it's an authentic, unopened seal, I can tell it's the, ah, 'real deal', as the ground-dwellers say." He eyed London over slightly, squinting. "Did you come here alone?"
The young man pursed his lips, looking behind himself for a moment, then back at the monk.
"Unless I got stalked? Yep."
"...that...I find somewhat hard to believe. You have hardly any equipment."
London shrugged. "Don't need it."
"Then you must have at least some Ice Climbers with you to carry everything."
"...no?"
"Hm. I see. And you mean to tell me you set out this morning."
"Yeah."
"...hm."
"What?"
"I simply find it difficult to believe. A little too fast for normal means. Nevertheless, your cause appears probable, no matter how improbable your means of getting here."
"But I did walk."
"My doubts remain," the monk replied calmly, before turning towards the gates behind him. With utmost ease and practiced hands, he placed his palms on the towering wooden doors and gave an almost effortless shove; The loud creak of them sliding open as if a giant had opened them rang through the air.
As London watched in amazement that this skinny man did that, people nearby at the shrine all stopped to look up at the doors opening, gasping in awe. A few stood, to try and see if they could slip through, but a stern look from the shirtless monk, unfazed by the snow, was enough to make them think twice.
He looked up to London - certainly a few inches taller than him - and then gestured to the gate. Beyond it, unlike the gentle sunset and layer of snow that marked the area around them, the interior of the palace's courtyard seemed to be nothing short of a summer's day. A pair of cherry blossom trees stood either side of a well-used staircase, gently scattering pink petals that almost seemed to fade as they struck the stone and grass.
London squinted a bit at the sight; The sunshine from there was almost mildly dazzling, for some reason…
"Please, enter," the monk stated calmly, a hand behind his back and the other presenting the grand gates to his guest with nothing short of pride. "Ascend the stairs, and Brother Dagon will escort you to Our Most Noble And Holy's presence." London looked in there for a moment, then gave a small smile and nod to the monk.
"Cheers, mate," he replied, beginning to head inside. As he entered, the monk once more turned his gaze to a few pilgrims attempting to ascend the stairs, and shook his head at them.
"Not you. Not today, travellers."
Their chorus of disappointed groans once more gave him that little burst of almost sadistic joy.
'It's fun. Just like a 'bouncer', at a 'nightclub', or so I am told.'
Inside, London began to shed his parka, storing it inside a Disc, as the temperatures began to increase, snow no longer falling. Just as he'd expected (but was still not quite sure on the mechanics of), the interior of Nin-Ten Dōji Palace felt as if he'd strode from the freezing mountains of Lowee and straight into the sunshine-filled fields of Leanbox. The weather was so decent that there even seemed to be birds fluttering about the place, only panicking a little bit at the ominous thoom of the massive gates shutting behind London.
He tried not to let it concern him. But it did.
Even by the standards of a place where his first experience with it was appearing on a floating chunk of land, miles above the Earth, London was still very much set on edge by how...well, serene this place was. Wasn't this a world stricken by fifteen millenia of war, or something? How could a structure like this just continue to remain almost perfectly intact? Why was it like a little pocket of good weather amongst the blizzardy shitstorm outs-?
"Perhaps ease on the coarse setting narration, young 'un," came a sudden voice. London blinked, halting immediately at the top of the steps, and consciously had to stop himself from resting a hand on the holstered pistol at his hip. "This is a holy place, you see."
Ahead of London was a wood and stone building, forming another archway over the top of the stairs. However, standing in front of said archway was an old man, one that London guessed must have been in, oh, perhaps his early hundreds. Hunched over, with an oddly-shaped bald skull that was wrinklier than a cantaloupe, the elderly man wore a much more covering version of the outfit that the monk wore outside.
His hands were clasped behind his arched back, and London really couldn't see his eyes due to how shut they were. His long white moustache and beard were pretty much exactly the kind of thing London had hoped to experience at an ancient monastery, short of being taught questionably-lethal martial arts that blow up internal organs with just fingers. Nevertheless, the extremely old man chuckled slightly, and offered a short wave to London.
"Our guest, no doubt. Welcome, traveller," he began, voice clearly showing signs of age yet carrying a crisp confidence as he shuffled over to his much younger visitor. "You're the young one that carries Our Most Noble's mail, yes?" London straightened up a bit, and nodded, rolling his shoulders slightly.
"Yeah, that'd be me," he smiled, extending a hand. "Jack London."
His hand was shaken with...surprising firmness. The Englishman briefly raised a brow in mild surprise at the smiling old man's strength.
'Jesus. Now I know how everyone else feels.'
"A pleasure, young man. An unusual name, I must say..." the man nodded, finally releasing his grip. "Nevertheless: My name is Brother Dagon. I am one of Her Highest And Brightest Lady's most trusted followers, and attend to her more personal matters. It's not often we get visitors, you see; The importance of greeting you in person remains tantamount."
"It's appreciated, sir," London replied, putting hands on his hips. "Anythin' you need me to know before we head in?" Dagon gave a steady nod, and extended his hand out, gesturing to London's hip - the current home of a glistening chrome Desert Eagle. London raised his arms a bit, looking down at what was being pointed to.
"The tools of war are the only concern. We'd humbly request you leave them here, in this box," Dagon explained, before moving his hand to point to an open wooden crate that sat beneath the archway. "These are holy grounds. I'm sure you understand why this must be done." London almost hesitantly nodded, walking over to the box.
"Yeah, that makes sense. They'll be good here, right?"
Dagon nodded politely, hands still behind his back as he watched London drop the large handgun into the box, followed by a smaller pistol that was in his boot, and...and another one of the large handguns...OK, that's another one with a big barrel...and, uh…
"Oh, I can assure you, they'll be fine, London," he replied, stroking his beard slightly as London unloaded the missiles from the large mining rocket launcher. "Nobody up here would have use for these weapons for anything but metal resources, and we'd hardly do that to the possessions of a guest of Our Most High And Noble."
London gave another appreciative nod, trying to find a place to jimmy the Mossberg into the box. After barely fitting it in, the peculiarly well-armed individual now standing with a minigun in hand, looking between it, and the overfilled wooden box laden with handguns, shotguns, machine guns, grenades, and a hulking great missile launcher.
Dagon cleared his throat. "Would...you like another box, young London?"
London twisted back a bit, smirking in what seemed like mild embarrassment. "If, uh, you don't mind."
The monk chuckled, and went to find another crate.
'At the very least, I wouldn't doubt for a moment that he managed to make it up here alone.'
ONE GUN-BASED GAME OF INVENTORY MANAGEMENT LATER...
"A great many arms you carry, young man," Dagon mused, leading the way further into the Palace grounds as London followed behind. "Are you often expecting trouble?" The much larger man shook his head, refraining from putting his hands in his pockets as he looked about the place.
"Not all the time," London replied, gaze drifting across the myriad of ancient Japanese-style buildings that were dotted around this almost time-capsule-like area. "Think of it like havin' a toolbox for a mechanic, right? A smart bloke doesn't only carry a screwdriver, because there's some problems where a screwdriver's useless." Dagon licked his lips slightly, nodding sagely.
"Wise words, though perhaps I might not understand the 'problems' you must face. Up here, we make do with all we have. Metal isn't as common as we'd like atop this mountain." As they walked, coming to a stepping-stone path that formed a diagonal path across an astonishingly well-patterned array of small stones, Dagon gave a respectful bow of his head to another man who was working on it with a long wooden rake. London did the same, and the gardener smiled at him, bowing his head again. "Our tools are mostly wooden, and handmade. I can assure you that the clothes you wear and the weapons you left at the gate are the most advanced objects in this palace, right now."
London raised both brows, making a conscious effort to avoid stepping on the carefully arranged rocks beneath his feet. "That's kinda cool, actually," he noted, as he finally reached the section of normal path that Dagon was standing on. "So this place is like a monastery?"
The elderly monk raised a finger as he turned to walk, London following. "A monastery; A fortress; What you ground-dwellers might call a 'Basilicom'; And for many of us, a home." His elderly hand moved in slow, sweeping gestures to show off the area as they walked through it. "What you see here is the oldest isolated community in Gamindustri. When The Most High And Holy Divine's delicate feet first touched the soil she had made, we stood ready to craft her shoes and raiments."
Dagon clearly meant what he said; Off to one side, as the pair moved through the ancient village that was older than most recorded Earth history, a woman in a robe was busy toiling in a building without a sign. Outside, there lay dozens of sandals and traditional shoes, being treated by the sunlight. The building next door was most certainly some kind of seamster, with an elderly man in glasses carefully stitching an orange cloak together.
His eyes moved up for a moment and met London's. As the two shared a nod and casual smile, London almost felt as if the man's practiced bright yellow eyes had just studied his entire outfit. However, Dagon chuckled.
"Worry not," he said calmly, "Brother Go-Deniy is blind."
"Worry abo...he's blind?" London asked in disbelief, "He just made eye contact with me. How does he see?"
"He simply guesses."
"...Jesus. That's impressive."
"No doubt impressive. Down below, I'd have no question that a tailor as skilled as he would already have some of those...hm. How do you refer to it?" Dagon gestured to his own eyes, brow furrowed. "They're...unnatural. Unnatural, man-made eyes." London thought for a moment as they reached a large stone staircase that ascended a slope, moving towards the looming pagoda. Finally, he raised a finger.
"Oh, like a cyborg? Cybernetic eye, or whatever?" Dagon smiled, nodding, as he began to ascend the stairs. Despite his old, wrinkled form, London noted that there were a lot of stairs. Most old people would take a moment to prepare themselves…
"Ah, that's the word," he mused, moving a hand to stroke his beard thoughtfully. "We never see it, up here. Ailments are simply a part of being, we feel. Some are blessed with good health; Others naturally cursed to crumble over time. An unfortunate fact of existence, but it is Her Glory's will, I suppose."
London listened in consideration. "So...you don't have medicine?"
"We use traditional medicines to heal ourselves," Dagon replied. "Should something be far too destructive for medicines to heal, we either request the medicine from the world below, or...allow The Most Noble's chosen fate to befall the ill."
"And...you're OK with that?"
"Mm." Dagon didn't even seem to slow slightly as he ascended the steps. He didn't even hesitate with his answer. "When you have seen cycles of families and communities come and go through this palace, I suppose you'd become desensitized to it, just as I have. I, myself, have left a few grandchildren, sons, and daughters. They will grow up in the knowledge that their lives are in dedication to The Noble Goddess, and be satisfied. One day, they will say goodbye to me, and I'll be certain that they understand why that must be so."
The old man's gaze turned back to London, with that same small, wise smirk on his lips. "And you, young London? What do you think about fate? Do you feel your life is predetermined?"
London blinked a bit, slowing his pace slightly as he briefly judged Dagon's question. "That...uh, that's a sudden question. A lot of intricacy to that kind of thing, isn't there?"
His response was a light shrug. "It's as intricate a question as you make it, my boy. I have entertained many guests with that question, and obtained just as many unique answers. Some have given a simple 'yes' or 'no'; Others, I have spoken long into the night with, discussing the fabric of the reality that The High And Beloved created for us so long ago."
His current guest mulled on that for a moment, then sniffed a bit, looking up in thought.
"Ah," Dagon smiled. "A long answer, perhaps?"
London slowly pursed his lips, eyes wandering the pagoda. Then, he lightly shook his head.
"I...personally don't think my life's planned ahead," he began, licking his lips slightly, then finally losing to temptation and putting hands in his pockets, keeping a steady pace with Dagon. "If it was, then...well, I've gotta find whoever planned it and whoop their as...uh, backside."
"Thank you."
"No worries. But, uh, yeah, it's...probably not a fate thing. If you'd asked me that same question about three or four years ago, you wouldn't have gotten the same answer. I would never have assumed some entity up in the sky had dictated that I'd slay the Cyber-Dragon, climb a mountain, meet Goddesses, or - well - even just come to Gamindustri, to begin with."
At that statement, Dagon tilted his head a little, glancing to the side at the taller man to his side. "Bold claims, young London," he noted. "Are you from the PC Continent, then?" London shook his head.
"Uh...no, a little further afield. Like, um, another dimension."
The elderly monk slowed to a standstill, eyeing London over.
"Well, now…!" he chuckled. "Now that is a bold claim. Though, I suppose, you do have a 'thing' about you. Certainly not local, if I might say so."
London chuckled, giving a nod. "I came here a few months ago. Big secret program on my homeworld sent me here. The rest of them were troublemakers; I was one of the ones who decided to behave myself." Dagon studied him as he spoke, spindly fingers still running through his long, grey beard in consideration.
"Well, then. No doubt, The Most High And Holy will notice your difference to her own people. Just be sure to be courteous and polite; She created our world."
"I'll be nothin' short of respectful,'' London replied confidently, hands on his hips as Dagon guided him into the ground floor of the pagoda. The room wasn't necessarily sparse; There were no chairs, but those monks inside, busy putting paint brushes to scrolls, turned for a moment to look at their visitor. They were just as elderly as he'd been expecting, but no less warm in their waves, nods, and smiles from where they sat cross-legged on the floor.
Dagon stepped to the side of the room, removing a large wooden box from where it lay in the corner, and opened it, retrieving some fabric from inside. "Now then," he began, as he fished for what were quite evidently robes and shoes, "The first order of ritual before you meet Our Ennobling Light is to wear the traditional garb of a Loweean monk. What foot size do you have?"
London pursed his lips. "Uh. Big."
"A number, if you please?"
"12, English. Uh...so that'd be 46 - 47, or...like, 13, Leanboxian."
"...ah."
"Yep. Big."
"...I trust you wouldn't be terribly offended if I said you may have to go barefoot."
"I wouldn't be upset in the slightest. Findin' shoes can be a bit of a sod, as is, I wouldn't expect you guys to be prepared for bigfoot showin' up."
Dagon chuckled a bit at the response, watching London begin removing his boots. As he did, the elderly monk spent a moment retrieving a large folding wooden privacy screen from a nearby storage closet, bringing it over to London. The patterns painted on it seem to tell a story that London couldn't even possibly begin to understand. But there were dragons, and weird demon men. That was always pretty fucking cool.
"I understand many of you ground-dwellers can be quite apprehensive about changing clothes with others around," Dagon mused, setting it up around London as the larger man changed. "I believe it was Brother Pan-Chaot who suggested we craft some of these."
"You'd be right, Mr. Dagon," London replied, his words punctuated with the audible clump of his armoured jacket and trousers hitting the floor. "I've a mate who likes lettin' men watch him change. We laugh at him for it."
The monk pursed his lips, staring at the screen before him, and stroked his beard steadily. "Hm. I see. And why might that be?"
The rustling on the other side stopped as London paused with tying up the sash and trousers. "I mean...it's funny, innit?" came the awkward response. "He likes men."
"And that's amusing?"
"To some degree, yeah. I mean, he...lets men, put things up his...y'know, um, exhaust pipe"
"Ah. Homosexuality. I...don't see the comedy, though. I'm yet to understand ground-dweller humor, it seems."
"Lemme tell you, you ain't missin' much."
"That certainly seems to be the case."
It took a few (rather awkward) minutes for London to figure out how to properly wear the monk garments. The trousers, sure, easy. The sash? Eh, OK, he'd seen that before. The...weird sock-sandal things...no, OK, losing it a bit.
The bandana? How the Hell was he meant to tie something around the back of his head?
To the amusement of Brother Dagon and the monks nearby, London crouched a bit, politely asking the elderly man to tie the fabric around his head. A red strip of fabric, bearing the Ancient Loweean (or Japanese) symbol for 'outsider', the marking done in golden paint. When he finished, Dagon gave London a pat on the shoulder, looking up at him.
"There," he chuckled, "Were you not so open about your unusual heritage, you'd fit right in with the rest of our folk." London smirked, fluffing his hair a bit. He didn't have a mirror. He probably misread that symbol on the headband.
'It'd better not just say 'knobhead' in another language. I'll be a bit miffed, if it does.'
"Have you the letter?" Dagon asked. London gave a nod, holding it up.
"Yep, right here."
"Good. Now, the procedure. Walk in, and follow the carpet."
"Do I need to knock?"
"Not at all. Our Most Holy And Delightful knows you're here, already. Her great aura will sense your presence."
London raised both brows briefly. "Oh. Uh, alright, that's good, then. So no knockin', got it."
The elderly man nodded, approaching a ladder in the corner of the room. "There will be a spot on the carpet, shaped like a circle containing the Leanboxian letter 'N'." With a fairly spry series of movements, Dagon dropped to his knees, and bowed, hands on the floor and back straight. "Your forehead should rest in the center of that spot."
The man watching paid close attention.
'If I fuck this up, God might kill me, so I'll take notes.'
"Got it. Do I hold that pose?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Until The Highest And Most Beautiful tells you that you can arise."
"Alright, I can do that."
"Perfect. Whilst you're meeting with Our Shining Light, I'll see about getting you a place to rest, for the night." Dagon began standing up. "It might not apply, however: Her Brightest may wish to engage in ritual with you, this evening."
London nodded slowly, a look of mild concern crossing his features. "...rrrrritual."
"Yes." Dagon tucked his hands behind his back, returning to his hunched position.
"...what's that?"
"Personal attention from The One Who Rose Above," the monk explained, shuffling over to the ladder and removing a wooden panel that stopped it from being accessible. "Things like sharing sakē, chewing peyote, video games, sharing the public baths, sharing stories. More of a social affair, by your standards, I'm sure." London's face turned from concern to understanding and appreciation, and he smiled.
"Oh, well, that sounds nice," he mused.
"Indeed, indeed. I believe it's how Her Grace keeps rapport with her followers. Knows us all by name, age, and what we enjoy. Rather noble."
"Huh! Never would've thought it'd be this nice to be a closed community. Do you guys ever trade?"
Dagon strokes his beard, tilting his head. "Supply runs happen, indeed. But nothing frivolous; It's all left at the gate, you see. Seeds, emergency tools, paper, ink, paint, materials, such like." London scratched his head, nodding.
"...that's traditional as Hell, but it sounds really nice," he noted. However, he cleared his throat. "Ah, uh, anyway. I'll, ah…"
The very elderly man chuckled, nodding, and gestured to the ladder. "Indeed, indeed, don't let this doddering old fool distract you. Remember; Extend courtesy, be polite, and never lie. The Highest And Most Glorious will know immediately."
His response is a nod from the much larger, more heavily scarred man. Truthfully, as Dagon watched him climb the ladder, carefully taking it one rung at a time, he pondered on London's career choice. Such damage was done to his body, marked by a patchwork of old wounds and burns, and yet he still moved with the fluidity of a young man, and - frankly - was probably one of the most polite guests they'd had for quite a long time.
Dagon watched as London's monstrous feet ascended the ladder, disappearing out of sight into the top of the pagoda.
'I'd say he's the most foreign guest we've ever had. I'm sure Her Highest And Brightest will be interested.'
With that, the old monk turned on the spot, and began exiting the building, to see if the guest house was as tidy as Brother Pan-Chaot had said it was the day before.
TEN MINUTES LATER...
London had been starting to feel as if this was the most elaborate prank ever.
He climbed the first ladder - about twenty feet, or so. OK, that was done.
That ladder brought him to another floor - an empty, small, Japanese-style room. On the other end, another ladder. "Well," he murmured, "I guess she'd be at the very top, then."
OK, sure, that seemed reasonable. He approached that ladder, and climbed it. Another 20 feet, another room, another ladder.
His brow furrowed. So he had to be about forty feet up, or so. The whole tower couldn't have been that much taller, right?
More climbing. More rooms, more ladders.
Then, about six rooms later, another ladder, and this one seemed to go on forever.
And so, there he had been, for about five minutes, climbing the same wooden ladder, through a dark, narrow wooden tunnel that almost seemed to have looping textures, like a lazily-constructed video game environment. It was only after a considerable length of time that he could finally see light above - an almost surprisingly dazzling light.
He pursed his lips, grunting slightly as the physical labor continued.
'This tower looked way smaller outside…'
London found himself squinting a bit as the light intensified, but the closer he got, the more his eyes adjusted. Finally, as he managed to put his hand on the top rung and pull himself into the final floor, London dusted his knees off, standing straight, and let out a quiet 'phew'.
"That must be an absolute killer for some of these guys," he muttered, clicking his back. However, once he'd straightened up, he looked around, stepping forward slowly.
The room he was in, by all means, should not have existed at all. It was gigantic, not unlike a cathedral. A long hall, with marble architecture and stained-glass windows depicting events he could only possibly hope to one day understand, bathing the room in all manner of coloured lights. His feet trod atop a long white carpet that felt like fresh sheep wool, and the scent of unknown flowers remained in the air.
Far ahead, at the very end, there was a large podium. Cross-legged atop it, eyes closed in meditation, was probably the single most beautiful woman London had ever laid eyes on. As he approached in silence, he had to refrain from gawping at her good looks; Pristine skin, not unlike a doll, with perfectly proportioned features and warm brown hair. Red eyeliner flicked off to the side of her face, matching the accents of a rather ornate yukata.
One thing he did note (but opted not to dwell on) was the fact that considering she was Blanc's mum...well, uh, certain genes didn't seem to get passed down. The height, for one, but mostly the...shall we say, generous proportions.
London swallowed, noting the presence of the aforementioned 'N' logo on the carpet. He halted, and bowed, being careful not to smack his head too hard on the ground.
From there, he stayed still, and stayed silent for what felt like half a minute. There was hardly even noise in here. Hell, there was no noise. It was an eerie feeling; No wind, no distant voices, no...nothing. At all. The only sound London could hear was his own breathing, and the longer he focused, the more he was sure he could hear his own heartbeat, until…
"Jack London. Thou'rt welcome to stand."
His breath caught in his throat. It was an almost ethereal voice that came from everywhere at once. London swallowed, and pushed himself up, standing slowly, then looked towards the woman.
"Ah...Lady Sixtia. It's...um, an absolute honour."
As he watched, Sixtia opened her eyes, revealing the most vibrant blue orbs he had ever seen. They locked onto his own; Looking down from where she was, up a set of stairs and atop a podium, there was probably about fifteen feet of height difference, even with London now standing straight.
"Thy presence is noted. We understand thou'rt the bearer of a letter from our daughter."
London nodded, bowing his head steadily, hands behind his back. After a moment, he withdrew the envelope from the back of his sash, and held it up for her to see, the wax seal clearly visible to her. Sixtia's regal features barely even shifted. Or perhaps they did. It was hard to make out, given that she seemed to have a holy aura floating behind her head, emanating a radiant light.
"I do, Lady Sixtia," London said carefully, being sure not to slip into his common accent. It almost seemed like a so-called 'customer service' voice. "I was given this letter by Lady Blanc, this morning, and instructed to bring it to you."
"We see. And thy journey atop this peak took but a day?"
He shifted.
"...yes? I just paced myself well."
Sixtia's gaze narrowed for a moment, judging his reaction. However, after a few seconds, it softened again.
"...curious. Thou'rt physically gifted, then. To ascend this mountain takes some pilgrims many days, even with guidance from so-called 'Sherpas'."
The Elder Goddess finally moved, uncurling her legs, and allowing her pristine feet to touch the rug. Practically any inch of her skin London could see was perfect; Frankly, he was making a conscious effort not to look at her feet, in case it awoke anything weird in him. Sixtia's movements were graceful and practiced, as she began descending the stairs.
London's gaze upwards...continued. Even as she stood on the same level as him.
The 11'0 tall woman clasped hands in front of herself, staring down at him with a serene expression. She radiated nothing short of perfect calmness, a stark contrast to London's almost abject shock at the fact someone managed to be even taller than Sigrun was.
At this range, her voice came out normally.
"On closer inspection, thou'rt certainly the bearer of a storied form," Sixtia said calmly, very obviously eyeing him over. "A warrior, no doubt, as Brother Dagon declared." London swallowed nervously.
"Uh...one way of putting it, Lady Sixtia. I'm not local."
"Indeed," she said calmly, before casually extending a delicate hand out to prod at his left shoulder. "Ye bear the marks of another artisan. Thou'rt no child of Gamindustri, 'tis certain."
Just the gentle prod from the Elder Goddess told London everything he had been concerned with: That being, a full realization that this woman could probably flick him out of existence with utmost ease.
"I'm from another dimension," he replied, as calmly as he could muster, as Sixtia's hand began to poke, prod, and pat him in various spots on his upper body. The woman's expression had hardly changed throughout the entire conversation, but as she inspected him, there was definitely an element of curiosity present in her features. "One where we...uh, evolved. From, um...monkeys."
The woman's face finally twitched, and she made brief eye contact. "Thou'rt...descended from Simians?" she asked, voice now tainted by hints of astonishment. "Truly remarkable."
"A, um, long time ago, yes," London nodded, flinching again as her outrageously delicate finger traced across his chest. "Millions of years ago."
"Millions, ye claim?"
"Yes. Uh, Lady Sixtia. Yes. My world's, um…"
'God, fuck, I should've paid attention in history lessons.'
"...I think it's a few billion years old."
The look on her face now read nothing short of intrigue. She eyed his features, finally deciding to stoop down ever-so-slightly to more closely inspect his face.
"Astonishing. Truly, astonishing." Sixtia's extremely powerful hand lightly held his chin, tilting his head gently from side to side. "To not boast of our own achievements; To claim that thy form is the result of millions of years of constant development only serves to bolster confidence in our creation of Gamindustri and our people."
London stood for a minute, awkwardly letting the 15,000-year-old woman fondle him like an antiques dealer looking at an item of interest. Her face also read exactly the same as a fat bald man trying to decide how best to low-ball the poor bastard hoping to get money for grandpa's antique shotgun. Eventually, he quietly cleared his throat, watching her lift his right arm and study the musculature.
"...I, um…"
At his voice, Sixtia blinked, and looked to him. Then, she closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose, and stood up straight once more.
"Apologies," she began, "Thou'rt a truly interesting specimen. We found ourselves lost in thy incredible craftsmanship. Do forgive us. Please issue us our daughter's letter." London wasn't quite sure whether to blush at her declaration that he had 'incredible craftsmanship', but handed her the letter nonetheless. In her hand, the envelope looked more like a postage stamp; One she opened with hardly any effort, or hand movements, with the paper unfolding itself before her gaze.
'...I swear, she just deleted the fucking envelope from existence. What the fuck.'
Sixtia's face returned to the serene, unreadable expression she had worn until London had mentioned he apparently used to be a monkey. Her eyes wandered the writing on the letter, remaining almost expressionless.
After a minute, she sighed...and smiled, closing her eyes.
"Peace, then," Sixtia said finally, looking down at London. "Truly welcome tidings. We thank thee, Jack London, for thy pilgrimage, deliverance of this letter, and thy deliverance of words of peaceful encouragement to the daughters of our fellow Elder Goddesses." He smiled in return, and nodded.
"No problem, Lady Sixtia," he replied, half-tempted to offer a thumbs-up. "Fixing problems is what I do best, apparently. Are you going to come to the treaty celebration?" Sixtia seemed to think for a moment...then finally gave a slow nod.
"Indeed. We shall attend."
"Fantastic."
"It has been nearly five millenia since we last set foot beyond these walls. T'would be of our interest to see how our world has shifted."
London's smile remained respectful.
'And here, mum used to get pissed off if I was in the house for longer than half a day. Reckon she'd pull Lady Sixtia's ear off and tell her to go see her friends, or summat...'
"Thou'rt welcome to stay within Nin-Ten Dōji Palace until tomorrow morn'. If ye would be so kind, we would like to study thy form for ritual." Once more, she reached forward and gently put a hand on his shoulder, looking down at him. "A calm evening, of sakē, the hot spring, and study."
London listens, and slowly nods. "Um...right, that sounds nice. Who else would we be meeting?"
"Nay; T'would be just us pair." He blinked nervously, and swallowed, as her thumb ran across his pectoral. "Truly remarkable…"
"...right."
'I'm next to the most adult possible person in Gamindustri, and I still need an adult.'